Quandry


i am starting to have doubts about being a writer.
the other day i blogged about ideas that i had, that never got published because of my lack of confidence.
i know that nothing is original and every possible topic on every possible subject has been covered in every possible way- but it still messes with your self esteem as a writer. it makes you wonder why you write. it makes you doubt that you can ever be successful. i’ve had pep talks from friends and motivating chats with other authors, and ironically read blogs on that subject. they all said about the same thing; that there are different types of success. that you don’t need to be Stephen King or a Jk Rowland to be successful, that art is just as important, keeping your integrity and blah blah blah. none of that helped shoo away my doubts.

the idea was still knocking around my brain this morning as i was perusing Facebook and i saw one of those ecard-y type dealies with one a line from one of the memoirs i read at an open mic nite a few years ago. coincidence? possibly. probably. maybe. i dunno. but it was eye opening and even made me a little queasy.

it’s not as if i need millions of dollars, or to turn out a five book series to feel successful, i just am very afraid of producing something that looks as if it is copied or plagiarized. again, i’m not trying to reinvent the writin’ wheel, i just hate copycat-ism. i just really hate the idea of it looking like i’m jumping on the young adult or mommyporn bandwagons even if it just might be considered a ‘trend’.

i know that writers and artists have been struggling with this subject forever and i certainly won’t be the one to solve it, but it’s a thought i have ever single time i sit down to write.

in a society and world that blogging is more popular than ever and social media is as integral to most people’s day as breakfast, is one more blog necessary? how many more tweets or Twilight knockoffs before people don’t even pay attention anymore? what are your thoughts on this, kiddos?

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.

Gargelmesh!!!

You know who i would like to see read my blogs?
ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS. having actual people read my blogs would be a start. i want honest-to-gosh PEOPLE to read. people that swear and drink. people that laugh and love music. people that are interested in connecting with OTHER ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS and not just a bunch of greedy grabber, status climbing, book promoting, reality tv-watching, self-serving assholes. i want people to ACTUALLY read this blog, and actually have some feeling towards the things i say- and aren’t just looking for hits on their own blog.

it would be unrealistic to find other people that are like me, but if i could, that would be great. it would actually be better than great- it would be AMAZING. but since anyone that actually comes near this blog is actually just one of those self-serving bloggers that are only concerned in getting their own traffic, and they’ll just “like” me and then leave, like i’m a cheap whore, i’m going to go get some ham and say GARGLEMESH! but if you are real and want real connections with other real bloggers- hit me up!

i’m eating cookies, putting away the christmas decorations and watching AMERICAN HORROR STORY. what about you?

any takers?

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/daily-prompt-one/

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/

My Name is Theresa. And I’m a Realist.

I realized something the other day when people were still throwing new year’s resolutions about, and i was steadfast in my resolution to not make any resolutions. i was sitting quietly in the car as we drove around Atlantic City listening to Christmas music. we were trying to get the last of the holiday spirit before it disappeared into the chaos of another three hundred-and-some days. i watched the blazing marquees blink and flash and i wondered what was in abandoned and broken down buildings. i watched the groups of casino-goers scuttle about and i saw lonely people trudging home from their late night jobs. i felt so small, like you do when you are disconnected from rushing crowds and noisy happenings. i wondered, as you do, what those people were celebrating, and felt lonely for not being a part of their fun. i was quiet and introspective, like you are when you miss your friends and wondering if they were missing you too.

there was talk about what we would do if we were to inherit a lot of money. my boyfriend and i were dreaming of owning a campground or a bed and breakfast, and building the house of our dreams and traveling. realistically unrealistic, but with the right circumstances, possibly attainable miles and miles in the future. we talked about the past, and things he used to do in his old neighborhood, and like i do, i listened, wondering what my childhood would have been like if i was in his shoes. talk of ‘the way it used to be’ was brief, if only because it’s just talk, and there’s no potential in dwelling on the past, so the conversation went back to buying a boat and a camper, specific kinds of dogs, special vacations, all excited with possibility. my life being what it is, however, full of so much missed opportunity, so much disappointment, i didn’t give myself the chance to get filled with dreams. or even hope. i’m a realist. and we realists know better. we live in the now. we only allow ourselves realistic thoughts. we don’t dream or make WISH BOOKS or say things like “someday i’d like to…”. we just can’t. we can talk about the future in the short term, on practical attainable goals like- “in six months after we pay off our credit cards-…”, or “after i lose ten pounds, i’d like to-…”, or “next week after i finish work for the week-…”. attainable. practical. realistic. i am a realist after all.

i wasted a lot of my life wondering about the ‘what if’s’, and crying over my problematic past. neglectful parents, correctable mistakes, broken promises. these are things i know. but these are also things that i can no longer do anything about. they are done. they are in the past. they are the past. thankfully.

the future? i want to believe, and dream and hope and wish. but i can’t allow that. i don’t want to say, “after i lose 100 pounds i’ll buy that bikini to wear on our caribbean cruise”– there is just SO MUCH WRONG with that. it’s almost laughable. i won’t say things like, “i would like to go back to school if-…” because, well, i just won’t.

i can however, let myself say, “after my car is paid off next summer, i’ll feel more relaxed” and “by next year, our credit cards will be paid off, and we’ll finally be able to breathe a little easier”. these are things i can say. these are things that will happen. these are things that i know (*knocks on wood*, barring some unforeseen disaster- that is NEVER out of the possibility). but MOSTLY, for the most part, BASICALLY, (probably) those are things i know.

