Once Upon A Time...

... let's say, twenty seven years ago to the day, a baby boy was brought into the world. This boy, despite being daft (or maybe because of it), lived a charmed life. Until one day he stumbled into the world a girl named Kay. 

For a time, this boy imbued his charm into the life he built with the girl named Kay, who had suffered a lifetime of strife - sometimes at her own hand. But somehow, just by being there, the boy seemed to make all the troubles and pain in Kay's life disappear. He taught her to stress less, to trust more, and above all else, he taught her how to love and be loved. 

But the charm was not to last. For, you see, while Kay may have been able to turn a blind eye to her past and her problems, they never truly disappeared. They waited in the shadows and reared out their ugly heads whenever the chance arose, looking to cause yet more strife. And each time they did so, Kay's faith in the boys blessing cracked just a bit. And by simply losing faith, the boys blessing started to shatter, too. 

Little by little, the bliss and serenity the boy brought with him where ever he went started to crumble until it was simply no longer there. Kay and the boy tried to ignore it at first, and later they tried to fix it. But no matter what they did to put back the pieces of the charmed life they had once led, nothing worked. And the boy slowly started to realize that the reason his charm had deserted them was Kay and the strife that followed her. 

So, once upon a time... let's say two years ago today, the charmed boy made the smartest decision he ever made, and ever will make. In order to continue leading his blessed life, the boy turned Kay out of it altogether, leaving her to battle the strife on her own.

And, like magic, his charm returned to him and he lived happily ever after. The end. 

Well, "the end" for the boy, that is. 

Is there a moral to this story? I hope not, because if I were an outsider looking in, I'd think the moral is "it's better to never experience bliss than to have a taste of happiness and then lose it." Or maybe it's "some people have all the good luck, and others get nothing but shit, so just deal with it." And that's just too damned depressing to consider.

So, what is the point of the story? 

Maybe the point is that Kay needs to find her own charm in order to lead a blessed life of her own. Maybe the daft, charmed boy's decision was more to her benefit in the end than to his. 

Or maybe I should just man up and finish this whiskey.  

The Funny One

My special brand of slightly self-deprecating humor draws directly from pain I have felt at one time or another. My experiences make for a well balanced blend of fat girl problems, sex-deprived singlehood, and mild to moderate alcohol abuse.

"On a scale of 1 to 10 cats, how single would you say you are?"

"How many calories do you burn rocking back and forth in the fetal position, gently sobbing? I'm asking for a friend." 

"Who needs a life when there's Youtube, pizza and sex? ... Well there's Youtube and pizza, anyway." 

"Stare all you want with your judge-y face: I'm going to eat the fuck out this whiskey & cookie dough ice cream float"

Often, I don't even have to wait for the pain to ease before I start cracking jokes. Making people think on common struggles from a different perspective and - more importantly - making them laugh about it is healing for every one involved. And from there, whatever heartache I may have been feeling starts to dissipate.

They don't call laughter the best medicine for no reason.

Too Much Time On My Hands

Before you read any furher, please know that I am in the process of getting Charles made into a t-shirt on threadless.com - Please be a dear and vote for us?

An e-mail sent to Cuppy Cake earlier today...

"You may be happy to know that, after numerous trials, I’ve started over and our mythical hybrid beast is coming along nicely. It’s green and purple. I should have a finished Unicornus Rex by tomorrow, at which time we can commence the cultivation of more ridiculous and slightly insane ideas… I tried to explain to Bro what I was working on. It went a little like this:

B: What are you up to?

K: I don’t wanna say. It’s kind of embarrassing…

B: Oh come on, I won’t judge.

K: Ok. I’m creating a…. unicorn/t-rex hybrid. On my Photoshop, that is. It’d be silly to attempt that in real life. Too big, you see? The mess would be ridiculous. Anyways, Cuppy helped me come up with the idea and I’m trying to bring it to life. On my computer.

B:…

K: So there’s that.

B: I’m happy you and Cuppy found each other.

K: Tell me about it! Who else would understand the magestical appeal of a Unicornus Rex??

Back to my troll cave for now, Precious!

 Love, Kay."

 Wuh-BAM. 

The creation of this mythical beast was really a no-brainer: I have always been drawn to the magestical whimsy of unicorn farts (AKA: Rainbows) which, balanced with the fierceness and tiny arms of a T-Rex, makes for a magnificent beast that I will now take as my spirit animal and also my steed.

