At massah's feet, you say, Faux News?

Dear Fox News,


You guys are pretty much the lowest of the low. You're lower than fossil fuels below the Earth. You're pretty much so low, you could fall down, and end up in China (which would suit you well, because then you could abduct a few little Chinese girls, sell them on the black market to old, haggard rich, white men, and make a killing!). You guys couldn't possibly stoop lower than the irritable Bill O'Reilly, the Glenn "Waterworks" Beck, and the recently added Sarah "Zombie Politician" Palin.

All of these people, along with your hoards of vapid, mindless zombie tea bagger followers truly do make you a horror movie that viewers can watch 24/7. I usually love horror movies, but I find that regardless of the topic, they're all usually painfully bad. Though the truly scary thing about Fox News is that it's actually real. It actually exists. IT'S ALIVE. And even worse, nobody actually dies. Their careers should die, but they don't. They get stronger. It's like the Blob -- the more you feed it, the bigger it gets. And Fox News will be fed /anything/ folks. They'll take your sick, twisted, and weary, and give them a home. Like all those news anchors that nobody else wants.

Anyway, I only have one thing to post, and that is a picture of your obvious, racial hatred towards the black president, and black people.





I hate to admit this, but I believe that somehow, having a black president has made everybody more hateful of black people. As long as you hate the president, it's okay to express your distrust of black people (and make sure to have a few black friends, so as to justify your hatred). At first the nation went on a hatred spree with Hispanics (which are really just a bunch of Mexicans, amirite gaaaaaaaiz? /sarcasm), and then it was the Mooooslums! OH NO, JIHAD! EVIL MOOSLUM TOWELHEADS GONNA GET US! OH NOES! And everybody is still on that kick. And now it's acceptable to despise black people again, because the president is black, and he's pretty despicable if you're not a liberal. And even if you are liberal, it's a-ight, yo'. We all can't stand the president, ZOMG NOT BECAUSE HE'S BLACK....he's just acting uppity. You know. Thinking he can get anything done.

And how much do people now hate their fellow blacks? So much, that Kentucky elected a Senator (Rand Paul) who wants to abolish the 14th amendment, because he's got a business, and doesn't like to have minorities (especially blacks) on his property. I'm not shitting you. Look it up. I actually wish this was all fiction. I truly, honestly do. Please believe me. PLEASE BELIEVE ME! *sighs*

It's not cool, Fox.

We c wat u did thar. You're not even trying to hide this shit anymore, are you? Especially since conservatives have openly come out against the LGBT community. *fucking frown*

Facebook is SRS BIZNESS!

This is going to be a much shorter post, because it doesn't warrant that must writing. Sure, I may drift, but my mind is like a storm cloud on a windy day - overladen, dark, fast-moving, and ready to strike at any second.

Apparently, people hate innocent fun so much, that they smack it down anytime it pops up, especially if it's on their little feed. Apparently, all of those people have a home on a particular website which usually prides itself on coverage of liberal and conservative news, even though it's just a sounding board for people who like to bitch about politics and the social media.

Apparently the Internet Police reside on Huffington Post (a website I usually enjoy). Apparently this is such SRS BIZNESS that it's being considered real news.

In which HuffPo has a Slow News Day, and decides to pick on people playing a goddamn game.

Yes. This article is the reason I posting this blog. This Slow News Day article written purely so that people can tell others that 1. They aren't allowed to post whatever they want on their Facebook, because MY PRECIOUS NEWS FEED!, and 2. If you do, you're obviously low on the totem pole when it comes to intelligence and IQ. I take personal offense to that, because I'm not stupid. I'm bored, and I work for 8 hours at home now, with a work computer, and my laptop. Apparently I should find more appropriate ways to entertain myself. Facebook is reserved for the utmost in culture, class, and tactful behavior, didn't you know. Amirite gaiz?

Yes?

No?

*blinks*

Last time I checked, Facebook was a, umm, social networking site. Yes, it's fun to post clever things like descriptively outlining your plans to plant your manager's face into their shiny oaken desk, or how you are so sick of the political zombie Sarah Palin (who isn't VP, and isn't even Governor of Alaska anymore, and is currently hunting Caribou in the Alaskan outback) should have died in the media a long time ago, but she perseveres, my friends, she perseveres!

