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13 November 2013

Depression and Anger

Perhaps the hallmark of this sort of anger, like the intense forms of irritability, fear or despair, is that they perpetuate themselves. After a while, they simply take over. You’re raging, irritable, intensely anxious or despairing for no apparent reason. Or if there is a reason at the beginning, the distorted emotions keep going without letup. They have a life of their own.
--- From Depression and Anger: A Destructive Partnership

So... this struck a nerve.

How many times have I screamed "I'M NOT ANGRY", when, to all outward appearances, I've gone right off the fucking rails into Angryville?

How many times has my anxiety manifested as HULK SMASH?

I can't even count the number of times I've just straight up snapped at people for no reason beyond "you are existing in my space". (It's so, so very stupid of me, I know!)

All that, and it turns out to be my own fear, insecurity, and anxiety masquerading (quite effectively!) as anger.

I'm not angry.

I'm fucking scared and overwhelmed and (re)acting on pure instinct -- and I end up angry and frustrated at myself for not being able to just "snap out of it".

19 December 2012

Which Animaniacs Character Am I?

Not that anyone needs to guess, really.

It's obvious.


Which Animaniacs Character are You?


You're cute! And, when you're not, it's not pretty. Sure, you like girly stuff, like pink frilly outfits, flowers, adorable baby animals, tiny boxes that you can't fit anything in, and tiny doll-sized clothing, but you're also quite the firebrand! People who scorn you, and just plain stupid people who get in your way, often pay dearly. You are nearly as likely to jump up and kiss someone as to drop an anvil on someone's head! You are not the sort to be trifled with. You are, after all, Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fana Bo Besca, the Third.


Click here to see rinnaldo's Livejournal.


I'm Dot. Minus the girly stuff. I'm like, the "Dark" version of Dot. Incredibly, disgustingly cute. And snarky. And not afraid to open my big mouth, even if it does get me in trouble sometimes. I'm not sure that last one is a good thing, though.

And, like Dot, I do appreciate my quiet time.

02 November 2012

It's Been A While

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. Wow. Okay, so, life happened, and I've been so wrapped up in reading other blogs that I've neglected my own.

I'm never sure when I'm going to have something to say, so it's not like I can say this will be updated on x, y, and z days of the week, or what have you. I am, however, going to try to have something at least twice a week.

And I know -- I need to fix the links in the sidebar. I'm working on it! Please forgive the disorganization!

11 March 2012

Ridiculous Retail Complaints

I came across this "review" of Wal-Mart via STFU Parents.

So this "very upset mother of two" has a "complaint" about Wal-Mart. A'ight, who doesn't have a complaint about corporate this or store policy that or OMFG the service at this place I went to SUCKED BALLS -- but this complaint? This complaint is a fine illustration of everything that is wrong about current parenting trends... and then some.

Cashier and shopping carts not child friendly.

Okay... what the fuck do you mean by "child friendly"? Are you really concerned that children -- well-behaved, socially-adjusted children -- might get hurt by these things? I doubt it. And her story bears that out. Witness:

My mother, daughter, and I stopped at a Walmart store on our way home from vacation. As we were shopping through the store, I let my three year old daughter push one of the carts around the store.

Oooh, okay, so you "let your [toddler] push a cart." In normal English, that translates to "I let my precious little snowflake ram a grocery cart into every set of legs she could find."

I got the feeling that we were given a lot of dirty looks as we went through the store,

Gee, maybe because your demon-spawn was terrorising every calf, shin, ankle, and knee she could get to with that cart?

...but I didn't care.

Obviously, or you'd have had enough sense to kerb your kid.

When we finally got two carts full, we decided to leave.

I'm betting this took at least twice as long as it should have, due to Cznofleykke "helping" with the cart. Really, shopping goes much faster when the grown-ups are in charge.

When I started to unload the carts at the checkout, my daughter started running around the aisles and bathrooms.

Fairly normal-ish kid behavior, yes. However, it's not so much the child that's the problem, here. Read on.

Everytime I brought her back to us, she would run off again.

Which is why you hold on to your kid's hand, or put your kid on a leash, or have Grandmama -- who you've already stated was along to help with the shop -- keep the kid under control for a bit.

