Thursday, April 21, 2011

Donuts, BBQ and Being Totally "Normal". For Now.

I went yesterday and spent the day with people I don’t normally get to spend a lot of time with. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that the occasion doesn’t always call for it. Also it may be that sometimes often I make an ass out of myself. I know, right? But that is what I do. I’m Angela. I say inappropriate things that at least entertain me if no one else. But they tolerated me at least for the day. We ate lunch at the donut shop which was also a BBQ place which I thought was probably a strip club when first seeing it. Small towns are cool like that. No need running all over town to get your food baby. They probably had bait in there somewhere. And I bet that guy would have also done my taxes.


So anyhow, we are sitting and talking as normal people often do. I said idiot things and laughed at silly things. We somehow steered our conversation to how I came to be labeled as “inappropriate” and also female. Remember how I am pro-vagina in everyday conversation? I’m sure they could have assessed my appropriateness on their own and as for my gender, I could see how I might be confused with a really good drag queen. But anyhow, there we were and there I was. And then it just began occurring to me there in that moment how different my life has become.

I rode in a bus. I ate in a place called “Pigskin”. I met people. I talked to people. I maintained my compulsions. I didn’t get trapped in my own cyclical thoughts. I didn’t worry about what I said or did. I was just myself. Medicated, but nonetheless. There was a time I could not do any of those things. There was a time when meeting and talking to new(er) people was practically impossible. I had paralyzing anxiety in social/professional situations. I am a different person.

And then I started really realizing how much my illnesses have cost me. And I was pissed. I am pissed. Mental illness stole so many years from my life. It has taken so many experiences away from me. And not just me, but my husband and my kids and my friends and friends that I never had because I couldn’t leave my house. And I really hate that. My stupid brain has messed up so much. I have so much resentment for my illness. I want to kick it in its stupid face. Four times.

But on the other hand, I wouldn’t turn back the clock and change it. Because I wouldn’t be having the experiences that I’m having now. I wouldn’t have stories to tell and lessons learned. I wouldn’t be aware how great these things are now. I wouldn’t have such unbelievable appreciation for little things. Little things like sitting in the donut/BBQ place and talking. Just like normal. Only it’s my own personal inappropriate normal. And that’s cool.

But side note normal people: check back with me once you've experienced one of my full scale meltdowns. Because that is something special. You have no idea what you have gotten yourselves into.

Band People

Let me just say for the record that I am aware of my innate nerdish tendencies. I try to use the dictionary.com word of the day in a sentence. I watch documentaries and read text books. Nerd. This probably followed me out of high school where I was a BIG nerd. I lettered in academics. I was in choir. I went to piano camp every summer. We had theory classes and recitals. But all this experience could never prepare me for the world of…band.


OK, so I am (apparently) an occasional accompanist for the band. I mean, I’ve been around band and all that plenty of times but this was a particularly superb experience. I made several observations. Allow me to share:

1) Band people have no problem with bodily fluids. I am mainly thinking of the spit valve things. If you don’t have the opportunity to hang around people who play instruments with their mouths, the brass parts fill up with spit. So they just open it up. And dump it out. Wherever and whenever the holy frick they want to. I saw more spit yesterday then all of my life combined. I feel like they could play one of those Double Dare games where they had to fill the buckets up to the red line with whatever kind of liquid. You know, this would at least give them something to do. And the winner could buy me a pizza.

Also, there are reeds. I don’t know much about reeds. I just know that they have to suck on them. Or something. To like, get ready to play with them. Or something like that. I’m not really sure because I start giggling and quit paying attention right around the words “suck on”. I think I’ve heard a few “moists” bandied about in there also.

2) Band kids/directors have so much stuff. SO. MUCH. STUFF. Like enough that they have to drive a whole separate truck just for their crap. I’m a singer. When I sing, I take a bottle of water. Sometimes a folder with music. When I play piano somewhere. I just bring music. They carry phenomenal amounts of things. Instrument things, reed things, music things, stand things, extra part things, and best of all…lube things. I am serious.

