burning questions

My creativity  cup hasn’t exactly runneth over today. Mainly, because I feel like I myself have been runnethed over. A wacky medical treatment  yesterday to combat pneumonia(which I don’t have, thankfully) involved me sitting in a metal box and sucking on a plastic tube. Yes, this was at the hospital and no, I haven’t started smoking crack. Anyway, this treatment made me even more tired and sluggish which I didn’t think was human possibly. Any more ‘help’ like this and I’ll turn into Wilfred Brimley. Nevertheless, I promised to write everyday at this here blog for June so here goes. Here’s my list of burning questions for June 18th and I promise I’ll write something more substantial. ?????????????????????????????????

*If I taped $20 dollars to my cats’ neck, told her where the grocery store is, do you think she’d bring me back a pie? I mean, its the least she could do.

*Why do celebrities like Britney Spears and Amanda Bynes shave their heads when they go crazy? I mean I shave my head and I’m totally.. ooh. I think I just answered that one on my own.

*What ever happened to passing notes? Sure kids just text but what about “Mark the box Yes or No if you like me” notes? Those are staple of building low self-esteem in middle schoolers and I hope it hasn’t died off.

*What is a LeBron and why do people keep tweeting about it?

*Am I the only one who likes saying the word ‘Fallujah’?

*Can diet soda really be more addictive than meth? I read an article that said it was. Clearly written by people who either never really used  meth or who are buying a different brand of diet soda than I am.

*Did we ever figure out who’s zooming who?

*Why do people post their diets on Facebook? It’s fucking weird. Yeah I blog about being a drunken drug addict but that’s different. It’s not like I’m assuming people want to know what I had for breakfast. (Granola, by the way.)

*Finally, Grown Ups 2? Why, God, why?

Please feel free to leave your answers on these important matters, along with burning questions of your own in the comments section below. We here at UrTheInspiration aim to tackle life’s toughest issues. 

Crazy pants

The very minute I start to research how apply for guru status in hopes of becoming this country’s new gay, white Oprah, is the very minute something happens that reminds I’m not in fact some all-knowing sage mystic sitting on a hill in Sedona. Yes, all it takes is one encounter that could have been avoided to confirm that I am indeed still batshit after all these years.

Without getting into the insane yet mundane details, I can tell you I had a meeting that turned into a screaming match. I’ve had a disagreement with a work collaborator for months and earlier this week things finally erupted.  It went from 0 to Housewives in 2.5 seconds. I sprung a Nene Leake, if you will. While these kind of explosions make for great television, they don’t really fit in with the way I try to live my life. Besides on those shows, the overdone screaming broads are usually nursing a kiddie pool filled with Pinot Grigio when one these kind of things happen. At 10:30am on a Tuesday morning with 3.5 years of sobriety, I didn’t have that excuse.

These days at Sean Inc. where the living being I encounter the most is my cat, yelling at another adult with my finger waving is not something I make the habit of doing. I mean, I’m supposed to be sober. I’m supposed to the kind of person who doesn’t yell at people anymore. But there I was screaming like a lunatic and I stormed off. Actually leaving was the smartest thing I did in that entire 10 minutes.  Yes a mere 10 minutes. It only took that long to turn me into a total lunatic.

I quickly discovered, as I rage-walked to wherever-the-hell I was going, that “letting someone have it” or “giving them a piece of my mind” doesn’t feel so good any more. In fact, it feels horrible. But what did happen, as the result of the crazy exchange, is that something dysfunctional finally ended. Would I have preferred to end this arrangement with an impeccably handwritten note on rose-scented monogrammed paper? Sure. Alas dignity and manners were tossed out the window  in favor of a ghetto “cuss a bitch out” type of exit. Oh well.

The good news is that I didn’t hang up the phone and go get drunk. Which was how I dealt with the aftermath of confrontation before. Instead, I called people in recovery. I went to a meeting. I told on myself for acting insane. And yesterday, I apologized to the person on the receiving end of my crazypants bullshit and made a real amends. This is truly an improvement and proof positive that even though my crazypants still fit me, it’s up to me whether of not I want to wear them all the time. Besides, my crazypants are out of style,  look ridiculous on me and have no place in current my spiritual wardrobe, so to speak. A few days after the blow-up, the fallout has been cleared and I feel better. It’s freeing to say, “Yeah, I’m fucking nuts but I’m working on it” and then carry on with the promise to try harder. Owning your insanity, I’ve heard it said, instantly makes you a little less crazier than you were before. If that’s the case, I’m on way to be becoming the poster child for mental health miracles!

And now you’re back from outer space

Sometimes you haven’t blogged in awhile. And sometimes you wanna use part of a Gloria Gaynor song as your title when you finally do blog again. And sometimes you just want to post a disco ball version of the Death Star because late at night it seems to make sense. This, my friends, is one of those times.

First off, I feel like I’ve been in outer space. My mom came to town, my play opened and social obligations exploded. All blessings and quality problems. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was, I am exhausted. My chronic manageable condition, HIV, really takes a whooping on long stretches where my life is go, go go. I feel like a car that’s run out of gas on the freeway and waiting for Triple A.  And yet being really busy keeps me happy and out of trouble. For the most part. My other manageable condition, alcoholism, needs treatment too. I haven’t been to a meeting in almost a week and it’s time. I started to act like a bratty bitchy teenager with my mom earlier and had to check myself. It wasn’t her. It was me. Bitch just needs to get to a meeting. So that’s what I’m doing before I hang out with the family in the afternoon. The extreme highs and pressure of opening a play and putting myself out there have kinda kicked my butt. But I’m so happy! And it went so well and I’m so proud of the work.

Overall, I’m thrilled with finishing something and not letting fear cripple another creative project. But more on all of that later next week. I also want to blog about songs that save my ass, talk about poor Demi Moore and my own Nitrous experiences, and other sparkly, scary, life affirming stuff. In the meantime, do me a favor. Turn up some dance music and shake your booty all by yourself. Or sing loudly and horribly your favorite song, preferably a guilty pleasure like the one referenced in the title. Or just be nice to yourself for a whole day. You deserve it. Dammit.