Martha Stewart's Wedding Cakes, The Professional Collection: Volumes 1-34
This cookbook series is without a doubt the finest, most marriage affirming splediferous magnificitudical book set ever written in the history of printed literature.
Some accuse ol' MS of being overly far fetched and ridiculous, and waaay too elaborate. I say such criticism is misguided, given how easy to follow her careful instructions are on how we all can be just like her! The MS way needs to become everyone’s new standard of living, and Martha shows us how!
Her volume on barn building, for instance, to house the cow that will be later milked for the butter cream frosting doesn't leave the reader wandering the lumberyard like a dolt, but painstakingly guides the reader by the hand through the entire list of everything necessary to build a barn so fine it inspires many a jealous Amish bar fight when the happy couple is presented with it as a starter home wedding gift!!
A later volume treats the reader to Martha’s comprehensive instruction on how to research the lineage of the would- be butter provider, clearing the way for even those with no experience in genealogical investigation to secure absolutely the finest calf in all the land. Not even Martha’s psychiatrist is as fascinated by Martha’s passion for exploring in minute detail the calf selection process as I am, making this volume easily my favorite!!
The volume on growing then harvesting the grain that will both feed the cow and become the base for ALL of the cakes in this book was skimpy in comparison to all the other topics MS delves into on an almost cellular level. This was as surprising as it was disappointing. The first volume in the series, however, “Prefaces, Explanations, and Thank –You’s” explains why.
In the original draft, MS had included a detailed field guide to the weeds that would eventually need to be hand pulled from the garden & instructions on transforming them into wreaths, salads and homemade medicines. The legal team at the publishing house feared the threat of nuisance lawsuits from home grown antibiotic fatalities, so the grain volume became the quickest -and lightest- book in the entire set. Weighing in at only 14 ¼ pounds secures this volume’s title as the logical choice for bathroom reading material!!!
Martha more than redeems herself in the mortar and pestle construction volume! The kids and I bonded during the hundreds of leisurely weeks we spent scouring the countryside for dried up river beds in order to scavenge them for appropriately sized and shaped rocks. I don't mean to ruin the surprise, but this section includes a 6' x6' plastic laminated fold- out enclosure where you actually can compare your rock to Martha's. This portable tool made us feel as if Martha’s shining presence was actually with us in the poison ivy and mosquitoes!
Realizing how busy people are these days, she merrily gets the reader's focus back where it belongs and brings it all back to the cow and the critically important semen selection process. 'No Baby, No Butter!' that volume is cheerfully called. It does an excellent job making the reader feel right at home in the grubby world of semen collection, with many helpful hints to make this necessary aspect of biology just as elegant as all MS productions are.
Oh yes, this is the cookbook that will give you a PhD level knowledge of life. So next time you're at Barnes & Noble, bring your forklift with & buy this 34 volume set!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Back to Why You Can’t Trust the “Experts” on Things They Know Nothing About
Alright, how ‘bout this? (Nice segue, huh? I just gotta keep blasting away or I’ll forget what I’m supposed to be writing about!) They are not experts in making such determinations about if hyper people are mentally ill or not, know why? Cuz I can take a pill that makes me ‘normal’, yet normal people can’t take a pill that makes ‘em hyper. Well, wait; maybe they can.
Dang it, I wish I didn’t run off all the normal people so early on! I have some questions for them about the effects on them of caffeine or meth or coke or the Ritalin they swipe from their kids. If you know any normal people you trust that you can grill for me, wouldja ask them these questions?
1) So when you take stimulants, do you turn into a happy little bunny with a safe, clean world, invisible details, yummy food that you like to eat and no dangers?
2) Is the world fun and exciting for you when you are on that stuff in a way that doesn’t preclude driving, shopping, holding up your end of a conversation, functioning, etc?
3) Do you ever feel like doing incredible, awesomely creative stuff, like develop complex theories that win you a Nobel prizes or curing crazy dangerous disease?
Cuz if you answered no to even one of those questions, then no, drugs don’t make you “hyper” they make you “have lots of energy”. Sheesh, only a normal person wouldn’t know that!
Now I’ve never done meth or coke or any illegal stimulants, cuz I’m WAY too afraid to. Speed makes my brain function like I’m normal, so I always figured if I took those, I’d get MASSIVELY addicted. To the new ability to find my car in the parking lot, to remember where I put my cell phone and car keys, to make it to appointments on time, and other such stuff all the normal people are able to do without altering their mental state.
But enough about me, back to normal people.
No. Back to ‘why you should believe me, not ‘the experts’ on the classification of ADHD and ADD’. OK, who is going to become a more proficient speaker of a foreign language- someone who learned everything he knows from a book or someone who moved to that country and picked it up as he went along through his exciting new life?
Duh.
If I can take a pill and be normal, yet I doubt they can take a pill and be like me (or even more cool stuff would already be invented and discovered by now) then why are they ‘right’ about what I am (‘mentally ill’) and I’m wrong and dumb cuz I didn’t finish college or go to med school?
So that right there should make them automatically less credible in your opinion. Add that to the shocking college expose on higher education that I’m gonna write one of these days, and you’ll have another piece of the puzzle.
Hey! Let’s talk about normal people, since they don’t read this anyway! How many normal people did it take to not only discover a way to extract radiation from wherever they found it, but to also figure out a way to harness it and make it do something useful like inventing x ray machines rather than merely dying of cancer from it; who then give birth to a normal person just like them, a daughter, who has stuff she discovered named after her on the periodic table of elements in addition to the stuff her parents named after her cuz they loved her?? Yeah, I know I’m so mean! NONE! The freakin’ hyper Curies did all that!
J’ever have a broken bone? Could you imagine if normal people had run medicine in the early days? Man alive, we’d still be at, “I’m gonna grab this arm you landed on when you fell out of the tree house, lemme know if it hurts!” for diagnostics! WHEW! Aren’t mentally ill people awesome?!? What month is hug a crazy person month? The whole year should be made entirely of ‘adopt a lunatic as a cherished member of your family’ days!
Sigh… what to tell you about from my wonderful, excellent life? I forgot what I’m supposed to be writing about!!
Oh, yeah. The experts. Yeah, they’re great.
Oh my stars, wouldn’t that be cool if I became an “expert” at something? Besides just being an expert on it all, I mean. I’m not going back to college, forget that. If Harvard called me tomorrow and offered me a free degree with no strings attached, I’d get a restraining order and change my phone number. I hope I don’t become a sell out when I’m fabulously wealthy from writing, laying on my bed, counting my diamonds and laughing in a new sounding way that I train myself to practice so I sound richer. Cuz I want to die without a diploma. If I die with a diploma? I’m really gonna hate myself.
I suck; I know exactly what’s gonna happen. There I’ll be; glaring darkly at the stable boy cuz he isn’t mopping the polo pony’s poo off my marble sidewalk fast enough. The phone will ring. Little Lucinda that I imported here illegally so I won’t have to pay whatever tax or benefits rich people are always getting trouble for not paying when they have household staff will answer it.
“meeses Deplunger?” she will timidly query, terrified I’ll beat her with a hair brush again because I’m mentally ill and only occasionally taking medication for it.
I will whirl around furiously. Then I will RUN toward her SUPER FAST cuz I’ve been standing around glaring darkly at the stable boy and now I have energy I need to burn.