I'm sure that we, growing up, pulled a few runners on our parents, both intentional and accidental, and did some annoying things in public, but, um... this kid's behavior, and the mother's complete lack of response, makes us look like we were little saints!

The cashier seemed to be annoyed at the situation.

Gee, I wonder why...

Some people just don't know what it is like to have a rambuntous three year old like my daughter.

On the contrary, some people expect you to take charge and parent your child -- that means you teach your child how to behave when out in public. And you start that teaching AT HOME. It just isn't kosher to hold off on discipline and behavioral lessons until you're, say, in that fancy restaurant and little Bhraeydeynnne starts screeching like a wounded tomcat during mating season because ZOMG, THIS PLACE IS BORING!

...oh. Right. I forgot. Actually disciplining and training your kid will just ZOMG, CRUSH HER SPIRITS! It'll KILL her CREATIVITY!

I ignored her.

That, right there, is the problem. Ignoring your misbehaving (and probably misbegotten) spawn while it runs roughshod over the store, the retail slaves, AND the other custies. This mother had the perfect teaching opportunity here, and wasted it.

Finally my daughter decided to stay near me.

See, now when I was a kid, we didn't get to "decide" to stay near mom or dad. It was ENFORCED.

Unfornately, my daughter decided to start climbing on the carasel.

I'm assuming this is the bagging CAROUSEL. (Please note the correct spelling!) The bagging carousel is not now, and has never been, a play area. It is clearly marked with signage saying (paraphrased), "DON'T CLIMB ON THIS!" Jesus haploid CHRIST, I know your kid can't read, but as the parent... yeah, you're responsible for keeping your little "angle" away from dangerous machinery.

After many other attepts to get her to stop,

Attempts. Right. How many of those went beyond, "Caydenne, please stop climbing on the carousel"? (None, I'm guessing.)

I gave her some chicken I was buying.

Packaged, frozen chicken? A pack of chicken nuggets? A couple of cornish hens?

And, uhm, "some" chicken? As in, you removed some from the package? Or you were buying multiple small units of chicken and gave her one of the small packages to play with? I'm really confused by this.

Third, and most importantly, giving your kid raw chicken to play with is a really awesome way to get Salmonella and other nasties -- especially when young kids are involved, because young kids don't know that raw chicken is a disease vector, they don't know to wash up after handling it, and chances are, your kid's hands are going from that raw (hopefully well-packaged) chicken, straight into her mouth.

As I continued putting things on the counter, my daughter was standing next to the carasel. Next thing I know, some of my daughter's chicken is on the floor.

Implying that you did, in fact, hand her a package of drums/thighs/breasts/chicken parts, and that package somehow "mysteriously" opened itself without aaaany assistance from the kid. Oi.

I demanded to know what had happened.

Well, if you'd been supervising and (gasp!) parenting your child, this wouldn't have happened! And, hey, you could have politely inquired, rather than DEMANDING the poor retail slave (who ain't making nearly enough to deal with your entitled ass) be accountable for your child.

The cashier told me she had accidently hit my daughter with the carasel.

And what did you think was going to happen if you let your girl-spawn climb all over the carousel?

Even though she said she was sorry, I didn't believe it.

Oh, ferfucksake. Ya really think the retail slave DELIBERATELY hit your kid? Seriously?! Oi...

I know she was getting annoyed at my daughter and hit her out of spite.

Of course she was annoyed -- I'm annoyed just reading about your miserable little crotch-goblin and the chaos and destruction she rained upon the poor Wally-World slaves! But to accuse her of deliberately hitting your kid? Methinks the mombie doth protest too much.

At that point I just wanted out of that store.

Funny, so did everyone who encountered you and your kid...

After all the groceries were scanned, I handed the cashier my coupons.

::headdesk:: FUCK ME IN THE NECK WITH A TWO-BY-FOUR! You're supposed to place the coupons on the product you're using it for -- BEFORE IT'S RUNG UP! Ask ANY retail slave!

All of my coupons scanned except two.

Expired, I bet.

Then she decides to be a miss coupon know it all, and goes through both of my carts looking for an item.

Because you DID IT WRONG in the first place! Had you handed over the coupons up front, before things were rung up and bagged, this would not have happened at all. Seriously, LRN 2 SHOP, lady!

