Corey Feldman wants you to have a happy Thursday.

It’s a beautiful Thursday in Denver and I’ve given myself the day off. Cause I can. Freelance is rad. :)

I was sitting here thinking about what to do with myself and I remembered, “Hey! I have a blog!”

The problem, though, with having a blog and going for months without posting is trying to figure out what your first post back will be. Do you try and sum up all the things that have been going on? Do you try and explain your absence? Or do you just ignore your time away and post a picture of Corey Feldman saying, “Happy Thursday!”?

Eric says I don’t owe anyone any explanations. I should write about what I want to write about. And he’s right. But as it turns out, what I want to write about is what the crap was going on when I wasn’t here. So here we go. :)

First of all, let me say, I am doing fantastically (now) and am in no way looking for sympathy with what I am about to share.

Secondly, let me say, depression can suck a bag of dicks. It’s an evil, little, lurking bastard of an illness and it affects more people than you know. Myself included.

About 6 months ago, I found myself lying in bed for about the 5th day in a row because I couldn’t think of any good reasons to get up. I was insecure and anxious all the time. I wrote this: 

Right before you left you said, “You’re stronger than this. You can beat this. Kick its ass.” 

But that’s the thing. I’m not actually stronger than “this”. That’s the problem. My entire life, I’ve been telling myself I’m stronger than “it”. I carry on. Tell myself I can beat “it”, I can “Kick ‘its’ ass.”  I’m tough. I can handle “it”. I put one foot in front of the other. I take a shower, I eat breakfast, I go to work, I try new things. 

It wasn’t really a wild hair that brought me to Denver. I say that because then it sounds whimsical and fun. Truth is, I was tired of feeling sad all the time. I thought a new location would solve all my problems.

Moving worked for awhile. Until it didn’t. Those same old haunts started creeping up again. Insecurities, anxieties, existential angst. All to the point of paralyzation. I called in sick to work. I forgot to eat. I slept 16 hours a day and stayed in bed for the other 8. And then I found roller derby. And I threw my whole self into it. That kept me distracted for awhile. But there’s not any one thing that can entirely sustain a person for very long. 

I started slipping again. And here we are. I’m at about as low as I’ve ever been and I’m tired. I’m tired of the cycle. I’m tired of fighting. This “thing” and I have gone toe to toe and come out even. I could do like I’ve always done and put one foot in front of the other, take a shower, eat breakfast. I could try another new thing and hope that it sparked some sort of meaning or passion. And maybe it would. And maybe that would sustain me for a bit. But after awhile I’d end up right back here- a withered, broken, shadow of a person. 

So that’s the thing. I’m not stronger than what “this” is. I’m not that tough and I can’t handle “it”. Not on my own. But making that realization and acting on it are different things. Admitting that I don’t want to do this alone anymore, that I want and need help in breaking the cycle… that’s what has brought me to this lowest of lows. I feel weak and defeated, like I’ve given up. I want to be strong enough to beat this on my own. I hate myself for needing help. 

This “thing” knows that. “It” mocks me. “It” plays with my confidences and turns them against me. “It” tells me that I’m smart. Just as smart as some dumb therapist. What do they know that I don’t? “It” tells me that I am strong. I’m self-reliant. I take care of myself. Asking for help is admitting defeat and I’m no quitter. “It” tells me to get up and fight some more. Maybe this time I’ll win, “it” smirks. 

So what do you do about a “thing” like that? What do you do when what you’ve always considered to be your greatest strengths have become your greatest weaknesses? When all your confidence is lying in a puddle on the floor, how do find the courage to overcome your strengths?

Yeah, I was in bad way. And maybe a bit dramatic, if we’re being honest. But that’s what depression does. Fucker.

I found myself googling, “Am I depressed?”
The internet responded with a resounding,

Mean ‘ole internet.

But it was right. And I knew it. And I finally found the courage to get over myself and get the help and support I so desperately needed. And today, I feel like a different person. One who is excited about getting up in the morning. One who is confident and proud. One who is finally realizing what it means to be “happy”. And one who is excited to start blogging again.

So, yeah. That’s what’s been going on. I promise my next post will be more fun and with less of the feeling crap. :)

Until then, here’s a picture of Corey Feldman wishing you a Happy Thursday:




My how the time flies when you aren’t chained to a soul-sucking, mind-numbing, spirit-crushing, lame-excuse-of-a-job, job. I’ve been free for a few weeks now and holy crap, you guys, freedom tastes good. Kinda like Fresca. and chicken.

I’ve been spending my days sleeping in, daydreaming, playing with Grace, watching entire seasons of Burn Notice, napping, building forts, burning pancakes, eating burnt pancakes, going on walks, having milkshakes for lunch, thinking about what I want to be when I grow up, deciding growing up is dumb, daydreaming some more, and finally getting back to a place where I’m feeling good about me again.

