Purple is a Fruit

purple drinkok. it’s about time to finally get some things off my chest.  here goes.

  1. about five years ago, before everyone and their pets and their grandma’s pets had a blog, i wanted to start one- beyond my livejournal account that I’ve had since you needed invitations for livejournal.  i started writing for examiner.com and did this whole blog about bisexuality.  it was pretty awesome.  i started thinking of other topics i could write about; pop culture and whatnot, and decided that i wanted to do a zombie blog.  it was going to be written from a survivor’s point of view, or sometimes the zombie.  it was going to be tongue-in-cheek, and pretty humorous.  not having a heckuva lot of confidence in my crazy ideas, i asked someone what they thought- and they said to me- “i dunno.  no one cares about zombies.  vampires are in.  you should do a blog about vampires’.  meanwhile, a quick search brought up a zillion vampire blogs (thanks edward and bella!) and what confidence i had about a zombie blog was abandoned.  boy. am i kicking myself now.
  2. as i just mentioned, i wrote for examiner.com and had a purple4pretty great blogabout bisexuality.  it was great to be able to explain myself, along with my opinions about the subject while explaining it to others.  i thought it was successful, despite being a slow starter, until more than a handful of people basically shot me right outof the sky.  so no more bisexuality blog for me.  just the other day i saw a post about bisexuality on thegoddamn, motherfucking huffington post- and let me tell you- the article was terrible.  a toddler without grasp of english could have written a better article.  eat a dick, man.  eat a straight up dick.
  3. purple2way back in my live journal-ing days, i used to post my pithy anecdotes and hilarious musings in list format.  my live journal friends/followers complained that the lists made my posts too blocky and fragmented; they said that there was no flow and that listing made my posts less formal.  the other day as i sat reading how to blog like the pros and whatnot, they stated how LISTS ARE ALL THE RAGE…. seriously?  like, i know i didn’t invent listing stuff in a blog, but for bananas in pajamas-sake….
  4. lastly- and worst-ly- almost ten years ago i realized that my slutty brain could produce some very interesting reading material.  i started writing down fantasies and no holds barred hard core sex stories.  i was very proud of my smut-rotica.  and then.  i let other people read it.  let’s just say, i stopped writing dirty stories after their reviews.  the main complaint was that people wouldn’t be able to handle stories about sex- even if they were eloquently written.  the scenarios were too graphic and the descriptions were “too sexual” as someone pointed out.  “society is not able to deal with sex stories in an everyday way.  they want vanilla sex and even want THAT hidden behind bedroom doors”.  that was how it was put to me.  and so i stopped writing them.  and what pops up years later?  everyone’s favorite and instant sex classic- Fifty Shades of whatnot. it was what american women were waiting for.  and they couldn’t get enough.  and now- even disney mass produces mainstream sex stories. great. i give up.purple3

it all makes me want to crawl into a hole—.  it’s hard to be creative and original and i have always had performance anxiety that i’ll look like i’m copying or biting on someone else’s style (as the kids say).  i know that ‘nothing is new’ and i’m not naive enough to think that i’m going to reinvent the writin’ wheel or even that i’m gonna have a post go viral wi

th a cookie cutter subject that 9,999 people have already blogged about.  the problem is that i was dumb enough to let people talk me out of it writing what i wanted, the way i wanted.  i let my lack of confidence in my writing hold me back from putting my words out there in the way i wanted to.

purpletiniit’s driving me to drink. ok. so i drink anyways.  it’s MAKING me need a fancy frou frou girly purply cocktail. ok.  so another one.  whatever. don’t you judge me. i’m upset.

I Was Fat-Shamed By My Nurse Practitioner

i’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner fat-shamed me yesterday.

i was in getting a routine physical, and they have to get your height and weight as they always do (one day i’d like to come in 4 inches taller and see what they do). time for the horror every fatty has dealt with since the embarrassment of getting weighed in high school. i step on the scale thinking that the number should be lower, since I’ve been going to the gym and watching what i’ve been eating. then i think that i should take my scarf off since that will add about 9-10 pounds. and my shoes. yes, my skimmers. they should come off. i start to panic sweat, unhappy with this whole fucking process. the sweating alone added 4 pounds. and my jeans? HEY LADY! I’M WEARING JEANS! you can’t accurately weigh a person wearing goddamn jeans! what the fuck did they teach you in nursing school? and i’m wearing a thick sweater and a hoodie…. good lord- they MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING IN NURSING SCHOOL ABOUT COLD WEATHER, RIGHT? thick clothes? HEAVY MATERIAL? HellOOOOO???????

