Thursday, April 4, 2013

Cause tonight will be awesome.


*Preface* If you're familiar with "FRIENDS", you're well aware that Chandler Bing (THE most amazing TV character to have ever been created, your argument is invalid.) uses humor when things get uncomfortable. Weeeell...this is how this blog is gonna go. I'm gonna attempt to make this less awkward for you by making stupid jokes about things I shouldn't joke about. You're welcome.

Let's be honest, I'm not passionate about much. It took the better part of my life to find something I truly love. The only thing I can say I'm truly passionate about is music. Music is my biggest passion. Not in the "I have musical talent" kind of way. Cause, HA! No. -  But in a "I love it more than life itself and I love the people who create it and the people who love it just as much." kind of way. It's my life. Not to get all Emo cause I know it makes y'all uncomfortable but music, it makes my life. It gets me through every single day. Whether I'm listening to my ipod or listening to the radio hoping and praying I don't hear a Black Eyed Peas song (SERIOUSLY, What. The. Hell. is that even?), it's part of my every day.

Judging by the title up there, you probably think I'm going to a concert, tonight. Right? Well, you're wrong! And you haven't been paying attention to my Tweets/FB status things. Shame on you young grasshopper...s. - But it's OK. I forgive you. Sort of. Learn to pay attention, though. It makes life easier. And I won't feel like you're ignoring me. You don't wanna do that. Trust me.

Anyway, I digress. Tonight, my lovelies, I am going to a book signing. Jenny Lawson's book signing, to be exact. I'm stoked. And scared. Stoked, cause it's my first one. She's taking my book signing virginity. But, the fear? It didn't set in until she tweeted that some people hadn't been able to get into her signing a couple nights ago cause the place filled up. Now, not that I didn't think she could fill up a place cause, dude...she's fucking Jenny Lawson! But I tend to underestimate the size of the places in which events take place. In my mind, Barnes and Noble is big enough to fit the entire city of Phoenix. No, I don't get out much. Can you tell?

But anywho, in the spirit of keeping it short(ish) and not bitter (HA!)...I won't tell you how I discovered her. I'll just say that once I did discover her, our mutual love for Rebel Wilson earned me a follow on Twitter about a week after I started following her. Jenny, not Rebel. Also, I would like to say that if I could get them both in the same room, I would probably be the happiest kid on earth. (OK don't be nasty, I know what you're thinking!)  I'd probably pee myself too but that's an entirely different blog right there.

In the short time that I've been following her, I've developed this HUGE amount of respect for her. She's funny without being crude. Just kidding, she's so inappropriate, it's awesome! Ahem. She's appreciative of the people who've helped her succeed. You've gotta love people who give props to their minions. I mean, support system. *cough*

But I think what I love most about her is that she's willing to put herself out there to help people. She's willing to share things so that others don't feel alone.

See, Jenny suffers from anxiety. I think there are other things she's touched on but I haven't been in the circle long enough to know much more about her.

I'm only going to talk about the anxiety, for now though. Cause honestly, that's the only thing I can relate to at the moment. 

I suffer from SEVERE anxiety. The kind that makes me go from a nervous wreck on the verge of a panic attack to a pissy, bitch within 0.2 seconds flat, because I KNOW 98% of the things I freak out about are not things I should be freaking out about. But I do it anyway. I'm not being treated for it. Why? Because no one but my internet people knows about it. Should I talk to my doctor about it? Probably. Should I tell my family? Abso-fucking-lutely. But not yet. The truth? I don't want to be given yet another pill. If you know me well, you know for a fact I've got a laundry list of things that are wrong with me. Ergo, (yes, I did say ergo), I take an ass-ton of pills. I'm a rolling pharmacy as it is, kids. 

So how do I deal with it? Well, there's the uncontrollable sobbing. That kind of helps...or makes it worse. Depends on the day, really. Then there's Cookie Monster. He's my plush toy. The size of my hand. Poor thing, I squeeze the hell out of him when the shittiest part of the anxiety hits me. Side note: He's gone missing. I CANNOT find him. My mother sweetly pointed out that *Olive probably toy-napped him and most likely has him hostage under my bed. "I'll look. But don't be surprised if all I find is the stuffing." - Thanks, mom. Comforting.

