I sense a bit of unrest on my blog . . . to be continued.
But I won’t do that. Good morning, boys and girls. We’ve got Meatloaf on the menu today, because you can never get enough Meatloaf, can you? I got the Meatloaf idea from twindaddy who got it from Squirrel, who posted it on his Facebook page. “But Alice, I thought you took Squirrel off Facebook,” asks none of you. Well, I did, but no matter how many times you try to deactivate Squirrel, he always comes back more hyper than ever. Sad Pony was totally okay with deactivation since that is his normal state anyway.
But back to Meatloaf. I admit that I like his music, well some of it anyway, because it’s so hyper-dramatic. Like me. He could sing nursery rhymes and make them sound angsty. So that’s why I am using his “I Would Do Anything For Love . . . But I Won’t Do That.” for this post. What won’t he do for love? That is a big question my friends and I have spent debating instead of doing actual work. It’s even discussed on the Internetz, but no one really knows for sure. I think Meatloaf was hedging his bets, in case the girl was into something really far out, I mean far out for Meatloaf. How many times can I say Meatloaf in one blog post? How do you think he got the name Meatloaf? Surely his mother didn’t name him that. So he chose it for himself. Why would you choose to call yourself Meatloaf? I mean, I could see Mac N Cheese, but Meatloaf?
But back to the blog post. Sleep. I would do anything for sleep. Except that. I’m not sure what that is, because when I’m really sleepy, which is most of the time except for night time, I would do just about anything for it. Even for another hour of it. I don’t care. I’m like a drug addict that way. One more hit, just one more hit of the snooze button and I swear that’s it! I’ll totally get up then zzzzzzzzzzzz.
But no, I have to get up, put on clothes, eat something and then get my children to do the same. Instead I end up in their beds because everyone needs snuggle time. So we’ve got the three of us in one bed, piled in like bears, and I’m thinking “I would do anything to stay right here for as long as possible.” But time doth marcheth on, so we have to freaking get up. Now they will have the chance, normally, to get more sleep once they are dropped off at their grandmother’s. But WILL they? No. Because they are children, and children waste summer vacation being awake.
When I spoke about Sad Pony and Squirrel to my counselor (she is totes okay with that because she is used to dealing with insane people all day), she asked me what animal I would like to be and I said house cat. Because house cats get to lie around and sleep all day. And she laughed and said she knew I was going to say that. I can’t imagine why. The great thing about cats, though, is that not only do they sleep wherever and whenever they please, they really don’t give a darn if you like it or not. They do not aim to please, cats, because they are independent, confident, and evil. So you understand why the idea of being reincarnated into a cat is so appealing to me. With my luck, I’d be reincarnated as a cockroach and immediately walk into a roach motel.
But right now I’m still Alice, so I have to find a way to stay awake all day. I have my trusty Coca-Cola. Or coke, as we call it, not pop you crazy Yankees. Yes, I’m drinking tons of coke because coffee isn’t nearly sugar laden enough, even at Starbucks. But I don’t think it’s working. My coworker just left the office and I came very close to blurting out “Good night.” And I’m wondering how comfy keyboards are, because pretty soon my face is going to be on it.
So I would do anything for sleep. Except – remember the rest of that song. Or my name. Or what planet I am on. Sleep. Just one more hour and I’m good. No I do not have a problem. I can totally do this. I can stay awake. I can k;uijaidjinknovpyh8iaowsrd
How many people like to shop at Wal-Mart? Show of hands! Yeah, I thought so. I know there are many lib’rals who would look down at me for shopping at Wal-Mart because they are, like, the Antichrist, but until there are more lib’ral shopping centers that offer prices that people in small towns can afford, they can shut the heck up. And this is coming from a lib’ral. She happens to be a cheap lib’ral. Cause she’s poor. Good reason to be cheap.
Anyway, so we’re shopping at Wal-Mart (I know you do it when no one is looking you cannot resist that price on laundry detergent have you ever seen it so cheap I mean surely they don’t have the sweat shop children make laundry detergent, right???) which should be a simple thing to do. I mean, they have everything. When you’re created by Satan, it’s easy to offer all variety of goods at discount prices.
But it’s not so simple when you have the voice in your head. No, it’s not the kind of voice that tells me to jump off a cliff or go murder someone or just scream very loudly at nothing in particular or dance around like a toddler in a tutu. This voice is just a big jerk. It’s like Sad Pony when he’s really on his naughty sarcastic streak. The big, heavy, obnoxious pony who sits in my head and smarts off while I’m shopping. This is fun when to do while looking at ads for 1940s laxatives, but not so much when I’m trying to buy groceries.