She will cringe, shrieking and cowering, bringing her hands up to protect her face and head.
“I only leave internal bruising, I NEVER HIT IN THE FACE OR HEAD!” I will snap, raising my arm threateningly. In my hand will be an iron rod, coated with oil and diamonds, to help me remember how rich I am.
She’ll tearfully begin to stutter, “You hev a fen cell”, her eyes glued to my whompin’ stick.
“GET TO THE POINT BEFORE I BASH YOUR BRAINS IN YOU STUPID BEAST!” I’ll shriek at her in rage, wondering why I only have problems like this with the household help when I’m medicine free; wishing I could just slash her memory of the phone call right out of her head so I could just read it myself; it’d be so much freakin quicker that way!
“someone wants to give you a free diploma!” she’ll scream, fast; in perfect, accentless, unbroken English.
My eyes will narrow; sizing up the shaking, weeping girl curled up in a fetal position in front of my feet; I will feel a rush of gratitude that she remembered that I like to kick her along like a beach ball when I get explosively angry cuz being on hyper drugs makes me SERIOUS AND GRIM all the time!
All at once, I’ll realize she just told me I had a phone call. And I will ask myself the important questions that such an event demands. Like, ‘oh yeah; what did she say it was about? Why am I outside, anyway?’
“Lucinda!” I’ll snap firmly; a mounting disgust filling me as I realize she has just urinated on herself in terror. “LUCINDALUCINDALUCINDALUCINDA!” I’ll scream at the top of my lungs; “I don’t have the patience to wait for you to hear me, comprehend as slow as a normal person that I am saying your name, process as slow as a normal person what an appropriate course of action is, and then answer me! When I say your name, before I get to the second syllable I expect you to interrupt me just like I do all the time! Get it right, or I’ll get the tiller…”
At the mention of the word tiller, Lucinda’s eyes will grow huge with horror; then they’ll start to fill with tears, then before I can ask her ‘what’s going on? What question did I want to ask you again?’ she’ll repeat the phone message.
All at once, an immediate silence will blanket the yard. The ponies will stop nickering, turning their long necks around to look. The giraffes will stop stomping the coyote to death to look, turning their even loooooooonger necks around to look. Even the guy on the other side of the road will stop running his chainsaw, because he is finally done cutting his house in half cuz he is mentally ill and we do crazy stuff all the time!
I will look at Lucinda, making no attempt to hide the tears of gratitude welling in my eyes as I say, “you finally get me!”
Then I’ll take the diploma and write books about how college is super important and I was just kidding about all this to test the normal people to make sure they’d tow the party line and hate me for my anti college bias.
Dang it, I wish I didn’t run off all the normal people so early on! I have some questions for them about the effects on them of caffeine or meth or coke or the Ritalin they swipe from their kids. If you know any normal people you trust that you can grill for me, wouldja ask them these questions?
1) So when you take stimulants, do you turn into a happy little bunny with a safe, clean world, invisible details, yummy food that you like to eat and no dangers?
2) Is the world fun and exciting for you when you are on that stuff in a way that doesn’t preclude driving, shopping, holding up your end of a conversation, functioning, etc?
3) Do you ever feel like doing incredible, awesomely creative stuff, like develop complex theories that win you a Nobel prizes or curing crazy dangerous disease?
Cuz if you answered no to even one of those questions, then no, drugs don’t make you “hyper” they make you “have lots of energy”. Sheesh, only a normal person wouldn’t know that!
Now I’ve never done meth or coke or any illegal stimulants, cuz I’m WAY too afraid to. Speed makes my brain function like I’m normal, so I always figured if I took those, I’d get MASSIVELY addicted. To the new ability to find my car in the parking lot, to remember where I put my cell phone and car keys, to make it to appointments on time, and other such stuff all the normal people are able to do without altering their mental state.
But enough about me, back to normal people.
No. Back to ‘why you should believe me, not ‘the experts’ on the classification of ADHD and ADD’. OK, who is going to become a more proficient speaker of a foreign language- someone who learned everything he knows from a book or someone who moved to that country and picked it up as he went along through his exciting new life?
Duh.
If I can take a pill and be normal, yet I doubt they can take a pill and be like me (or even more cool stuff would already be invented and discovered by now) then why are they ‘right’ about what I am (‘mentally ill’) and I’m wrong and dumb cuz I didn’t finish college or go to med school?
So that right there should make them automatically less credible in your opinion. Add that to the shocking college expose on higher education that I’m gonna write one of these days, and you’ll have another piece of the puzzle.
Hey! Let’s talk about normal people, since they don’t read this anyway! How many normal people did it take to not only discover a way to extract radiation from wherever they found it, but to also figure out a way to harness it and make it do something useful like inventing x ray machines rather than merely dying of cancer from it; who then give birth to a normal person just like them, a daughter, who has stuff she discovered named after her on the periodic table of elements in addition to the stuff her parents named after her cuz they loved her?? Yeah, I know I’m so mean! NONE! The freakin’ hyper Curies did all that!
J’ever have a broken bone? Could you imagine if normal people had run medicine in the early days? Man alive, we’d still be at, “I’m gonna grab this arm you landed on when you fell out of the tree house, lemme know if it hurts!” for diagnostics! WHEW! Aren’t mentally ill people awesome?!? What month is hug a crazy person month? The whole year should be made entirely of ‘adopt a lunatic as a cherished member of your family’ days!
Sigh… what to tell you about from my wonderful, excellent life? I forgot what I’m supposed to be writing about!!
Oh, yeah. The experts. Yeah, they’re great.
Oh my stars, wouldn’t that be cool if I became an “expert” at something? Besides just being an expert on it all, I mean. I’m not going back to college, forget that. If Harvard called me tomorrow and offered me a free degree with no strings attached, I’d get a restraining order and change my phone number. I hope I don’t become a sell out when I’m fabulously wealthy from writing, laying on my bed, counting my diamonds and laughing in a new sounding way that I train myself to practice so I sound richer. Cuz I want to die without a diploma. If I die with a diploma? I’m really gonna hate myself.
I suck; I know exactly what’s gonna happen. There I’ll be; glaring darkly at the stable boy cuz he isn’t mopping the polo pony’s poo off my marble sidewalk fast enough. The phone will ring. Little Lucinda that I imported here illegally so I won’t have to pay whatever tax or benefits rich people are always getting trouble for not paying when they have household staff will answer it.
“meeses Deplunger?” she will timidly query, terrified I’ll beat her with a hair brush again because I’m mentally ill and only occasionally taking medication for it.
I will whirl around furiously. Then I will RUN toward her SUPER FAST cuz I’ve been standing around glaring darkly at the stable boy and now I have energy I need to burn.
She will cringe, shrieking and cowering, bringing her hands up to protect her face and head.
“I only leave internal bruising, I NEVER HIT IN THE FACE OR HEAD!” I will snap, raising my arm threateningly. In my hand will be an iron rod, coated with oil and diamonds, to help me remember how rich I am.
She’ll tearfully begin to stutter, “You hev a fen cell”, her eyes glued to my whompin’ stick.
“GET TO THE POINT BEFORE I BASH YOUR BRAINS IN YOU STUPID BEAST!” I’ll shriek at her in rage, wondering why I only have problems like this with the household help when I’m medicine free; wishing I could just slash her memory of the phone call right out of her head so I could just read it myself; it’d be so much freakin quicker that way!