*For those who don't know who Olive is: She's my 1 1/2 year old Shih-tzu/Jack Russell Terrier/Satan mix. She's lovely. Really. *cough*

Then there's THE GLUE. No, I don't sniff glue. Geezuhs, people! - I've said before that I could probably single handedly keep Elmer in business. You know Elmer...the glue guru. 

So, what's the story behind the glue? This is gonna be long. You might wanna go grab some popcorn...and the alcohol. Actually, just grab the alcohol. Another side note: The glue story will bring me back to talking about Jenny. It's all connected. Stay with me. 

Some months ago, on Thanksgiving, or possibly Christmas, I don't remember which, (It was one of those holidays when the entire family gathered at my mom's house and tried to kill one another. Cause we totally need a holiday for THAT to happen) I was just having a bad day. So I sat in my room and I ugly cried. Once that fiasco was over, I looked over at my desk and spotted a bottle of Elmer's school glue. For some strange reason I grabbed it and squeezed some on the palm of my hand. (Yeah, I'm still 28). I spread it in a thin layer and let it dry. Once it dried, my one and only goal at that very moment was to peel it off in one piece. So I went for it. Two minutes later, I had this thin layer of dried glue sitting on my laptop. Suddenly I realized that for the better part of those two minutes, all I was concentrating on was making sure it came off in one piece. Nothing else mattered during those two minutes. Then I realized that it became difficult for me to relive the shittiness that happened pre-glue peeling. So that became a ritual every time shit hit the fan. - I remember doing this as a kid. I don't think it had anything to do with anxiety relief though. I was just a kid who liked to wreak havoc on anything I could get my tiny hands on. Did I mention I've self-diagnosed with ADHD? That probably has more to do with my hypochondria, though. All I gotta do is relate one lone symptom/sign to my every day life and all hell breaks loose. Anyway, back to the glue. Lord bless my 2nd grade teacher for not taking away my glue using privileges. She did supervise my scissors use, though. Smart woman keeping an eye on the clumsiest kid in class. Otherwise I probably would've lived in the nurse's office. Or not at all. So that's my story. My bizarre story. You're welcome, Elmer. I want a cut of the profits.

So why did I dedicate a good portion of this post to glue?! Well, remember that rant about not wanting to be medicated for my anxiety? Jenny says it's OK. 


My response to her was this: "I play w/ Elmer's glue. I don't need to add another drug to my personal pharmacy. It works. Haven't been convicted of anything."

And I haven't been. That you know of. 

The point of this mess that you just read is just to reiterate what she said in her entry: If you're not OK, make yourself OK. Find something that distracts you from the shittyness. Who knows? You might find something to become passionate about. Or something ELSE to be passionate about. Now, I don't know if anyone can become passionate about peeling dried glue off their hand but it sure as hell works for me.

- You like music? Crank up the radio and sing. Or go to a concert...or 5. I can tell you from personal experience, concerts are an amazing escape. 

- You like to read? Get lost in a book. Which brings me to my next point/confession: Jenny recommended (on Twitter) "The Fault in Our Stars." a few days after I received her book in the mail. So here I am, 3 chapters into her book when I decide to look up her recommendation. I found a sampler on Google Play and I was hooked. I bought it and read it. Which kind of gave me no time to actually finish her book. So I'll probably be sitting at the signing not knowing what the hell she's talking about. You only have yourself to blame, Jenny. Seriously, though. Kick ass book. I have no soul left in me but it was totally worth it. - Also because of this, I've gotten reacquainted with books. I hadn't read a book since 2007. I know. 

-You like kicking puppies? Then go...no don't kick puppies. That'll just make a gigantical douchey-dick. You don't wanna be one of those. Trust me. They suck.

I cannot stress it enough: Find your passion. Because even a few minutes spent focusing on your passion is a few minutes spent not thinking about all the shittyness in the world. Shittyness that, well...chances are, is beyond your control. 

Peace out, kiddies.