Here’s an example. I am shopping for food. I’d like to be healthy, yet cheap, and also I’m rather picky (I do not like veggies. Veggies are for communists. But I try to eat some anyway.) So I think, hey, fruit is sweet but it’s good for you. Better than a candy bar anyway. Fruit it is. And so I’m looking at grapes and there goes Sad Pony.
This is basically how it goes, in my head. And God forbid there be the choice of more than one kind of grape. Thing Two was once convinced that green grapes were the boys and purple grapes were the girls, or vice versa. I usually get the purple because I like them better, so more than likely the green ones are better for me. I don’t know. At least there are, generally, only a few types of grapes.
Not like shampoo. Dear God, have you shopped for shampoo lately? Normally I go for cheap shampoo which means White Rain or Suave which you can get for less than a dollar sometimes. Or the knock off brand of Head and Shoulders, cause you know I’m a total flake. You can get this for a dollar too, if you shop at the Dollar Tree where everything’s a dollar, though it’s fun occasionally to ask them how much stuff costs. Don’t try it too often, though, or they might, justifiably, stab you to death with one of their .99 kitchen knives.
Today was different, though, because I have a newly minted teenager with hair from Hades. I would complain more, but I’m fairly certain she inherited that thick, unruly mess from yours truly. She’s been having trouble with tangles, by which I mean she has this enormous bird’s nest on the back of her head. She’s going to read this and then write about it later in her tell all book. I’ll be so proud. Anyway, someone told me that there was a special shampoo called “straightening” shampoo, that could knock out frizz and help with tangles.
I was all up in that stuff. So I decided to search for this shampoo. They had it. In about a thousand different brands. I looked down both aisles for the first time in a while, since generally I head right for the .98 cent Suave (green apple!) and I’m out of there. And Holy Crap there are so many different brands of shampoos and conditioners and gels and sprays, and each brand has at least ten different varieties, and each variety has ten different varieties of that variety, and so on. My brain nearly exploded. Clean up on Aisle 4.
So I wandered up, and down, and up and down picking up different products and reading the back labels. From what I could tell, all of them were supposed to do the same thing for prices ranging from around three dollars to almost fifteen. Control frizz. But how exactly were these shampoos supposed to do this? What bizarre sort of chemicals were in these things? Did sweat shop children work in chemical factories creating shampoos all day so that my thirteen-year-old can have sleek, shiny hair? Or at least hair that doesn’t balloon out like a 1970s afro, which is kind of odd on a little white girl?
I didn’t know, and I still don’t. It would not surprise me if these hair product companies are fibbing just a bit and they all have exactly the same cleaning agents in them, and you’d do about as well just scrubbing your head with a bar of cheap Ivory soap. But this was my child, and you know you do what’s best for your child, which is having her finally brush her hair before you lose your mind. So I figured I’d cover all my bases. I found Head and Shoulders shampoo with the anti-frizz crap in it and then some Vidal Sassoon (if she doesn’t look good, I don’t look good) cream junk to smear on it then comb out. We are going to tackle this monster, by golly, or my name isn’t Alice.
After I’d made my decision, I went and I got my groceries. It was hard. I wanted to drop my cart and run because suddenly Squirrel had decided to take up residence and he was all excited to get home and didn’t want to shop anymore or spend money he wanted to go home, but I shut him up too by dropping some groceries in the cart. Boom! Okay, a lunch item down. Boom, there’s my weekly diet of sugary cola – maybe I dropped that a little too hard. Boom, some fruit in little squeeze pouches that are really for small children but taste good, do not require spoons, and do not go bad like apples do. Score. Boom! Before long, I was done and heading for the 20 items or less aisle. A minute later a guy came up behind me with a newspaper. I could have let him go first. Pfft, yeah right. No way, buddy. I was done and OUT of there!
It wasn’t till I got home I remembered I forgot to go by and pick up my prescription. Again. Crap in a hat.
Do you remember the Berenstain Bears books? It’s this series of children’s books written by – wait for it – a couple named Berenstain. Yeah, they named their creations after themselves. Not the humblest bears, are they?
There are roughly eleventy billion books in this series. I think after the 90th book or so, the Berenstains just started calling them in. Recycling old books into new ones. Getting ghost bear writers, etc. After a while, you gotta run out of didactic topics to write about. You see, most of the Berenstain Bears books are designed to teach lessons to children, yet they don’t answer some of the most basic questions themselves. For instance:
What were Mama and Papa’s names before they became parents? Girl Bear and Boy Bear? Likewise, before Sister Bear (creative, am I right?) was born, Brother Bear was called Small Bear. Which means he had to change his name because of a sibling. That’s just asking for sibling rivalry right there. I mean, giving up your freaking crib is bad enough, but your name? Jeez, people.