“someone wants to give you a free diploma!” she’ll scream, fast; in perfect, accentless, unbroken English.
My eyes will narrow; sizing up the shaking, weeping girl curled up in a fetal position in front of my feet; I will feel a rush of gratitude that she remembered that I like to kick her along like a beach ball when I get explosively angry cuz being on hyper drugs makes me SERIOUS AND GRIM all the time!
All at once, I’ll realize she just told me I had a phone call. And I will ask myself the important questions that such an event demands. Like, ‘oh yeah; what did she say it was about? Why am I outside, anyway?’
“Lucinda!” I’ll snap firmly; a mounting disgust filling me as I realize she has just urinated on herself in terror. “LUCINDALUCINDALUCINDALUCINDA!” I’ll scream at the top of my lungs; “I don’t have the patience to wait for you to hear me, comprehend as slow as a normal person that I am saying your name, process as slow as a normal person what an appropriate course of action is, and then answer me! When I say your name, before I get to the second syllable I expect you to interrupt me just like I do all the time! Get it right, or I’ll get the tiller…”
At the mention of the word tiller, Lucinda’s eyes will grow huge with horror; then they’ll start to fill with tears, then before I can ask her ‘what’s going on? What question did I want to ask you again?’ she’ll repeat the phone message.
All at once, an immediate silence will blanket the yard. The ponies will stop nickering, turning their long necks around to look. The giraffes will stop stomping the coyote to death to look, turning their even loooooooonger necks around to look. Even the guy on the other side of the road will stop running his chainsaw, because he is finally done cutting his house in half cuz he is mentally ill and we do crazy stuff all the time!
I will look at Lucinda, making no attempt to hide the tears of gratitude welling in my eyes as I say, “you finally get me!”
Then I’ll take the diploma and write books about how college is super important and I was just kidding about all this to test the normal people to make sure they’d tow the party line and hate me for my anti college bias.
Friday, March 19, 2010
My Life as an Undercover Normal Person
OK. when I said when I take hyper drugs (so I can be calm and focused, just like when I mainline *caffeine) I said the worst thing was that laughter was superfluous, then decided I’d make you wait till this chapter to explain why that’s such a screaming tragedy for me. Nice segue, huh? Here goes!
*Caffeine. Y’know, when I was little, I never knew what anyone meant when they said caffeine “makes them hyper”. I never heard of that word before. So after extensive research as a young child, drinking coffee and coke and jolt, I decided that “hyper” meant “calm and focused”. When I got older, and heard people say caffeine “made them hyper” I’d wonder why they needed it then! They are walking portraits of calm and focused! Gimme a break, I’m the one that needs that!! Now back to the rest of this chapter.
By nature, I’m happy and excited most of the time, doesn’t that sound fun? Can you imagine how excellent life is for me? Every second of every day I just scamper around, all day long, happy and excited, like a little bunny rabbit hopping around, not in any danger from predators or from sex that only lasts 4 seconds. By nature, I gravitate toward stuff that makes me laugh, cuz it’s SO fun to be happy!
All the sudden, I take a pill in the morning, and not only am I unable to eat cuz I’m not interested AND now all the food tastes yucky, but the world is weird, and dirtier than I realized! Oh my stars! I actually have cabinet doors that need to be scrubbed! There is right now as I write this, actual garbage laying in my yard. Garbage! Can you believe it?!? A torn up milk container, an empty grape juice box. That stuff used to be invisible to me! I’m serious! If it’s not hurting anyone, or crawling with maggots, who cares, why is it even important? I literally couldn’t even see any of that stuff when I was a happy and excited little bunny rabbit! Now that I’m a grown up mama rabbit on Concerta, the world just sucks! The food all tastes like a combination of cardboard and mud, it is shockingly, horrifically filthy, there is so much to do here, it’s freakin’ overwhelming, no wonder so many normal people have ulcers!
Normal people pills elevate the trivial to heights of unparalleled importance. To a normal person, keeping the yard scrupulously clean is far more significant and rewarding an endeavor than something frivolous, like laughing. Laughter is something normal people roll out on special occasions, maybe.
Laughter doesn’t even fit into the space of normal people world. Do normal people go to concerts and comedy clubs and read funny stuff? How and when do they have the time or desire? When I went undercover as a normal person, I learned that I was incapable of anything but being serious and grim all the time.
On the drugs that made me normal, I could no longer multitask well enough to preserve my life. That’s why texting while THEY drive kills THEM. I can program my GPS to find me a gas station while I’m driving 75 miles an hour on an interstate about to change lanes to get in front of a semi in the pouring rain. Now see that? A normal person would read that and not only would they fail to see the humor in it, they’d actually be horrified by the danger and the possible illegality of such a thing.
They’re probably rooting through their phone book right now, looking up the non emergency number for their city’s police department so they can report me. MAKE SURE YOU SPELL MY FAKE NAME RIGHT TO THE PIG THAT ANSWERS THE PHONE, YOU UPTIGHT NORMAL PERSON! I WAS ON I- 294 HEADING TOWARD THE SUBURBS, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL CALL THE COPS IN THE STATE OF ILLINOIS TOO, SO THEY CAN BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR ME! I DRIVE A 2007 SILVER TOYOTA COROLLA WITH INVISIBLE MUD THAT I’M NEVER GOING TO WASH OFF SMEARED ON ONE OF THE DOORS…I THINK THE DRIVER DOOR!
Shoot, that’s no fun. I forgot all of the normal people hate me for my anti college bias and they stopped reading early on. Ok, back to whatever I was talking about. Hate when that happens, gotta reread all this and see what my next logical topic for the next paragraph is going to be, for the benefit of all you ‘mentally ill’ people reading this that are not quite as hyper as me so it flows in a semi logical order. Yeah, that’s how I like to read stuff too, but I’m telling you; it is overwhelming getting the stuff I write into a sequence like that.
I wish I could leave this lengthy word maze I lovingly constructed to some normal editor to fish through and put in an order a normal person likes; that’s a skill I have to work too hard at to wanna mess with. There are far more interesting things going on in my head than moving paragraphs around! I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that has a computer!
You know what I’m gonna buy if I ever make money selling what I write? I’m gonna buy me a normal person who is going to sit down with my rough draft and make it all go from one logical step to the next. Huh, guess I’m gonna hafta take out all the anti college stuff first, so they don’t get revenge sabotaging me inserting mean stuff in my masterpieces, like extra prepositions and semi colons I won’t even see and other sneaky things like that.
You see what I mean? I’m supposed to be writing about my life as an undercover normal person, and here I am, rambling on about whatever pops into my head. S’fun being a hopping little bunny rabbit!
OK, gotta write more words to make this thing long enough. What else did I learn during my time in the trenches?
Y’know what I thought the first time I took Concerta? (I’ll skip the sappy, weepy part when I was driving along a country road and I just started crying cuz I finally got experience an excellent, normal people life and wasn’t cynical enough to be shocked by how grubby and yucky things actually are here. That must have been a shopping day when that happened. When I first started doing Concerta it took quite a while for me to go right to my car in the parking lot and not sob gratefully; astonished that such a thing is even possible.) Ok, so after all that crying, chick stuff. (statistically, more guys than girls are as off the chart hyper as I am, so that makes me twice as awesome, in case you were keeping score!)
