Thursday, October 17, 2013

This is What Feminism Looks Like

This past week I went to New York Comic Con with a friend. Vastly enjoyable, but that's a given really. On Saturday there were two panels we really wanted to go to (and thankfully we got into both). One being the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who (with special appearance by Colin Baker!) and the other a Q & A with John Barrowman (Captain Jack! *swoons*). In order to guarantee a seat for the Captain Jack Q&A, we sat through a panel for the DC comics: New 52.

I'm not a DC fan. I've always been a Marvel girl. I was vaguely curious however about Wonder Woman but not enough to buy one of the comics. The panel consisted of an overview of the next few issues of some certain comics. And let me mention that there was only one woman on the panel.

Nothing exciting. The Q&A was boring for the most part until this wonderful young woman in a Batman cosplay asked a question about DC's hiring practices. In a nutshell, she stated statictics on how few female editors, copywriters, artists, and letterers there were in the DC corporation. She asked why.

Their answer?

Because there wasn't the talent pool.

Because ya know, there aren't a ton of woman in the indie comic world at all. But after this, I'm not surprised that woman are applying for these jobs at this company. I wouldn't want to work for them.

Thankfully there was a lot of cheers for the question and quite a few boos from the audience.

A few questions later, another woman asked why the switch of Wonder Woman's costume change? She started off with pants and a fully covered costume and then a few issues later, back to the original skimpy non-clothes she had for years. Mind you, this was after the artist for Wonder Woman mentioned how kinky the covers were.

Their answer?

1. Because it was hard to draw and color.
2. Because there was backlash.

There weren't as many boos for the panel's answer this time unfortunately. I did say, very loudly I might add, about how Marvel seems to do it fine with Captain Marvel.

Skip until about 48:30. Watched the uneasy panel.

My friend and I were pissed. I tweeted about the whole thing. Angerly. DC will not get my money hashtag fuckDCcomics.

There were two girls sitting next to us. probably early 20s. Hard to tell. Maybe a bit younger.

They seemed unfazed by the panel's answer. Taking it as okay. Them saying how iconic the costume was.

I was livid. I asked if they knew the story behind the creator of Wonder Woman. How the creator was not shy about how he wanted a sexy bondage/kink relationship with Wonder Woman and her antagonists. (yes, yes, I know wikipedia, cut me some slack guys)

Now I'm not dismissing bondage as a life style. It's fine as long as it's between consenting adults. I was just pointing out to the girls that she was created specifically to be a sex-object and not a real person.

These girls didn't get it. They didn't care.

I was shaking I was so angry.

(Thankfully I was happier after watching John Barrowman prance around the stage the next hour or so)

But this stayed with me.
The lack of caring.

This is not what feminism looks like.
Where's these girls' passion and anger for being reduced to a sex object?

What does this have to do with my book review?

Back in January or March I received an ARC for Eve Ensler's In the Body of the World. I knew that this wasn't exactly the feminist manifesto that The Vagina Monologues is, but rather a memoir of her cancer experience. I was supposed to read and review it months ago. But I didn't have the desire to pick it up until last Sunday.

Where I was still full of rage against DC.

I'm glad I did.
I read it in two days.
Could have been one but I needed time to process her words.

I needed time to write down extended quotes that deal with living life and viewing dying as a transformation. I needed to hear about her stories of the women who are repeatedly raped by soldiers in the Congo. I needed to hear about the healing these women go through after being violated and left for dead, only to stand back up again.

I cried.
Oh how I cried.

And I want to hand this book to the young women and girls who take DC's answers that women aren't good enough for their jobs or that women should be scantily dressed.

I want to show them what feminism looks like.
That it's not a dirty word.
That they have the power to challenge the status quo.

To get up and push back.

That if woman want to be half naked that it's okay, but only if they do it on their own terms, and not because a man tells them to. That their life is in their hands and they are in charge.

I keep hearing this song in my head.

This is what feminism looks like.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Things I Am Worried About Because of the Government Shutdown.

Taking a tip from Mother Jones here and realizing how fragile our jobs are.

1. My student loans. 
You're lucky that I can barely pay them now. I couldn't consolidate all my loans back in 2005 because of the fact that some of them were private GATE loans. I'm trying to at least lower my payments, but it's hard. On paper, my income is large enough (but my AGI is still below $25k) to pay the total $400+ a month I throw at both of them, but honestly, with credit card bills, doctor bills, car insurance, not to mention groceries, I'm having a hard enough time just keeping up with things. 

When the interest rates go up, I won't be able to pay them at all. Part of me wants to default anyway. been paying them for almost 10 years now and barely made a dent. 

I wonder if college was even worth it. 

2. Our Jobs.

I personally work for a private company so I don't have to worry about stock prices and investors too much (I hope.), but I'm worried. Even though it's a grocery store, people won't buy as much if they don't make as much. People always need food, but do they need $200 worth of food? Or $50 worth of food? It's gonna be hard. 