But then, having exhausted every other idea, they decided to have the Bears have a third cub. Well, there’s a problem there. I mean, there’s only two official sexes, at least when it comes to bears. So what to call the third bear? Other sister bear? Other brother bear? Number Two? It’s not like they could just start calling the bears Thing One and Thing Two or something I mean who would do that to their children?
The third one was named Honey. Unfair. This kid gets a name. And that’s not all. Brother and Sister have friends with actual names but they are stuck with Brother and Sister, at least until they get married and then I guess they become Mama and Papa, though hopefully not with each other. Also notice their last name is Bear. That’s like saying my name is Alice Human. Hi, Mrs Human, how are you? Just fine, come meet my children: Brother, Sister, and Other.
But what does this have to do with cake? I’m getting to it. See, I remember one of the Very Important Lessons they taught to children was one about eating too much junk food. In fact, the book was called The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Junk Food. There’s also one called The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Birthday, which could also fit, but I’m going to concentrate on the junk food one because that one just ticks me off.
See, in the story, Mama notices that Papa and the cubs are getting too fat. I think that’s a bit presumptuous of her. She ain’t exactly Kate Moss herself. And wtf with always wearing her nightgown? Like, get dressed already.
She gets a bee in her bonnet, so she goes all Michelle Obama on the family and takes them all to the doctor to hear about healthy food. Because doctors totally do that. My question is like, why wasn’t she just serving it in the first place if she’s so healthy? Oh, wait, I bet Papa bought the food, and as you know, dads are almost always buffoons in cartoons and TV shows. So Mama buys them healthy food like carrots and the kids actually eat it.
Back the truck up. I want to know how she got them to do that. There is no mention of ketchup in the books, so what caused the sudden change?
At the end of the book, they all run in the Bear Marathon. Whoop-te-poop.
You know what I say? I say the Berenstains need to quit being so judgmental. How many of these books can you take? The Berenstain Bears and The Truth (I can’t handle that book), The Berenstain Bears and Too Much TV, The Berenstain Bears Beat a Dead Horse. I mean, enough already. I don’t want any more lessons. I want cake.
I might have had a little too much cake, though, because wow I just totally powered through this whole post in no time flat! So toooo much birthday for Alice! Tooo much cake! But how to stop? I read all these Berenstain self-help books and they have not cured my sugar addiction. For realz, I mean, I cannot stop eating cake. I actually stood at the table and ate cake with a spoon. I forced Thing One to help me, which didn’t take much forcing, so that I didn’t eat another two pieces myself. I have a cake problem.
I’ve heard it said that sugar can give you the serotonin rush you need, thus turning you from a Sad Pony into a Squirrel. It totally does. But this isn’t such a good thing, because my stomach hurts and I just injested like 5,000 calories and I’m afraid that typing and vibrating in place doesn’t burn nearly enough of these calories off. So what now? How do I solve this problem?
One more birthday to go this month – mine. More caaaaaaaake!
You probably recall an earlier post where I discussed my decision to leave Facebook. Well, when I wasn’t looking, Sad Pony created a page. He said something about hoping PETA would take notice. Then Squirrel heard he was on, so he got on too. You can find them there now, only they had to misspell their names in order to get accounts. Seems like Facebook is very judgy about what is a name and what isn’t. So Sad Pony is Sadd Poneh and Squirrel is Squirrelle Nutkin. I believe those are the French versions of their names. If you would like to friend them, I’m sure they’d accept. Already they have one friend. They are especially eager to find Miss Four Eyes. If you read their profiles, they are both in a relationship. Hmmm.
Call it a psychological experiment, but I’m curious to see what happens. Also I’m very bored and have too much free time. But mostly I’m curious. What ads will Facebook try to market to them? What sort of friends will they get? Will their actions affect future employment opportunities? Will Blunt Life Coach get a facebook page or does he too much of a life? Only time will tell, dear reader.
Be sure and Friend them soon if you love puppies and rainbows. But beware – I hear Squirrel really likes Farmville.
Hi. It’s me. Sad Pony. Alice was too lazy to write a post today so she told me to do it. Of course. I’m her willing pony slave. Hooray. Today’s post is supposed to be about how to exercise when you’re a sad pony.
