Welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. Please take a number. Her Evilness will be with you when she damn well feels like it.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

let's get serious (for once...)

y'all, i enjoy being a funny person.  (well, hopefully i amuse people.  i amuse the shit out of myself!)  but right now, i'm going to take a break from humor, and i'm going to talk about some important shit.

i don't know what y'all think about the Occupy Wall Street stuff going on.  
i am cynical because i don't think it will change anything, but i also think it's very fucking important for these things to be voiced.  
because no matter what political side you're on, everyone must realize that there is some fucked up shit going on in America right now.

i don't like to bitch about my life.  i hate it.  i know i should feel very lucky to be where i am.  but i don't.  and today i am going to bitch.  (it's mah blog, and i'll cry if i want to!  cry if i want to!  cry if i want to!)

y'all know a lot more about the weirder sides of my life than the boring stuff.  you may not know about the day-to-day personal side.  some of you are my great friends on The Twitter and others know me in real life, so some of you kinda know what's going on.  but i'm sure there's some random people reading this that have no clue about the practical side of my life.

i'm just going to (try to) stick to the facts.  i'm keeping it chronological. 

the last several years of my life
in 2006, i drove to Oregon to finish my degree at a liberal arts school in small-town Oregon, near Portland. 

in may of 2007, i graduated with a BA in Creative Writing.   i went to school on scholarship.  i had to maintain a 3.7 GPA throughout my college years.  i graduated cum laude.  when i graduated, i had accumulated $20,000 dollars of student loan debt, even with my $13k+ scholarships each year.

after graduating, i was unemployed.  i had to live off a credit card for a while, to keep my head above water and pay my bills. 

in June 2008, i finally landed a job at a prosperous law firm in Portland, OR.  i moved to the city, and sold my car to help pay the credit card bill, since i was off several major bus lines and the car wasn't a necessity.  
i wasn't doing well, but at the very least i was paying all my bills, and i could eat.  i couldn't afford luxuries, but i wasn't falling behind anywhere.

in april 2009, i was laid off from the law firm.  i did get unemployment benefits.  they were not enough for me to pay bills AND rent, so for a while i was homeless.  
i had my stuff stored in my friend and former roommate Dave's basement, and i camped for a month or so.  i volunteered at a music festival, and they fed us.  i slept over at friends' houses.  i crashed with The Matt, before we moved in together later (a move which was precipitated by him shattering his knee, and losing his income; we made the decision to move in together not because of our relationship, but out of financial need).  
i was a couch-camper; thankfully i never had to sleep on the street.  i have very good friends.  i also had food stamps, so i was able to feed myself.

i tried to find jobs, and i did find a temporary job, but i was fired after 3 weeks, for no reason i could see.

Matt and i did end up renting a room again for the few months before I left Portland, in our friends' house.  but when we had to move from that house, we decided it was time to try and make a change in our lives, in the hopes that we could somehow be better off elsewhere.

december, 2009, Matt and i moved from Portland to Pensacola, FL so that we could squat in my dad's foreclosed house, while we saved money and figured out what the hell to do.  when i moved, i lost my unemployment. 

in march 2010, we moved to new orleans and began the frantic job search.  it... didn't go well.  the job market might be even worse here in New Orleans than it was in Portland.

i got the worst job ever, and was then fired from it for a really shitty reason.  i was fired from other random jobs.  then, i just couldn't find any.  i couldn't get interviews.  (for the record:  from 1999 to 2009, i worked steadily, and i had NEVER been previously fired.  ever.)  i stumbled along through a combination of random photobooth gigs, and eking by as a stripper.  my bipolar and anxiety was steadily rising.

march 2011, my mom got me an SUV (which she is still paying on) so that i could do more photobooth jobs, and quit stripping. it helped, but photobooth gigs are by their nature unreliable.  unreliable income is INSANELY stressful, especially if you have to wonder if you're going to make rent every month.  
my bipolar and anxiety started flaring big-time.  i was unable to even go in to strip when i needed to, because i would have anxiety attacks and be unable to go. 

here is me, right now:
it's october 13th, and so far i have only been able to pay $100 of my $400 rent to my landlord.
i can't pay any of my credit card bills, and creditors call me every day. 
my student loans are deferred, or in forbearance, collecting interest.

The Matt has to pay all the bills, which he can't afford to do, either.  

we go without food sometimes. it affects him a LOT more than it does me.  he has lost 40 pounds in the last 2 years (although part of that was due to shattering his knee, and losing muscle).  he's already a skinny dude.  he weighs less than me, and he's 2 inches taller.

 i have exactly $0.24 in the bank right now.  no cash.  i get paid $150 tomorrow, and $100 will go straight to the landlord, but my rent will still only be half paid.  the other $50 will be put towards paying back a friend, who loaned me $200.  this month i will get about $750; my costs are about $1100, bare minimum.  i will still be behind.  it feels like i will always be 

My bipolar is barely controlled; my anxiety is running rampant because the only doctor i can afford won’t prescribe me anxiety meds. why, i do not know. she just won’t. maybe she thinks i’m a drug seeker. maybe she just doesn’t care. 
i can’t afford my meds. i have no health insurance. i have no prayer of health insurance, even if i could afford it:  i have preexisting conditions.  bipolar disorder.  asthma.

