My descent into oblivion

I swear, you guys, I’m totally sober right now.

At least I think I am…I’ll let you know once the room stops spinning with joy…or is that nausea?  Hard to tell sometimes.

Ok, so this is my official hangover-Freshly Pressed post, only there’s no wolfpack, it’s just me.

Thank you to the Freshly Pressed Gods and thanks to everyone who clicked and read and commented and followed.

Welcome new readers!!  From time to time I’ll refer to y’all as Psychos or Babblers or Hey, You!  Just know that I say it all with love.  And cheese.  Also know that I hope I won’t disappoint you for a good few months or so.  No promises, really.

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I was warned before this all happened- that being Freshly Pressed was gonna be a whirlwind of comments that may be exciting and ego-boosting but also may or may not be annoying.

Allow me to describe my hero’s journey through the land that has been pressed ever-so-freshly, kinda like the Shire after the orcs are done trampling through.

Now I know how Johnny Cash felt.

Now I know how Johnny Cash felt.

Before being Freshly Pressed, it’s this innocent and hopeful time.  I’m just focusing on the music, you guys, and I am doing this for the fans.  You know, whatever flows, I just let it be what it was created to be.  Sure, I’m just scraping by and hoping for the best, but I just wanna stay true to my craft.

And then came the email, like a record label hearing my jam for the first time and telling me that I had something.  This is my big break!  Am I good enough?  Will my indie fans accuse me of selling out?  Will I get hoards of screaming fans to rival those of The Biebs?  Let’s just ride the wave and see where it takes me…

And then, it happens. The Big Break.  The freaking Ed Sullivan Show.  It feels sublime, like my first taste of black tar.  I’ve been jonesing for this…..and I deserve this, but I’m still humbled by this…..and I knew the band was always gonna make it, you guys, and FUCKYEAH, let’s get shitfaced and trash a hotel room after I’m finished ear-humping you sweaty masses with my sonic genius!!!!!

The next day, the buzz is starting to wear off, so let’s invite some new groupies back in, slip me another jeffrey, and put on some Johnny Mathis (he always gets me pumped up).  This ain’t over yet, babe!

Day 3.  My eyes are bloodshot and I’m sleep deprived.  What city are we in?  Wait, I still have to do normal things like clean the toilet and make dinner?  Fuck that, my new blogging friends fans will keep me full of validation and wrapped in comment notifications undying love and adoration.  Keep on rockin in the free world!

Day 4.  Starting to get the shakes.  My cat can answer my dwindling fan mail while I am busy praying to the porcelain gods.

Day 5.  Hello?  Anyone there? Will someone please make the walls stop spinning?!

And now, after a few refreshing weeks at Betty Ford, I’m getting calls from Dancing with the Stars.

When you’re at rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up.

I. Have. Arrived.

Holy shitsnacks and crapnuggets, you guys!!

I HAVE BEEN FRESHLY PRESSED!!!

Incredulous with joy!Notice I had to black out the porn sites I was visiting.

Incredulous with joy!
Notice I had to black out the porn sites I was visiting.

I am surfacing briefly from the orgy of likes, page views, comments, and follows that is currently blowing up on my phone and browser…and let me tell you, this shit is satisfying.

I feel validated beyond any ego-stroking therapy session, so thank you to everyone who stroked my furry walls!

I got The Email on Wednesday and was then left to alternate between manically refreshing WordPress.com and stuffing chocolate in my mouth while pacing my hallway in anticipation for about a day and a half.

As soon as I read the email, I immediately felt this rush of excitement and pure joy…which quickly melted away into intense, crippling anxiety.  Holy frick!  People are actually going to read the word vomit that I splash onto my very small corner of the internets.  I quickly went back to reread the post I had written to ascertain just how humiliated I should plan to be.  Did my post contain any typos?  Was it funny?  Was I going to get any snotty comments?  As I read, I remembered that I had written this post all in one sitting while I was still suffering from the tail end of a 3 day long migraine (what possessed me to do that, I have no idea.  On second thought, maybe it was the meth).  I also realized that I was actually proud of this particular migraine-stupor-induced post.  Feeling oddly content and allowing some of the excitement to return, I sat back and awaited the orgy that I woke up to this morning.