both feet on the scale and then the look down. the red numbers flip around as if thinking; anticipating. this machine can smell my fear and it’s not good. this machine knows. it knows that i ate a peanut butter and nutella and banana sandwich at midnite last week. it knows that i haven’t really been eating breakfast. it’s just standing there, blinking, mocking and judging. it is deciding my fate. deciding. MY CELL PHONE IS IN MY POCKET AND SO ARE MY KEYS!!!!! Holy shit! A HEAVY ELECTRONIC DEVICE and MY KEYS- that are made from METAL– one of the heaviest substances on EARTH! i guess they don’t teach you THAT KIND OF STUFF AT NUSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL! WHAT IN THE HELL IS A NURSE PRACTITIONER ANY GODDAMN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY???????????

final number pops up. the verdict is in. 259.5. dammit. that’s exactly the same as last week.

oh well. eat a dick, Nurse Practitioner. eat a dick and write that down.

so i go sit on that papered table thing and think about what i want for lunch. and i happen to glance over at the notes the nurse scribbled down for the doctor. it was my height and then underneath, another number. “253.5” what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? “253.5”? really MS. NURSE PRACTITIONER? you lied? you wrote down 253.5? what the hell? are you embarrassed for me? does 259.5 make you uncomfortable? think i couldn’t take the truth? was my morbid obesity causing you discomfort? do you have to fill out an extra form because my weight was so high, that you had to fudge it? DOES IT UPSET YOU THAT I’M A HUGE FATTY AND STILL HEALTHY AND YOU PROBABLY LIVE AT THE GYM IN YOUR YOGA PANTS AND FLUORESCENT PINK SPORTS BRA AND NO CARBS!!! i’m FINE WITH MY WEIGHT! JUST FINE! I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I EMBRACE MY WEIGHT! ALL OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE OF EM! INCLUDING THAT EXTRA HALF A POUND!!!! YOU ARE THE PROBLEM NURSE PRACTITIONER!!! fat people are just as good as everyone else!!!! FAT PEOPLE ARE HUMANS TOO! or did they not teach you that either??? I WILL NOT BE DENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck you, Nurse PRACTITIONER! fuck you very much!!!!!!!!!!!

i walk out of there, all enraged, like you do when people get yer rage all up— and write down “253.5” in my diet journal when i get home, making sure to brag to all my besties how much weight i lost.

A Quirk-ful Life

I have A LOT of bad habits. most are fairly harmless. BUT. i am not willing to admit them here or now. or ever. at least publicly. i masturbate at least once or twice a day, but i’m not ashamed of that in the least. i don’t even feel slightly guilty about it. i’ll just say that i chew my nails, that i leave the water running when i brush my teeth, and usually forget to use coupons and leave it at that.

what? you say i’m a procrastinator? that i make list after list and never finish it all? i have several books in the works and am too afraid of failure to finish them? ok. so you got me. so what? i admitted to chronic, daily masturbation- isn’t that enough? or i do need to also admit that i rarely follow through on anything? that i rarely vacuum out my car? am i supposed to talk about my swearing? about my negative nelly/cynical jaded bitch attitude? well, i won’t.

i love bloody gory movies, and don’t work out enough. i love carbs and when i actually get the chance to read- i enjoy young adult fiction. i don’t wear my seatbelt all of the time, and i’m a bit of a boozy partygirl, despite being a mother. i get dandruff and would prefer to wear pajamas constantly if it was socially acceptable. i just TODAY found out what macarons actually were. i don’t recycle as much as i could. i am extremely carnivorous. i DESPISE romantic comedies. i don’t consider myself a feminist and love when boys do stuff for me. i hate my dogs sometimes and don’t vacuum steps. i hate breakfast and red velvet anything. i’m judgey and hate most people. i am often late.

i am flawed. i admit it. hell, i didn’t even shower today and i was at the mall. BUT. i did take down and put away the christmas tree and visited a good friend. i probably said ‘the f word’ as many times as i checked facebook and ate too much junk food. but that’s who i am. and i like myself a lot- even if I’m not guilty for walking around the mall unshowered.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/daily-prompt-quirky/

Fat On the Outside

Talk about a time when i experienced being on the outside looking in?
that’s simple. every single time i go to the fucking gym. no joke. i’m not trying to be dramatic or cliche, either. it’s just that every time i take my fat to the gym, i become an outsider.