Exercise. Right. I’ll get right on that after my nap. Oh. Wait. It’s Squirrel.
Hi, hi, hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hiiiiiiii! What’s up??? Hey, hey, hey! Whatcha doing, Sad Pony, huh, are you writing a post? Really? Cool! Can I help, can I, can I?
Fine. You’re supposed to talk about exercise. How do Squirrels exercise? Ohhhh, we do it all the tiiiiime! It’s so great, really, it’s great, see first we run, like this – see I’m running across the telephone wires. Watch meeeeeeee! Wheeeeee! This burns off like 800 calories a second.
Fascinating. Oh my. I must make a phone call. Yes, see, hear I go, vrooooom, vroom, and I’m on this side of the pole now lookie I’m on the other side of the pole, now I’m back again, now back to the first side, now . . . oooooooouchhhhhh electricityyyyyyy, I’m feelin’ the burn!
Let me think. No. Awwww, look, watch me, I’m up, now I’m down, now I’m up, down again, up, down, up down! Oooh I’m feelin’ it now! You don’t know what you’re missing OMG I’m skidding across the floor into the wall owwwwwww!
You tripped on my hoof. Oh dear. It’s okay! I’m up again! Sad Pony, are you just gonna sit there and stare at that picture of Miss Four Eyes all day? Are you? Huh? Oh, hey hey hey, let’s run over to Miss Four Eye’s blog, huh? Let’s do it! Let’s go!
- So you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole . . . (aliceatwonderland.wordpress.com)
Okay, this is Alice being somewhat serious for a few minutes. Canvas of the Minds is a blog with multiple authors that seeks to remove the stigma from mental illness by talking about it freely. The authors, including yours truly, are not experts, except in our own experiences. In other words, we all have a touch of the nuts. And we want to share! No, wait, we want to let other people know that it’s okay to share. That’s better.
Because there are more of us than you think. It’s not all confined to places like Wonderland. We have way more than our share here, though. I keep trying to get the Hatter to take some meds or at least go see a shrink but he keeps saying “Not during tea time!” Of course, it’s always tea time, which means he can never seem to get any help. Instead he hides away with the March Hare and that stupid Door Mouse and they all act crazy together and no one knows about them unless they are unlucky enough to stumble upon their tea party.
It wasn’t a fun party. There was all this “new cup, move down” crap and we never got to drink any tea or eat any sweets because the dorks kept starting over again, or jamming the mouse in the sugar bowl, or celebrating unbirthdays or just smacking the crap out of each other. In other words, it’s like most family dinners, only this one never ends.
The sad thing is that it could end, or it could at least get better. But there’s this stigma out there. No one wants to admit they are good in the mentals. You can have Cancer. You can have heart disease. You can have a broken leg. And you can freely take medicine for all of these. People are willing to be nice and bring you food and talk to you about your troubles. But if it’s a mental illness? That’s a different story.
Then you’re making it up. Or you could do better, if you’d just try. You know, pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Quit being sad! Now! Get off the ceiling you aren’t Spiderman! Now! Stop it, stop it, stop it already!
Strangely enough, this sort of therapy rarely works. Because, you see, people with mental illness already think they’re lazy. They already know there is something off about them. They are already frightened. And often they don’t know why they’re sad, or why some random thing has caused tears, or why they managed to tile the roof in one night. It just is.
But because of these reactions, people suffer in silence. Because of these reactions, people take their own lives. And then people wonder. She always seemed happy. What went wrong? He pretended, that’s what. She acted like everyone expected, that’s what.
But we can change this. We can talk about it more openly. The more people know about something, the less likely they are to fear it. And the more encouraging people are, the more likely someone with mental illness will feel brave enough to respond, to leave the tea party, at least for a little while.
So that’s why I have this badge over there now. I don’t just blog about mental illness. More like you can just kinda tell I’m nuts by reading what I write. That’s another thing people don’t realize. So many artists, writers, and other creative people suffer from this stuff. I’m not sure what the connection is, but I do know that if we don’t hold out a life line, we’re going to lose some of our most gifted people, and the world will be less than.
I am fortunate in that I have a great support system. I have enough income that I can afford medical treatment. Not everyone has that. But you can be that someone, just by being willing to listen. Or read. Check out this blog, or let someone else know about it that could use a little help. Just knowing you are not alone is sometimes enough to help you get through the night. And if you suffer from depression or even just the occasional blues, you can also come here or to many of the blogs listed in my blogroll (that is always evolving). Laughter is a great medicine. I hope I make some of you laugh, and for a while, forget about the tea party.