Funny, I started this blog not considering myself a writer; I was just a therapist with an anal Freudian complex who wanted to dick around on the internet and see what happened.  And now…I guess I’m kinda a writer.  And that feels kindof awesome.

So far today, I have gotten more than 4 times the page views I got on my previously best day of blogging, which is also probably 10 times the views I get on an average day…and counting.

I hope I have plenty of lube.

A Blogyear Timesuck

As of today, I have been blogging for a whole year.  365 days. Twelve months.  A dozen menstrual cycles, phases of the moon, psychotic breaks with reality.  Ok, so there were actually a baker’s dozen psychotic episodes…mmm, baked goods…

This blogyear has probably been one of the best years of my life, and I owe it all to blogging.  Didn’t you know that typing meaningless stories and feelings and bodily fluids bring great things?  I think Oprah said that one time.

I’d like to recap all the amazing things that have happened and were made legitimate by the fact that I wrote about them and then broadcasted them for hoards of perfect strangers to like and comment on:

Brian earned his master’s degree and I ceased to be the suffering partner of a grad student!

I turned 29 for the first time!

I blogged publicly about having cancer that one time, and I celebrated being cancer-free for 9 fucktastic years!  Plus, I get all the joke-rights to having only one ladyball.  Half the ball, twice the crazy.

I learned how to shoot a gun and no one got hurt except Ben Affleck’s left ear.

I passed two (count em: one and two) Marriage and Family Therapist licensing exams after having studied for them procrastinated by reading other people’s blogs.  Surprisingly, some very important people in the state of California think I can actually help people.  My goal is to prove them right.

I hadn’t even taken a deep breath or a post-licensing-exam-nap before I GOT ENGAGED THIS YEAR to the boyman of my dreams!!!

As if I hadn’t had enough joy this year, I also got a promotion at work managing our therapy department.  So many amazing changes, that I summoned the Trololo Guy to help me celebrate.

In July, Brian and I took an awesome Pre-weddingmoon trip to Puerto Rico and returned barely alive.  But that’s ok, because what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger and more equipped to survive The End Times.

For the remainder of the blogyear, I’ve basically been planning a wedding, blogging about planning a wedding, and eating potato chips.

Not a bad year if I do say so myself.

I’ve found two main benefits to blogging during this past year.  One of them is getting to meet and read about so many interesting, eloquent, and funny people out there!  If I have ever liked or commented on your blog, then I include you in the above description.  And if you have ever read, liked, commented, followed, or given me an award on my blog – thank you.  Thank you for trading jokes, thank you for your encouragement, thank you for the community – because that’s what I was looking for when I started this whole thing.

The second benefit is that I’ve been able to discover who I am as a writer and who I might like to become as a writer.  This blog is basically one big experiment and I basically feel like I’ve been winging it this whole time, but when I look back on my posts I am sometimes surprised to find myself thinking that I actually churned out some stuff that I am proud of.  Who knew that I am funny?!  Who knew that I have shit to say that people might actually care about?!  Who knew that I had so much to say about zombies?!

Don’t worry- I’m not even close to being done blogging about zombies.

Here’s to another year that’s simply blogtastic!

My followers are better than your followers

Holy fricknuts!

Today is a day of celebration:  as of today, I now have 100 followers!

So thank you very much, lucky 100th follower!!

*cue confetti, balloons falling from the sky, and rainbow unicorn farts*

And thank you, THANK YOU, to all the other people who have followed me since I started this little ego pumping machine bloggy blog.

To show my eternal gratitude, here’s a picture of me taken just over a year ago being happy about a boat, but pretend that I am actually being happy about my followers.  Cuz I am, except I just didn’t know any better to be happy about that a year ago.  You get it.

An Open Letter to My Cat: You had me at meow

Dear Sadie,

I love you.  You know I do.  I mean, I carried you for however long cats gestate.  I birthed you, for crissake. Don’t you dare listen to people who tell you otherwise.