Dang it, forgot what I was gonna tell you about. Oh well, time for a short story!!
When I first took Concerta, I thought either I was SO hyper it just didn’t work for me, or that I was too old and my brain was so dug in the rut of not fitting into this normal people universe.
The reason I knee jerk concluded I was too far gone for drugs to be any help was cuz one day on drugs I was doing stuff like I’d do on a normal day without drugs. I was breaking up a fight between my kids while I dug through the shoe bucket we keep cuz 6 kids, they outgrow stuff fast and we save it for the next kid in line, cuz one kid needed “new” shoes while I was directing a stream of traffic of my other kids to put junk in the car cuz we had to go to Menard’s and return some PVC and my mom’s to give her back some thing I can’t remember what and the library to return some books, and food cuz someone in church just had a baby and they wanted some of Dolly’s special delicate inedibles though I can’t cook to save my life and the dog was barking cuz one of the kids was knocking on the table making him nuts and just then the phone rang and it was my mom and she was all like, (she’s more hyper than me, if you can believe that!) “when are you coming? What are you doing? What’s taking you so long? Are you bringing back my thing? What time will you be here?” And I was soooooooooo…
Man I can’t even tell ya.
When I’m not on drugs, I can do all that fine! But suddenly on drugs, I though my head was going to explode. No. that’s a cliché. I’ll try harder. I mean “frustrated” isn’t even a strong enough word. It was intensely, rippingly, grippingly beyond brain squeezingly homicidally pissed off aggravating; nah, that’s not strong enough either. I dunno. You know how it is if you’re focused on something, almost done, then someone comes along and throws a rabid skunk eating an onion on your project and blows a fan on you both just to see what you’d do? Yeah…it was kinda like that.
I just couldn’t take it, I shoved the phone at one of my kids, pushing him out the door with it and growled at him through gritted teeth “Talk to your grandma; answer every single question for her with out consulting me, then hang up and if anyone else calls I’m not here!” And then I had to start practicing this detestable new skill called, “only doing one thing at a time”
HEY, NORMAL PEOPLE! HOW IS YOUR SYSTEM SUPERIOR TO MINE?!?! Yeah, and I’m the crazy one…
All that stress for nothing! It turned out my doctor is one of those “experts” afraid I’ll get “addicted” cuz all the sudden in the middle of my life I show up with my hand out wanting stimulants. So he didn’t prescribe me a therapeutic level, but a cautious one instead. But don’t worry! I did my own experimentation and found out the dose I need.
Heh, heh, heh….
*Caffeine. Y’know, when I was little, I never knew what anyone meant when they said caffeine “makes them hyper”. I never heard of that word before. So after extensive research as a young child, drinking coffee and coke and jolt, I decided that “hyper” meant “calm and focused”. When I got older, and heard people say caffeine “made them hyper” I’d wonder why they needed it then! They are walking portraits of calm and focused! Gimme a break, I’m the one that needs that!! Now back to the rest of this chapter.
By nature, I’m happy and excited most of the time, doesn’t that sound fun? Can you imagine how excellent life is for me? Every second of every day I just scamper around, all day long, happy and excited, like a little bunny rabbit hopping around, not in any danger from predators or from sex that only lasts 4 seconds. By nature, I gravitate toward stuff that makes me laugh, cuz it’s SO fun to be happy!
All the sudden, I take a pill in the morning, and not only am I unable to eat cuz I’m not interested AND now all the food tastes yucky, but the world is weird, and dirtier than I realized! Oh my stars! I actually have cabinet doors that need to be scrubbed! There is right now as I write this, actual garbage laying in my yard. Garbage! Can you believe it?!? A torn up milk container, an empty grape juice box. That stuff used to be invisible to me! I’m serious! If it’s not hurting anyone, or crawling with maggots, who cares, why is it even important? I literally couldn’t even see any of that stuff when I was a happy and excited little bunny rabbit! Now that I’m a grown up mama rabbit on Concerta, the world just sucks! The food all tastes like a combination of cardboard and mud, it is shockingly, horrifically filthy, there is so much to do here, it’s freakin’ overwhelming, no wonder so many normal people have ulcers!
Normal people pills elevate the trivial to heights of unparalleled importance. To a normal person, keeping the yard scrupulously clean is far more significant and rewarding an endeavor than something frivolous, like laughing. Laughter is something normal people roll out on special occasions, maybe.
Laughter doesn’t even fit into the space of normal people world. Do normal people go to concerts and comedy clubs and read funny stuff? How and when do they have the time or desire? When I went undercover as a normal person, I learned that I was incapable of anything but being serious and grim all the time.
On the drugs that made me normal, I could no longer multitask well enough to preserve my life. That’s why texting while THEY drive kills THEM. I can program my GPS to find me a gas station while I’m driving 75 miles an hour on an interstate about to change lanes to get in front of a semi in the pouring rain. Now see that? A normal person would read that and not only would they fail to see the humor in it, they’d actually be horrified by the danger and the possible illegality of such a thing.
They’re probably rooting through their phone book right now, looking up the non emergency number for their city’s police department so they can report me. MAKE SURE YOU SPELL MY FAKE NAME RIGHT TO THE PIG THAT ANSWERS THE PHONE, YOU UPTIGHT NORMAL PERSON! I WAS ON I- 294 HEADING TOWARD THE SUBURBS, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL CALL THE COPS IN THE STATE OF ILLINOIS TOO, SO THEY CAN BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR ME! I DRIVE A 2007 SILVER TOYOTA COROLLA WITH INVISIBLE MUD THAT I’M NEVER GOING TO WASH OFF SMEARED ON ONE OF THE DOORS…I THINK THE DRIVER DOOR!
Shoot, that’s no fun. I forgot all of the normal people hate me for my anti college bias and they stopped reading early on. Ok, back to whatever I was talking about. Hate when that happens, gotta reread all this and see what my next logical topic for the next paragraph is going to be, for the benefit of all you ‘mentally ill’ people reading this that are not quite as hyper as me so it flows in a semi logical order. Yeah, that’s how I like to read stuff too, but I’m telling you; it is overwhelming getting the stuff I write into a sequence like that.
I wish I could leave this lengthy word maze I lovingly constructed to some normal editor to fish through and put in an order a normal person likes; that’s a skill I have to work too hard at to wanna mess with. There are far more interesting things going on in my head than moving paragraphs around! I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that has a computer!
You know what I’m gonna buy if I ever make money selling what I write? I’m gonna buy me a normal person who is going to sit down with my rough draft and make it all go from one logical step to the next. Huh, guess I’m gonna hafta take out all the anti college stuff first, so they don’t get revenge sabotaging me inserting mean stuff in my masterpieces, like extra prepositions and semi colons I won’t even see and other sneaky things like that.
You see what I mean? I’m supposed to be writing about my life as an undercover normal person, and here I am, rambling on about whatever pops into my head. S’fun being a hopping little bunny rabbit!
OK, gotta write more words to make this thing long enough. What else did I learn during my time in the trenches?
