Brokecrap Mountain

I don't see what the big deal is about this film. I can see a consentual anal rape scene any day in my bedroom.

Seriously, just because a major motion picture has the cojones to show dudes spitting on their palms to lubricate anuses for fucking and engaging in passionate make-out sessions it won the Los Angeles Film Critics Association's award for best picture of 2005? I don't get it. Nothing about the film was exceptional - not even its subject matter. No, you don't often see a film about gay cowboys - the gay porn flick aptly titled "Bareback Riders" aside. But does that qualify it for top honors?

I'm OK. You're OK

I'm still not smoking, and it's been about a month. I guess I finally licked the habit again. Hopefully, this round will last longer than the 3.5 years I quit before.

Celexa has become my new best friend even though I can't really say I feel the effects of her yet. Right now, she's just someone I say "hi" to every morning. I'm waiting for her to say "hi" back and to give me a smile or a hug. In the meantime, I'm feeling better anyway.

Roe v. What?

My friend, Michael, showed up at my house last night to see if I wanted to go see a speaker at FSU: Sarah Weddington, the woman who, at age 26, successfully argued Roe v. Wade. He said he wouldn't have come to get me, but he didn't want to go alone. I instantly felt so grateful that he's one of my best friends.

Weddington is currently a Texas lawyer and a law professor at UT, Austin. She was eloquent, sincere and intelligent and had a great sense of humor. She spoke for about an hour about the landmark case that changed the world and interrupted her talk only once with a more than benign request that someone in the audience turn off his video camera - still photos only, please.

Roe v. Wade is 33 years old now, and pro-choice advocates around the country grow more fearful by the day about the future of this landmark case. Will Alito take the bench? Will the case be overturned? Will fucking, for women AND men alike, equal a willingness to reproduce?

Not long before Weddington argued Roe v. Wade, it was illegal for people, both married and unmarried, to use contraceptives of any kind, and abortion was legal only for women whose health or lives were on the line in pregnancy. This led to illegal and home abortions and the injury, sterilization and death of countless women. At issue here, says Weddington, is the right to privacy, the same right granted to married and unmarried people who wanted to use birth control - but legally couldn't - shortly before Roe v. Wade was debated among U.S. Supreme Court justices.

While the nation and individual states can regulate safety issues with regard to contraceptives, they can no longer regulate the legality of using them just as the government can regulate abortions but cannot currently deny them. If Roe v. Wade is ever overturned, said Weddington, there will be mass chaos.

Let's hope so.

Update

No crying since Monday night. I start on Celexa today or tomorrow. Lexapro was what my therapist recommended, and I've read that it helps with both anxiety AND depression while Celexa appears to be good for depression only - a milder version of Lexapro. We'll see. My therapist said she wants me to take it for only a little while.

I had dinner at a friend's house last night. I really like being around him. He's sensitive and kind. I never feel bad around him, and I really feel like I can let down my guard and be myself around him. Of course, there's really no fear of rejection considering he's married but he is a good reminder of what I should be looking for in a mate and that age, height, weight, attractiveness, a great education and a fabulous job don't really mean much when you're deciding who you want to devote yourself to. It's what's inside that counts the most and how you feel when you're around the other person.

I need to keep this in mind the next time I'm stuck on some asshole.

Clarification

Ok. Because friends are asking, I'm offering a clarification to yesterday's post.

I don't really think it's this particular guy that I'm depressed about. I think it's this kind of hopelessness that has come over me in the past couple months that even though I found someone out there who's the right age range, height range, weight range and attractiveness range and who has a great education, a great job, remarkably similar interests and values (claimed values, anyway) and overwhelmingly shares the same outlook on nearly everything - even when all these are in place, the relationship didn't work out. Not only didn't it work out, but it all fell apart amazingly speedily. Like there wasn't a second to waste. And, like that, my hopes disintegrated.

If the problem doesn't lie with him, then it lies with me, and I consider myself to be a catch. I'm attractive (but I need to lose 20 pounds or so), funny, smart, educated, adventurous, spontaneous, curious, energetic, responsible, honest, loyal, caring, considerate, thoughtful, loving, affectionate and passionate. I'm an avid reader, and I have knowledge of a diverse range of music. I can talk about everything from politics to fashion, poverty to cooking - and everything in between. I think my biggest flaws are that I can tend to be extremely sensitive to criticism, and I get really anxious at the beginning of any relationship (attachment disorder). Am I so bad?

My way of thinking is that if a relationship won't work out with someone who seems so nearly perfect for me on paper, it won't work out with anyone. And I can't handle the thought of being alone forever.