Medicaid won’t accept me because i can’t prove my income. Ditto for food stamps.

i feel like a complete failure.  last year my grandparents guilt-tripped me for my birthday.  i was pissed and wrote them back, snarkily.  they haven't spoken to me since.

my mom doesn't guilt trip me, but she pushes me to try to get more work.  i wish i could accurately explain to her what the job prospects are really like for me.  she doesn't have any idea; she simply can't, because she has 30+ years of experience and she gets hired, even if she doesn't get paid nearly enough for her worth.

lately, my mom's completely quit worrying about me.  but it's because she's focusing on my step-dad, who just got diagnosed with cancer.  one bad medical bill could put them completely under.  mom can't even afford to take time off work to be with him while he has his cancer treatments half the country away.

my dad had his house foreclosed in 2009, the one we squatted in for a few months.  at least he seems to be doing better, financially, but he's the only one in our family.

my brother can't get a job.  i can't get a job.
The Matt, whose resume is even better than mine, can't get another job.  he has management experience out the wazoo.  but nothing.

we live underneath the poverty line.

a few days ago, i was fortunate enough to get a gig as an extra for a tv show.  we supposedly get paid in two weeks (by check), and it should be $100.  at least i should have some of next month's rent, eh?  or maybe i'll be able to pay the rest of this month's rent by the end of the month.

i am bringing all this up, because i am hardly the only struggling poor person who does NOT deserve to be in that position.  this is not just me, being "stupid with my money," or "lazy," or "irresponsible."  

look, there is not one single person in this household who has clothes that FIT, and none of us can afford to buy more clothing.  no, not even at the fucking thrift store.

there are so many people out there struggling.  generally speaking, the rich don't give a shit.  the compassionate among us are usually the ones in the same boat - living paycheck to paycheck, or falling behind, and unable to help others out.

i have no end to this.  i can't wrap it up.  i have no moral to this story.  it's just been on my mind, recently.  it always is. 

it's there when i try to fall asleep at night, and insomnia has a firm hold on my brain, which is busy worried about everything. 
there's no end in sight.

and we are being FUCKED.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

those annoying "celebrity has plastic surgery" websites... how wrong they can be...

i can prove it.
cuz tits look completely different, depending on what you're wearing.
and i'm gonna take a gamble and say an actress stuffed into a tiny dress and a push-up bra probably does have ridiculous cleavage, but it doesn't necessarily make it fake...

i took a bunch of pictures in the same shirt, just for shits & giggles, to prove my point.

me, sans bra.  see how much i love y'all? (ha, as if i haven't posted braless pictures before... i've just never announced the fact.)

regular bra. makes a difference, but not too much.

push-up bra! affects definitely more noticeable (especially when compared to the first photo).

why hello, corset! and boobs up to my chin.  some douchebag on a "plastic surgery alert" website would probably flag this picture, if they'd seen the difference from the first, to this one.  eh?

how the corset effect works under a shirt from one angle...

 and the affects are even MORE pronounced, from a different angle.  see, guys?
all this shit is subjective.

also i think i'm proving, somewhat inadvertently, that the right "foundation garments" can completely change your appearance.

 and i just threw this pic in, because i like it.  i think that's a "push-up bra" picture, but who the hell knows.

moral of the story? the next time you see someone claiming that some actress has gotten a boob job, keep this in mind: push-up bras are like miracles for boobs.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

one tequila, two tequila, three tequila...

today was yet ANOTHER of the infamous margarita dinners i have with my dad.  this time my brother and Anthony were along, and we decided to go to The Singing Oak.

The Singing Oak is fucking kick-ass.  here, watch ze video, that will give you a good idea of what it's like.

so, our drunken selves wanted to know if we could reach one of the lowest-hanging clangers on the biggest set of pipes...

first, we tried jumping.  not even.
THEN dad decided it would be a great idea to try to get one of us on his shoulders...
he completely failed with my brother, and then we decided to try with me...
he backed up against the tree, and i attempted.  take one.
he leaned forward suddenly, i accidentally kicked him in the head, and the next thing i knew i was flat on my back on some tree roots, staring up at the sky.  i just laughed my ass off, and lay there for a bit.  believe it or not, i was kinda comfy.  (see: drunk.)

have i mentioned at this point, that while my dad is tall, he is also only about 50-60 pounds heavier than me?  and 60?

but of course, our drunken selves were NOT about to give up that easily.  so we tried again. this time the shoulder mount actually worked, wonder of wonders!  we walked over to the clanger, and...
we were six (6!!! really??!?!) inches too short to reach the damn clanger.
so what did we do, instead?  say, give up?  decide to get more drinks?
ohhhhhh, no.  not us!

and that is how i found myself to be covered in grass, throwing my shoes at a tree.  which was my dad's idea.

we = special.