Y’know what I thought the first time I took Concerta? (I’ll skip the sappy, weepy part when I was driving along a country road and I just started crying cuz I finally got experience an excellent, normal people life and wasn’t cynical enough to be shocked by how grubby and yucky things actually are here. That must have been a shopping day when that happened. When I first started doing Concerta it took quite a while for me to go right to my car in the parking lot and not sob gratefully; astonished that such a thing is even possible.) Ok, so after all that crying, chick stuff. (statistically, more guys than girls are as off the chart hyper as I am, so that makes me twice as awesome, in case you were keeping score!)
Dang it, forgot what I was gonna tell you about. Oh well, time for a short story!!
When I first took Concerta, I thought either I was SO hyper it just didn’t work for me, or that I was too old and my brain was so dug in the rut of not fitting into this normal people universe.
The reason I knee jerk concluded I was too far gone for drugs to be any help was cuz one day on drugs I was doing stuff like I’d do on a normal day without drugs. I was breaking up a fight between my kids while I dug through the shoe bucket we keep cuz 6 kids, they outgrow stuff fast and we save it for the next kid in line, cuz one kid needed “new” shoes while I was directing a stream of traffic of my other kids to put junk in the car cuz we had to go to Menard’s and return some PVC and my mom’s to give her back some thing I can’t remember what and the library to return some books, and food cuz someone in church just had a baby and they wanted some of Dolly’s special delicate inedibles though I can’t cook to save my life and the dog was barking cuz one of the kids was knocking on the table making him nuts and just then the phone rang and it was my mom and she was all like, (she’s more hyper than me, if you can believe that!) “when are you coming? What are you doing? What’s taking you so long? Are you bringing back my thing? What time will you be here?” And I was soooooooooo…
Man I can’t even tell ya.
When I’m not on drugs, I can do all that fine! But suddenly on drugs, I though my head was going to explode. No. that’s a cliché. I’ll try harder. I mean “frustrated” isn’t even a strong enough word. It was intensely, rippingly, grippingly beyond brain squeezingly homicidally pissed off aggravating; nah, that’s not strong enough either. I dunno. You know how it is if you’re focused on something, almost done, then someone comes along and throws a rabid skunk eating an onion on your project and blows a fan on you both just to see what you’d do? Yeah…it was kinda like that.
I just couldn’t take it, I shoved the phone at one of my kids, pushing him out the door with it and growled at him through gritted teeth “Talk to your grandma; answer every single question for her with out consulting me, then hang up and if anyone else calls I’m not here!” And then I had to start practicing this detestable new skill called, “only doing one thing at a time”
HEY, NORMAL PEOPLE! HOW IS YOUR SYSTEM SUPERIOR TO MINE?!?! Yeah, and I’m the crazy one…
All that stress for nothing! It turned out my doctor is one of those “experts” afraid I’ll get “addicted” cuz all the sudden in the middle of my life I show up with my hand out wanting stimulants. So he didn’t prescribe me a therapeutic level, but a cautious one instead. But don’t worry! I did my own experimentation and found out the dose I need.
Heh, heh, heh….
Monday, February 8, 2010
So What’s Wrong with Being Normal, (Besides the Obvious)?
Yup, most days on the calendar I thank GOD I’m hyper. I think my ability to write stems from the screwed up non normal way my brain works. When I didn’t know I was hyper, I could write, (And MAN did I used to be FUNNY!!) Then I became enlightened, and went on Concerta and Ritalin and all that other pharmaceutical speed I love, and no longer could. I mean, I could write shopping lists, to do lists, action plans, orders for the kids, etc, but nothing was funny! It all SUCKED!! I was either going to have to invent yet another alias to write for Keavin under, (“Boring Girl!” Reviews for people that like to read newspaper articles about stuff they aren’t especially interested in!) or I was going to have to just quit without notice and take speed all day. Wisely, I chose the latter option.
Hard to explain why, it makes no sense to me now that I’m back on tourist status. I’m used to having a screwed up brain, but that junk screwed up my brain so much that… it wasn’t that I didn’t get the joke, it was just that (dramatic, mounting horror music) I just had no interest in the joke at all!
Now I doubt any normal people are still reading this, cuz they all were able to graduate from college, and hate my guts for being so vicious that I’d DARE stab at their sacred cows. So probably none of them can confirm what I just said is exactly true. I don’t know if I’m talented enough to tell you what I mean by laughter being superfluous, and why that was such a huge big deal to me, but I’ll try….. in the next chapter.
For now, I’ll get back to shredding on the “experts”.
No, wait; I can’t. No why? Cuz I’m hyper and am bored of this topic. If I don’t move on to something that interests me, I’m likely to skip writing about this topic, then who will warn you?!
Hard to explain why, it makes no sense to me now that I’m back on tourist status. I’m used to having a screwed up brain, but that junk screwed up my brain so much that… it wasn’t that I didn’t get the joke, it was just that (dramatic, mounting horror music) I just had no interest in the joke at all!
Now I doubt any normal people are still reading this, cuz they all were able to graduate from college, and hate my guts for being so vicious that I’d DARE stab at their sacred cows. So probably none of them can confirm what I just said is exactly true. I don’t know if I’m talented enough to tell you what I mean by laughter being superfluous, and why that was such a huge big deal to me, but I’ll try….. in the next chapter.
For now, I’ll get back to shredding on the “experts”.
No, wait; I can’t. No why? Cuz I’m hyper and am bored of this topic. If I don’t move on to something that interests me, I’m likely to skip writing about this topic, then who will warn you?!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
School and Normal People. Two Things I Like to Talk About. ALL THE TIME!!!
If I were to take my chair to a busy intersection and set it upside down, lay under it as if were a teeny, custom sized tent for my head and weep as file my nails with a pickle, the second I was arrested for whatever crime that is, the cops that rummaged through my purse looking for old gum or whatnot would find my prescription for whatever pharmaceutical I was on at that particular instance in my life and instantly their pissed off scowl would be replaced by a knowing, sympathetic look. ‘Of course she’s doing that’; he would think; ‘she’s crazy! No normal person would even think of doing such a thing!’
That’s because the “experts” classify me as “mentally ill”. Good thing the ”experts” don’t know what they’re talking about! I’ll admit that I’m biased. But so is everyone, about everything, and if they deny it they’re either stupid or lying.
How does one become an “expert”? What is a “mental illness”? Out of the kindness of my heart, I will now write you a dictionary. Any phrases you run across in either ‘ ‘ marks or “ “ marks will be defined. Using two types of punctuation ensures that I won’t have to waste valuable minutes rereading and trying to remember which one I’m supposed to be using! Ok kiddies, here we go!
“The Experts”:
A buncha dudes who spent some really long amount of time after high school in a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’, buying beer on a fake ID, scoring weed, sleeping through their first few classes because they’re too hung over to drag themselves out of bed after partying all night with drunk college girls, going to football games, maintaining their GPA through a combination of doing whatever school work they could do on their own well, and getting a part time job, working hard at it, so they could make lotsa money in order to hire some Asian kid to do their math and someone like me to write all their papers.
‘Massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’: (Syn. college; university)
1. Colossal waste of money, unless you want to actually hold a real job, and have people think you are “smart”. (slang)
2. ‘Place where smart people go to learn stuff’ (mythological)
3. A group of buildings where people buy beer on a fake ID till they’re old enough to have a real one, score weed, party all night with drunk college girls, go to football games, and maintain their GPA and scholarship through a combination of doing whatever school work they can do on their own well, and getting a part time job so they can make lotsa money in order to hire some Asian kid to do their math and someone like me to write all their papers.
