Happy Mother’s Day
Hope everyone has a happy Mother’s Day!
My mother is doing a little bit better at the hospital. If you’re not on my Facebook profile (and you should be as I don’t bite!), I was given some shitty news from my stepfather that turned out to be a lie. He was either told the wrong information, or he intentionally gave me the wrong information, and that is really an awful thing to do to someone. So I went into panic mode. I was really afraid that my mother was going to die. Then I went to see her on the 8th. She was stable, her body is fighting the infections she had (pneumonia and sepsis with some fungal infection). She was asleep because of the infections and is now on morphine to stop the pain. But she is alive, she is stable, and I want to repair my relationship with my mother. This bad-ass attitude that I have towards her is really for the birds and I have to get my affairs in order.
As of May 7th, for the next few months, I have a new shrink. I’m not crazy over him, but he seems to want to help. First thing he wants to do is stick me in the institution and have some observations and test run. Of course he does. What the hell? Am I the first schizophrenic patient these shrinks have ever encountered? Oh well. Might as well get it over with while I still have time off from work.
Have a fun, safe Sunday, everyone!
I got an email from someone I put on the hosting server tonight. I accidentally set up their WordPress so that their author name on their blog linked back to the email address they picked out when they signed up for hosting. They threw a class ‘A’ fit, telling me that I suck as a host and as a software installer, all from the website we are hosting for them for free. After a few emails back and fourth, they said the reason they were mad was because now “everyone” was going to know that email address, including every SPAM bot in the world, and if I were a better host, I would have known that and not made it public. I directed them to their free stats we provide for them and showed them only two people had ever visited their domain in all its existence — me from my computer and from my phone to see if the mobile theme plugin worked, and them when they got the email that their site was set up. No one else had been to the site. I corrected the mistake, and there was no need to unlock the “unlimited email addresses” on their account. Yet. We normally do that after the person has been with us for six months. If they’re still a customer, or in this case a free user who has used their domain for three to six months and not abused the account(s), then we open the unlimited email addresses. Apparently that wasn’t good enough, and more drama went down, with the last contact from them stating that they were going to contact “my boss” and get my entire site shutdown for “invading their privacy.”
What the fuck…?
Why do all the crazies come to me? Especially late at night when I’ve been up all day and I’m tired and just want to go to sleep? At this point, I was main-lining RedBull and sleep was going to be my reward for a job well done.
Even though I was triple assured by Josh that there was nothing going to be done against me, I am still high strung and a little upset. I’m on edge from the three cans of RedBull I drank over the last two hours, and my brain closed up shop after the first can. I know I’m not thinking rationally, and dealing with another shit head on the web who wants to censor me because I made a simple mistake, is the last thing that I needed. To be fair, normal people usually want an email address displayed on their blog. They usually email me back and ask if I can edit the theme or widget to put up a “mailto” clickable link.
Oh well.
Just another night. It’s over now. I can go to sleep.
Or not.
The colder weather has been bothering me somewhat. Today was the first day of the season that I was able to get out my wool pea coat and wear it somewhere other than tied around my waist to bring in the mail. I’m actually thin enough to button the damned thing now! Go me!
On second thought, maybe I should have picked to do paper work tonight. Let the guys deal with the customers and crazies.
Megan Lewis, CloudzAngel, is back again! At least this time she didn’t spend money buying a domain, but she made the mistake of hiring the same fake references as the other fifty cam whores she’s been over the years.
Anyone with a brain would see this website is a scam. For one, she’s got a phone number listed, but it’s not a Tulsa number. All numbers that are legitimately Tulsa based are 918 numbers. The 206 number traces to Enumclaw, Washington. The “proof” that her photos are real is a simple watermark on the upper righthand corner. I could do the same thing with any photo of any celebrity on the web. Doesn’t mean that they endorse comatised.com, does it? At one point she says that her home town is Dallas, TX, and in other places on the page she claims to live exclusively in Tulsa, Oklahoma. This model is supposedly a “super-model thin,” yet asks for “plus sized” panty hose on her Amazon WishList. The site is supposed to be over eight years old, yet the layout is modern and there’s no evidence of it in the WayBackMachine. Whoever she stole from this time, she was able to get videos and over 100 pictures of them.
I know Megan trolls this site, and I know she trolls my gallery and it’s just a matter of time before she makes a fake site in my name or Dennis’ name with pictures stolen from our various profiles on the web. I’m actually surprised that she hasn’t done so already, except that I know where she works downtown and it’s just a matter of me sending them a login to this site and showing them the threatening and abusive comments she left on here through their internet connection.
It’s just a matter of time before Megan deletes the site, so here are some screen caps. They’re from my phone and the battery was dying, but I think I captured her sleaze and deception fairly well. To the people who have contacted me about her, you’re welcome to come back at any time!
Megan Lewis, AKA CloudzAngel and a whole scope of fraudulent cam whore sites, has discovered my little writings here, and boy is she mad!