Jack's job is different. In 2008 the company he works for now had to let go a bunch of people. Being in a union didn't help them. A transit company, even a private one, will suffer if people don't have jobs to commute to. He's still one of the newer people too. I'm afraid he'll be one of the firsts to go, regardless of how well he is doing at the job. 

This would leave me as the sole income. We wouldn't be able to afford our apartment. 

3. Our retirement plans.
I do have a 401(k) from my times at Barnes & Noble. And I have another one from my current place of employment. But I remember when my aunt lost a ton of money she invested. She can never get that back. I have friends and other family members that had lost money too. Or their parents did, trickling down to everyone. 

A part of me wants to just take out the money I have invested before the stock market crashes, but I know I have to pay that money back. With inflated interest rates. But would it be worth it in order to use that money to pay off my credit cards? Because then I could use the credit cards to buy food.... (actually looking for an answer here, folks.)

4. Just, everything. 
Since finally moving to a town that has a library (don't get me started on towns NOT having a library) and it's less than a block away from our apartment, I've been finally reading the books that I couldn't really afford to buy (now that I don't work at B&N). And it's great! Wonderful. But, funding will be cut. What are people going to do then? I live in a more urbanized area that I have ever lived in (not counting when I was an infant and living in Union City). I know there are people who need the library more than I do. For internet access. Or just a warm place to be for hours on end. 

Will crime go up? More than likely. I'm lucky that even though my town is close to Newark, we don't live as close to Newark as we could be. But last night someone broke Jack's driver's side mirror. Not really a car since there are no other marks, more likely just a baseball bat. I work until midnight most days and that means I get home around 1230am or later. Because we only have street parking during the week and the school year, I park in the commuter lot by the train station that is about 4ish blocks away. No one is really around at that time. And there is an open gas station and diner right there, but still hardly any street lamps in the residential part of the 4 blocks I walk. Am I afraid? Normally not really. It's scarier to walk about alone around 9pm than it is at midnight, but who knows what will change. This worries me. 

Will healthcare costs go up? With the ACA perhaps not, but I pay into my health insurance through my job. At least I'm lucky enough for that. But I have no idea. Granted I have a lot more questions about this that isn't relevant to the shutdown and possible default, but that's for another time. 

So there's that.
It's time's like these that I think I should run for office of some sort. 

Tuesday, October 8, 2013


I guess I'll be posting pictures as they come in, but we all know that is a lie. Best ones will be on facebook anyways.

And no. I will not be changing my blog name just because my last name will be changing whenever I decide to go to the social security office.

Wait. Is the SS office even open during a government shut down? Hmm. Maybe this will take longer than I thought.

Front to Back: Bride, Groom, Best Man/Minister

Wednesday, October 2, 2013


5 years ago today, I was getting ready to go to a coffee house. I had my book and my notebook. I had time before meeting this guy I met via a dating site. 

I remember having soup. 
And Jack swears I was wearing this blue sweater that doesn't exists. 

I remember me being my awkward self when it comes to first dates. 
I remember being taken to a freaking HORRIBLE diner. 
(when I found out that there was a better one also not too far from his house, I yelled at him.) 

I remember feeling very comfortable with him. 

A few days later,
I vividly remember knowing that this guy was special. 

My coworkers at Barnes & Noble kept asking me if I was still with him weeks later. 
Months later. 
After a year, people couldn't believe it. 

I couldn't believe it. 

I remember our first valentine's day. Jack neglected to make reservations to this place. "It's a Tuesday. It will be fine."
We ended up going to Lido's.
And I told him that I was gonna marry him. 
I knew that I was. 

So it wasn't love at first sight. 
It was love around 3 days in when we were on our way to the mall to find parts of Jack's halloween costume and we were listening to Lou Reed's "Perfect Day." 

We get married on saturday. 

Sunday, September 29, 2013


So, I work at Trader Joe's. 
For those who don't know about Trader Joe's, 1. how dare you. and 2. We private label stuff. 

We have a seasonal tea that doesn't even try to pretend that it's not Celestial Seasons

So I tell Jack that I'll pick up a bunch because it's seasonal and once it sells out, it's gone. 

Me: Or we can just go to Shop Rite. 

Jack: And what? Creepily smell the tea boxes?

Me: Wait, you don't do that already?

I mean, how else do you find out what the tea smells like?

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

It just keeps tumblin' down, tumblin' down, tumblin' down.

Being bipolar is a funny thing.

Obviously there are days where everything is fine. Hunky-dory.
Where I can function and forget that I have this chemical imbalance in my brain that makes it hard to regulate my moods.

Then there are days where I hardly sleep and clean the house and read all the books and talk to everyone and be social and am so damn productive.

This is not that time.

Stress brings on the anxiety, which turns into depression eventually.
But now it's what's called a mixed episode.
Where I'm full of energy but can't focus or breathe and I just cry all the time and panic.
The panic turns into trying to control everything but failing.
Which turns into more anxiety.

I used to cut in high school.
Long before I ever knew what manic depression even was.
Hell, before I even knew what depression was.

Those scars are long gone thankfully. I know others who still live with them.