3) Band people are kind of like this underground community. They all seem to know each other. It is so creepy. Like, everyone knows everyone. Also they kind of have their own language and communication skills. Sometimes there aren’t even sentences. Just noises and pointing. I feel like at any minute it could have become that scene from that one Matrix movie where they were in the underground city and that one guy was all “We are alive.” And they were all “RAWR SCREAMING” and then they all had an orgy. It’s like that minus the sweaty orgy. That is a terrible movie.

4) Band people work. Hard. I feel lazy around band people. They’re all “yeah blah blah blah practice at 7am blah blah and then more practice and don’t forget all your crap” I can’t even…Bleh…I just can’t be having all that much music up in my business all the time. Honestly, the work ethic puts me to shame. It's really impressive. My husband doesn't even speak before 7:30 am. And they are all practicing and whatnot. Maybe that's where all the grunting and pointing originates. They are so fracking tired from all the practicing that the language skills have devolved.

Thus concludes my observations of a day with band people. Maybe someday they can hang out with the choir kids. Because that is where all the really cool kids*  are. You know, when not at piano camp.

*No, not really.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Hi. I'm Angela. These are my thoughts.

Hi. I’m Angela. You might have forgotten that.


I’m working without a net here. I have no real plan or direction for this post so it could literally go anywhere. I don’t know how this is much different than my normal day to day life, but I thought I would at least warn you. In fact, that is pretty much how everything that comes out of my mouth works. I never really know where it’s going to end up. And add a couple of glasses of wine to that, and you are in for a very entertaining and self esteem boosting night out. Especially when I have on my red platform peep toe pumps and black Nicole Miller sheath dress. Yes, I realize that is quite specific and no you may not have further details at this time as I do not have the permission of all parties involved. But I was in rare form let me assure you.

I feel like I should also point out that my “J” key is broken. This is because my child could not figure out whatever it was that she was doing on my laptop and decided that the best course of action would be to simply bang on the keyboard like a monkey. I’ve never really kept count of how often I use this key. So I am thinking of this like a science project. There…1. See, I rule at science.

OK, so I have been working my face off lately. More literally I have been working my arms off and sitting on my butt on the piano bench. It is exhausting. Sometimes I’m all “Hey, remember that one time when I went to college and studied voice and got a degree in voice performance? Yeah. That was cool, right? When do I get to do that again? Cause that’s way the freakface easier than some of this accompaniment that the band kids hand me. I think I might as well have only 8 fingers when I play it because at least then I would have an excuse for how unbelievable crappy I am at it.” But, remember that I will be singing soon. MAY 6th at 7:00pm in Oklahoma City. Come see me and support OCD awareness!

I guess that playing this hard is making me stressed or something because all the sudden my face has broken out like a teenager in heat. Seriously, face? I don’t have time for that. Or maybe it’s my hormones. Hormones, is that you making all that noise? Don’t make me come in there and take out the one remaining ovary. Why you just stick to making me sweaty and unpredictably moody.

Remember how I have OCD? OK, right well I am still really not cool with dust. I don’t even understand this. I mean, I DO understand it logically but in the moment it sucks balls. Clean, non-dusty balls. I know how to be crazy. I can count and repeat and touch and ritualize with the best of them. But this new kinda crazy is messing me up. I have had to actually clean all up in my house! This is not entertaining for me. And not the useful cleaning like laundry and putting toilet paper on the roll. No, this is corners and tops of bookcases and all the places that nobody ever sees. Side note: Luke and I like to play this little game of toilet paper roll chicken. We just leave the empty roll on the floor and set the new one on the back of the toilet. The game is lost when you finally can’t stand it anymore and pick up all the rolls off the floor. I think we had around 12 at one time. I know. We are disgusting.

I think this concludes my train of thought. For now. I’m working on focusing on a topic for next time.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Worst. Super power. Ever.