She left me a sweet comment. Every other name was “you fat fucking slut” and how she hopes she sees my “fat assed face” again, she is going to “beat the fuck outa” me. Tsk, tsk, why so violent, Miss Christian? Is that how Christ would act? You started this. You set up fraudulent websites and pissed off the entire internet. No one has anything good to say about you because of that. Then you targeted me personally when you made fuck-profiles to send to my husband and try to have an affair with him. Joke’s on you, huh? Oh, and she totally had sex with my man. Totally. He just might bring me AIDS if I’m not careful and don’t delete my posts about her. My kids will get it and die too. Did she just admit to be giving random men AIDS to bring home to their wives? How are the kids going to get AIDS? Just cuz lil ole MegNUTTERS is the product of incest and dating a man old enough to be her great-grandpappy doesn’t mean that everyone living in this state is doing the same thing.
By her comment, I can totally tell that she is so much more mature than me. So much more that her entire site was shut down for abuse, and making threats. And it’s a true sign of maturity to threaten to beat up another person, sleep with their husband and infect their whole family with AIDS (she must be the only person immune to carry AIDS…Because she commented that she had done it before….LOTS of TIMES), and then totally fuck them all up. Her words, not mine. But she’s very mature for 25. And she’s totally a poster child for God’s love. Sounds more like the typical Bible Thumping Back Woods Freaks that we’re surrounded by here. You know, the place where the men aren’t afraid to shoot women and make sure you know it well.
There’s her IP. Ban her if you must. Or congratulate her. Ole Freddie was put out to the gallows before horny desperate Megan came along. Hey, she must be good for something, right?
Like this site on Facebook. You know you wanna! Join the Feed. Again, you know you wanna!
End of an Era
It’s no secret. I take meds. I take them in the morning, I take them at night. I take them for diabetes, I take them for psychosis. I have taken them for the past four years of my life, with little to no change in the outcome of my mind, starting with the death of my best friend Christopher (oddly enough, I dreamed of him last night). My life still sucks, I still sense things I am not supposed to, whether I am gulping down drugs or dry-docked for the night. My nights and days are the same whether I am on my meds or not, and it has come time where meds are starting to become a chore for me. I feel no therapeutic effects from the medications anymore. To me that’s a signal to either stop the meds cold turkey or find some that do agree with me.
What I am specifically referring to are the psychotropic drugs that I have been on for the past six months or so. They were supposed to make my life better, but I still see it as major suckage, with senses on overload, and my primary care physician is no longer comfortable with prescribing psychotropic drugs for me and wants a psychiatrist to exclusively prescribe them, so I am stopping the meds with the honor of my primary care physician in agreement only because it’s determined that I can no longer afford to see a psychiatrist. Either financially or emotionally. So I no longer need the psychotropic drugs.
See how pharmaceuticals work in this day and age?
I didn’t know a cure was that close!
This also cures my sleeping disorder, but only through my primary care physician. I can’t afford to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis, that’s $40 per session. But Byron, the neighbourhood drug dealer, doesn’t charge for sessions, just a 10% mark up from pharmacy prices, and a bigger guarantee that I will fall asleep or he’ll be back with something stronger the next night! Hey, I wonder if he has something to cure my nightmares while he’s at it?! Probably! There’s no end to what I can get cured when I am in total, one-hundred-percent of the drugs that are dispensed to me from Byron. Now, the only difference between Byron and my pharmacy? They have a license to make the psychotropic drugs I need legal to be sold to me. They care about me as much as Byron does; MONEY! and REFERRAL! Oh, and don’t report them for the mouse carcass in the middle shelf of medication, and we’re sitting pretty. Yes, everyone I know is doing something against the rules and laws. No, I have never turned one in, yet.
What has come to annoy me the most is that I had no warning that I was going to have to get the psychiatrist to renew and start refilling these prescriptions, that, for the past four years, my primary care physician has filled, and was the original prescriber, without issue, for four years. Then all of a sudden, the rug is pulled out from under me. This caused much bitchage from my mother, whose phone I had to use because my better half is using our land line for god-knows-what, and I am out of minutes on my cell phone. Unless doc would take calls at 5pm, I can’t communicate with him through the cell phone, and seeing that he won’t even honor and renew prescriptions that he has been the primary writer of for the past four years, until my appointment on May 10th (a week away), then I don’t see him bending a finger to try and resolve this anytime soon.
No, that is not a typo.
Doc could have refilled my prescriptions with one more refill, that would have lasted me through this up coming visit, and then dropped the bomb on me. But since returning hom from Las Vegas and since I was starting on the road to recovery, and we can’t have that, I am in the process of changing psychiatrists, one to suit the needs of my higher up, and I did not have the knowledge to ask on my final shrink visit April 24th. No warning. No letter. No nothing stating that doc was too much of a pussy insecure to finish my prescriptions on his own. It doesn’t come as a shock to me, just as an annoyance, as I have been getting my pain medications from a pain specialist/weight loss asshole doctor for over a year now, because my primary is unable to write narcotics for someone in chronic pain. Yet anything my mother asks from him, he does. No matter what. Bent over backwards with the lube in hand, I might add. This just breeds her asking constant questions of me that I cannot answer, so the normal answer is, “I don’t know.” or “He doesn’t know.” and this ultimately pisses her off.
