Friday, April 29, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 17

Leave it to the Brits to fuck up something easy like tea and jokes.

For instance did you know that there are two tea times and different size tables they drink from during these tea times, different types of food you eat during these tea times, different locations you actually drink the tea at during these tea time (oh why in the hell did they spell it t-e-a and not t-e-e anyways), and there are actually times that you’re restricted to drink tea (give me a break it’s effin’ tea). You know why I love tea, because it’s simple and does the trick. Ice cold, sugary, and refreshing; sure we’ll church it up with the sophistication of adding Lemonade and calling it a distinguished and respected golfer but that’s where the line is drawn (I mean it’s only effin’ tea).

Same thing for jokes with me, simple and easy is the way to go (just like my women; that’s a lie I wish it was like that). I was watching “Talking Funny” a couple nights back with Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Louis C.K. and Ricky Gervais on HBO. I stumbled upon it on accident but got really excited because I thought it was an interesting group of comedians and I was really interested in what they had to say ( I regret it now after listening to that effin’ Brit Ricky Gervais).

I must admit there were some interesting/hilarious conversations and one in particular revolved around the word nigg-What’s that conscious? I shouldn’t say that word? I mean I shouldn’t even if I have a picture like this:

Still no, well Ok; the N-word that was definitely entertaining but then Ricky started going off on this tangent about the authenticity of a laugh and the elements of different styles of comedy (told you only the Brits could fuck it up). It was really close to being painful for me to watch because that Red Coat was sucking all the fun out of being funny (I should note that Seinfeld and Rock were on my side; of course Louis C.K. was being a pompous ass). Other than his laugh nearly sending me back to University Hospital (Southside!) Gervais was bound and determined to make a joke out more than what it really is. Like he had to over-analyze everything in order to legitimize his jokes and the laughs he was getting (I know, what a dick).

I took a little offense to this because I use humor in the most simplistic and easy way (or at least attempt to) and have seen how well it works. I love how a simple joke can allow us to discuss sensitive subjects in an unintimidating manner. I love how easy laughs can break down preconceived notions or stereotypes about issues by allowing them to become real. I truly love how comedy at its best and simplest form can make people relate to one another even if the subject is something crazy like BMD (oh and don’t get me started on scones).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, April 22, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 16

I come to and I’m sitting on our couch from my mom’s house back in high school. Mom is in the kitchen making breakfast and my step-dad strikes up a conversation with me. My parents appear and sound normal but there’s something off, something I can’t quite put my finger on, something just isn’t right. I make my way down our hallway and past our giant oval window front door and upstairs. Halfway up my brother is kneeling on the stairs praying and this strikes me as completely out of the ordinary. I look up and at the top of our stairs there is a crucifix with Jesus that I’ve never seen; something is definitely up. I make my way into my parent’s room and they chase in behind me yelling at me not to go into the closet as their outward familiar appearances morph slowly away. I find my grey plastic storage box in their closet and open it up. All my past sentimental belongings are inside and I dig to the bottom where I find a letter from my girlfriend in Atlanta still folded up exactly as she had given it to me when I left for Denver. I take it and walk hastily down stairs past my “parents”, past the crucifix, past my kneeling brother, and past the giant oval window shaped front door. Only to stop suddenly as a message now appears on the window, just like when I was a kid and would breathe on it and steam it up and write messages except now it read:

God loves you

It’s about at this point that I wake up (good thing because shit was getting weird). I was visiting my sis when this dreamed occurred in November of 2008 about 6 or so months after my first episode. The tremors (my fancy word for my manic symptoms after the episode) had passed and now I was dealing with depression for the first time in my life (and not very well if I say so myself). I was an overmedicated zombie on Abilify and Depokene and trying to deal with the side-effects of my “medicine” (BTW am I the only one who sees an issue that a “medicine” that has a side-effect of making you want to kill yourself probably really shouldn’t be called “medicine” at all).

So I have this dream and a few interesting things occur (in real life this time). First I had been struggling with a painful back at this time because it seems I keep a lot of stress back their; and needless to say at this point of my life I had some stress. Well when I woke up the pain was gone, and stayed gone (well for a little bit at least, it didn’t cure my bipolar disorder but helped for awhile) and I had a sudden realization that I could quit my “meds” and I probably should; which I did and it probably was a good call (the whole suicidal thoughts thing remember). Those two things were interesting to say the least, but the letter I found more intriguing and the reason I probably think this is because I recently just found it during my move.