‘Application process’:
Entrance to a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ is a lengthy, two part process.
First, the student must take some tests, all by himself. For some students, this will represent the first time in their high school career they actually had to write their own essay. Many will fail. Some will redeem themselves through a combination of essay scores being weighted less heavily in the overall grade, and correctly answering multiple choice questions with a #2 pencil.
After the testing process comes the ‘application’ procedure. This is an area where a student can cheat, as he has been able to his entire junior high and high school career, by paying someone like me to write him a poignant, or intellectual or humorous essay, depending on the student, the school and the author’s mood.
This two step process is how the student demonstrates mastery of the skills that are critical to his success in a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’. The skills are diverse, but almost universally include the following: being able to read and follow instructions printed on forms, printing or writing cursive neatly, filling in boxes with a #2 pencil, and writing essays to open ended questions that usually pertain to the student’s future plans or his desire for entry into the ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ in question.
The most important skill a student must possess in order to gain admission into a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ is demonstrated by simply going through the testing and application process. This reveals students who swallowed everything that was spoon fed to them, such as the myth that college or universities are places where ‘smart people go to learn stuff’.
Students that have accepted this myth as a core belief, have an almost cult- like devotion to it, enabling them to perpetuate it logically in their post ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ careers, where they will require a bachelor degree before they hire anyone for positions such as food service workers, diaper changers, hospitality industry, and other such formerly entry level positions.
“Mentally ill”:
Anything outside the conventions of accepted societal behavior. There is a scale of mental illness ranging from dangerous to benign. Some dangerous ‘mentally ill’ people are drugged or locked up to prevent them from harming others or themselves. This is acceptable, even to other people labeled “mentally ill”. Some benign ‘mentally ill’ people are drugged because they function in society differently than a ‘normal’ person, and find society’s expectations and restraints difficult to navigate.
Some mental illnesses can show up in diagnostic testing, some are symptomatic. The symptomatic ‘mental illnesses’ of today will show up in the diagnostic tests of tomorrow, that will be more than likely invented by someone ‘mentally ill’, the same way Edison invented the light bulb, the electrical generator, the utility company that can generate enough electricity to power an entire fucking state, power lines to carry the electricity into street lights and homes in such a way that street lights and homes don’t burn to the ground from the tremendous heat and energy electricity possesses, the motion picture, the record player. (pause for a break so I can weep with joy at one of the outstanding heroes of hyperdom).
In spite of Edison, and others, normal people put oceans of faith in the fraudulent system of “higher education” in lieu of common sense, even though such things often come back to haunt them. This discriminatory system has resulted in a country that’s WAY screwed up, to hilarious levels!
I have an actual non hyper friend, in spite of my obvious disdain for such life forms. She received years of specialized training in a ‘Massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’. She is a nurse.
Due to a combination of her reading to her kid from the time he came out of the chute, and a hyper husband, she’s got a hyper kid that is mind blowingly brilliant.
One day when her kid was little; I dunno, maybe 3 (my kids weren’t old enough to be this interesting yet. I mean they existed; but in the sitting in an umbrella stroller trying to chew on the strap kinda way.) We were talking about gravity for some reason, and Einstein’s theory (don’t worry; normal people; I wasn’t too advanced. I knew I was talking to a kid! I may not be academically qualified to teach your kids, but I know how to teach hyper kids stuff!)
Ok so there we are, doing all this talking and looking at rocks and I can see his little wheels spinning. This little annoying brat that eventually all the teachers would hate for being hyper suddenly locked up for a second, then he said something so jaw droppingly brilliant that it sucks he’ll never make it through college. He made an abstract connection, and started asking me about centrifugal force!
Her lil 3 year old baby cute obviously didn’t use the correct terms, like normal kids will one day memorize when they’re in 6th grade. This was way more exciting than a normal kid defining it correctly on his vocabulary test! He remembered the feeling of “gravity” pulling the padded board he was laying on up to the ceiling when he rode around and around in that standing up carnival ride thing with his daddy once they were spinning fast enough, and he wanted to know all kindsa stuff. Like how does that tie in with gravity? How does stuff that’s spinning super fast make gravity not work, Aunt Dolly?
Anyway, I’d say my friend was qualified to read books to kids in the public library, wouldn’t you? Well of course you wouldn’t! Normal people reading this think this isn’t a certifiable display of brilliance, but rather a buncha of annoying questions from a rotten, hyper kid!
Dang it, how the heck am I gonna get a normal person to understand this? Hmmm….
Lets say I was talking to a normal person and his kid about where paper comes from, even though normal kids can memorize and regurgitate better than they can make abstract connections. To our shock, all the sudden his little guy scurried off (slowly) and came back carrying a paper wasps nest! Wouldn’t that be cool?!?
A normal person wouldn’t think so! They’d scream at him, afraid of him getting stung, then they’d scare the piss out of him, banging his little hand, HARD! To knock it onto the ground, cuz they still wouldn’t want him to get stung, then they’d stamp his foot on it, crushing and grinding, cuz normal people have a perverse sadistic streak when it comes to kids and education! (As you’ll see in upcoming entries!!)
So what happened to my friend, about the ‘reading to the kids in the library’ job? Well maybe your library allows such obviously uneducated women to read to their kids, but after all, the kids of that library system are best read to by someone with a degree in something besides nursing.
She called me and told me that, and I laughed; I thought she was kidding. But a second later, she started crying…. Man, you normal people suck! What kind of a stupid rule is that? ARE YOU THAT STUPID, NORMAL PEOPLE!?!?!?!
That’s because the “experts” classify me as “mentally ill”. Good thing the ”experts” don’t know what they’re talking about! I’ll admit that I’m biased. But so is everyone, about everything, and if they deny it they’re either stupid or lying.
How does one become an “expert”? What is a “mental illness”? Out of the kindness of my heart, I will now write you a dictionary. Any phrases you run across in either ‘ ‘ marks or “ “ marks will be defined. Using two types of punctuation ensures that I won’t have to waste valuable minutes rereading and trying to remember which one I’m supposed to be using! Ok kiddies, here we go!
“The Experts”:
A buncha dudes who spent some really long amount of time after high school in a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’, buying beer on a fake ID, scoring weed, sleeping through their first few classes because they’re too hung over to drag themselves out of bed after partying all night with drunk college girls, going to football games, maintaining their GPA through a combination of doing whatever school work they could do on their own well, and getting a part time job, working hard at it, so they could make lotsa money in order to hire some Asian kid to do their math and someone like me to write all their papers.
‘Massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’: (Syn. college; university)
1. Colossal waste of money, unless you want to actually hold a real job, and have people think you are “smart”. (slang)
2. ‘Place where smart people go to learn stuff’ (mythological)
3. A group of buildings where people buy beer on a fake ID till they’re old enough to have a real one, score weed, party all night with drunk college girls, go to football games, and maintain their GPA and scholarship through a combination of doing whatever school work they can do on their own well, and getting a part time job so they can make lotsa money in order to hire some Asian kid to do their math and someone like me to write all their papers.