Another thing that could be fueling my depression is the fact that I quit smoking. I found a Web site yesterday that says, once they quit smoking, depression worsens for people who normally experience a mild range of it. Apparently, the depression can last for a while and can meld into some kind of long-term funk. Another site said my insulin would go up as well. Good news considering my insulin count is very low.

I went to the gym last night and had a little one-on-one with a personal trainer. He measured my body fat percentage, and I found out that not only is my body fat a danger to me but it's also a danger to everyone in the immediate vicinity. Apparently, according to my body fat index, I am considered obese. That's funny. I don't feel obese. I guess the only place to go from here is up.

We went through the various weight machines I will be using: for my thighs, lower back, calves, chest, arms and abs. Time to get in shape.

I didn't cry yesterday, and I don't feel so bad today.

Morphine, Anyone?

I could sure go for a nice IV full of morphine right now. I remember how magical that clear liquid is and how it can make life at least bearable. I'm starting to not feel so sorry for Terri Schiavo and her 15 years of unconsciousness. It sounds pretty good right now.

I'm on week eight or so of depression, give or take a year. I got home around 5 last night and cried until I feel asleep at 11. I woke up wondering if I need to be hospitalized after another night filled with recurring dreams. When I talk on the phone to most people I know, I try to fool them into thinking I'm happy. I try to sound upbeat and pull out all the jokes. My closest friends know how I'm really doing, though, and people at work steer clear of my office because I always look on the verge of a breakdown.

I think the problem has to do with my lack of an acceptable job, one that pushes me to my potential, and with my lack of a nice boyfriend. I most recently dated this mentally and emotionally abusive (surprise, surprise) jerk who really enjoyed yelling at me, calling me names, being completely arrogant and selfish towards me, and hating me whenever I tried to be nice to him. The tragic thing is that HE rejected ME and ripped away my self esteem in the process yet he thinks that we can't have a relationship because I'M the one who's such a bad person.

He never wanted to talk about any of my issues with him (imagine!), and anytime I expressed displeasure over one of his mental cuts he would either laugh or gleefully tell me that I've probably never met anyone like him before. When I would let him know that I wouldn't even stay friends with him if he continued to act the way he did, he would just say "ok" and throw away my phone number or say "I'll talk to you soon" and leave me sitting there stunned at his callousness and complete disregard for reality.

Whenever there is such a conflict of reality, I tend to start doubting myself. Am I the monster? If I'm the bad one, why do I think he's so bad? Are we both bad, and we're projecting onto each other?

Or is he just a fucking immature reject of an asshole who never deserved one second of my time.

The Test

I put my bottle of water on the counter.

Clerk: Will that be all?

I nervously eye the rows of cigarettes behind her. Marlboros. On sale for $2.45 a pack!

Me: Uhhh....yeah.

New Year, New Habits, New Job, New Body

I'm still depressed, but I am looking forward to the new year a little more now. I'm sure I'll be looking forward to it even more than I am now as soon as I get the prescription for Zoloft or Lexapro my therapist recommends.

A new job with the legislature came open that I'm planning on applying for. It would mean a much better job for 50 percent more money. The only problem is I'd be working for the Republicans and doing their bidding. Might not be so bad, though. The money would be great to pay off my debts and leave Florida.

Smoking: Day 3 of no smoking. That's how long I lasted last time I tried to quit. I have had three severe cravings so far in these past three days but nothing that would be enough to make me start again. I dreamt I was in a store last night. At the register, I picked up a pack of cigarettes and almost bought them. At the last second, I put them back. I think I'll make it this time.

New habit: the gym. When my back heals, I'm going to be joining the gym again. My goal is to get down to 150 pounds again to feel better about myself. Plus, I'm hoping the exercise will help release whatever chemicals will make me stop crying.

Happy...New...Year

I'm starting off this new year sad and depressed and with a hurt back. This morning, I bent over to pick something up off the floor and, boom!, my lower back spasmed. I almost didn't come to work (I can barely walk!), but I'm here only because I couldn't stand another 24 hours in bed. I was severely depressed this weekend and didn't really leave my bed much, which has made me even more depressed.

Adding to my funk is that I quit smoking (again) yesterday. I cried on the way to work today. Nice way to start off the new year. My therapist will have a field day when I see her Wednesday and will, no doubt, want to start me on antidepressants in no time.

Merry Christmas!

I leave tomorrow after work for a trip to Tampa for Christmas.

This trip will be better than my Thanksgiving trip because 1) I won't be visiting my parents this time and 2) I will be meeting up with my good friend Lili whom I haven't seen since I visited Providence, RI, two Christmases ago. That year, Lili and I hung out with her ex-husband, Robert, much of the time. We had a blast eating, watching movies and MTV (trying to dance like the guy in that Polaroid song? You got to shake it, shake it, shake it), visiting Boston, shopping and acting like general bufoons.