The bathroom at our house is sizeable enough for two people but it is very skinny. This means that when one of us is ironing and one of us is using the blow dryer we are basically standing literally back to back. That was the formation on a particular day last week. My dear husband was ironing and I was blow drying all 25 pounds of my hair.


In case you are unfamiliar with how a blow dryer works, there is a vent thingy in the back that sucks in air and the occasional pieces of my hair while the blow dryer hot part blows out. So like if a piece of my hair got all up in the sucker it would burn and stink and then blow out hot stinky burnt hair smell. That is all very scientific and don’t ask me to explain it to you further because you would just feel like an idiot. As is my custom, I had my dryer angled upwards so the sucky end was pointed down a bit. That is when I’m all hey did I just suck up a hot dog or something into my blow dryer because something is foul. And then I’m all “Pete! Lexi! (the dogs) That’s gross! Quit!” and Luke is all “hey it wasn’t them it was me.” And then I’m like “K. You are disgusting. Because now I have hot cooked butt air coming through my blow dryer and making my hair smell like that. Thank you.” And he’s all “No problem.”

But it doesn’t end there. Today was the first day that I had actually blown dry my hair since last week. Allow me to explain that I was in fact quite sick and did take showers and wash it but then I just tied it up in a knot and went back to bed due to not having the energy or necessity to fix it or put on make-up. I am very attractive when sick. Therefore, as I am getting ready for church this morning and drying my hair, Luke stood behind me ironing. Or something. I don’t actually know what was happening back there. Anyhow, as I dried:

Me: The frick, Luke!?

Him: What did I do?!

Me: You butt aired in my drier again and made it all hot and cooked and impervious to the laws of physics!

Him: No, I didn’t.

Me: Yes. Yes you did.

Him: It was probably our dogs.

Me: Unfortunately I spend enough quality time with both you and our dogs that I am able to tell the difference between each of you in that particular area. That is really sad to say out loud. And gross. Anyways, it was you. I know that it was!

Him: Well, I didn’t do anything so it wasn’t me.

Me: Ok. Wait… You mean...this is the same one from last week?! It has resided inside my dryer for this whole time waiting to be re-released! Have you actually altered the chemical structure of my dryer with your innards?! That is like a super power.

Him: Yeah, well. You’re welcome.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

I think frack balls pretty much sums it up.

Well mother of holy frack balls. I am tired of germs in this freaking house! Sickness all over and it finally was able to claim my powerful and pristine body. So I am finally sitting up on my couch instead of laying on it like a blob. And I am still getting all weird about contamination dang it! But not in any kind of useful way. My laundry is everywhere but I have a clean backsplash. My floor is growing its own hair but the tops of all the cabinets and door frames are spotless. I spent a whole afternoon doing that. I am particularly freaked out about breathing in dust. Never have I ever been that bothered by air. I even love the smell of cigarette smoke like a weirdo. But the sight of dust that might get in my lungs makes me all wanting to clean it and then touch it and then repeat out loud several times that I cleaned it. What the frick?! Right now, I’m just trying to recognize OCD for what it is and not let it control me. But, I am also trying to use this new found problem with germs to encourage me to clean up my crap every now and then. Also, we are looking for a housekeeper. Because I just straight up suck at it. Plus, its haaaaaarrrrrrddddddd. Boo.


Ok, so I have been hard at work on my speech for the IOCDF. In case you missed it, I am a speaker in San Diego at the annual conference in July. We also have the ball rolling on a fundraising concert/cabaret show set for May 6th. If you are in OK give me a holler and I can hook you up with some details. It will be awesome. And fabulous. And pretty.

BUT I NEED YOUR HELP!

First of all, I am trying to narrow down my speech to some of my favorite/most meaningful stories and experiences. If you have a favorite from this blog or from something that happened in person then let me know! God knows that if I had my way I would talk about myself all the live long day. But I only have an hour. Also, sometimes the stuff that I think is funny, nobody else thinks is funny. I thought getting raped by a toilet seat was hi-larious. And also a bit painful. But not everyone enjoys vagina stories. So what gets your vote for inclusion in the speech? Should I not call any attention to my boobs? Or do you think that will help?What is totally inappropriate? And yes, anonymous, I know you think everything that happens to me is somehow inappropriate, but you keep on reading and commenting so I guess you find something interesting. I’d love your opinion too, anonymous. We’re all friends here.