But let's face it, Facebook is just another reincarnation of Myspace. All the twits, dunces, and camwhores that occupied the now convoluted Myspace (which slowly morphs into a Frankensteined version of Facebook each day like an aging D-list actress desperately trying to stay relevant *I'mlookingatyouKathyGriffin*), now occupy Facebook. For every social awareness Group on Facebook, you're going to find just as many (if not more) hate Groups. For every pro-choice liberal and rational conservative (yes, rational conservative does sound like an oxymoron, doesn't it?), you're going to find militant vegans and tea baggers Tea Partiers.

If you're looking for a website where you merely want to post your boring life, and average-looking pictures of your special snowflake self, go find yourself a Twitter and post links to your mug from Photobucket. Really. I think if everybody on Facebook adopted a negative sentiment towards the games, it would be absolutely lifeless. I can only take so much of reading about my friends mundane lives, people. No offense to any of my friends, but when I can admit that all of you could probably go your entire life not knowing I made Pasta Casserole on Thursday night, and read one hundred pages of Bleach manga as I chowed down, then you can admit that you'd be a whole lot less interesting without some sort of meme or game going.

Really, there's only so much a person can post about within 425 characters. "I woke up with a crick in my neck, and had dreams about a geisha vampire trying to eat my Subway sandwich! ZOMG GAIZ!" That's probably the most interesting thing you're going to post that day, unless it involves losing a limb, somebody's dead or dying, or you're flattering me personally/going to give me neat stuff. Please feel free to flatter me as much as possible, as well. Outside of that, it becomes one big milky blur of blue, black and white where opinions are like that stash of liquor you keep on hand after a particularly long day when you're either too lonely to stay lucid, or too hateful of humanity to stay sober. Everyone's got one.

So yes, I like the flash games. I love playing Bedazzled, I liked Farmtown (obsessively, at one point), and I love memes and quizzes. I post them not because I think anybody's going to read and consider that 100 point quiz where I boasted about my favorite food, color, and whether I prefer my partner to have eyes or a purdy mouth (though I would prefer both, actually, or else sex becomes awkward), but because I usually sitting here at 5:07am, unable to sleep, because I have issues with hypochondria and paranoia, and sometimes I really should consider my Schizoaffective Disorder quite seriously due to the various voices telling me that if I fall asleep, half my teeth will, in fact, dislodge themselves from my gums and find a new home halfway down my throat. I need to post mindless ramblings on quizzes. I can only RAEG so much at the news articles I read daily. I can only get so angry at Obama's decision to give tax cuts to the rich for two years, while only extending unemployment benefits for 13 months. 13 months? Not only is that a big, sloppy Fight Club acid kiss on the cheek from the stupidly rich, but 13 months =/= 2 years. Either Congress can't count, or can't be fucked to care about your finding a job during this unstable economy where you have to obtain a Master's Degree in Physics and Sociology + five magical years of experience straight out of college just to get a job as a fucking secretary. Yes, because if I had the money to run out and get that degree, I certainly wouldn't be looking for a /job/.

So if you're one of those people who gets inconsolably pissed off every time they see a new Facebook game at play, please do make this realization. We're working people who are bored. Or we're unemployed people who have come from searching for a job all day, and are bored.

Bored.

Be part of the solution, not the problem.

If you hate it so much, devise a list of well-placed post throughout the day that tells us a story, and not just another post about what you're eating, or how much you love watching Psych. Start posting paragraphs from novels you love, so we won't have to resort to playing Wine Vineyard to pass the time. Perhaps you should just pretend to be somebody more interesting, like Charlize Theron or Sean Connery, and post snippets of how their life would play out?

Sean Connery 8:14am: Woke up this morning with a terrible headache. I proceeded to my bathroom, where I dislodged a small-gaged bullet which struck me the night before as I fought off French legion soldiers in my search for the bones of the 9th Knight of the Knight's Templar. On his bones is an encryption to decode the location of the Holy Grail.