After smelling it for a few seconds or maybe a little longer (weird I know but it still smells like her, damn she smelled good) I opened it up, sat down, and read about the guy I used to be. I think the part that grabbed me the most is when she mentioned that I wasn’t the type of guy that wears his emotions on his sleeve or talks about it. I stopped reading for a second and tried to take that in because now I’m totally opposite (mood disorder, blog, sharing my crazy emotions with the world, you get the jist). I’m still trying to process it but I think it’s a good thing, this change in me but I think I could have done without the crazy dreams (nah, I like those too).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, April 15, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 15

"By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail."
-Benjamin Franklin

I didn’t have the professional business skills (hell someone had to teach me how to fax my first day at AT&Tizzle), the summer internship(s) in college (too busy yelling at Lady Tiger runners on Fountain from the seal truck; “I see you baby!”), nepotism or networking behind me (unless I wanted to farm, no G’Pa I’m sorry I still don’t), or strong academics with multiple clubs and recognitions (I actually missed the GPA cut-off for the AT&T Sales Apprenticeship Program so I lied a tiny bit on my resume (oh like you’re perfect)). To compensate for all of this I was determined to not be outworked or out-prepared.

Don’t get me wrong there were some days when I would be riding the elevator up to work in the mornings and be absolutely miserable. I would be doubting myself the whole ride up on why I decided to leave everyone I know and everything I’m comfortable with for day in and day out of getting my butt kicked in at work (I mean I was a Commuication (no s) major from the cornfields of central ohio who knew nothing about city life, southern way of living, telecommunications, business etiquette, or appropriate office behavior) but I had a plan and knew no one would outwork me to get it.

That plan was simple, take my lumps for three or so years learning the ropes then go dominate in Silicon Valley (I’m refering to the porn industry of course:

•Every second - $3,075.64 is being spent on pornography
•Every second - 28,258 Internet users are viewing pornography
•Every second - 372 Internet users are typing adult search terms into
search engines
•Every 39 minutes: a new pornographic video is being created in the United States

I guess I should say thanks for taking a break from your porn addiction to read this; I really appreciate it). I was working hard and found pride in knowing that I was the farm boy from nowhere succeeding and making my way up the corporate AT&Tizzle ladder; it was gratifying and made me happy. You’d think those life lessons would pay dividends when fighting my BMD, but it’s kind of done the opposite.

I always had my yearly business plan completed, I would have my sales funnel up to date per quarter and sales estimates per month down to the day if all possible, my days were schedule out in my calendar with meetings and notes throughout the hours, and my trusty daily lists of projects to complete near my side but I always remained conscious of the big picture of continued success and upward movement while at AT&Tizzle. I could live with failure but not due to my lack of effort. If it’s within my control I see no reason why I shouldn’t be prepared for it. I could accept losing a deal, customer, or whatever due to outside circumstances but it drove me crazy (pun intended) to lose due to lack of effort or planning on my end (there’s simply no excuse in my mind).

But now with my BMD the planning and work ethic seem to backfire immensely (see the past two years of my life). My ambition and drive come back to haunt me by getting me too deep into situations that I’m not ready for (Chicago) and I end up hurting myself more. I’m not good at sitting on my hands and waiting (well unless I’m giving myself a stranger; yeah I like porn too) because I feel like I’m failing to prepare and ultimately preparing for failure. But I’ve got to see the big picture and realize I have to do essentially nothing for awhile to make sure I’m alright. I'm just having a little trouble not going crazy doing nothing in order to make something out of my life (it just feels awckward and alien to me, kind of like the first time I watched porn).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, April 8, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 14

I’m fairly sure all of us are familiar with the classic Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale of “The Ugly Duckling.” It’s a fairly popular tale of redemption for the awkward and unpopular duckling that eventually finds themselves and joins the majestic and beautiful swans it was meant to be with. It really warms the heart but I really can’t relate at all. Nope, I’m more like the Content Camel (oh you’ve never heard of it, interesting, well I’ll break it down).

The Content Camel is very similar to the ugly duckling in that while growing up he was always different but yet he continued on his own way just happy to be there. The other horses would always poke fun of his hump (they named it Humpty Dumpty), his long eye lashes (Maybelline called, they want all their mascara back), his long neck (‘look at that long neck’ (they weren’t very creative with that one)) and wide feet (nicknaming him cameltoe). Yet the Content Camel went on with his own day just happy to be around and happy to be different, the end (not much of an ending I know).