I stopped a long time ago.
My medication helped me.
Video games helped me. Killing Zerg or The Flood truly helps relieve the tension. Helps me to hyper focus on the task at hand while my brain calms down.

Cue my current Candy Crush addiction.

I'm not cutting again per se. More like digging my nails into my arms.
Trying not to break skin and leave the marks which will turn into scars now that I'm older.

I am getting married in 17 days after all.
It's bad enough my legs are bruised from work and my general clumsiness.

But the panic and the anxiety.
Yes a lot of my stress is gone now that we figured everything out.

All we really need to do is get our marriage license.
And clean the apartment.

But I can't shake the stress.
I can't stop crying and panicking.

Normally I can hide it at work.
Throwing myself into uber customer service lady.

But I'm distracted and even my coworkers see it.

"Kelly are you ok?"
"What can I do to help?"

And what I really want to say is
"I want to go home and learn how to breathe."

But I need the money, so I don't ask. I stay.
Sometimes I suffer throughout the day.
Other times I can fake it until my anxiety goes away.

Today is not a faking kind of day.
My chest is tight.
It's hard to breathe.
I'm on the verge of tears.

I'm overwhelmed with trying to clean.
17 days. 17 days 17 days...
that I can't start anything.
A closet is cleaned though.
And I'm working through a pile of magazines that have been sitting here for months.

But that's it.

Oh. yeah.
we need to order a wedding cake.

Perhaps actually get wedding bands...

And I don't like asking for help.
I hate it.
Makes me think I'm weak.

Because I'm not weak.
I'm strong.
I've gotten through worse, right?
Past suicide attempts.
Past abusive relationships.
Past revelations of family members.

I can get through this.

But it's so goddamn hard.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Going Through/Cleaning Up

I started this course today. Called Project 137. Started by my friend Patti Digh. Today is exactly 137 days until the new year.

Where the fuck has this year gone?

I don't think I've felt this lost in a very long time.
Where the world is spinning out of my control.
I'm out of touch with everything.
I can never catch my breath.

And I feel guilty over everything. Well to be honest, I always feel guilty over everything.

So I'm trying to clean out my cobwebs.
I only killed one spider so far. And it was tiny. And I said I was sorry about it.
I did clean out my fridge today. Full of yogurt from June. Where did the time go?

How did I let life run away from me?

I'm broke.
Like, before this past paycheck I had $1.05 in my bank account.


Last year this time I had over $2k

Where did the money go?
Where did I let the money go?
Why haven't I cared until it's too late?

Thankfully I can go to my psych doctor without a co-pay. I need to talk things out again.
I need to write again.
I need to open up again.

So I'm happy and scared about this Project 137.
Who knows what's going to come up.

Hopefully I can purge my demons and black bile from my soul.
Or get over the past and finally move on and live in the present.

Maybe I can actually get a hold of myself without medication again.

So here's to another beginning. Let's see where this goes.

Saturday, August 10, 2013


A great thing about my brain eating amoeba named brian, is that I get all this time to rest.

And play Skyrim.

And worry about the money I'm not making.

But really, rest!

Although I wish I could focus on stuff.

Like Skyrim.
Or reading (so many books I want to read!)
Or watching Supernatural. (It's so hard! I just want to see Misha Collins now. I'm not even done with season 1 yet... WHY ARE AMERICAN TEEVEE SHOWS SO LONG??? (I'm way too used to the BBC))

But hey look guys. That's like 3 posts.
Even though this is nothing of substance....

Writing is writing? yes?

Friday, August 9, 2013

Vision is the art of seeing things invisible. 
~ Jonathan Swift

The aspects of the thing that are most important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity.
~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Web MD Fail

For the past couple weeks, whenever I get home from work (around midnight:30 or so) I smell cigarette smoke. I live on the fourth floor of our apartment building and my windows are open, so it totally makes sense that this smell could happen.

Jack smells nothing.

I have a better sense of smell than him anyways.

Last night though, I started smelling this cigarette smoke in my car. While I was driving. On the NEW JERSEY PARKWAY.

Jack's awake when I get home.
I tell him the story.

Jack: You should check on Web MD.
Me: No, it will just tell me I have cancer.
Jack: Well it could be a tumor.
Me: It's not a tumor.
Jack: Or a seizure disorder.
Me: I don't have a seizure disorder. Besides, my bipolar meds are also anti-convulsants.

We sleep.
I wake up.
I google "olfactory hallucinations"

More than likely I have a sinus infection (or an actual tumor).

Web MD?

Well when you search Web MD for "olfactory hallucinations" I don't get "sinus infection" or "seizure disorder."

I don't even get "tumor" or "cancer."


I get this:

Brain Eating Amoeba


So, I think I'll name my brain eating amoeba.
I'll call it Brian.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Mystical Magical Mystery Box

A few months ago (I know! I'm a bad blogger. How can I ever meet the gold standard? I can't even blog twice a month most times.

but I digress[1].

A few months ago my wonderful lovely friend Jen (who is a proper blogger) sent me a package. In college, she used to send me mail all the time. Mostly creepy cut outs from magazines. And I don't know if I ever sent one back because I'm bad at mail or any sort of communication in a timely manner. I mean, she'd send me mail even though we were roommates. That's how awesome she is.