i go to a franchise gym where the slogan is that it’s a ‘JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE’- which is fine and dandy, but when i walk in, in my sweatpants, raggedy hoodie and non-designer sneakers, i get instantly judged, and might as well be put in a caged area for not being a natural born gym goer. to start, i am more than 100 pounds overweight, and although i don’t “LOOK” obese, by medical standards i am. interestingly, i am in better shape than a lot of my skinny friends, and actually can hold my own with a lot of exercise but i definitely don’t look good doing it. now, i know that no one really looks good sweating and getting all red in the face, but, most girls that i see at the gym wear more makeup than i did for my wedding. i’ve seen false eyelashes and glitter, even those glue on crystals– ON A TUESDAY NIGHT in winter. no, i’m not trying to compete, and NO, i’m not trying to pick up a date, i’m trying to drop a few tons, but i absolutely hate feeling like it’s Gym Class in high school- where the fat kids will ALWAYS be picked on, and never fit in.

people stare at me like they are worried that i’m going to have a heart attack, or pitied because my fat is flopping around. i know people will deny it, or ultimately say, “who cares? fuck em!” and all of that, but the truth is, it is a completely uncomfortable situation- from the moment i walk in, until i walk out. i am uncomfortable getting on machines and i am uncomfortable about getting off of them. i am nervous to use the weights and self conscious about using the other equipment. i rarely push myself, because i don’t like the looks i get; some that simply say, “gross” and “why are you bothering?’ and others are thinking “god, if i ever look like that, shoot me.”

and this doesn’t just happen at the gym, it’s just very obvious there. it happens everywhere. being ‘FIT’ or ‘IN SHAPE’ is as much a clique as being popular in high school. when i’m walking around the trails at the park, or roller skating, summers of softball, i feel excluded and not a part of what others are doing. Even the other day at the ski resort, i didn’t dare ski, because i hate not being able to fit in with people that are flexible and stronger, or even have better gear (i wore jeans, hoodie and some boots that i got from the thrift store that are in desperate need of another coating of waterproofing spray). i’m slower, less coordinated and not as resilient as everyone else, so it’s easier just sitting out and watching. it really sucks. the worst part is that my brain doesn’t understand that it can’t always do the same things that the thinner people, which makes things worse because i want to be out there skating and skiing, and even trying that scary cage-y bar lift-y machine.

i keep going to the gym and trying to be as active as i can, with the hope that i won’t be so big someday, won’t be so clumsy and ungainly and eventually won’t feel like i’m on the outside anymore. i know that there’ll always be the gym elite, the pretty ones, that wear expensive designer breast cancer-awareness pink sports bras, yoga pants that they bought from a speciality store online, and shoes made just for going to the gym that cost as much as my car. i’m not trying to compete, i’m really not, but, someday i would like to not feel excluded from something that most people take for granted.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/daily-prompt-outside-2/

Letters for Tomorrow- TODAY!

Dear One-Year-in-the-Future Me,

First off, i would like to extend my deepest sympathy for how shitty 2013 was. it’s amazing that we managed to make it out alive. alive and not homeless. i honestly can’t even think of much good that happened in 2013 except that Lucas came out as trans and it was an amazing time of life discovery for him and a wonderful boost of honesty to us as a couple.

otherwise- we turned 40. we got hit on by a lot of big black guys. we got spun through the constant revolving door of friends and used as the all-you-can-eat-friend buffet/stepping stone for others and we never lost more than 25 pounds at one time. we went to the gym inconsistently. this year dad died, setting off lots of nonsensically annoying events. softball, though fun, was filled with its usual drama. this was the year that we really started to focus but we never did manage to finish that book we started a million years ago. this is the year we started an amazing blog full of erotica, slutty short stories and sex positive narratives, but then crapped out after our job crapped out. that car of ours? first a dead deer carcass was thrown at it and then the ridiculous amount of flat tires and various other annoying and expensive problems. total balls. our relationship with lucas waxed and waned, became strained, but we worked through it and later, was amazing. we celebrated nine years together- that’s pretty amazing. michaelbosco graduated and turned 19. he also realized that he suffered from depression- just adding to the down parts of the UPS and DOWNS of life. thanksgiving was crap and by year’s end, lucas’ dad passed away, so we spent christmas in ocean city. it was tough, but we ended the year as happily as we could, with our new friends and some fun at our new favorite bar. thankfully our little family is flexible, resilient and amusing- and we celebrated christmas on january 5- with some silliness and a lot of plants.