That is when I got pissed. I got very loud and said boy it sure takes us a lot longer to check out than it does to shop.

Nobody's fault but your own, there -- if you had kept your daughter under control, and properly placed the coupons on the belt, you'd have been out of there in no time, flat! But, of course, it can't be YOUR fault, no, because you and your precious snowflake are PERFECT, so it must be the fault of the retail slaves. ::rolleyes::

Look in the mirror, lady, and you'll see the problem.

I also added in that the cashiers like to be busy bodies and abuse children.

Uhhh.... what? What the actual fuck? The cashier wasn't "being a busybody" by trying to give you the best service possible (rummaging through already bagged items just so YOU can use a coupon). And she certainly wasn't "abusing" your child when she ACCIDENTALLY hit her (while your child was playing on something she shouldn't have been playing on).

The cashier then gave up her fight.

What fight? The one you insist on trying to start?

She rushed the rest of order, which I thought was very rude and unprofessional.

Uhm... you just said you wanted to get the fuck outta there, and now you're bitching about the cashier rushing your order? Make up your gorram mind!

She looked like she was going to cry.

Thanks to you.

I did give her something to cry about.

Yeah, your attitude and behavior is fucking heinous. I'd be crying if I had to put up with a bitch of this magnitude.

I went to a manager and reported her.

For doing her job?

I hope they fired her.

For... doing her job.

There as no excuse for any of this at all.

For your rude, entitled ass? Nope, no excuse.

======

The entitlemoo didn't stop there, though. Oh, no. She keeps going, this time it's about her son. (This is an entirely separate incident from the one above.)

I went shopping at around 5pm with my two children. My nine year old son and three year old daughter. While I was in the clothing my son was pushing the cart.

I bet she was in the clothing, completely oblivious to her kids halfway across the store. But, eh, it's possible she was, like, right there.

He decided to get in the shopping cart. He stood at the edge to get out and the cart tipped over. He banged his head on the floor and had a bloody nose.

Yeaaaah... your kid did EXACTLY what the warnings on the cart say NOT to do! (Gee, kinda like your daughter with the bag carousel...) And worse yet, the nine year old has no fucking excuse for not being able to read (and heed!) the warning.

The team handled it pretty well. They gave us ice and helped stop the bleeding. This is not what this complaint is about.

Great, but...

However they told me that my son is not allowed to step in their shopping cart.

Yeah, that's for safety reasons, as your son so handily demonstrated.

None of this would have happened if they had more child friendly shopping carts.

No, none of this would have happened if you bothered to parent your gorram kids, and paid attention to warning labels!

::sigh::

Somehow, I get the feeling that this lady's version of "child friendly" means less "safe for kids to fool around with" and more "let my kids do whatever they want, regardless of the consequences -- I can't be arsed to watch after them while I shop."

25 January 2012

Self-Analysis

This post came about kind of randomly. It started with a simple assignment. Assess and analyse the things I'm good at, the things I need to work on, and how I can work on those things that need work. Sounds pretty easy, most of you can probably come up with, like, five things you're good at in no time at all. Well, nothing is as easy as it looks (or sounds), and one of those "things I need to fix", the Big P, PROCRASTINATION, played its part here -- I put it off until the night before. As usual. Despite having every intention of doing the assignment the night it was assigned. And every intention of doing it "tonight" -- "tonight" being every damn night between the date this was assigned, and the date it's due. Nope. I got some stuff done on Skyrim (even though I mostly chased butterflies), read a bazillion blogs, dicked around on Facebook, played with the cat, napped, ate, took walks, played more Skyrim, and then finally, FINALLY, sat down and started on what should have been, like, five minutes of typing.

Five minutes of typing turned into an hour of typing, deep thinking, more typing, more thinking, self-editing, re-reading, more editing, and finally deciding it was "good enough". And produced the following:

I am good with written communication – some would say “excellent”, but I feel I could work to refine my skills. I have also elevated procrastination and avoidance to an art-form, and have a corresponding talent for pulling off works of genius at the last minute.