So I got this package.
I was instantly afraid.
As I should be.

The outside was covered in unicorns[2].
The inside was full of awesome.

Exhibit A:

I won this book via Jen's dog blog[3]. It is about a man and his house chicken. Or something like that. I haven't read it.

Exhibit B:

A walkman? Really? Without headphones? It's a good thing I have my ipod. And my old mix tapes from my first-ish boyfriend still laying around...

But it's all good! Exhibit 3

Because we didn't get a close up of the cassette tape it is "Born to be Wild" Original Artists. Original Recordings. I would like to meet an unoriginal artist, perhaps that's what a cover artist is? I dunno. I understand the wording and what it means but it's like that restaurant: Legal Seafood. It begs the question what is Illegal seafood. Probably dolphins and whales.

And no, I haven't listened to this tape yet either.

The fourth thing I got:

A space dragon killing an astroid. Pure Awesome. Look! That's my excited face and everything! For the record, space dragons are awesome; space unicorns should die.

Yup I'm gonna stop numbering these things:


Really? A box of Altoids?


I was wrong! Full of little stuff that is awesome! Look at those tiny seashells! And a monster with those floaty things so they don't drown because it can't swim!

What's next?

Socks that I haven't worn yet.

Sunglasses that make me look like Bono, but now that I have contacts again these have been coming in handy.

Urban Decay eye liner. Also very awesome and reminds me I need to actually buy makeup and stuff now that I have contacts...

Uh oh.
This last thing.

Jack had no idea what was going on when I saw this.


Granted, there are 3 other people besides me and Jen that understand the horror of Baby You. And the shenanigans that was our 3rd year of college.

Will this be sent on to a new home?
You bet your ass it will.

So that is my mystery box.
I have a slow growing one for Jen in response. So in the future we will have a sister post.

I am always up for mail though, so if you really want to send me something, feel free. I like stuff.

[1] Heh, Jen's post also says this. BECAUSE WE ARE MIND CONNECTED.
[2] Fucking Unicorns. I hate them. Except for My Little Ponies. Those are awesome.
[3] One link to her blog per blog post. Sorry Jen. Those are "my rules."

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Ocean at the End of the Lane

I went to see Neil Gaiman a few weeks ago. I've been wanting and waiting for months and years to meet him. And when I heard this was his last signing tour, I couldn't not go.

I wanted to show him my tattoo. And I did sort of. He was busy with signing hundreds of books and by the time I was there in front of him, I stuttered. I awkwardly showed him my tattoo and had my copy of Brief Lives in front of him to sign on the page where my ink is from.

I started to read his new book that night, while waiting in line to get it signed. I remember reading Amanda Palmer's review. I remember her words while Neil was talking about the book. I remembered her words while he was reading passages to the audience. 

There was no way I wasn't going to like the novel. There hasn't been a single thing that he's written that I didn't love. (Except Good Omens, I'm not a huge fan of that so much.) My gateway drug to the land of Gaiman was American Gods. Shortly after it was published a copy went around my circle of friends. Around almost the entire theatre department of my college to be honest. I fell in love. Eventually my friend Dave lent me the Sandman comics and Jacob watched over me as I read them, knowing they were going to affect me in a deep deep way. 

He was right. 

I don't think I cried as hard as I ever did at a series or book, before or since. There's just something that resonates to my deep soul. My deeper consciousness. I had never read anything like it. When people say something "moved" them, I had no idea what that truly meant until encountering this graphic novel. 

I reread the series earlier this year, or late last. I can't remember. But upon rereading, I found the words that became my tattoo. A clear headed crazy woman because someone needed to hold it together if her brother couldn't. There are things that even the person who knows everything doesn't know. There are ways to travel and understand that others just don't see or get. How can I not understand that?

The Ocean at the End of the Lane moved me like Sandman did. It touched me. I cried and was scared and I believe I've had some nightmares because of the book. My heart aches and I want to know more about the family and about the narrator. And about that land that is neither there nor here. I want to find those places in my life where I can dream and remember and feel that otherness. 

This is not a book for the day time. Read this book at night. In the quiet of 2am with a cup of tea that will probably grow cold as you read chapter by chapter. Read this book during a summer thunderstorm (like I did) that's as ferocious as the one you'll read in the pages. Read this book alone. And when you are finished, find someone to hug. 

Other people have said it, but yes I firmly believe that this is his best work yet. The Sandman comics are my water mark, and (like I stated before) this is at that level. 

It's a story about a boy and the wonderful and awful world his neighbor shows him. It all starts with a birthday cat. From there there's an opal miner. And then a nanny. And lots of other fantastic stuff. And more cats. And a fantastic storm. 

Not to mention, beautiful writing. 

And beautiful truths that I only half knew before going into this book:

"I'm going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world."


I thought about adults. I wondered if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped in adult bodies, like children's books hidden in the middle of dull, long adult books, the kind with no pictures or conversations. 