Sean Connery 11:27am: I have removed my face putty mask, the one I wear for the media. All the men find it very stunning, and I wish to keep them all entranced while I continue my hunt. I do not wish to find the Holy Grail for it's sentimental value. Curse the damned cup, I say. But inside the cup is an encryption that leads me to the location of the city of Atlantis. My contacts will debrief me this afternoon. I hope to be in North Africa by sun up tomorrow morning.

Charlize Theron 3:16am: I found an ancient temple of Set while searching for a secret passage behind a large waterfall in Libya, when I encountered that damn Sean Connery! I knew he was after my lucky charms, lol! Anyway, we totally got into an insane gun fight, and I blew off his animatronic arm, and am now deep within the temple. Once I find the Holy Grail, I'll be able to locate the city, and all it's treasures myself. But I don't want the city of Atlantis, actually, no. There's an old scroll locked tight in a chest beneath an old statue of a nameless goddess, which reveals the secret on how to turn copper to silver, and silver into gold. Alchemy lives!


No, you don't want to do this to keep me entertained? Then why should I stop playing the meme games?

But no, seriously, Facebook is not to be taken so seriously that you can't see the woods for the trees, because those trees are usually stuck in some boring job, at some boring place, unable to make a break for it in order to actually live life sans soul-sucking labor (because money buys food, and food keeps us sane), so they have to do something. *deep breath* ...and quite frankly, I can only tell you so many times how good my day is going, and how I think most my customers are mindless gamer drones with excessive amounts of nerdrage encapsulated in a hard "mommy and daddy" spoiled shell.

I work at home now. My increased love of memes, quizzes and games is to be expected.

Two and a half weeks worth of shit...

I got chosen for two and a half weeks of hell (and counting!)

It started out alright, but the series of events are absolutely devastating. I will list this as the events occur, because if I don't, it's just a wall of text, and that's not interesting. I actually want my friends to read how shitty my life has been, because it's validating. If they don't, it's like a tree fell in the woods, and nobody heard it pop open a 1/2 gallon of Blue Bell Cookies and Cream, and drown it's woody sorrows in frozen cream and sugar. BUT NO, I COULDN'T EVEN DROWN MY SORROWS IN COOKIES AND CREAM, BECAUSE ICE CREAM HAS BETRAYED ME AND GIVEN ME HORRIBLE TEETH. If ice cream were my significant other, I'd commit domestic violence on it.

That said,


Dentist appointment.

I went to get a cavity drilled and filled. I had to, because way back in July, the dentist looked at my mouth via x-rays, left the room for about 20 minutes, and returned to tell me how my mouth resembles that of a hobo. Four cavities, two dead teeth, and one potential root canal. That was in July. Since then, the universe didn't want me back at the dentist, it wanted me asleep and depressed on the couch eating all the things I shouldn't for a girl who has two dead teeth, four cavities, and one root canal.

So I went in for a cavity to be filled on the 18th of November (finally). The dentist took one look in my gapping hole, and determined that the broken teeth needed to come out first. I was not as visibly upset as I should have been, but she made a stellar argument which consisted of her being a dentist, and me being a know nothing, dirty-mouthed patient. Dentist 1, dirty-mouthed patient 0.

So she sticks me 19 times in the mouth for good measure (I prepared myself mentally for one stick...not for the other 18, unfortunately) pulls out this medieval torture device that resembled a flathead screwdriver with a scoop, and digs in. The first tooth refuses to die by leaving a sliver of sharp white terror in my gums, while the other tooth is holding onto my jaw for dear goddamn life. She's scrapping and pushing and digging to raise this monstrosity that is a molar tooth. She's setting her foot against my seat, and another firmly on the ground, shoulders squared, arms up, and teeth gritted. All the while I can't feel a damn thing, because I've been poked 19 times in the mouth with enough Novocaine to dull the senses of a bucking stallion in heat, so my reaction is to laugh giddily, because my molar is giving this woman what for. I have strong teeth. They have muscles.