Don’t tell me seeing a therapist is going to be another one of those life-long things that I will forever fear being locked up in a nuthouse for for the rest of my life. I couldn’t live like that.
Back in July of 2005, I was asked to be a moderator on PlayList. PlayList is just what you think it would be, a place where local and famous musicians can request their MP3s to be collected in a monthly “play list” for subscribers on an iTunes community. It’s run by my friend Josh. After getting my first iPod in October 2004 and submitting numerous playlists, I was asked to be a mod. Fine. The rules of PlayList are that your version of a song can only be added ONCE to PlayList. You can add a live version, but you cannot add two of the same versions. Mostly I submitted my own and my husband’s music, sometimes my nephew’s music.
In January, a fairly famous person submitted several MP3s of his music for the January 2012 PlayList. One song had already been submitted and published in June 2007, but this somehow slipped past the other mods, who were obviously star struck and over stimulated at the thought of the cards and free front row tickets this artist had sent to the mods who listed their mailing addresses. I didn’t get shit, but that’s not why I did what I did.
I went back through the main archives and saw the song was listed twice, the only difference was a few seconds on the songs. I played them both and they were identical studio versions, so I cut the latest song from the January 2012 PlayList. This caused the artist to fall out of the top five artists on PlayList, and I sent a short email to him telling him why I had cut his song and that he needed to check the main archives before submitting another song. Of course this particular artist has to be the best and at the top of everything, even a small community of outcasts PlayLists. He threw a fit, called Josh, and played the gay card. In other words, he told Josh that I cut his song because he’s gay and that I told him this is why I cut the song. Nothing could be further from the truth, but Josh doesn’t log email conversations, so when said artist deleted my message to him, there was no proof I hadn’t said these things.
Here is where Josh and Co. should have known me better. They have known me for over twenty years, long before any of us had internet access. Josh made a post on the message board of our community, and asked what people thought. Of course because said artist had sent out tickets, cards, and gift baskets to most of the mods, they sided in with him: I was jealous and upset because he had not given me anything. Sure. Whatever. Why not? After all, why else would I have this poor guy under the microscope and delete his awesome song that had been okay with everyone else for three months?
Josh re-instated the song in January’s PlayList, removed my moderator status for the weekend, and told me to check with him before I do any other modding on the community. What.The.Fuck. The whole point in making me a mod was so that I could make decisions when the owner wasn’t there! Now I have to “get permission” before I could make any changes? Um, fuck no. I replied to Josh’s thread that he should have believed me, even if God himself got on that message board and told a lie about me; I was his friend, not the artist. The artist didn’t even reply or look at the message board post, which is weird since he’s made more posts in the communities than anyone else on the entire site, that I have witnessed so far.
So I resigned as a Mod.
I thanked Josh for letting me be a mod, because I did not have to pay to get an awesome music list every month, and I was replacing several of my songs that I lost when my mother sold my CD collection, but it wasn’t worth it to be belittled, lied about, and have everyone picking sides. I also told him if he wanted to boot me from his blog circle, I’d “understand”. You know, because one would have to kick me out of everything because of a conflict in one community. I’ve been through that countless times on Livejournal.
So far he hasn’t replied to me, and I don’t expect him to until after the weekend. Passover, Easter and some kind of fasting that he has to do. It’s a religious thing, so I won’t question it.
For anyone interested, here are the Easter photos so far this year.
1700
I have nothing to say tonight except that I hate, hate it when we have to fight. No matter who wins, he never remembers them or the vital information that comes afterwards. Or that’s been the last couple of times. I’ve done all I could and should do as a wife and a lover, but he wants more. I’m starting to think that maybe Liz can give him that more and I should step aside. No one has come right out and said it, but it’s been implied plenty of times.
Or maybe when they offer me a free trip to the nut house tomorrow, I should go. Not look back. I’ve done it voluntarily so many other times, why not now? Why not get a simple institutionalisation for “free” once? At least they can write on my record that I didn’t suggest it and it wasn’t voluntary, so I’m crazy enough to think I am still sane. Perhaps that will for some other type of therapy, or maybe even something else that is so desperately needed, onto me. New medicines. Surgery, if they’d do a lobotomy, I’d still go. New therapists. New procedures. Maybe in a month or three, it would be recognised that what will really cure me would be a new life. A new family. A new chance just to get the hell on with things and never look back.
It’s a shame, too. I was really looking forward to work on Friday. It was pay day. I’m quite confident that Liz will spend my hard earned money wisely. Probably on hard alcohol and some female condoms. Or maybe even a remodel of the bedroom, you know, to get my touch out of there.
Either way, I’m doomed.
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