Read this book. Even if you don't like what I read. Read this book. You might not love it as wholly as I do. Actually, you can't: none of you are me. But I'm pretty damn sure this is a book that will stay with you long after you close the book. 

Especially when you look outside when it rains and just wonder. 

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Father's Day

To be honest, I don't remember Father's Day when I was a child. (Nor Mother's Day for that matter.)

I guess after one's father dies, it's hard to care or think about it without hurting. Without being jealous of everyone else.

I learned very early on to get under people's skin and be highly amused at their reactions.

"What are you doing for Father's Day?"
"My father's dead."

The reaction never gets old.
I know, I know, gallows humor, but after all these years, I can't help but smile at this.

I've had 20 plus years to deal with this. 20. Twenty. It's almost unreal that one day I will be older than my father.

It took me a very very very long time to accept my step-father as my dad. Growing up with Bill was, to put it lightly, very hard. Granted, I was an undiagnosed hormonal teenage girl; I know I wasn't easy to deal with or parent. And on his end, I was the first daughter he ever encountered. Talk about a steep learning curve.

But accept him I do. He will walk me down the aisle when I get married (that is, if Jack and I can ever get our act together to plan this damn thing) whether or not he wants to. I am proud to say that I'm his first daughter. I may not be his favorite (oh come on, people, EVERYONE knows that my sister is the favorite. :P ), but I'm the first and really, the best, and the smartest, and the one that is amazing.

So, thank you Daddy and thank you Bill for raising me, both in your own strange fashion. I know for a fact that I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for you two.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013


(My horoscope just explicitly told me that I need to get my ideas down on paper. To make the ideas in my head concrete. I guess I'll listen and actually write. You know how many blog posts I have in my head right now?)

I turned 31 a few weeks ago. 

I started this blog to specifically do things that I never done before. To go on adventures and get into trouble and just expand my life because I'm now a 30-something instead of a 20-something. 

I didn't accomplish much on my list

I did take a yoga class with Kurt. I did better than I expected to and felt more relaxed and alive than I had in a while. But have I gone back to take another class? Nope. Time and money barriers. Well, mostly money barriers because of life things. 

I did go to New York Comic Con. AND IT WAS AWESOME. I plan on going again this year, but 3-day tickets have already sold out. I will try my hardest to get some at least a ticket for Friday and Saturday. I didn't cosplay (dress up) last year due to the fact that I had surgery a few days before hand. But this year I plan to. There's no reason for me not to. Jack and I got some fantastic art that we only recently got up on our walls, and I can't wait to get more. 

Ha! I had forgotten that "visit Atlantic City" was on there! I did! I went to Atlantic City for my birthday actually. I lost $40, went to a club, and danced. Had some tasty drinks too. There may be a video of me dancing on the book of faces... We did take a ton of silly-ass pictures, and for a change, even the silliest ones don't embarrass me. 

3 out of 30-ish items isn't that bad! I do plan on doing the others! Perhaps I'll shoot for 4 this time...


There were some other things I accomplished. Like getting a new job, a new apartment, and an engagement ring. 

It's been a strange year. Finding my voice. Sharing my voice with new people. Going back to my geeky roots and embracing my spirituality. 

I'm reading tarot cards again, and digging into the meanings. I'm finding I'm learning a lot and truthfully, I haven't felt more at home with them. I was told by someone that reading cards was my super power. I don't know if he knows how much that made me smile. 

I'm writing again. Small little poems. Some are actually kind of decent. Others aren't, but not everything can be a winner. 

I'm slowly coming off my medication too. I'm finding I'm more stable now that life has settled down some. Not that I'm not moody still. I'll always be bipolar, but I'm trying to handle it more. Focus my energy differently. Being more aware of my warning signs for a upswing and downswing.  The new found spirituality has helped. Also, pushing myself to actually accomplish things helps too. 

Trying to tear down the walls that I set up to keep people out. Trying not to be the hedgehog. 

Trying to be a child of the universe as well as a child of communication. 

Realizing that I'm supposed to write. That when asked what I would do if money was not an issue, I keep saying that I'd be a writer. Why can't I actually get that through my skull?

So here I am. 
Thing change.
Fuck the status quo. 
I guess I am trouble.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

real vs real

Everything looks real, and therefore it is real; in any case the fact that it seems real is real, and the thing is real even if, like Alice in Wonderland, it never existed. 
-- Umberto Eco Travels in Hyperreality "Travels in Hyperreality"

There was a conversation I had the other day with Jack. It was when I was more or less depressed (well more depressed than I normally am). He mentioned how he never understood why I don't have a sense of self. He knew who he was at a very early age, whereas I am always in flux. Of course there are things about myself that will never change, my snarky-ness, my seemingly non sequiturs,  my depression and my mania. But who I am changes with the people I surround myself with. I am the same girl who can go to a gay club and dance the night away, then only to stay inside for days on end reading my epic  fantasy or deconstructing meta fiction. 

I am a constant state of flux. 