Either way, She-ra tooth can't hold out for much longer, and becomes dislodged. I bite some gauze, and I'm out of there. Hallelujiah!




Lack of Pain Medication.

So by that night, they completely forget to send my pain meds, and by the time I realize this, it's after 5pm. D: I spent the entire night that evening failing at food, and curled up on my bed trying to sleep. The next day I spent the last half in a euphoric coma, because codeine makes people pretty and uninteresting things very interesting, and by that evening I can't eat food anymore. What? Why? I make no correlation, because I'm too euphoric to realize that my body doesn't like codeine NEARLY as much /I/ discovered I like codeine. Balls.



Codeine poisoning.

By Sunday night, I'm trying to choke down spoonfuls of applesauce. My boyfriend is so concerned and worried for my safety, that he's spending all of his free time watching a movie filled with enough gore to make Saw look like a Disney film (ever seen The Cube?). Of course he doesn't realize that this may not react well with my stomach. Neither does the smell of a microwaved burrito. My computer is right next to the kitchen, by the way. So here I am researching the effects of codeine poisoning, trying to keep applesauce in my stomach, and he's making food and watching gore. He's a keeper.

So I puke. Drastically. If I had long hair, the boyfriend would have been holding it back for me, while I coughed up watery applesauce and shame into porcelain god of poop. Good news, I'm well enough to eat, and I didn't poop my pants in the process. Climax down, story done, The End, yes?



Dry Socket.

No. I realized twenty minutes later that my tooth (or lack thereof) was still in egregious pain. I'd done some research, and realized that I'd contracted a dental complication only seen by 3% of extractions. Dry Socket. So imagine finally being able to eat, but you can't, because air and food in your mouth causes the type of pain previously reserved solely for the 8th layer of Hell. That's where people with Dry Socket go when they're still alive. It looks like your house strangely enough, and negates the effects of all pain medications, including the one that just made you pray to a god you didn't know you worshiped. Do you know how to stop this agony? Pack it yourself with small pieces of gauze coated in clove oil. Have you ever had the joy of sticking material directly onto your exposed jawbone coated in a substance that burns like burning? I must have owned slaves in a past life of something to endure this type of torture. I'm pretty convinced of that.

So I get it packed and secured, and carefully learn how to place food in my mouth. Not enough for survival, but just enough to decide that sustenance isn't worth it. I get back to the dentist on Tuesday, and the visit is less savory.




Too much Novocaine.

For one, the 11 jabs I received with her needle felt worse, because of the exposed nerves. For two, she didn't let it sit long enough. For three, she didn't even care that I COULD STILL FEEL HER SCRAPING AT MY JAWBONE AND GUMS OMG THE NOVOCAINE ISN'T WORKING, BUT ONE SIDE OF MY FACE IS COMPLETELY NUMB HOW CAN THIS BE? Literally, she squirted pure Novocaine /on/ my open socket, which leaked into my mouth, and numbed one half of my lips. Try talking like that.

Okay, so Tuesday offers treatment and relaxation. I still can't eat much, though I try. Thanksgiving is wonderful, but I'm popping Advil like Smarties just so I can eat delicious Mexican food.




Forced Abstinence.

By Friday I'm lulled into a false sense of security. I can eat better, but I'm still worried about my socket getting infected, and my tooth that needs a pulpotomy (a sissy root canal that costs enough to buy two good XBox games, if you're wondering). I start taking antibiotics. By this time, I'm sick of taking pills, and now that I'm on antibiotics I can no longer have sex. Sex was my only means of mentally escaping my pain for at least a couple of hours, because even if my boyfriend's compassion is an operational mode only activated by manual control, he's as good in bed as he is at D&D. That means he's at max level for all abilities, but not horribly overpowered (anymore than two hours, and I lose focus/interest). You ask, "Why not use condoms?" Because two nights ago we gave in and tried. I now have several bruises because latex is not my friend, and Erin is over it for the next two weeks. You know you should throw in the towel when you're sitting in the bathroom contemplating the pros and cons of anal. TMI?

False. Sense. Of. Fooding. Security.