I see a lot of myself in the Content Camel when I was growing up as well. I never really fit into the crowd so much, was a little different and always seemed to do my own thing. As I’ve mentioned before somehow the farm gene skipped me because my brother could spot a tractor a mile out in the field and be able to identify the make, model, year, what is was pulling, and the guy in it by the age of 8; I still pop the trunk to check the oil.

I was friends with this group but just not part of it. I played soccer (grass fairy) and ran track while the “jocks” played football and basketball. I wore “queer earrings” instead of Wranglers, smoked a little (just a little) bit of dope instead of putting a chaw in during class, and put out the vibe instead of hanging out in a cabin. I also can relate to the whole nickname shenanigans that the Content Camel faced as well.

It was junior high and even though the girls didn’t have much interest in me I had tons for them. I was searching for any in with the females and one day when my crush since like the 5th grade (I fall hard kids) gave me a nickname of “Butter” I thought I broke the code and was in. All the girls were talking to me and calling me every variation of Butter you can imagine (I finally made it). The name stuck through high school and even spread to nearby schools but of course it was too good to last. Well come to find out I came to school one day in junior high with really yellow teeth so I got the nickname “Butter” (woh woh waahh). So I feel the Content Camel pain of being nicknamed from the outline of a human female's labia majora (sort of).

I guess the point I’m trying to make (if there is one) is that I’ve always been a little different growing up. I don’t think it hurt me or I took any abuse or anything to that matter, in fact I was pretty content with everything and being different; maybe a little proud of it. Sure I may not have been cut from the same clothe as many of the kids around me but I was me and I’m not sure they all can say that. Maybe it was good I was different and took a little bit of guff for it (it’s all in good fun; except for you Cedarville, I still despise you) because now I’m a lot different and only getting more so by the day it seems (it could be worse I suppose; I could of been nicknamed after a women’s vagina).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, April 1, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 13

So my blood work came back from the lab this week (you would of known about this if you followed my tweets; you really should, I’m funny sometimes) and one irregularity popped out to me. So I guess they can’t tell a lick about my BMD from these tests but they did find out about my immense fear of scary movies known as Atroxtheatrophobia (my brothers despise them too so it’s a family trait).

Atroxtheatrophobia: An intense but unrealistic fear of horror movies that strive to elicit the emotions of fear, horror, and terror to their viewers.

I’ve only gone to the theater and watched three scary movies in my life:

1.) "The Blair Witch Project" in high school with Cuzin Art (I still make him go down basement steps before me)

2.) "Saw" while I was in the Witt Bubble on a double date (well Tristan and Boomer went so I had shades on in the theater and closed my eyes the majority of the time; #truestory#fact#honesty)

3.) "A Nightmare on Elm Street" in A-Town with my girlfriend whose name was so southern she hyphenated it, was way out of my league, and she also got a kick out of annoying me like getting the entire ticket line to make fun of how nervous I was for the movie (good thing she was fine as hell or I wouldn’t have put up with that shit; who am I kidding, yeah I would).

Ever since I can remember I’ve had this fear of scary movies and shared it with my brothers as well. I think Monkey put it best when he described why he hated horror movies:

“Let’s see how you do when you’re an 7 or 8 year old kid and you’re home alone out in the middle of the country back in a remote cornfield and you’re older brothers are they only ones around; and they’re scared as hell too. I guarantee you won’t be watching any of that scary movie shit then.”

The last thing my brothers and I were about to do on a dark, cold, eerie calm, and weary night in the country was watch "Children of the Corn" (oh and Cry Baby Bridge; not real fond of you either). Instead my brothers and I could probably be found watching Comedy Central and trying to laugh out of our minds the fear.

So of course when it comes to handing out symptoms with BMD my name comes up and I get dealt one of my ultimate fears of horror films; craziness. What can be more terrifying than the complete unknown, nothing scares me like pure evil. Pure evil has no reason, no cause, no justification for its ways; how can something without sympathy do anything else? That is what I see in my mania. It comes as it pleases and does as it pleases. The craziness that overcomes my world can be described simply as my own person horror film come to life. Yet I’ve found pride in living with this. Pride in knowing I am strong enough to overcome my worst fears and then some. And proud to know that I live in what other’s can only experience in nightmares; boy, that sounds crazy (which kind of makes sense).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,