That was the year Lili had to say goodbye to a very good friend of hers she had known for a couple of years. This friend of hers was taking a snowy walk with us in a cemetery one day when she disappeared. We looked everywhere for two hours, left our name and number with the cemetery office in case she happened to be found. I took a photograph of her that day, the last photograph ever taken of her. She has not been found since. Yes, Lili's winter cap she wore on the walk that day was her favorite. A few weeks later, I mailed Lili a photo of her wearing her favorite hat. I think Lili held a funeral service, because I got some sort of weird invitation in the mail a couple weeks later inviting me to a wake.

Ha!

So, I'm trying to think of fun things Lili and I can fill our time with. There aren't that many gay clubs left in central Florida. That's what Lili and I used to do in Ybor City in the good old days when we first met 11 years ago: go to Masquerade on 7th Avenue and gyrate among all the pretty queers.

Two trips to Tampa ago, Tess and I found this huge club in downtown Tampa that bosts Saturday night as gay night. It's two stories tall with two bars on each floor, a well-hung bar dancer in a g-string, blaring electronic music and beds along one whole wall upstairs. I'm supposing the beds are for the voyeurs and exhibitionists alike. They appealed to me, because I'm both.

Merry Christmas everyone! Happy new year!!!!

A New Leaf in Cold Winter

Enough already. I've decided to snap out of my depression dilemma and have convinced myself that I'm going to convince myself that life is...fun.

I'm meeting next week with a photography professor at Florida State University. He has kindly agreed to critique some of my photographs to let me know if I've got what it takes to take pretty pretty pictures. I've gone through all my photos and selected about 20 to show him first. I'm still waiting for my ordered copy of the 2006 photographer's market guidebook to arrive.

Untitled

For some reason, I couldn't think up a title for this post. Nothing seemed appropriate. Nothing seemed interesting. Nothing interests me. Nothing is fun. Nothing is funny. I look forward to nothing. I look forward to sleep.

Yes, I am depressed. My therapist wants to put me on anti-depressants and will evaluate me in two weeks to see if I'm doing better by then. I'm supposed to be exercising to release some seratonin, but, of course, I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT.

My days have been bleak lately, adding to the gray skies that have been flying over Tallahassee. What I look forward to most during the day is getting home so I can check my mail. Yes, MY MAIL is the most exciting part of my day.

Thanksgiving. I left Tallahassee at about 2 p.m. Tuesday headed for Tampa. The five days were just a blur of sun and moon punctuated by five hours of slaving in the kitchen to make a turkey dinner (I was the adult this year!), one miserable hour of getting treated like crap by my parents at their L-O-V-E-L-Y home, a night in Ybor City dancing at a club called Czar with a hopping monkey and going to an all-the-meat-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant with my brother, his wife and friends and my ex. I usually have a good time when I go to Tampa, but this time pretty much sucked. I don't know why. I think it's because I'm depressed. And broke. And because I only got one fucking piece of pumpkin pie on Turkey Day.

"Rape a Woman Day" Gains Popularity

It appears people in the U.K. are as stupid as Americans when it comes to women and rape. CNN reported the results of an opinion poll that shows one-third of otherwise intelligent people across the pond believes women are to blame for being raped if they drink too much, dress provocatively, walk alone at night or have an active (consentual) sex life. Figures. I was raised thinking these same things, so it's no surprise that others do as well. What I'm shocked about is the fact that so many people STILL think these things in 2005.

Also reported in the article is the fact that rapists are prosecuted for their crimes only 5 percent of the (reported) time over there (the figures here probably aren't much higher). It's nice to know that 1) most rapes are never reported (I'm guilty of that one) and 2) even if they are reported, police/hospital staff may not take it seriously (happened to the sister of a friend of mine. Rape kit? Why do you need one of those? A police report? You don't want to go through that trouble, do you?) and 3) even if 1 and 2 happen, your garden variety rapist would probably only get a slap on the wrist, if anything.

Men suck.

So Much Shit

There's so much stupid shit going on in the world right now that I don't even want to be awake most days. Gay marriage ban in Texas. A continued war in Iraq despite the whole world despising George for it. Unveiled e-mails from horse-trainer Brown who should have been helping to save the people of New Orleans but was, instead, worried about which tie to wear and scheduling adequate time for dinner. A vote on a coal-powered plant for Taylor County that Tallahassee would buy into for profits and additional electricity. I'm so tired of everyone's stupidity. Yawn! I think I'll sleep instead.

But on a brighter note, I spent seven days in Washington, D.C. - also known as The District. Museums visited: The National Gallery of Art (east building only), The Holocaust Museum, The Museum of Natural History and the Museum of American History.

Restaurants eaten at: Capital Grille ($120 lunch), Banana Cafe (a Cuban place in the Eastern Market district), Pizzeria Paradiso (a gourmet pizza joint in the Dupont Circle area), Dukam (Ethiopian place in the U-Street area), Ben's Chili Bowl (late-night eatery for drunks, also in the U-Street area), etc., etc., etc.

I had Chinese take-out from some uber rated Chinese place near Chinatown. Peking Garden right here in Tallahassee trumped that meal by a million. Nice to know we have something in this small town that D.C. might not have.

I also saw a concert at a cool bar/club called The Black Cat. The band, which hails from Baltimore, is called Wilderness (Jagjaguwar Records) and should not be underestimated. Check out the band's Web site, if you want, for more info. I was instantly smitten by the lead singer, and the band is one of my new favorites. Also met my favorite homeless guy outside the club. His name is Black Cat Bill, and he sits outside Black Cat in one of those motorized wheelchairs. Big, fat black homeless guy peddling for money and calling, "Black Cat, Black Cat. I'm Black Cat Bill." I told him the club should pay him for promoting the place and that he should wear a Black Cat T-shirt. He laughed. He bummed a smoke off me. Then, Mel gave him $5. He tucked it in his pocket saying he had to hide the bill because it was so big. He didn't want to get mugged. I told him I was going to mug him because I knew he had not only $5 but also a cigarette. He laughed and said, "Don't do that....hahahahahahaah." Sad. Wherever you are, Black Cat Bill, I hope you're warm and safe.

I also went to Baltimore and ate lunch in Little Italy before buying an eclair the size of a baby's arm at another place that sold Italian pastries. What else? Oh, yeah. I almost got killed by a homeless person near the Capitol. As Melonie and I were approaching, the guy was yelling his head off. She and I figured he was just some crazy homeless guy with an advanced form of Tourette's. But, as we got closer, he stared us in the eyes and yelled, "I'm gonna cut you, bitch!" and started coming towards us. Melonie wasn't paying attention to him or what he was saying. Good thing I was, because I turned to Mel and said, "We gotta get outta here. He's coming for us. We gotta go."

We started running and some other bummy looking guy on a bicycle rode by us and told us we were in the wrong part of town. The first weird guy ended up crossing the street and ranting and raving up and down the other side.

Favorite areas of D.C.: Dupont Circle, U-Street, Capitol Hill, Eastern Market. The only major areas I didn't make it to were Georgetown and Foggy Bottom. I wish I had gone there. I hear there's a lot of good music venues. Biggest complaint: Lack of record stores. I don't get it. Good local music scene. Hardly a record store in sight. I didn't go to one the whole time I was there. The one I tried to go to (specializes in underground/local music) wasn't there anymore. This I found out after I made the train ride and mile walk to get there. Ugh! Biggest compliment to D.C.: You have a lot of hot/interesting looking men living there. That's reason enough for me to move.

In one year, it's you and me, D.C. We're gonna have some fun.

Visions of D.C...

I'm going to Washington, D.C., Thursday for eight days of drinking, eating, traipsing through museums, and, apparently, freezing my ass off. It's cold up there, folks. Time to drag out that coat I bought in Montreal.

I've been thinking of moving to a bigger city. I've narrowed it down to D.C., Philadelphia, Chicago, or Austin. I'm going to D.C. this week to see if it's a place I'd want to live. I was there last year for four days, but I was there on business, and I was drunk most of the time. It'll be different this time.

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I kept waking up and hearing noises. I was cold. Congested. Couldn't get back to sleep. I remember a pretty good dream that I moved to D.C. and lived in this cool apartment/house kind of thing with a neat staircase up to a second floor and hardwood floors. There were lots of hot guys my age living in the neighborhood and in the same house (maybe more than one apartment in the same house), as I recall. That would be a nice change from Tallahassee where guys are either 20 or 60 or already married or not on the market for one reason or another.

So, D.C., we have a date. Let's see if you fit into my vision of my future.

The Quitter has Quit

Since Sunday at about 5 or 5:30 p.m., I've been a nonsmoker.

I've been sick. Some kind of lung/sinus kind of thing for more than a week now. Of course, I had continued smoking throughout the coughing fits and the three days off work. Just not as much. That's considered conscientious, right?

Wrong.