Saturday night/Sunday morning I take three Advil PM wile learning how to play Magic: the Gathering (yes, and I am quite proud of my black deck), when I can't finish a bowl of ramen. My stomach is gurgling in that strange way that says some shit is about to go down, and I'm extremely nauseous. It's like somebody spiked my food with codeine, and I didn't even get to be high. In times like these you really need to be high, because so much shit has gone down, that being high is your only mode of transportation for life, because all the other roads are blocked with ten car pile ups, exploding trucks full of gasoline, and rubber neck traffic. Living in Thomasville, GA is a ten car pile up with all fatalities, and no survivors.

The next day, I make the attempt to eat again. DENIED. I'm not sick. I'm only sick /when I eat/. So after living without the proper amount of sustenance for the last week, being unable to sleep, because I'm paranoid about losing more teeth and having droopy jaw, and getting sick for various reasons, I now have lost the ability to eat without sickness.

So fuck food. Fuck you food. We used to have something good, but at that time I didn't even know who food was anymore. First ice cream, and now food. All of them were walking out of my life without any closure, and I was left to pick up the pieces. Sleep, I expected this type of behavior from, but food and I go back like jerry curls and Cadillacs. I'm fully ready to swing from my shower bar, when my roommate breaks the bad news. I might have an ulcer, and ulcers are anorexic by nature. I research it, and apparently the body doesn't like an OD of Ibuprofen. But I couldn't use codeine. So basically my body told me to screw off, and die in a ditch from pain and no nutrition.




Sick Ex-manager.

So once again on a Sunday, I'm staring down a kitchen full of food, and completely unable to make any sudden moves. I lower my head in shame, and go about my daily work. I spend the next three days under the assumption that an ulcer has come between me and my delicious tender vittles (and cayenne pepper...;_;!), when my roommate comes home with amazing news.

"You don't have an ulcer. I just puked at work."

No, him being sick isn't the amazing news. Well...me not having an ulcer is, but the next part is the greatest news of all.

"...and I think I gave it to the store manager, because she's now sick. So congrats, your bug made the store manager sick. You made her sick."

Store manager is my ex-manager. That means all of this was not for naught, and the universe gave me a blessing (and my former co-workers a blessing) in disguise. I ruined her week, and they were saved from her shenanigans for a week, and that makes me feel like I've contributed to society in some small way.




Denouement.

So yes, by now I'm eating food left and right, trying to get reacquainted with my former lover as we explore each other in ways we previously took for granted, my mouth has ceased to hurt malignantly, I'm five pounds lighter due to my coerced anorexia, and...I still can't sleep at night due to the upcoming dental appointment in December. Did I mention that I'm a hypochondriac?

*sigh*

If all of this happened due to two extractions, I wonder what type of agony a pulpotomy will cause. Not to mention that I STILL HAVE FOUR CAVITIES SITTING IN MY MOUTH AS WE SPEAK. The dentist office is a sliding scale policy when it comes to payment, and they only do one tooth at a time per visit (so if you have six cavities, kiss two teeth goodbye, because it seems like it takes three weeks just to get seen, ugh.). Luckily for me the head dentist took pity on my hobo mouth, and has arranged to see me by the hour to get things done in groups. But last time I checked, this won't happen until after my pulpotomy, and I have two teeth that are not in good condition. *sigh*

Hopefully I won't be missing an arm by the time my teeth get fixed. Or using a colostomy bag.




P.S.

P.S. - The energies of the universe are fair and just. For playing that grotesque movie, boyfriend caught an ear infection. I doted on him, and got him taken to the ER for meds, and showed him how to be compassionate like a boss. But mostly because I didn't want to ignore his pain, and get bitten in the ass again. I am still on probation in the eyes of the universe.

A post about HFCS I made in my other journal.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/03/100322121115.htm


This link above your head proves exactly why HFCS is especially bad for you. We all knew it, and now not only is their this proof, but it's scary.


Basically, they fed rats half the amount of HFCS in soda in a mix of water. Then they fed another bunch of rats the full serving of regular sugar you could find in a soda in a mix of water. Both got a regular diet of feed.