I have these obsessions (? that's not really the correct word, but it will do) that deal with reality. Am I really here? Are you? Are you really just constructs of my mind put here in order for me to grow/learn/change/evolve? Or are we not really here at all ala The Matrix? OR am I just a replicant ala Bladerunner? Is my past fabricated? Are the people I call friends and family real or not? What is the definition of "real" and "reality" anyways?

Sometimes, I wake up in a panic not knowing these answers. 

Even though, at the same time, I know these answers don't matter. Because, regardless if we are all just constructs or holograms, this is all we know. Our fantasy is reality only because we don't know anything else. 

One would say that I need to be content with this, but I'm not. I can't be. 

I constantly question myself. My actions, my thoughts, trying to figure out why I do anything. Why people come into my life so rapidly and change my perspective on things. Why I don't do the things that attract my attention (moving to Brooklyn for one. Actually writing everything that's in my head is another. Creating the art I promised people. Writing the letters. Hanging out with the people who asked me to) 

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm bipolar. My moods swing so much and so drastically  that how can anything really be "real." Is there a "real Kelly?" I guess the correct answer is that everything I do is "the real Kelly," but it's hard to accept that answer when everyone else seems to know who they are. How can I be conflicting ideas and emotions? How can every answer be right? 

How can my way of life be wrong though? It's the only life I've had. 

There's a line that I spoke in the play that I took one of my tattoos from:

I'm in the middle,
neither the end
nor the beginning. 

And it's true. I can't explain how I will ever end, nor can I really explain how I began. I am not defined like that. 

Which brings me back to the quote. I know there is another one by Daniel Dennett that I can't for the life of me remember but I did write a paper on it my senior year of college. (another time where I was obsessed with this idea of reality) And brings me back to what Jack and I were talking about: is my identity an identity if I don't have a sense of self?

(And people wonder why I relate so well to Rei in Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Sunday, April 28, 2013


The words we give
each other to read.

The sounds to listen to.

Years later, repeat with another.

And another.

And another.

Remix, repeat.

You try to change the

to positive.

Words and
never leave your

After all these years

Does he still think you're pretty?
Will he still listen to those songs and smile and think about you?
Will he remember the taste of your lips fondly?

Thursday, April 18, 2013

I never told you my favorite number is 4

I'm contemplating fate.

I personally believe in it. There are people I am fated to meet, fall in love with. People I am fated to care for regardless of the distance.

It doesn't matter if I took the path less traveled, I would still meet you.

And the coincidences that happen to follow you? Those numbers that keep popping up, that color that is always around? Are just path markers. The more you see them, the more you know you're on the right path.

People leading you to people leading you to love. Or a toss down a flight of stairs leading you to the one you marry.

But in the morning, when the sun rises; and the evening, when the sun sets, there is no fate. Everything and nothing is possible.


All the choices
and none.

Constantly falling cadences keep suggesting the end of something. The plaintive melody builds up a sense of loss, of finality, of nothing more being left, which is profoundly sad. 

Yet, in the midst of the mournful passages, again and again there's a reprise, the original refrain reappearing as an assurance that there's been no break in continuity, a reaffirmation of the singers' former declaration of otherness...other values... introducing a hopeful note at the very point where a tragic climax might seem imminent and inevitable.

But then, immediately afterwards, sombre low notes restore the later version, so that two different conclusions are presented simultaneously and without any perceptible bias towards either....In the end one is left to choose between them; an choice implying the non-existence of a fixed or final form of reality, for which is substituted the idea of all eventualities being equally plausible or unlikely. 

-- Anna Kavan MeRcUrY

Monday, April 8, 2013

how i'm bipolar

It starts with a word, a turn of phrase.
"You're doing it wrong."
 "What's with your attitude?"
An offhand comment
 "You're intimidating."
 A dirty look.

The next step:
"I can't wear this."
"I gained weight."
"I need a change."
"Why don't I have anything I like?"

step 3:
constantly on guard.
the need to be perfect.
needing to be everything
needing to do everything.

sleep from exhaustion.
tears when no one is looking.
a glass of wine turns into a bottle.
the fights.

sitting in the corner.
"Don't you fucking touch me."


a small smile.
a shower.

hugs and kisses
love again


and friends
and love and all the stuff all the time.

less sleep.
love and love and love
constant need for another's touch.

Nothing can get me down.
"I'm awesome."
always saying "yes"

begin from the top.


I had a conversation with a customer in the store the other day. He was wearing a Doctor Who shirt and  had a tiny one with him. (child, not a tiny Doctor Who shirt). We got to talking about the current season, and he mentioned something that stayed with me.

He mentioned how as an executive producer, Moffat is better at overall story arcs. Things get tied up. Things move forward. Things don't get stale. Moffat has BIG IDEAS. And sometimes though, these BIG IDEAS kinda get in the way of everything. Things don't pan out and sometimes they fall short. He mentioned some of the episodes that Moffat wrote back with Davies, fell short.

I am going to have to agree with this Doctor Who loving customer. Moffat does have a knack for big mystery and ideas. I think he's fantastic at picking out writers and stories to play out these BIG IDEAS for him.