‘Application process’:
Entrance to a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ is a lengthy, two part process.
First, the student must take some tests, all by himself. For some students, this will represent the first time in their high school career they actually had to write their own essay. Many will fail. Some will redeem themselves through a combination of essay scores being weighted less heavily in the overall grade, and correctly answering multiple choice questions with a #2 pencil.
After the testing process comes the ‘application’ procedure. This is an area where a student can cheat, as he has been able to his entire junior high and high school career, by paying someone like me to write him a poignant, or intellectual or humorous essay, depending on the student, the school and the author’s mood.
This two step process is how the student demonstrates mastery of the skills that are critical to his success in a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’. The skills are diverse, but almost universally include the following: being able to read and follow instructions printed on forms, printing or writing cursive neatly, filling in boxes with a #2 pencil, and writing essays to open ended questions that usually pertain to the student’s future plans or his desire for entry into the ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ in question.
The most important skill a student must possess in order to gain admission into a ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ is demonstrated by simply going through the testing and application process. This reveals students who swallowed everything that was spoon fed to them, such as the myth that college or universities are places where ‘smart people go to learn stuff’.
Students that have accepted this myth as a core belief, have an almost cult- like devotion to it, enabling them to perpetuate it logically in their post ‘massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’’ careers, where they will require a bachelor degree before they hire anyone for positions such as food service workers, diaper changers, hospitality industry, and other such formerly entry level positions.
“Mentally ill”:
Anything outside the conventions of accepted societal behavior. There is a scale of mental illness ranging from dangerous to benign. Some dangerous ‘mentally ill’ people are drugged or locked up to prevent them from harming others or themselves. This is acceptable, even to other people labeled “mentally ill”. Some benign ‘mentally ill’ people are drugged because they function in society differently than a ‘normal’ person, and find society’s expectations and restraints difficult to navigate.
Some mental illnesses can show up in diagnostic testing, some are symptomatic. The symptomatic ‘mental illnesses’ of today will show up in the diagnostic tests of tomorrow, that will be more than likely invented by someone ‘mentally ill’, the same way Edison invented the light bulb, the electrical generator, the utility company that can generate enough electricity to power an entire fucking state, power lines to carry the electricity into street lights and homes in such a way that street lights and homes don’t burn to the ground from the tremendous heat and energy electricity possesses, the motion picture, the record player. (pause for a break so I can weep with joy at one of the outstanding heroes of hyperdom).
In spite of Edison, and others, normal people put oceans of faith in the fraudulent system of “higher education” in lieu of common sense, even though such things often come back to haunt them. This discriminatory system has resulted in a country that’s WAY screwed up, to hilarious levels!
I have an actual non hyper friend, in spite of my obvious disdain for such life forms. She received years of specialized training in a ‘Massively expensive post high school ‘institution of learning’. She is a nurse.
Due to a combination of her reading to her kid from the time he came out of the chute, and a hyper husband, she’s got a hyper kid that is mind blowingly brilliant.
One day when her kid was little; I dunno, maybe 3 (my kids weren’t old enough to be this interesting yet. I mean they existed; but in the sitting in an umbrella stroller trying to chew on the strap kinda way.) We were talking about gravity for some reason, and Einstein’s theory (don’t worry; normal people; I wasn’t too advanced. I knew I was talking to a kid! I may not be academically qualified to teach your kids, but I know how to teach hyper kids stuff!)
Ok so there we are, doing all this talking and looking at rocks and I can see his little wheels spinning. This little annoying brat that eventually all the teachers would hate for being hyper suddenly locked up for a second, then he said something so jaw droppingly brilliant that it sucks he’ll never make it through college. He made an abstract connection, and started asking me about centrifugal force!
Her lil 3 year old baby cute obviously didn’t use the correct terms, like normal kids will one day memorize when they’re in 6th grade. This was way more exciting than a normal kid defining it correctly on his vocabulary test! He remembered the feeling of “gravity” pulling the padded board he was laying on up to the ceiling when he rode around and around in that standing up carnival ride thing with his daddy once they were spinning fast enough, and he wanted to know all kindsa stuff. Like how does that tie in with gravity? How does stuff that’s spinning super fast make gravity not work, Aunt Dolly?
Anyway, I’d say my friend was qualified to read books to kids in the public library, wouldn’t you? Well of course you wouldn’t! Normal people reading this think this isn’t a certifiable display of brilliance, but rather a buncha of annoying questions from a rotten, hyper kid!
Dang it, how the heck am I gonna get a normal person to understand this? Hmmm….
Lets say I was talking to a normal person and his kid about where paper comes from, even though normal kids can memorize and regurgitate better than they can make abstract connections. To our shock, all the sudden his little guy scurried off (slowly) and came back carrying a paper wasps nest! Wouldn’t that be cool?!?
A normal person wouldn’t think so! They’d scream at him, afraid of him getting stung, then they’d scare the piss out of him, banging his little hand, HARD! To knock it onto the ground, cuz they still wouldn’t want him to get stung, then they’d stamp his foot on it, crushing and grinding, cuz normal people have a perverse sadistic streak when it comes to kids and education! (As you’ll see in upcoming entries!!)
So what happened to my friend, about the ‘reading to the kids in the library’ job? Well maybe your library allows such obviously uneducated women to read to their kids, but after all, the kids of that library system are best read to by someone with a degree in something besides nursing.
She called me and told me that, and I laughed; I thought she was kidding. But a second later, she started crying…. Man, you normal people suck! What kind of a stupid rule is that? ARE YOU THAT STUPID, NORMAL PEOPLE!?!?!?!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Adventures in Hypertown: A Hyper Person in a Non Hyper World: An Expose Of How Life Works in Normal People Land
I Politely Introduce Me to You
My fake name is Dolly Doppelganger, and most of the time I am delighted to be hyper.
I was blissfully happy writing for antiMusic.com, going through aliases faster than drug dealers dispose of cell phones until I decided that remembering where I parked my car was more important than being able to laugh. As is typically the case, this impulsive overreaction sent me scrambling to remodel my life and I raced to the doctor’s office to get diagnosed with previously undiagnosed “ADHD” as the pros in the biz like to call it. 'Off the charts hyperactivity' is how I affectionately think of it.
And thus started my wonderful journey through the jungle of anti hyper prescription drugs for the condition I assumed was destroying my life. The doctor’s initial ‘is she a drug seeker or THIS annoying for real?’ iceberg of disbelief quickly melted under my excellence at being myself. Vindicated, I entered a blissful but cautious trial period, where I was officially declared insane and medicated. All at once, I transformed into an undercover normal person, gaining access to the mysterious world that many inhabit without prescribed stimulants!
I had to figure out to survive in the tricky world of normal people, with no guidebook! I found that for me, popping in on the normal people and their tidy, organized lives for a day's visit isn’t all bad, but no way I wanna live there full time!!
When I was an undercover normal person, I floated through their universe undetected, fitting in as perfectly as if I’d been born there and belonged. Although I began as an awed, grateful to the point of weeping tourist, I concluded my vacation as a double agent.
All I wanted was a way to make my traitorous brain function in a way that allowed me entry into the world of normal people, but I found that life on anti hyper drugs was a grim, deadly serious business and laughter was superfluous.