They did a short term and a long term study.

The rats on only HALF the amount of HFCS gained 48% more weight than those not on it. Correct me if I'm wrong on the wording, but that's the basic gist.

What.

The.

Fuck.


It causes abnormal weight gain, especially around the waist, and odd deposition of weight. So right now, I'm furious at those stupid commercials on television. The ones with the false advertising saying sugar and HFCS are exactly the same? Fuck you guys.

All work and no play.

Since I have been 16-years-old, I have worked. I worked for Jamba Juice for a while. Then Scientology as a tutor (a job found for me by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, strangely enough). Then a break for school, and after that Panera, The Corner Bakery, Victoria Secret (puke), The Colony Cafe (blech), Great Wraps, Joan's on Third, and now Office Depot.

And now, as of today, I have gotten a job with a new pizza restaurant in Thomasville. Don't ask me the name, as there isn't one yet really, but as of tomorrow, I'll be at two jobs, as opposed to just the one.

It's really upsetting, too, because I greatly enjoy my free time. I was also greatly hoping that my Erin would get the position (we both applied at the same time), but with a lack of experience in food service, he was turned down. Which makes me unbearably sad for two reasons. 1) I'm lazy. I didn't want to work two jobs. 2) He misses having his own money. He loves, loves, loves working, and not having a stable position is killing him TOO DEATH. *ahem* Though there is something in the works for him, and hopefully it works out (hopeful-fucking-ly).

If it does, I'll probably say bai bai to the big OD, and work for the pizza restaurant, as working with food is a love of mine, anyway (hence all the food service jobs). It'll still be minimum wage, but I'll get tips also (yay tips!) that I probably won't have to tip out, as the cooks will be making much more than me. It also means monies every day that can be saved up, as I'll be making a waitress' salary of less than minimum wage (apparently it's unfair to pay us equal wages, because we make tips). Luckily, though, the owner said that if I don't make enough to make minimum wage as a server, they make up the costs. Means I'll be reporting my tips!

I'm actually really excited, but now I'm not sure where my exercising will stand. I'll be working all morning shifts, and working evenings at OD, but if I end up working an evening at P's place (manager), they close around...10pm I think? Cherokee Lake closes at 11pm? I guess I better pack my running clothes!

*yawn* I'm going swimming now. I am tiyoord, but Shica's makin' that monies. Therefore should my roommate snap and go on a killing spree Guild Wars stylee due to our shitty economy, I'll be able to pick up the slack. Yeah, I doubt he'll do that, but oy. Haha. That would be epic. POASTING ABOUT EPICNESS IN BLOG! YES!

I swim now.

-shica

Daily exercise, 4.15.2010

So since this journal is new, I'll have to be a little specific here about what I am trying to do exactly.

*ahem*

My weight before I started exercising back in March was 245lbs. Oh, I know. I know.

My current weight as of April is down to 235lbs. Hallelujiah!

My goal every month is to lose 8-10 pounds. I know sometimes I'll miss my mark, but I'm setting my standards high.

Anyway, that all said, my torture of choice has become running! Before I kinda jogged/walked (more walk than jog), and it wasn't getting me very far unfortunately. In February I told Erin I needed a new workout plan, because I couldn't stomach being my weight anymore. He suggested running. I tried it a few times in February with him, and couldn't run for more than a few paces without stopping. I mean, heaving, tired, gasping, stopping. I just could not do it at all.

Later that month I tried walking. This, also, seemed fruitless.

Then in March Erin decided to bite the bullet, and just take me running every other night. And that first night was like running me over hot coals in the middle of Hell with a whip on my back. I ran beside Erin, with no music, and the sound of my ragged breath to entertain me. I had to stop continuously, even though my partner pleaded with me to just keep running, and it will get better. Oh boy, I barked, and spat, and howled, and cried. I was sore every day with a fierce pain I could not overcome for the life of me.

And he had me doing not just a mile, but a mile and a half. Apparently, if you do a mile, you never really get better (apparently). But if you do a mile and a half, you're right there at two, and you begin to improve. Alright! So I pushed myself, and finally bought out my headphones for two reasons:

- I got sick of getting belligerent with Erin while he was trying to help me.