And that’s it. It’s been awesome.

And I guess that’s it for this post. I wish I had some sort of brilliant, sum-uppy punchline but I don’t. That’s what I get for writing while sober. Sorry. It won’t happen again.

To sum up…

I haven’t forgotten about you guys, I swear! Things just got a little crazy there for a second.
Here’s a quick recap of the last few weeks:

Remember that I was taking a programming class? I finished it.
I learned that:

1) The Powerpuff Girls are NOT still a thing and that referencing them in a room full of 19 year old boys does NOT win you any cool points.

2) After eight weeks of class, I still don’t know dick about computers.

3) If you repeatedly ask your computer, “What the fuck??”, your professor will eventually get tired of raising his eyebrows at you and come take a look at your program and ask you “What the fuck??”

4) Taco Bell is still disgusting.

The same week I finished the class, I moved. I’m now sharing a house with 4 other people. My rent is super cheap and I can afford food again but I have to wear pants in the kitchen. Sometimes you have to compromise with yourself. This is what it means to make grown-up decisions, friends.

And THEN, the day after I moved, I went on vacation for a week. Here’s a picture that was inspired by the pre-vaca shopping:

Despite leaving for vacation feeling like Willa the Whale and despite almost getting killed by chipmunks while ON vacation, I managed to have a nice, relaxing time and I promise to tell you all about it soon.

For now, I have to focus all my energies on how to make a lasting impression on The Bloggess (one of my personal heros!) without inspiring a restraining order. She’s in Denver this evening for a book signing!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

Beauty School Dropout

I’ve recently made some references to frustrations I’ve been encountering in my life. Mostly, my disgruntlement is stemming from unhappiness at my job. I’ve been working towards changing that situation. Not with much luck, however. Turns out it’s difficult to find a new job when you have absolutely no idea what sort of job you want to find. So, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching and Saved By The Bell watching in an effort to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. (Admittedly, the Saved By The Bell watching isn’t exactly helpful or ‘grown-up’ but it’s such a good damn show!)

Anyway. This weekend I crossed beautician off my list of possible new careers.

As I am apt to do in times of chaos and confusion, I decided to change my hair. I got a couple boxes of dye and locked myself in my bathroom.

And then, ummm…. well, you know that scene in Grease where Frenchy has a “little trouble in tinting class”? Yeah. Ummm… that. Exactly that.

Here’s Frenchy…

And here’s me…

“I hate to tell you but your hair looks like an Easter egg.”


If “Fuck me, Fuschia!” had been my intended outcome, I’d be all set down a new career path. But since I was aiming for “Lusty Lavender”, I think it’s best I keep exploring my options. And watching more Saved By The Bell. :)

The Hot Sauce that Tried to Kill Me

A couple of nights ago my little sister was nice enough to make some veggie stew for John and I.  It was a cold day, so AWESOME for some hot stew.  What could possibly make it better?

Hot sauce, of course!

There is a reason why it's called that...

Now, lest we forget, I’m kind of an idiot.

Well, I guess by “idiot” I mean that I tend to just DO something without really thinking about it, be in pain for a little while, THEN learn from the mistake.

In a nutshell, I tend to throw caution to the wind.

I decided that I was a little bored with Siryacha sauce, and wanted to try something new.  I found this bottle labeled “The Hottest Fuckin’ Sauce” hidden in the fridge, and remembered that John had purchased it when we were in New Orleans over a year ago.  The bottle was still nearly full.  I figured maybe he didn’t like it, but the truth is you only need a pea-sized amount to set your soul on FIRE.  Needless to say, I found this out afterward. This bottle will probably last him until 2032.

This accurately illustrates how things went.  I DUMPED it over the soup – treating it just like your average everyday hot sauce.

I dove into my soup, and immediately began to feel the burn.  My nose was running, my mouth was on FIRE, and my eyes were watering.  But I was starving so I just kept shoveling it down, blowing my nose, and chugging water the whole time.

And for the next 3 days, I was miserable.

My tummy ached, I was in the bathroom about 10x every 5 hours, and I couldn’t figure out what went wrong.

“What did I EAT?”  I asked myself… not once thinking of the FUCKING HOTTEST HOT SAUCE ON THE PLANET THAT I SLATHERED MY FOOD WITH 2 days hence.

Well, lesson learned.  It was the fucking hot sauce.
Next time I feel my taste buds burning off my tongue while I’m eating, I might actually stop and remember “hey, this will be burning through my intestines next!”


If you’re a total masochist, and/or enjoy making your insides feel like Snookie on a bender (all booze and spike heels and teeth), here’s where you can purchase this hot sauce.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you…