I give you things.  I buy you expensive cheap toys and then go into the bathroom to cuss the world when you prefer to chew on my expensive therapy books instead.

I let you sit on my lap.  Even when I am trying to blog and eat ice cream at the same time.  Even in the summer, when you’re a steaming ball of fur that sticks to my sweaty legs.  Yummy.

I brush you.  Even though you get into a frenzy and try to bite the brush and end up biting my hand.  I understand; you can’t control yourself.  Those crazy social grooming-induced endorphins render you impulsive and violent.  But I know you bite because you care.

I feed you.  Even though you’re picky, and not even consistently picky.  You really love to keep me on my toes.

Most of all, I clean up after you.  I do all the normal expected cleaning up, sure – with pleasure.  I scoop your box full of clumped liquid and solid evil and then breathe in dust that probably causes evil-like organisms to grow in my lungs.  *cough, cough*

But you see, I go above and beyond because you take me to that place.  You challenge me.

It would be too easy for all the evil to be deposited in your box, and so you like to hide it.  And boy does that get an enthusiastic reaction from me.  Boy oh fucking boy.

It would also be too easy for evil to come out only one end of your Abomination Factory you call a body.  Gotta increase production during these hard times.  Maybe you have a monthly quota or something, I don’t know.

These additional little gifts, these little bits of Chewbacca Surprise really light up my mornings, especially when I am already late for work.

For all this, I’d like to thank you.  Truly.

Because what would I do with all that free time not spent scooping and scrubbing and cussing?  Let’s be honest, I’d probably be eating more ice cream.

So thanks.  I’d be fat(ter) and with less black lung disease without you.

And thanks also for the little extras you throw in, like when you serve as my alarm clock I never set on Saturday mornings.  You have no idea how much joy it brings me to hear your howling cries of longing as you reach up and jiggle the handle of my annoyingly loose bedroom doorknob.  I miss you, too, my little fur-demon.  I guess we can both sleep in when we’re dead.  Let’s see which one of us goes first.

You complete me.  You had me at meow.

Your loving Mama,

Melissa

P.S. – Remind me to tighten my bedroom doorknob.  And electrify it.

Therapists do it on the couch

…and I did it!!

On an office chair.  Staring at a computer screen.  I lasted for almost two hours, and I double clicked a mouse a few times.

And actually, besides being very tired and $100 poorer afterward, this therapist licensing exam had little to do with sexy times.  Unless you also stay up late studying therapeutic techniques in order to have better success during sexy times.  In which case I pity you.  Go get some sleep.

But I digress from the real issue – which is, as soon as the paperwork and my check goes through, I WILL BE A LICENSED THERAPIST!!!

How cool is that, you ask rhetorically?  Pretty damn cool, I answer needlessly.  Except that “therapist” can be broken down into “the rapist,” and the work that I do is often with rape survivors.  I’ve always hated that.  Thanks a lot, SNL.

In other news, the letters after my name will soon be MFT, which Brian lovingly says stands for Mutha Fuckin’ Therapist.  I foresee this going on my business cards.

The exam I took today was the second and final exam of the licensing process to become a Marriage and Family Therapist in the state of California.  At least this exam was half as long as the first (the first being a grueling four hours long), but the questions on this one were far more complicated and confusing.  If there’s one thing I hate, it’s an exam that makes me second guess myself, and there was a lot of that going on today.  But neverfear, for I persevered and I emerged triumphant!

Speaking of triumphant, the weather today in the area was awesomely correlated to my day.  I woke up nervously to overcast skies that quickly gave way to pouring rain (which is pretty rare for this area in the summer).  I drove to the exam in that rain, where my anxiety reached its peak.  When I emerged from the testing facility all smiles, the rain had stopped, the clouds had parted, the sun was shining, and I swear I could hear angels singing along with my joy.

Speaking of joy, this is what it looks like:

I’d like to thank all of my professors, clinical supervisors, coworkers, and my clients past and present for helping me to learn and grow and make mistakes.  And I’d like to thank my friends and family for listening to me vent about the former, but also for supporting me no matter what.