I did everything punctually, completing every task I started; I forgot nothing, I was no longer paralyzed by overwhelmingly disorganized chaos. I achieved a 100% success rate at getting into my car every time I parked it, not because I “found” it, but because I actually remembered putting it there. My kids never wore dirty, ripped, or stained clothing in public; the fridge burst with lovingly hand crafted carrot and celery sticks. My kitchen sinks were beautiful, gleaming holes in the counter that a surgeon could have stored a spare heart or brain in, if ever such a medical emergency arose.
Doesn’t that sound nice, with frisking deer playing tag with adorable fairies under the rainbow while unicorns gleam brightly in the meadow as the sun shines and the birds twitter in the low tech way? Silly! Didn’t you read that sentence with the word “superfluous” in it? (All the normal people reading this just nodded their head “yes”. Of course you did! You read things one word at a time! Hyper people read huge, whopping hunks of words at a time, that’s why we can’t spell. That doesn’t make us stupid any more than your way makes you smart! That question was for them!)
Everything in normal people land is sharply defined, flashing brightly in perfectly contrasting colors, the only music playing is sad, somber violin music; but not all the time; only on special occasions cuz music and creativity TOTALLY don’t fit in here. The days are all overcast when you live in normal people land; it’s never bright and sunny, but always too dreary to ever go to the beach. The mystery of how the heck can normal people live like this coats everything with an imperceptible layer of fine, dusty silt that can never be permanently wiped away, even by us crazy people. Normal people spend all their time weeping and trying to commit suicide.
No! I’m just kidding! They should be! But they are completely unaware of how dire their circumstances are! They have NO idea how wonderful and desirable Hypertown is. That’s probably a good thing, or who would we get to organize our stuff and call us and remind us to come to the doctor’s office tomorrow?
I decided (eventually) that I don’t want to live in normal land all the time; it sucks there with a measurable velocity, sucking counterclockwise in Australia. So now I just pop in and visit the place on days I don’t want to spend 25 minutes wandering around a parking lot trying to find my car when I’m ready to go back home. I no longer enjoy dual citizenship, I’m content to remain a tourist.
Now that I’m safely back in Hypertown on a regular basis, details are back to being invisible, the way I like ‘em. Now when I take my kids shopping with me, they hunt for my car for me cuz I’m too busy glaring back at the normal people scowling their disapproval at me, disdainful at the grubby t-shirt my kid has on.
Dinner is always late, if I bother, and it’s always bizarre enough to not be very edible anyway; I reliably forget major critical doctor’s appointments, and spill something at least twice a month. We are all becoming accustomed to stepping over the hole in the middle of the floor from the missing tile I’ll never bother replacing; the drains in my kitchen sinks are a festering baby fly nurseries, and I’m once again able to seek fortune, not fame from writing cuz I don’t want to have to wear sunglasses when I shop at Goodwill. And through it all, I laugh at the stuff normal people don’t have a twisted enough brain to appreciate.
My fake name is Dolly Doppelganger, and most of the time I am delighted to be hyper.
I was blissfully happy writing for antiMusic.com, going through aliases faster than drug dealers dispose of cell phones until I decided that remembering where I parked my car was more important than being able to laugh. As is typically the case, this impulsive overreaction sent me scrambling to remodel my life and I raced to the doctor’s office to get diagnosed with previously undiagnosed “ADHD” as the pros in the biz like to call it. 'Off the charts hyperactivity' is how I affectionately think of it.
And thus started my wonderful journey through the jungle of anti hyper prescription drugs for the condition I assumed was destroying my life. The doctor’s initial ‘is she a drug seeker or THIS annoying for real?’ iceberg of disbelief quickly melted under my excellence at being myself. Vindicated, I entered a blissful but cautious trial period, where I was officially declared insane and medicated. All at once, I transformed into an undercover normal person, gaining access to the mysterious world that many inhabit without prescribed stimulants!
I had to figure out to survive in the tricky world of normal people, with no guidebook! I found that for me, popping in on the normal people and their tidy, organized lives for a day's visit isn’t all bad, but no way I wanna live there full time!!
When I was an undercover normal person, I floated through their universe undetected, fitting in as perfectly as if I’d been born there and belonged. Although I began as an awed, grateful to the point of weeping tourist, I concluded my vacation as a double agent.
All I wanted was a way to make my traitorous brain function in a way that allowed me entry into the world of normal people, but I found that life on anti hyper drugs was a grim, deadly serious business and laughter was superfluous.
I did everything punctually, completing every task I started; I forgot nothing, I was no longer paralyzed by overwhelmingly disorganized chaos. I achieved a 100% success rate at getting into my car every time I parked it, not because I “found” it, but because I actually remembered putting it there. My kids never wore dirty, ripped, or stained clothing in public; the fridge burst with lovingly hand crafted carrot and celery sticks. My kitchen sinks were beautiful, gleaming holes in the counter that a surgeon could have stored a spare heart or brain in, if ever such a medical emergency arose.
Doesn’t that sound nice, with frisking deer playing tag with adorable fairies under the rainbow while unicorns gleam brightly in the meadow as the sun shines and the birds twitter in the low tech way? Silly! Didn’t you read that sentence with the word “superfluous” in it? (All the normal people reading this just nodded their head “yes”. Of course you did! You read things one word at a time! Hyper people read huge, whopping hunks of words at a time, that’s why we can’t spell. That doesn’t make us stupid any more than your way makes you smart! That question was for them!)
Everything in normal people land is sharply defined, flashing brightly in perfectly contrasting colors, the only music playing is sad, somber violin music; but not all the time; only on special occasions cuz music and creativity TOTALLY don’t fit in here. The days are all overcast when you live in normal people land; it’s never bright and sunny, but always too dreary to ever go to the beach. The mystery of how the heck can normal people live like this coats everything with an imperceptible layer of fine, dusty silt that can never be permanently wiped away, even by us crazy people. Normal people spend all their time weeping and trying to commit suicide.
No! I’m just kidding! They should be! But they are completely unaware of how dire their circumstances are! They have NO idea how wonderful and desirable Hypertown is. That’s probably a good thing, or who would we get to organize our stuff and call us and remind us to come to the doctor’s office tomorrow?
I decided (eventually) that I don’t want to live in normal land all the time; it sucks there with a measurable velocity, sucking counterclockwise in Australia. So now I just pop in and visit the place on days I don’t want to spend 25 minutes wandering around a parking lot trying to find my car when I’m ready to go back home. I no longer enjoy dual citizenship, I’m content to remain a tourist.
Now that I’m safely back in Hypertown on a regular basis, details are back to being invisible, the way I like ‘em. Now when I take my kids shopping with me, they hunt for my car for me cuz I’m too busy glaring back at the normal people scowling their disapproval at me, disdainful at the grubby t-shirt my kid has on.
Dinner is always late, if I bother, and it’s always bizarre enough to not be very edible anyway; I reliably forget major critical doctor’s appointments, and spill something at least twice a month. We are all becoming accustomed to stepping over the hole in the middle of the floor from the missing tile I’ll never bother replacing; the drains in my kitchen sinks are a festering baby fly nurseries, and I’m once again able to seek fortune, not fame from writing cuz I don’t want to have to wear sunglasses when I shop at Goodwill. And through it all, I laugh at the stuff normal people don’t have a twisted enough brain to appreciate.
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