- I got sick of listening to myself breath. It made me panic, and trick me into thinking I HAD TO STOP OR ELSE I WILL DIE!

Within a week, it worked. By the end of the third week, I had ran most of the mile without pause, but did near the end.

By the end of next week, I could run through the whole first mile.

By week four, I was running the whole length of the 1 1/2 mile distance. Albeit my time was extremely slow (over 22mins), I was doing it.

In the few weeks after that, my times have gone up and down, which bugs me. For a while, I was running two miles straight, after training my lungs and my legs and my willpower to ignore the burning and the pain. And soon after that the burning in my legs almost disappeared (even though the burning in my chest remained). In the last two weeks, I slacked a little, while trying to find a new method of exercising, due to rain. Jumping jacks can go suck a big one. That shit hurt like a nothing else, and my boobs didn't appreciate the bounce per ounce, either. Swimming is for pleasure, not exercising. I tried this, and there's nothing like not knowing how to swim while trying to exercise in a pool. Yes, I can float, and doggie paddle, and what have you, but you need over the hand swimming for maximum value. Erin swims like a damn fish, and I'm jealous.

So when I came back to exercising via running last week, I wasn't surprised to find that I'd completely lost it. I had a severe back ache from the jumping jacks (boobieflopple), and the swimming made my legs sore. So since last Sunday I have had to recondition myself. Sunday was the worst, with me being completely unable to accelerate. Monday I still felt like crap, but my 22mins went down to 19:50mins. Tuesday my 1 1/2 went further down to 18:40mins.

Tonight (last night?) I only did a mile to test my speed, and for the first time it was BELOW 12 minutes ...just barely, though. Usually when I only do a mile, I get 13mins or 12:50mins or whatever. Tonight I got 11:59mins. YES. I had pushed myself quite a bit as well. I'm flushed with pride.

How's my fooding you ask? I cut most of my dairy. I cut out all meat except for fish (I love fish too much. Sorry vegheads.) and survive on salmon, tilapia, and etc. I love shrimp curry. I cut out most sweets. I do mean this. It was painful as hell to do, but I cut my sweets and snack intake by 90%. The most I allow myself is cheddar popcorn or Pirate's Booty every now and then, and the Vitamin Water. Though...I'm about to quite Vitamin Water as well. I'm not sure I like the idea of crystalline fructose anymore. They're damn tasty, though, and I can't purchase the drinks I used to love (Odwalla juices, specifically their orange juice). Lately I've been having cheese cravings like madness, so I've had extra, extra sharp cheddar on a few things (tuna or fish wraps), or tuna sandwiches, but I've done well avoiding the crap foods. I'm quite proud, as I miss all of my crap food, especially ice cream. I miss ice cream so hard, but I know what's more important for me now.

And I do enjoy reverting to pescetarian...ism? Haha. Fish is my deity!

Soooooooooooo...here's to hoping a lose another ten pounds this month, and not due to extreme stress over financial troubles!

-shica

Introductory - Explanation

Edit: Peter's not on Blogspot. I'm confused as to how I got that. Haha. *nervous laughter*

There have been various people on my LiveJournal who have moved recently, or opened my eyes to the idea of moving, or the reasoning. I mentioned this already if you're on my current, active LJ (@ http://kitschaster.livejournal.com). Peter was the first one, and the most important one. Then a few others for varying reasons.

But Peter bought up valid, thoughtful points as to why he was transferring to a new journal of his own creation (not Blogspot. Sorry, Peter, I don't know how I confused the two). The list is as goes,

- The friend's system. It's flawed, it's everchanging, and sometimes it's full of people you really fucking dislike after a while. These people having access to private information you shared in confidence of a private blog.

- Having to over explain oneself to several friends about certain subjects over and over again, and getting into disagreements in the comments. It gets...tiring.

- Feeling wary to share personal information (politics, religion, orientation, etc.).