Also, one of my supervisors once said that significant others of people going through the therapy licensing process should get their own special award of recognition, and I wholeheartedly agree.  It must suck to watch me learn all these new therapy techniques and then cower in fear as I unleash them on the relationship.  Thanks for sticking with me through this whole thing, B.  You’re kind of awesome.

And now on to more important things: I have to figure out how I want to change the tagline of this blog, for the “almost” is no longer needed.  Winning suggestions get a cookie.

My name is Melissa and I am very important

Holy crapbags, you guys!  Some wonderful, kind soul nominated me for (and thus awarded me) the Versatile Blogger Award and I couldn’t be more humbled (contrary to what you may have heard…by reading the title of this blog post).

But seriously, I am super excited and very honored!

I promptly went to The Versatile Blogger Award Blog to figure out what this is all about, and turns out it comes with rules.  RULES, I TELL YOU!  Here they are:

  •  Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
  •  Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
  •  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly. ( I would add, pick blogs or bloggers that are excellent!)
  •  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
  •  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

First things first: Thank you sooo much to Family Haikus!!!!!  For the record, she’d be one of the first bloggers that I would think of to nominate because I enjoy and look forward to her blog posts very much!

Nominate 15 blogs??  Eek, I’ll do my best, but I am new to this blogging shindig – and you know what – I have high standards (which, lets be honest, usually equates to a high volume of poop-related jokes).  I may not end up nominating that many, partly because most of the few blogs I read have already been either Freshly Pressed or awarded VBA, (or both) and I firmly believe in rooting for the underdogs (…also partly because I enjoy defying the rules).  Having said that, I am just going to give a list of the blogs I enjoy reading most, regardless of anything else, in no particular order.  Enjoy:

1. Raising My Rainbow – A wonderful, honest, open account of a loving mom and her gender nonconforming son C.J.

2. Paltry Meanderings of a Taller than Average Woman – Hilarious, blunt, and full of pictures to keep me more than entertained.

3. Dampsquid – Random.  A blog about nothing and everything all at once.

4. Ramblings and Rumblings – She does a regular post called Turd of the Week.  Sold.

5. Childhood Relived – Reliving the 80s, or what I remember about them.  And she introduced the word “bratass” into my vocabulary.

6. Nevercontrary – An awesome blend of quirky and inspirational.

7. The Bloggess – Because I have to.  This blog is my favorite BY FAR.  Just ask Brian, I worship this woman.  It’s only a matter of time until I begin bringing home taxidermied animals (consider this a warning, my dear Boyman).

Seven things about myself?  Oh dear, this could get interesting.

1. I have only one ovary.  Her name is Mae West.  You can just call her Mae.

2. I was sorted into Gryffindor.  You think I am joking, but I assure you, I am not.

3. Growing up in my household, love was communicated by administering thumps.  Thumps to the rump, to the back, to the thigh.  Brian wrongly interprets my love as hitting, and my cat responds to it by snapping at me and then running away.  I don’t understand this weird aversion to my love.

4. My parents grew up in Wisconsin and still retain some of their awesome midwestern accents.  Even though I was born and raised in California, every time I talk to my parents or extended family, or sometimes when I simply think fondly about them, I end up with an accent that lasts for days.  Indeed, I am typing this with an accent, doncha-know.

5. I am not a writer, exactly.  I am a therapist who would eventually like to write a book someday, and figured I might as well start with one of these blog thingies.  How’m I doing?

6. My favorite movie in the whole world is Moulin Rouge.  It has everything I love: singing, dancing, Bohemians, Ewan McGregor, and French midgets.

7. I was born in the wrong decade.  I shouldn’t even be here blogging to you now.  I should be in college in the late 60s,  being in awe with the space program, dancing to the music, burning my bra and protesting for women’s rights.  Booyah.  I mean…groovy.

So there you have it.  Thank you, thank you again for nominating me, thanks to my list of blogs/bloggers for keeping me entertained and off the streets, and thank you to the VBA blog for reblogging my post about my cancer-free anniversary.

Happy Blogging!