the one thing i noticed though, is that we tend to put things off until other things get done. for instance, we say we’ll start going back to open mic nite at Coffee Buddha AFTER the car gets fixed or we’ll start writing again AFTER we get the house organized- and obviously more often than not- that never comes about. so- in an effort to waste less of 2014- why don’t we get over that bullshit, and get stuff done a little more expeditiously.

but here we are, January 6, writing, comfy in our pjs, surrounded by all “new” furniture and watching christmas movies in our cozy little house, with lots of hope for 2014. i can only hope to look back on 2014 and feel accomplished. i’d like you to have finished at least ONE BOOK, and consistently build up a nice and bulky blog full of humorous and insightful stuff that other people will appreciate and enjoy. hopefully you’ll be in better shape financially, and finally get those credit cards and car paid off (which shouldn’t be too hard- as the plan is by summer). and speaking of shaping up—now, i’m not stupid enough to hope for 100 pounds, but i’d really like to try to lose 50- and if nothing else, fit into all of those size 20 jeans we have. i hope to read that you went camping a lot, traveled and gotten to all of the places you missed out on this year— i just really hope you live 2014 with as much life as possible! no more putting stuff off! life is too short and the sand keeps running in that timer whether the house is clean or not; whether it’s the right time or not. so just get to it and dance like nobody else is watching and write like no one is reading it! ACCOMPLISH LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW!

lastly, i hope you have another year of good health and lots and lots of happiness! twenty years for mab, ten years with lucas— this is going to be a huge year- hopefully you can really get things accomplished as well!

keep on keepin on! just pick it up a bit! GOOD LUCK and much love and happiness! WRITE ON!!!!

yours,

*Tee Dizzle of 2015*

oh and P.S.! in 2013- we got an iPhone! welcome to this century! maybe soon we’ll get power locks and windows again!

All You Can Eat Friend Buffet

Did you ever look at your facebook and see your friends always doing super fun things and wonder why you werent there to join in? does it seem like everyone is always having more fun than you? i realize NOT EVERYONE is having the time of their lives on a daily basis, but some, in fact are, and i am NEVER along for that ride.

if i dont plan something, or ask someone to do things, nothing happens. if i dont hold people’s hands and cruise direct, i wind up doing nothing. but somehow MAGICALLY people always seem to have 3000 things to do and my phone doesnt ever seem to ring.

if it happened just once in awhile, that wouldnt be such a big deal- but this is constant. and whats worse? these are always people that started off as “my friends” but through one of my parties or events, i have introduced them, and they fall instantly in FRIENDLOVE and then, ultimately i’m left at home on the couch, watching 6million photos of them riding unicorns come up on instagram. i gotta say that it sucks. a lot.

even worse is when my friends meet and they decide to date or hook up. that ALWAYS ends badly. but guess who gets stuck in the middle? ME. i end being their liason, advice giver, their confidant, and even a third wheel on dates- and then nothing. there i am, on a friday nite, by myself, watching their 45 tagged check ins pop up on facebook. and guess which asshole gets consulted when problems start to arise? THIS ASSHOLE. you better believe it. why? because i was THEIR FRIEND- and know them. unlike the person that jumped into dating them. and then, if/when they break up, this asshole here, is stuck in the middle of it.

do i sound bitter? fuck yeah i do. why? because i am. i HONESTLY do NOT have a problem introducing friends around- i dont! i’m happy when people meet and connect and become friends, i honestly am. what i CANNOT DEAL WITH- is that when these people connect, i ALWAYS end up a third wheel, like they have been the ones that were friends forever, and not us. and then ultimately, i end up alone on a friday nite, wondering where the hell my friends all went.

if this only happened once or twice, i wouldnt care. but it happens CONSTANTLY. i have become an ALL YOU CAN EAT FRIEND BUFFET. and people know it too. “oh hey! i’m off work this weekend- what are you doing?” conveniently i have stuff going on, because i usually do- IF I DONT- it’s COUCH CITY for me. most times i see that people fucking friend each other on facebook WHILE WE ARE STILL HANGING OUT at the damn event. lately, it seems that the whole THIRD WHEEL thing has even been cut out. i dont even get invited along to shows that they both coicidentally wanted to go to and make plans to be besties and go together within 2 hours of meeting.

do i still go out and have fun? sure i do. do i have my own “THIS SHIT IS HILARIOUS” pic moments on facebook, of course i do. i’m sure there are people that think every day of my life is eating tubes of cookie dough and no-handed shots and pinatas, and that’s why people hang out with me. i’m FUN. but my novelty ALWAYS seems to wear off. and the people that came along for THE *MISS TEE* CAVALCADE OF HILARITY before, are on their own merry go rounds now, together.