I need to work on my “people skills”, both in face-to-face and over-the-phone situations. Communicating face to face and over the phone is… extremely uncomfortable and awkward, at best, and at worst has very nearly triggered a panic attack. One solution, at least, is if (when) I have to do a cold-call, I will sit and script out what I want to say. I will still be extremely anxious, but I won’t be tongue-tied, twisted, and terrified, because I have the script in front of me and I can just read it. I really need to get a handle on the procrastination thing, because it causes more trouble than I have energy to deal with, and the extra stress just isn’t good for me. Yes, even though I come up with some brilliant last-minute work, I’d really be happier getting things done and then having time to relax without a deadline dangling precariously over my head. My organizational skills also need some major work.

Where I’m stuck is, well… how do I work on my social skills? I’m okay in extremely causal social situations, but anything more formal than “oh, hi, I’m greeting you as we pass” just… loses me. I feel like I literally need someone hanging over my shoulder and explaining, “Okay, [action xyz] is socially inappropriate, and this is why.” And the why is the important part – “because it is” just sounds like a cop-out – I need to understand the reasoning behind the taboo. I’m seriously feeling like I missed something in kindy or early grade school, here! For example, it… apparently it’s considered “bitchy” for a woman to be blunt and up-front with opinions and feelings. But at the same time, I’m constantly told that I need to talk more, or told that I should “open up and express myself”. And then when I do open up, I get yelled at, flamed, or otherwise torn down for having opinions and feelings and (gasp!) daring to express them in anything other than flowery feel-good euphemistic language. Am… am I missing something, here? Is there something wrong with what I say? Or is there something wrong with the way I’m saying it? These are, these are important questions, because I want to not “be a bitch”, as a few folks online have so eloquently put it.

And on the procrastination front? Sweet Ceiling Cat, there are just so many wonderful distractions, from the birds singing outside, to Gracie wanting attention (or a door opened), to “what’s going on in the world”, to “oh, dirty dishes – I have five minutes to kill”, to, well, just about any distraction you can think of! I think part of it is just that I’m so very easily distracted anyway, and part of it is, I don’t know, probably subconscious avoidance of work or subconscious self-sabotage, neither one of which I am equipped to tackle in any meaningful way. I suspect this particular issue may require professional help. I’m also beginning to think that perhaps my disorganization – in addition to being part of the whole ADD package – is another one of those subconscious self-sabotage things. After all, I can’t do the work if I can’t find the work in the first place, ergo, perfect avoidance strategy.

Yep. Five minute assignment turned into... that.

05 November 2011

On "Uzumaki", or "Why Babies And Placentas are Creepy"

Junji Ito's "Uzumaki" is, in few words, creepy as fuck. No denying it, it starts out bug-fuck crazy, and just gets worse from there. If nothing else, because of the damn spirals. Everywhere. And the spirals are spreading, consuming, twisting -- Kurozu-cho is one of those places.

Anyway, click the images to embiggen... if you dare.

It starts with this.

And gets worse!

This still isn't the worst bit...

Or this, with the spiral-infected hair. Or even the blood-sucking pregnant women, which I neglected to grab a scan of.

No, you see, Chapter Eleven manages to make something that should be, you know, celebrated, into... well... something truly terrifying and downright scary. The real hard-core high-octane nightmare fuel comes when the pregnant women I just mentioned above give birth.

The babies seem normal... except for their bellies. The swelling seems to be uncomfortable, but so far appears to be... nothing. Just colicky babies, or something.

Meanwhile, the cafeteria has started serving a new variety of mushroom.

Well... they say it's a mushroom. And the other patients seem to love the new food. Yeah... more on the mushrooms later, we got creepy kids here!

The babies? Not so normal after all. Here, they're talking about wanting to go back into the womb, one even saying, "I want to go back to mother's womb." Immediately followed by gnarly reveal number one: the bulging belly:


The babies regrew their umbilical cords and placentae. Seriously. And that placenta-tree thing, in the lower-left panel, is really freaking me out. Yeah, looks like Kirie couldn't handle the revelation, either -- too bad for her it's only starting.


Kirie panics and just blindly enters a room. Bad Idea. That room...

holds a motherfucking forest of motherfucking placentae! Worse yet, the OBGYN has been harvesting these placentae (and presumably the umbilical cords) and passing the bits off as mushrooms! (Told you we'd get back to those.)

And just in case you thought "that's not so horrible," just keep scrolling down.


The doctor successfully re-implanted the infants.


After that, I need some brain bleach. Something cute. Ah, here: