Monday, November 29, 2010


It has taken me a long time to finally accept the fact that I am not an outdoorsy person.

For eighteen years I have tried really, really hard to mold myself into a wonderful outdoorsy, nature loving, woods wandering type of person.

I have failed miserably.

I don't know why but I've always had this picture of me living out in the middle of no-where with no one but the birds and innocent woodland creatures to keep me company. This is highly unrealistic for me, because knowing myself I'd probably either A. starve to death, or B. Accidentally shoot myself with my own gun when I thought there was a monster outside.

See, I have problems with most "outdoorsy" things.

The woods for instance. I love the woods. In theory. There's probably nothing better then taking a walk through the woods on a sunny day and admiring nature, or something like that. But lets face it, you can get lost in the woods. You can get lost in the woods and it can get dark. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg and die. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg and die and then get eaten.

Seriously though, while your chances of those things happening are slim, why would you really want to take a chance.

Then there's the water. I can't stand not being near a large body of water. You must understand, I hardly ever *enter* the water. This is partly because of a horrifying past-life regression involving drowning, partly because of a crazy Fundamentalist actually attempting to drown me, and partly because there are all manners of biting, stinging, squeezing, tentacled, toothy, clawing creatures that live in the water.

I for one find it therapeutic to think about all of the creatures not devouring me at any given moment. Have you tried it? Next time you're having a bad day or a panic attack do so. You'll be surprised how much better your bad day is to say, GETTING TORN LIMB FROM LIMB BY A LARGE BEAR. Or, something along those lines.

So I sit on the beach/edge of the water and marvel at it's great expanse and appreciate all it's wonder.

From my safety on the sand.

I've tried desperately to get past these things. I even went so far as signing up for wilderness survival camp.

It went something along the lines of this:

Me: Mom? Can I go to wilderness survival camp?
Mother: Sure honey,
Me: Really?
Mother: Oh, wait *looks confused* you were serious?
Me: *nods*
Mother: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *twenty minutes of almost constant laughter* that went well.

I've also tried:
Rock climbing, base jumping, repelling, swimming, tree climbing, camping, and I even went so far as considering dating a boyscout. That's how desperate I was.

Anyway, no matter what I've tried, More often then not, this is what happens when I leave the house:

"....What's that smell?"
"Fresh air,"
"I don't like it..."

....and that's why Brianna is a recluse who doesn't leave the house and writes stupid blog posts all day.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Birthday Weekend

I am making a half-hearted attempt to save my birthday. So I got up early today, did my morning chores, took a shower, and put on my ass-kicking boots

I love my ass-kicking boots. They are amazing. I bought them about a year ago for more money then I have any right too. But for days like this their worth every cent.

So, after I head to the barn in my ass kicking boots and give medication to my ass-kicking horse, I'm home with nothing to do.

So, I decide to get back in touch with some old friends. These friends may or may not include illegally downloaded episodes of Haven and Leverage. But they definitely include Sweeny Todd, Repo! The Genetic Opera, and Dr. Horrible's sing along blog. Because what better to do when you're down and out but watch a whole bunch of fun, bloody musicals?

Oh, and the only full season of Moonlight. When someone you've never met in real life burns it onto DvD's then sends it to you, you're kind of obligated to enjoy it.

Happy Birthday to me.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Irrational Fear #2: My Yard.

Okay, so not my entire yard. Not even all the time.

Just some of the yard, some of the time.

See, my yard is about 120 Feet wide by 80. So, it's a decent size.

Right in front of the porch is a line of large 6-8 foot tall bushes. These bushes block your view of anything past them. The porch lights do not work.

So, if you're anything like me, you're standing out there at 11 at night rocking from one foot to the other in the dark waiting for your dogs to pee, and you hear a noise.

It isn't a dog noise.

It's a serial killer noise.

We've all heard them so I feel no need to explain them. I have a tendency to work myself into a ridiculous state of complete paranoia, standing there 100% sure I'm about to die.

To make this even sicker I believe that if I stand out there on the phone with someone, the Serial Killer/Monster/Alien/Creepy Perv from across the street/Bear will have manners and go onto someone who isn't using the phone.

So, I have Late-Night-In-The-Yard-Dogs-Outside-Phone-Buddies. These people are used to me calling late at night. One friend dealt with it nightly for almost two years before getting bored of my ranting.
Anyway, the conversations usually start like this:

"...I'm having dinner..."
"What if I die? Do you want to deal with that on your shoulders?"
"....Goodbye Brianna"
"What if they never find the bod-"

So, there you go. Irrational Fear #2. Believe me, 2 of many people. 2 of many.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Runs in the family

Someone I know is an editor. She's also a writer, woodworking, bicyclist, and several other things. She's currently working with the writers of the next version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. A book which is used widely by therapists, psychologists and other mental health professionals. It lists all mental disorders by name, number and symptoms. Because we're always learning more about ourselves, self absorbed as we are, the book is updated regularly. The book in editing is Book 5. Which will be released in 2013.

It is also the first book that will list, as a mental disorder -


This group of mental health professionals believe that the person suffering with this diagnosis is born this way. It isn't something learned, and it can not be corrected. It's hard wired. Very much like ones sexual orientation.

So what definition are they using for Evil?

"Sacrificing someone else's well being for your own,"

Don't freak, we all do that, at some point or another. What differentiates us from the "Evil" people is that we are capable of feeling shame after the act.

These "evil" people are unable to do good (We'll get back to this momentarily) and in fact are only capable of committing evil acts.

So what about "Good"? Can and will that ever be considered a disorder? Are there people out there only capable of committing "Good" acts? Well, our mental health professionals have covered that too:

As a branch from the "Evil" diagnosis is a group of people who are born NOT capable of committing evil acts. So that makes them good right? Not so much, they are also not capable of committing 'good' acts. They are known as the enablers for our "Evil" group. They have no social conscious telling them that Evil is wrong. So they engage with these people and enable them.

So, why hasn't evil been diagnosed until now?

Because, for evil to exist it needs OTHER mental disorders to be able to survive. It needs them to be able to manipulate. Our mental health professionals are claiming that "Evil" hasn't been noticed until now because it's been hidden under layers of schizophrenia, bi polar, and other mental diseases.

They've estimated 10% of the population has this disorder. 10%. That is, as of right now roughly 687,865,691 "Evil" people on our planet. Look at that number. That's nothing if not insane. Oh look, a pun!

So, how is "Evil" treated?

It's not, and that's probably what's the most scary of all. These people can be treated for they're other diseases using drugs and therapy. This makes them less dangerous, as they aren't as cunning and able to manipulate. But really, they are just able to fix a fix a symptom of the problem. And how can someone who's hardwired to do evil things ever stop? Theres a good chance they won't end up in therapy or on pills unless they're caught doing something truly heinous and illegal.

So, with 687,865,691 evil people running around, are you scared yet?

And John Steinbeck wins again:

"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents... The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?"

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Moving Pictures.

Have you ever been in a situation where you're telling a story you think is absolutely riveting, but the person you're talking to is looking more and more bored? Now you can't just sit around and let your social awesomeness fade away. No, you have no self confidence. So this just won't do.

So what do you do?

Well, you can't end this awesome story with:

"And then she got back into the car,"

Because this would be proving to your friend-who-just-doesn't-get-it that you are indeed and in fact boring. stretch the truth a little and instead of "She got back into the car," what comes out of your mouth is:

"And then she just took all of her clothes off,"

There you go. Now you've done it. You've got their full attention. Your social awesomeness has been restored.

But see, you don't think about the aftermath of this tiny little lie.

Because right after, this happens:

"I did not!"

"I always knew she was a whore,"

"....I'm standing right here,"

And then everyone knows that's not how the story ends and while the unnamed she very may be thought of as a whore it's still all your fault for bringing it up and what's wrong with you anyway?

So you stand there awkwardly while you watch your awesomeness bubble get smaller and smaller and smaller.

But really, what other choice do you have?

It's a lose lose.

Really you only have two options.

A. You can stand there and end the story with what really happened and your-friend-who-doesn't-get-it will nod in that condescending way that say's 'You poor dear,' and then walk away. Leaving you in a self proclaimed panic that you've made such a horrible fool of yourself that no one will ever like you again and you'll end up that person on the train no one ever talks to because you're just boring and strange and it all started at that party when you told that story to your-friend-who-doesn't-get-it and she nodded at you and thought 'You poor dear,'

You can lie so hard you could teach a class on it. You can even justify it. See, you've seen the future of option A. You don't want to end up that person. It's just a little lie and Julies been lying about dating Mark exclusively for six months now and no one calls her on it. It's safe. So you lie, and lie, and lie some more. Lies pour out of mouth at a great speed, making the once boring story strangely relate strongly to last weeks episode of House. You may even throw in an encounter with a large jungle cat for good measure. Because what's more interesting then a large jungle cat?
But sadly, there's a future to option B too. You're halfway through you're awesome story, you're going to pull this off. You are AMAZING. EVERYONE loves you. You are so cool you run down hospital hallways with Large Jungle cats. But then that smart-ass that no one invited to the party in the first place and only goes to RUIN YOUR LIFE walks over and says this: "Oh? You saw that episode too? Are you on any of the fan boards?" And with that one sentence, you're back where you started and wishing you'd gone with Option A.

Or, you can do what I always do when I'm telling an AWESOME STORY to friend-that-just-doesn't-get-it who is showing her increasing lack of getting it.



Saturday, November 6, 2010

Down And Out

I should have a boyfriend. There are a ridiculous amount of reasons I should have a boyfriend. Actually, there is a ridiculous number of reasons anyone should have a boyfriend. I can think of several right now, carrying heavy items, picking things up from the outside world you're too lazy to get, helping release spiders and other insects into the outside world.

Thats just Logic.

But none of these reasons are nearly as important as this:

Checking out that weird fing noise that's coming from your kitchen/basement/attic/bathroom with the pool of blood sliding under the door.

See, I am a naturally very paranoid person. Every time a cop drives by I go through some sort of inner panic that involves all of the horrible things I've done that are arrestable offenses. Nothing can persuade me from this inner panic. The fact that my largest offense in the last few years include only J-walking and angry letters to members of several political parties mean nothing. They could know things even I don't know.

I live by the rule that Just because you're paranoid does NOT mean they aren't out to get you.

I explain all of this because despite my paranoia I have another insane quirk that makes me want to investigate all of those strange noises coming from behind the pool of blood in the bathroom.

I have never claimed to be smart.

In this case, last night, while in a state of half sleep I hear a noise. No, it's not just any regular noise.


And it isn't a normal noise. It's a clicking.




It's nothing. I tell myself. It's a bug. I decide against going with logic which states that that has to be a BIG FUCKING bug to be able to make such a loud clicking noise.




It's in the kitchen. RIGHT IN THE GOD DAMNED KITCHEN. And the noise is getting louder. I shrink under the covers.


It's sounding like a possessed computer mouse trying desperately to relate it's message in morse code.

Well what can I do? I can't just sit here in bed while a potential giant bug/kitchenmonster/possessed computer mouse runs around my kitchen trying to get some message across.

So Uma plays the role of my future boyfriend who, I can only hope is already an insomniac because if not my crazy, paranoid ramblings that get him out of bed will make him one in the end anyway.
As it is, Uma doesn't want to hear it. She does that strange rollover thing we all tend to do when we're pretending not to hear something. In the end I'm forced to drag her off the bed and into the kitchen to investigate. Hopefully future boyfriend doesn't have a collar.

I do this now because I'm totally convinced that whatever is making the noise in my kitchen is some second rate SciFi movie monster that, while looking utterly ridiculous, still has red eyes sharp claws and no social conscious that says breaking into peoples houses and killing them is wrong.

Why I do this to myself is totally beyound me. All I know is that I'm convinced that having future-boyfriend or large dog with me will magically make the SciFi movie monster transform into one of my feral cats who's having a fight to the death with a hair elastic.

Without them, it just stays there looking all SciFi like and waiting to slay me.

My logic is nothing if not flawless.


"There's a fine line between what is justified or just obscene,"

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Breathing is overrated.

‎"...So you weren't paying attention?"

"Hey! Don't make this my fault! I have a lot going on, I'm really stressed out. They're renovating my bathroom and the workmen are scared of my dogs so I have to take them everywhere with me which isn't easy, and my pony is sick and may be dying and I don't know how I'll be able to afford the vet bills, and the guy who works at the barn knows dick about horses and is fucking everything up and I can't move him to another barn because some ass blond fucked with me a few years ago and is Satan,"

"....Do you believe you're a threat to yourself or others?"


"Great, lets get you discharged,"