now, having said all of that, i still WANT things to happen. like, winning the lottery, or getting a huge burst of creative energy and also a miracle publisher and get my books onto shelves. or losing 25 pounds. i can hope for a dream job for my boyfriend. i can dream that my son will find his way through life easier than i did. but will i wait for it? will i dream about these things? will i allow myself the luxury of HOPING for them? absolutely not. i’m a realist. and realists don’t do that.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/daily-prompt-forward/

Not So Much a Hero

Today i’m supposed to talk about a hero, eh?
well, i aint got one. nope. no way, no how. not wonder woman, not spiderman, not martha stewart or even any of the horrible disney princesses. i grew up with a mad crush on Michael Jackson and slept with a giant hard plastic King Kong bank—- does that count? i didn’t think so.

so. hero… hero… um. how about someone i admire?
because that’s an easy one. i admire my boyfriend. i admire his courage and strength. i admire his ability to ignore the assholes of the world. i admire him for having the guts to come out. my boyfriend, of nine years, came out to me this spring as male. let me back up and explain.

way back when, nearly a decade ago, i got a divorce and started what i liked to call, “guerrilla dating”.
being bisexual, i was happily dating both guys and girls, and one crazy night at a favorite club, i ran into the cutest person i can recall having met up until that point. very low-key, very casual, quite gender ambiguous and yes, quite drunk. i was hooked almost instantly. some heavy flirting and a bit of a ‘whirlwind romance’ later, we were in love and together ever since. that tale, however, is very long, and for another time.

through the nine years, i was labeled as ‘in a lesbian relationship’, and by default lumped into the ‘lesbian’ category, despite being bisexual and explaining constantly that one’s sexual identity or preference is NOT defined by their partner or relationship status. i held fast and true to my blatant bisexuality, all the while dispelling the myth that bisexuals are ‘greedy’, ‘confused’ and ‘cannot be monogamous’. i never cared about the gender of my partner. i just knew that i loved that person.

years and years after we met and fell in love, combined lives and built a home together, he bravely came out to me that he finally realized that he was a transgendered male, i.e., born with a female body, but inherently male. he risked me not accepting him, of me breaking up with him, of me not understanding or wanting to continue our life together; none of which happened, because i do accept him and want to continue our life together no matter what. and although i may not understand SPECIFICALLY what he is going through, i will support him every step of the way. so, since he came out to me and started his transition, things have been the same as ever; for me anyways. for him, unfortunately, coming out to me was just the beginning. next he had to tell our friends, which, although seemed easy, wasn’t. he still had to overcome the fear of being questioned, or not being taken seriously. everyone was supportive, however, and for them, as with me, it was all very easy-peasy. for my boyfriend, however, who hates any sort of attention, things weren’t as simple. he was having trouble fielding all of the questions and even responding to the overwhelming support, when he was still just feeling his way around this new step of his life. he had to learn to respond to his newly chosen name, and even remember to use the masculine pronoun when referring to himself. thirty-six years is a long time to just change something simple like your own name, especially when dealing with having to use your ‘birth name’ at work. there was so much stress from trying to decide how to come out at work, or even if he should, or even if he COULD and risk getting fired. it was so hard watching him struggle and be afraid of getting outed. he had to explain the situation to HR repeatedly, and unfortunately his company didn’t even know how to deal with the situation, which didn’t help ease his troubles. at every turn, there was a new scenario, a new situation to have to consider whether or not coming out as a trans-male was the best thing to do. he was under a microscope so often that i saw him crack occasionally, and those cracks lead to more stress. but he always managed to get his chin up and at least fake his way through it. he was so very brave then.

hardest of all, he had to eventually face his family and struggled with the whole situation for a long time. it is sadly a step in his journey that he will constantly have to revisit many more times to come, but at least, the initial conversations are over. i have always known my partner to be brave, but these things took the most courage of all. but even still, with what seemed the hardest part behind him, there were more steps, each more complicated, each another chance for exposure. he cannot hide, no matter how much he wants to. his whole life, he has always drawn attention, despite being quiet and withdrawn. every day he has to move forward, and every day is an introvert’s nightmare; stares and sideways glances; whispers of “is that a BOY or a GIRL?”, constant questions about whose credit card or license he has, and a never-ending stream of screwed up pronouns. waitresses usually seem to address him as ‘sir’ whereas blue collar workers call him ‘a lady’, and when people realize their mistake, it’s more exposure as they try to correct themselves, apologetically. and now, he has the added fear of the BATHROOM DILEMMA. he’s too boyish to use the ladies room, and men’s rooms aren’t usually fully equipped for his current ‘equipment’ and there’s always a fear of being called out, or openly questioned and embarrassed; not to mention the scariness of backwards people who don’t understand the world; people who can’t accept that how we are born isn’t always black, and white or male and female as the case may be.

even more, there’s always an underlying fear of what happened to Brandon Teena who was portrayed in the movie based on his true story in Boys Don’t Cry. i am admittedly nervous for my partner at times, a lot of times actually. there’s always the underlying fear of hate crimes. always. no matter how much i pretend, the fear still lingers, even if just in the cobwebbiest of corners. i want to protect him from everything- the stares, the snickers, the pronoun game, and hate crimes; mostly, i want him to be able to transition quickly, both with legality of paperwork and also physically with surgery. but the reality is, i am not always with him, i can’t always be there to be a buffer when he needs to use the bathroom at work, or when he needs to use his old driver’s license or credit card. i can’t always be there. and at these times, when i can’t be there for him, he has to put his bravest “i don’t give a fuck”- attitude forward, just to do things that we all take for granted. and he is brave. i love him for that. he may not be my ‘hero’, but i admire his courage to just be who he really is.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/daily-prompt-hero/