Sunday at about 5 p.m., I was sitting on my front porch smoking the second-to-the-last cigarette in my last pack of Marlboro Light 100s (box). It tasted like shit. My mouth tasted like shit. I started to feel queasy. I thought, "This will be my last cigarette."

But what about the lucky? I couldn't just abandon the fifth cigarette in the first row that I so diligently turned on its head pack after pack after godforsaken pack. On second thought, yes I could. I decided breaking my last lucky in my last pack of smokes was the luckiest thing I could ever do. I tossed it in the trash, put out my mostly-smoked cigarette and proceeded to vomit for about 10 minutes in the bathroom sink. Lovely feeling as snot shot out of every hole in my head and barely-chewed food from my recent dinner spewed from my stomach out of my mouth.

I haven't smoked since. I know it's only been 1.5 days or so, but I don't even want one. The only time I miss it is when I get in my car. Smoking is a necessity, after all, when one is behind the wheel.

Words to Live By

Thirteen
from the Tao Te Ching

Accept disgrace willingly.
Accept misfortune as the human condition.

What do you mean by "Accept disgrace willingly"?
Accept being unimportant.
Do not be concerned with loss or gain.
This is called "accepting disgrace willingly."

What do you mean by "Accept misfortune as the human condition"?
Misfortune comes from having a body.
Without a body, how could there be misfortune?

Surrender yourself humbly; then you can be trusted to care for all things.
Love the world as your own self; then you can truly care for all things.

Mr. America

(photo of Mr. America won't post. Will try again later)

Meet Mr. America. He's insane. Literally. As best I can tell, anyway.

As I recall, Mr. America is a proud American originally from Yugoslavia who was in Union Square in full regalia during the Republican National Convention. Mr. America loves America. Mr. America loves GW. Mr. America would be willing to SAY (but probably not DO) anything, and I mean anything, to protect the reputation and goodstanding of his fine, fine country. Too bad he's insane. Literally.

I had the good fortune to see Mr. America in action in Union Square one day during the week of the Republican National Convention. Spread all around him on the ground were pairs of military boots and civilian shoes once belonging to those who ended up dying for this fine, fine country in a little-known war in Iraq. Mr. America appeared not to see the shoes and boots for he was too busy screaming...screaming...about what? Oh, yeah. About how much he loves America and stands behind George Bush. Anyone who doesn't, says Mr. America, can go back where they came from or go anywhere else at all - immediately, if not sooner. Reminds me of my former co-workers and managing editor at that paper in South Georgia.

While Mr. America was ranting and raving - at times directly in my face as I stared into those insane blue eyes and felt his hot breath on my nose, cheeks and mouth - Mr. Switzerland came up to see what the hubub was all about, bub. Turns out, Mr. Switzerland was not only NOT neutral, he was ANTI GEORGE BUSH! Mr. America and Mr. Switzerland almost threw punches, but Mr. Switzerland managed to de-escalate the confrontation before ambling away shaking his head. That's more like it.

I used to have audio tape of this mindless freak and the near-altercation, but I left the tape recorder and said tape in a fucking cab on my way to a NOW rally in Central Park. I made a missing item report - as if THAT would ever do any fucking good.

Ugh...

I hate John G. Roberts Jr. for obvious reasons. Another anti-christ here to make our lives hell. I hope you're happy, Bush. I know you are. I'm losing energy for fighting all the injustice. Will maarmie go on? Find out in the next episode of "As maarmie's World Turns."

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of maarmie's life.

Photo Orgy

Following are some of the photographs I took during my trip on the AT. They are pretty self-explanatory. All photos taken by maarmie. Rip me off and die.



This is a photo of the conical ceiling and skylight in the yurt at which my friend and I stayed the night before the two-day hike and the night following it. Dahlonega, Georgia. Yurt: A cylindrical structure with a conical ceiling having two windows and a door. This was a more advanced yurt, however, as it had a deck area out front, a canopy bed and a composting toilet, and it was wired for electricity with a free-standing air conditioner, a coffee maker, fridge, microwave and electric heat source. Roughing it, huh?



Exterior shot of above-mentioned yurt.



This is what happened to my knees after I fell on my ass a quarter of a mile into the hike. The bottoms of my shoes were ripping off before the hike began, so I put some magic tape around them to bolster their sturdiness. In retrospect, these weren't the perfect shoes to hike 20 miles in on rugged terrain with 25 pounds on my back. Possible trail name because of the shoes and subsequent fall: Fallnee Down.



About four miles into our hike, we crossed a bridge. This is the view. Heaven. Hence the title of the shot, Organica Orgasmica.

Either this is the highest number of photos that can be in one post, or I'm going crazy. Won't let me upload any more using the button. Won't let me upload any more using HTML code. Hm. More later.