In other news

Finally figured out my Halloween costume. Looking forward to sporting knee pads, a black eye, and some overly aggressive behavior... Now I just have to figure out how to create a fake pair of skates. A SUGGESTION of skates, if you will. Mostly because I believe the general rule of thumb, for me anyway, is: Wheels + Drinking = Bad Idea.


_ for effort

My brother has wasted his entire weekend alternatively staring into space or playing a certain CD nineteen times in a row, instead of studying for a Physics test that has to make up for the one he failed two weeks ago.

Today he woke up early enough to blow off all his classes, then ate his way through the fridge out of boredom and nervousness.

It has been a shitty week-and-then-some, full of space/sharing issues, frustrations, medications seemingly not kicking in, a job on the verge of being lost, etc., and now it is 8 o’clock Monday night and we’re in the middle of a (nearly) full-blown anxiety attack. My brother’s voice is a steady crescendo as he recounts all the ways he thinks he has failed in life, especially over the last few weeks.

I am trying to calm him down, interject a little level-headednes amongst the panic, but he is having difficulty slowing down enough to hear me. I know procrastination, college misery, pressure from all sides, severe depression and anxiety, being 21 and feeling like you’re never going to be able to hop back on the merry-go-round… but I do not know what it is like to deal with all those things plus a serious lack of life skills, and ADD as the icing on the cake.

I’m trying, he groans, but it’s all so fucking hard and I don’t know how to study or what to do or how to do it and I wasted so much time and I’m going to fail, it’s like there’s no fucking point now to doing anything about it!

I know, I say, but you also keep telling me you can do this, so you need to start to believe that, and at least try.

But it’s too late! There’s NO WAY I’m going to pass the test now, I can’t motivate myself, I haven’t done any of the homework problems and there’s like FOUR CHAPTERS’ WORTH-

So, what? You’re going to keep crying about it for a few hours, and then not sleep tonight worrying about the test and fail it anyway? Go get your stuff, I’ll stay here with you until you get the homework done.

It’s too much! And it’s FOUR CHAPTERS! And it’s already 8 o’clock and-

And it’s 9 o’clock in New York, and 7 in New Mexico.


Exactly. Go bring your stuff down here and get started.


I’m sorry, Z, this is non-negotiable now. Go get your stuff, do at least one homework problem and we’ll take it from there.

(he sighs)

And then at least you can say you’ve tried.

He relents. Almost two hours later and he’s still at it, there’s a deep calm in the house when Monk gets home, and I am glad I decided to cancel my own study group tonight to be home with my brother. I don’t know if this last minute effort, though earnest, is going to earn my brother the grade he needs tomorrow, but I can tell he’s feeling more at peace and confident, which is good. I know he’s trying, and that has to count for something.

Monk is concerned by how drained I seem but I don’t feel like talking (ranting, who are we kidding) about the evening and cancelled plans, a consistent lack of energy and a running list of items we will need to replace whenever my brother moves out (the latest, as of today: The relatively new, white luxe comforter in our beautiful-guest-room (what used to be the room I used to, you know, get some sleep at night)-turned-brother’s-room, which now has pink highlighter all over it). He is ready to take over, to continue the patient instruction and tolerance he’s practicing daily, ever since my brother moved in with us in August. But I smile and tell him my brother’s doing his homework, preparing for his exam tomorrow, and let’s try to be quiet so he can focus. I tell him I’ll be staying up tonight until my brother finishes this, and that it’s okay, tonight it’s my turn.

Tomorrow will bring a host of different issues, I’m sure, and Monk and I will continue to deal with things as they come, holding fast to our patience and compassion, our tongues and our tempers, coping and hoping for the best in every moment. I don’t know if any of this is helping my brother, but dammit, we’re trying. And that has to count for something.


Find your inner [slutty] Grinch

I was going to post about a little issue I'm having with Climbsalot's new(ish) bride not liking me, but after a brief discussion with Monk about how awesome I am (I love how delusional that dude is, even after nearly a decade), I realized it makes sense that she doesn't like me and probably won't ever come around. And even though it irks me, I need to cut her a little slack regarding her two-faced behavior when we are all, oh I don't know, sitting around having beers on a Monday night (Quinn tells a story, she barely pays attention, another friend starts talking and it's like a visit from the Pope). Either that or I should flirt with her husband more. Anyone want to vote on which way I will go with this?

Hmmm, crabby much?

I was talking to a friend last night about Halloween plans, and very nearly committed to stopping in at his party, before he let it slip that every year they hold their traditional contest for Sexiest Costume. "Oh my god!" I exclaimed, "and then after all the women have paraded around half naked, do we get to put on a wet t-shirt contest, or roll around in jello, or-" and at that point my eye-rolling became so emphatic and melodramatic that I almost toppled out of my barstool.

I'd go into the standard diatribe here about how every costume these days is a slutty version of its original ("I'm a [slutty] nurse!" or "Check out my [sexy] cat costume!" or "Don't you recognize a [whore-y] sanitation engineer when you see one?!") but it's a tired little ditty, and I'm a tired dame these days, so let's move on. Also, I kind of suspect I would have less of a problem with the whole scene if I only had bigger breasts (wouldn't that have been a great additional character/song in The Wizard of Oz, by the way? "I'd be bold and I'D get noticed, every guy would LOSE his focus, if I only had a rack..." Anywhooo).

I'm going a little Grinch-like on the whole holiday this year, and I'm not sure why. I used to like Halloween, I swear I did. Baby needs a nap.

Hands down, best costume I've ever heard of was worn by an acquaintance last year- she was attempting a play on a classic detective character, but spent the whole evening at a party with the wrong (and therefore cultural-icon-clueless) generation and was deemed "the girl in the inflatable penis" for the night. Now THAT'S what I'm talking about, people. I'd been trying to decide between something from Greek mythology, a biker chick, or something particularly ghoulish (not sure what, exactly, but anytime I can draw stitches and scars on my face I'm happy), but now I'm wondering if she still has that outfit and if it's available to rent.

I know! I'll figure out a way to way to be [SLUTTY] Inflatable Penis Girl! I bet Climbsalot's wife would feel better about him flirting with me in THAT. Or... not.