This Unicornus Rex is named Charles and was created by myself using Photoshop. As you can see, Charles still has all the common difficulties presented by T-Rex's tiny arms (or in this case, hoofs) but do not be deceived; Charles will not hesitate to fuck you up if you cross him.

Rediscovered

Just rediscovered an old favorite, perfect & fitting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7wH5fNJC-A&feature=youtube_gdata_player

You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are, here we are

Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words that paraphrasing this relationship we're staging

And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And "kind and courteous" is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here, here we are, here we are

What a beautiful mess this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"

Through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides  they turn and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today. Oh, the wait was so worth it.

(More) On Why I'm Failing Adulthood

Further to my last entry, while there was technical dificulties happening all over with my home service provider, I wasn't actually experiencing them because my account had, in fact, been suspended. Because I have the common sense of a pre-teen and manage to forget to do grown-up things, like pay my bills or buy toilet paper.

But I feel ok about it all because I'm doing my best, and that's what really matters, right?

RIGHT, GUYS?

Dammit.

After having a mental block for god knows how long, I'm ready to write again. But natually, my home service provider is down leaving me wifi-less and I'll be damned if I'm going going to write what's happening inside my train-wreck of a mind on my fucking phone. My thumbs are too fat for that shit.

Sweet Jesus, let me hang onto this inspiration till Telus gets its shit together...

Most assuredly my shittiest post to date.

This was the story of my entire weekend. And also, this: 

I have been beating myself up for days trying to figure out what I want to write about. It's so hard! And being creative should't be hard work, it's just supposed to flow from your body, an expression of your soul.  

I think I may be wasting my efforts on my new twitter addiction. And that's really sad, when you think about it. Or maybe I'm simply not tormented enough to be inspired. Who the fuck knows?

Hey, you ever get that thing where you feel like you could run anyone's life better than your own? I do all the time. I get so frustrated because I can see the obvious choices someone should be making but are simply too blind to see. But then I have to step back and assess whether I actually know what's best, or if I'm trying to serve myself in some way. 

I wish I could run my own life as well as I run others' in my imagination. 

The Dorkside: The Angry AV Club

The Dorkside: The Angry AV Club: I was never very popular in school, but nor did I consider myself an outcast. I always had a close group of friends (6 max), and even though...

I adored this mans tweets, and I'm digging his blog now, too!

The oddest thing just happened.

But I'll start at the beginning. 

I came home today, a wreck. The feeble foothold I had on a happier me was utterly crushed. There was, of course, no one to blame but myself, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that over the past few days, the triggers I had tucked away inside where I couldn't register them came trickling out and started to get me down. And today the straw that would inevitably brake me was placed gently on my back and shattered me completely.  It hurt so much.

It sounds weird, but in my mind's eye, I could see the pain. Hunched in the middle of my torso there was black mass eating its way through me. What I started doing at that point couldn't even be described as crying. It was more like hyperventilating - not unfamiliar to me, but it was something that hadn't happened in a very long time.  The pain grew so intense, I just didn't want to be living any more. I didn't want to kill myself or anything - I just didn't want to have existed in the first place. I started thinking back to my old methods of coping and thought maybe the pain could be eased (or at the very least, I could be distracted) by branding myself, as it had in my youth. Or better yet, maybe there was a way to dig this darkness out.

But I never got that far because, as I sat shaking with my head in my hands, something simply... snapped. Yes, snapping, that's what it felt like, or as though a switch had been flicked. Abruptly, the image of my agony disappeared and a stillness settled over my body. And I sat for what seemed like ages, staring a speck on a wall as I tried to process what was happening, before it registered: I was empty. There was no pain, there was no self-loathing, there was no sense of hopelessness. 

I felt nothing. 

I sat there for a while, insulating my precarious self with this this blissful nothingness wondering if I should be grateful that my mind took matters into its own hands and simply shut itself down before I did something stupid. Or should I start feeling concerned that what had actually happened was me legitimately loosing my mind? And furthermore, do I care?

I think for now I'll float in this emptiness until I'm capable deciding on any of the above.   

My name is...

so old.

I just learned that Homer wrote the Iliad, where my mum found my name "Kassandra", over 3,500 years ago. It's neat to be part of that kind of legacy.