But I am still going to stand by my "Moffat, please don't write single episodes anymore" stance.

This episode. Oh this episode. Reminds me of Donna and Pompeii. Maybe it's all the red hoods and running around. (or perhaps they used the same set pieces?)[1] I really really really liked this episode. THE DOCTOR CARES AGAIN. HE SAVED EVERYONE!! Well, no. Clara did. CAUSE SHE IS AWESOME.[4]

The cinematics. The creepy void thingys. The vampire in a box. Even Mary. These are the things have have stories and stories and stories behind them. They are full, beautiful creatures with backstory and you grow to love/hate within an hour. You feel the backstory oozing with each step these side characters take. Now, THIS was an episode of Doctor Who. And truth, I did tear up a bit when he's talking to sun/parasite about all the stuff he has loved and lost. You feel the pain of the heartache there.

(this is might be my favorite scene of Doctor Who ever)

11 looks old. I know Matt Smith is younger than I am, but he's playing the Doctor as a old man, tired of all the crap he's been through. He's still excited about life, but the weight is there in the close up shots. In his shoulders. Furrowed brows. 

I do like the way this is all shaping up. 

[1] I thought in the Donna/Pompeii episodes, the Doctor mentioned how there was a translation field. Mostly because everyone was speaking "English." "I'm speaking Latin right now??!!" etc. How come that doesn't happen here? I mean, this isn't the first time we've seen this happen: the lack of translation and only the Doctor can communicate. I guess this goes under the whole convoluted canon acceptance of non-canon Doctor things. [2]

[2] I just read a tumblr theory that the reason why the translation field doesn't work for Clara is because the TARDIS knows that Clara is a paradox. Also the reason why she wouldn't let Clara in with Mary.  HEAD CANON ACCEPTED. [3]


[4] Or perhaps it's because Clara's story is so much more full of stuff that the Doctor's. I mean, 1000+ years is a lot, but Clara has these different lives she may be living all at the same time. That's a lot to wrap an appetite around.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Doctor What

Oh Moffat. Why do I get my hopes up every time? You let me down time and time again. It's almost an abusive relationship: no matter how much it pains me, I go back to you.

Because there was so much hope in the teaser preview of The Bells of Saint John. SO MUCH. And when the actual episode came on, it fell flat.

Oh yes. And horrible name for an episode that has nothing really to do with the aforementioned bells (spolier alert: it's a telephone ringing) and gets thrown aside quite quickly.

I remember the good old days of Davies: where the first episode of meeting the new companion actually had a plot. Where the companion was dragged along for the ride and mystery of BIG BAD THING HAPPENING. Instead we get Moffat's excuse of an episode that introduces us to Clara in such a boring way. The BIG BAD THING that happens has no resolution. The Doctor doesn't seem to care at all about the rest of people being (spoilers! uploaded). Only Clara. Since when was he so selfish?

The mystery of Clara also gets nowhere. So the Doctor finds her. He didn't lose her again. Bah. Would have been more interesting if he did. Instead we have a boring, almost one dimensional woman with witty lines and a talking speed to match Smith's. I love Clara as a concept. And I love how Coleman portrays her. But her other incarnations were so much more interesting.

What kills me is the potential that this episode had. It could have been so much better. It could have felt like an hour's worth of story and mystery instead of a fast-paced look at how much the Doctor just cares about this ONE PERSON AND NOT THE REST OF THE WORLD. He doesn't even seem to be interested in who/what is behind this whole plot.

So, Dearest Moffat: please stop writing episodes. Or at least ask Davies to write again. Maybe it will counteract your inability to understand the concept of plot and follow-through.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Oryx and Crake

When did the body first set out on its own adventures? Snowman thinks; after having ditched its old travelling companions, the mind and the soul, for whom it had once been considered a mere corrupt vessel or else a puppet acting out their dramas for them, or else bad company, leading the other two astray. It must have got tired of the soul's constant nagging and whining and the anxiety-driven intellectual web-spinning of the mind, distracting it whenever it was getting its teeth into something juicy or its fingers into something good. It had dumped the other two back there somewhere, leaving them stranded in some damp sanctuary or stuffy lecture hall while it made a beeline for the topless bars, and it had dumped culture along with them: music and painting and poetry and plays. Sublimation, all of it; nothing but sublimation, according to the body. Why not cut to the chase?

But the body had its own cultural forms. It had its own art. Executions were its tragedies, pornography was its romance. 

-- Margaret Atwood Oryx and Crake

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Let's Pretend This Did Happen

Caution: Fan-girling Ahead

I've been a fan of The Bloggess (aka Jenny Lawson) for a while. Ever since she posted about Beyonce (did you know that Beyonce doesn't trigger the spellcheck? That's how you know you made it. Unfortunately  "Bloggess" is not recognized. Work on this Google.).

Because, in case you really haven't know me for more than a week, I have conversations like this every day of my life. And truly, I'm surprised that my friend Jen and didn't already buy a giant metal chicken for our dorm room because we totally knew a place that sold them. So basically, Jenny Lawson stole our idea before we actually had it.