IT IS MADDENING. and NO. i am not being sensitive. NO. i am not just paranoid. THIS HAPPENS CONSTANTLY. it’s so bad now, that i dont even want to introduce people around, bc i feel like some FRIEND PIMP and i dont even get paid or bought a drink no mo. i feel invisible most times now, because i feel like people just want me around for the people that i bring.

no joking, i’m a super cool awesome fun person, and i assume that maybe my personality might be too big and intense for some people- but i tend to be JUST FINE for my friends UNTIL this other super cool person that has more in common with THAT FRIEND comes along, and then- it’s BYE BYE BYE to me.

i’m at the point where i cant even look at my fucking facebook on friday nites or monday mornings.

and every time my friend becomes friends with another one of my friends, they get distant, like they know i’m going to throw a fit, or not be “cool” with it… and at first i didnt care and i was honestly “cool” with it…. UNTIL>>>>> i started seeing these new besties intermingling THEIR FRIENDS… and i would think to myself- “self? have we met these people?” and usually we havent. THIS HAPPENS SO OFTEN you would think i’m exaggerating. it’s like people come into MY little social network and go shopping, but i NEVER am invited into THEIR group. it’s really eating me up.

so, here i sit, going through this strange phenomenon that has become a regular occurrence in my life with not just one but SEVERAL friends. and now i have to decide if i just delete my facebook and ignore it (which NEVER worked in the past), or do i become a hermit? do i invite myself along to their outings WHICH I OBVIOUSLY WAS NOT INVITED TO (and it wasnt just a matter of me being busy)? or do i just purge these people, put them on the same backburner that i seem to be on and move on?

why do people seem to be able to only interact with people that are in their immediate attention? why do peope have the ability to only be friends with, like, 2 people at a time? and most importantly where the hell is MY unicorn party?

Most Horrible String of Events to Date….

-i didnt salt my eggplant enough and had that back-of-the-throat-itchy-allergic-reaction-thing
-was so hungry and angry about not wanting to waste my eggplant that i ate it all anyways- which ended with me having flu-like symptoms
-was late for work because of all of the damn construction around West View
-my ipod shit the bed. like, it died a horrible death- “red X in a circle” icon of doom and everything
-my phone decided to shit the bed and crash when i went to look for a solution to my ipod’s “red X in a circle” thing
-my laptop crashed as i was looking up how to fix my phone’s problem that was caused by my ipod
-found my spare ipod and peer pressured myself to the gym, where my spare ipod decided it didnt want to work either, so i was forced to listen to the gym’s awful “Workout Motivating Mix”—which you have to know, was horrible, you guys.
-nearly FELL THROUGH AND OVER the stationary bike that i was trying to mount. i’m really short AS WELL AS fat, so getting onto equipment made for normal humans is ALWAYS a challenge.
-was too embarrassed to adjust the seat of my stationary bike, so i rode that fucker for 25 minutes awkwardly and in pain, knees knocking the handlebars. CLASSY AND AWESOME.
-left the gym not feeling exercised, but defeated and music-less.
-EXIT TO GET ME HOME WAS BLOCKED FOR NO APPARENT REASON so i was detoured around a shady neighborhood for 25 minutes, lost as fuck.
-found my way to where i needed to be, and was met with a WALL OF TRAFFIC. NO ONE LET ME MERGE, so i became murderous.
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark”- hit 5th STAGE OF HATE
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark” and “LOW FUEL” light came on.
-actually considered getting out of my vehicle and pooping on side of the road.
-traffic finally started moving before i pooped on the side of the road and started flinging my feces at vehicles because i officially hit 6th STAGE OF HATE.
-got home, thankful to not have pooped my pants, run out of gas, murdered anyone, or in jail.

this all happened to me yesterday. and this horrible string of events is PRECISELY why i suffer from agoraphobia and HATE leaving my house.
i thought i’d share.
i can always look back and say- “well, today might be bad, but at least it isnt as bad as that night i actually considered pooping on the side of a busy road”.