The last one I truly feel strongly about. I have actually ceased to discuss my beliefs on that blog, due to several arguments that have occurred on my defunct Martyred-peach LJ, and the current Kitschaster journal. I dislike having to prove myself to an audience. At least if I'm posting it here, I have the option of not replying to questions on any other forum, should you read it, and ask about it later. No. My journal stays neat, clean and tidy. I have the option of not respond to anything, and this is how I most prefer things.

There are other reasons. Greater reasons than the need to discuss my ever-growing love of things like Chaos Magick, Rosicrucian ideas, my growing dislike of our current government (very growing), and loving music most people seem to abhor.

I'm just getting sick of having a private, stagnant journal. At this current point, I love to write. I love to love to love to write. In my private journal, my friends already pretty much know what I'm about, and see changes daily. Which is cool. But I want to start talking about things that matter to me, and open up that forum to a public audience. Yes, I'm just another mindless blogger, throwing things into the void, and hoping a it breeds creation and discussion, I know. But at least I'm not doing it in under 140 characters, right? I hate Twitter. I love communication, but god how I despise Twitter. Yes, I own a Twitter.

Anyway, I feel as though journals are the blank wall onto which we scribble obscenities, vague notions of the world around us, fears, dreams, and the most gut-wrenching screams one could muster without Jason dragging his axe behind us. I've screamed for days straight at my LJ over worldly, mundane sufferings. My journal knows every unstable, insane, traumatic, heart-breaking piece of horridness I've endured. It also knows all of the awesome shit I've done and experienced with either the people I care about, or just the random things I used to do on my own. I totally used to go discovering things in Los Angeles. My mom is actually happy I'm stuck in bumfuck Thomasville without a metro transit system, because I can't climb on the bus, and get lost in the city.

But I digress from all of that above. Journals have new beginnings. Fresh, clean pages onto which we paint ourselves in hues, tones, and colors more vivid than the eyes can behold. At least I do/did. They have the middle times of support. They have an end. I feel, again, as though Kitschaster has no more forward motion, because it's got a heavy heart from the last three years.

2007 saw an emotionally masochistic road while dealing with my ex (then lover), where we ended by parting ways in December never to speak again.

2008 I quit my job at the beginning of the year to piece myself back together at the loss of my good friend/ex. I found new faces who kept me extremely sane, but I began to grow lackluster in music due to the intense depression from 2007. There was the trouble with moving, and the loss of my private space in the Fall. I kept myself busy on the bus, at work, or at school. I only saw home long enough to sleep. Also, my social life was decimated by the move to Reseda from West Hollywood, as I couldn't get home by bus after 12am.

2009 saw me back on the East Coast, in the near-rural South. My elation upon arrival was like a water balloon ready to burst. I was freed from the shackles of my mother's living room and the air mattress. I had my own room, and even better (or best?!) I was living with an awesome, awesome friend. And then certain main events unfolded, and the year was like one big, catastrophic train wreck. A wreck I could never look away from, because I was trapped in the middle cart with no windows or doors with everyone else. I raged hard. Over everything. Over everybody. And to my chagrin, they raged back in epic force. Erin is the height of that year, and has stuck with me since last May. Everything else will take years to fix, if I'm up to the task (or those involved). I want to, but I have fears, and there's nothing I hate more than getting my hopes up, just to have them dashed.

Ugh.

I could go on. I've go on for hours in my private LJ, and there's no reason to bring all of those memories to a new journal, with new memories, but not without its reminiscent posts. I blocked out so much for the last three years, and I probably can't move on with myself and my life without opening up a little bit. Especially with the weight loss goals, and the new things I'm learning, and materials I'm reading, and thoughts I'm having about my spirituality and ideas about how the ephemeral world works.

So I'll just stop here with the words. Oy.

Also, this is my public journal. I'll still write private things in Kitschaster, but I'll try to keep it mostly public. I need to get away from hiding my thoughts for a moment.

I think I think too much.

-shica

p.s. - i get to do some labeling/tagging now for each post. yippery-do!

p.p.s. - i have a sudden craving for jelly beans. cheap, dollar store jelly beans. hoshit.

This is all so sudden.

So new.

Hmmmm.