When I heard her book was coming out (Jenny Lawson's not Jen's. Jen doesn't have a book yet) I squeeed. And when I got my hands on an ARC because working at a bookstore does have some awesome perks, I jumped for joy. And really squeeed. A lot. Then I read it. And then I reviewed it and actually got more people to read the book because of it. WOOHOO.

So last week I got to meet her at the Paramus Barnes&Noble book signing. Now, I really didn't know what to expect. But she made me happier in person. And also spurred me to write about my bipolar story sooner rather than later. (It's a work in progress)

She loved my Sandman inspired tattoo. And my Friendship is Magic/Doctor Who shirt. And I gave her a Doctor Who blind bag thing that had "small balls." I took a bad picture of it.

You can't see it, but it does have small balls.

And she's following me on twitter. I got really excited over that. It's like I'm one step away from being vaguely internet famous. Not that she doesn't follow a thousand other people, but whatevers. 

And I also am convinced that cannot be a good posed picture of me. Like ever. 
Ugh. Crooked glasses! So not photogenic. (I'm on the left. Ms Lawson is the photogenic one)

So I guess the moral of the story is practice posing for pictures. And get my glasses fixed. And maybe exercise. 

Oh, and if you haven't yet. Read her damned book. It's in paperback now. You have no excuse.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Honest Truth

There are times: days, weeks.
Where all I can think about is how everyone I know will die.

So I crawl into bed while Jack is asleep and cry against his back until I pass out.
And during the day, while reading or on the computer, or even at work, I wonder "why am I doing any of this?"

I get paralyzed by the fact that I could lose Jack (or anyone in my family really) at any second.

Friday, February 15, 2013

My New Obsession

Ok. ANYONE who knows me, knows that my sense of humor is not like most peoples. I giggle over the weirdest things. I giggle over thinking about the weirdest things.

Case in point "Ponies with Hats"

Really, I giggle uncontrollably when I think about this. It's a remake of "Llamas with Hats" seen here:

Somehow the ponies make it funnier. These Llamas with Hats are brought to you by the GENIUS that is "Charlie the Unicorn." What's Charlie the Unicorn? ONLY THE BEST VIDEO EVER!


Which happened BEFORE YOUTUBE. Really, I was in college BEFORE YOUTUBE HAPPENED. Also BEFORE FACEBOOK. I KNOW. I'M OLD. But I'm glad, because really, I don't have any college drunken things on there, unlike kids these days. 

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Inward Looking, the last days

Question 6:

Where, how, and with whom have spiritual values such as gentleness, kindness, and bravery shown up in my life is 2012? Are these the qualities I hold as the highest spiritual values, or are there others? Where, how, and with whom do I wish to express/manifest/share them in 2013?

Two people come to mind: Patti Digh and my coworker Karly. 

Really, both these ladies have changed my life in very subtle ways. And I am continually grateful I know both of them. 

I hope this year I can inspire someone like these two quietly inspired me. 

Has my art been brave enough?



no it hasn't. 

I used to be braver in my words. Back when it was locked behind "friends only" posts on livejournal. 

That was lifetimes ago. 

This year, I'll be braver with my words. 

I just hope people want to hear them. 

Wednesday, January 2, 2013


Daniel has a tenderness about him, and when I couldn't sleep, he'd do this thing where he would slip his hand under my shirt and rub my back in circles until I fell asleep. He waited for me to be asleep before he slept. 

-- pg 93 Daniel Fights a Hurricane by Shane Jones

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Inward Looking Day 4 and 5

Question 4:

How did I serve in 2012? Whom did I serve? What aspects of my service brought me alive? What aspects drained me? If I could serve in any way possible in 2013, what would I create? Let your imagination run wild.

I sure as hell did not serve myself as much as I should have, that's for sure. For the most part I served a dead dream at a dead end job. I served the stock holder and investors but not myself or my fellow coworkers. Nor the customers that came into the store. I was just a cog in a corporate wheel. 

I hated it. 
I died. 

But (see the theme running through these posts?) when I figured out what I wanted to do (get out of the job, have time to read and write, be happy) things worked out. 

So in 2013 I plan on serving myself. I will be full of the self and follow my heart etc. I plan on creating a family (I will be married soon) and creating a beautiful life with the man I love. I plan of creating a life that I don't mind living. And I plan on creating happiness for once. 

What have I learned about living the creative life in 2012? And how will it change what and how I create moving forward?

I am going to admit something here. 

I don't think I'm an artist. Or a writer. 

But I do create. 
I used to create more. Back when I was crazier. More depressed. 
It's harder now. When I have to be around so many people all the time, it's hard to keep words in my head. 
It's hard to be alone and write and dream and think when I'm never alone anymore. 
I'm very much disconnected with myself and how I used to write and think and love. 

So I'm trying to get over that hump of only writing when I'm depressed, because I'm not depressed anymore. 
I honestly don't know if I like it. 
This is a different feeling to it. Almost empty. 

I've spent the last few years so drained. But also changing into something new? Something more of me. 
My writing has suffered. 
Maybe this will change this year.