Second, I need dollars. It costs lots of dollars to go all the way to San Diego from here. And it costs dollars to stay at the hotel even with the IOCDF discount. Also it costs mad amounts of dollars for the extra therapies and pills and whatnot that it involves to get me on an airplane. But seriously, I would greatly appreciate any donations. This money will ONLY be used for travel expenses and all additional funds will go straight to IOCDF. I am not profiting at all here. Besides, even if I did try to keep some of it I’d probably feel so guilty that I would confess it like 2 days later and then offer to pay everyone back double. I’m kind of a chronic confessor. I can’t keep anything a secret.

So that’s that. Hope to hear lots from you all very soon!

Monday, April 4, 2011

Why it is always more fun with me in charge

I haven’t blogged in like about 100 blog years. Sometimes being able to leave the house without a safe person and have a regular job is exhausting. But that is 100 blog years not people in real life years. That’s probably about a week in regular time. So don’t panic old people. I’m not old enough to try and steal all your social security and hip joint cream yet.


Anywhatevs, I am finally taking some moments to relax and catch up on things. I decided to have a lovely glass of pinot grigio whilst doing the posting. Now that I’m not Baptist anymore I’m allowed to admit I enjoy wine. I even can drink it out of a real wine glass and not hide it in a pop can or anything. So just now I’m trying to open this bottle. I’m only just now becoming a wine aficionado, which means that A) I still think red wine tastes like booty juice and B) I only have this little hand crank opener. Like a chump. My friend Ellen has this ridiculously awesome one that practically pours the wine for you and then does a little dance. Children could use this thing. Not that they should. They definitely should not. Anyhow, mine is really hard to use and I have tiny little muscles. Let’s just say that you should not use all of your strength to pull out the freaking rubber cork with your hand right in front of your face. Also, never be ashamed to open the bottle with pliers.

Which brings me to my story, of the day I got kamikaze ninja choir bombed.

I work at a high school as the accompanist. When the director needs to leave and buy red hair dye for the musical, I get to be quasi in charge. It’s cool. I’m a grown-up. Anyhow, this particular day I had already sewed the butt flap of onesie pj’s closed so it was shaping up to be a good day. I was in my place as quasi in charge which meant that I was barefoot and playing angry birds on my phone while keeping an eye on the masses. Said buttflap-free pjs were strewn about as well as hot glue and books and papers and dog hair and a baby doll on a chain and various other totally normal things.

An office aide came into the choir room followed by a man in a suit.

Him: Hi, I’m Dr. blahblah and I’m from blahblah university.
Me: Ok. Hi.
Him: Are you in charge?
Me: Well, I guess. I mean if there is a fire or something I’ll make sure that no one stays behind to steal my purse. I’m the accompanist. The director will be back in just a while. She had to go shopping.
Him: OK. Well, I had talked to her about bringing my choir in here sometime to sing for your choir. But I haven’t really been able to get in touch with her in the last few days so I was just wondering if she still was planning on that.
Me: Well, tonight is musical dress rehearsal so we have been all kinds of crazy busy around here. But I’ll tell her you stopped by. What date exactly were you guys talking about?
Him: Um…the bus is in the parking lot.

Me: Kay, what?

Him: The bus, with 50 college students, is here. In the parking lot.

Me: So you mean, like, right now?!
Him: Yes. Right now. Apparently it’s not on the schedule?
Me: Well, I guess I’m in charge. And I’m here. And you’re here. So…come on in!

And that is how 50 college kids formed an impromptu choir in the middle of the day on my watch. And trust me, that many people in nice clothes quietly filing into the building does not go unnoticed. And I still didn’t even have shoes on. It was awesome. I am so good at running things.