Tag Archives: crazy

Talk yourself out of it

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keep-calm-and-talk-to-yourself-3Do you ever talk to yourself?

It’s an interesting topic that’ I’ve broached with a few people lately. Most of us know that people talk to pets, curse like a sailor to computers or some even need to talk themselves through the steps of a project. I’ve done a bit of a polling around and it turns out that speaking out loud is quite a common thing. Well, that’s a given (unless your are a ventriloquist) speaking without it being out loud is next to impossible, but you know what I mean, speaking aloud when nobody is there should be one step away from the funny farm, right?

Some people talk when they are mad at themselves, some do it when they are thinking through a complex task and some (like me) say their side of a conversation to a person that has no idea they are in it. The funny thing is, I never know I am doing it until I am around other human beings and suddenly catch myself talking to well, nobody while walking down the street. You know that your crazy neighbourhood has embedded itself, when…

But, in that moment I realize that I think too much, worry too much and probably shouldn’t be living by my crazy self. When I think a tough conversation is coming – with my mom, a boss, a friend, a beau…I think about how it will go before it ever happens. Some write letters, some write it down on paper, but me? Well, I rehearse it in my head…or out loud.

This in itself made me worry about that very head, but the moment I started admitting this out loud (purposely) to5fe8522804692498e327e080f5e2745b others, I was told that this is a surprisingly normal thing. Two co-workers have come out of the closet charging themselves with guilty on rehearsing mental scripts too, glad to know even when I’m alone, well, I’m not really alone.

Some time ago I read that if you were in a bad place, you should speak aloud and video or audio record it. That for some reason, your true self and your true thoughts will emerge. I guess unless you have a steady stream of consciousness when you write, the words on paper may not evoke your real emotion or even opinion. I guess it’s because you are busy trying to make sense of it and make it sound all fancy dancy for you readers out there, editing, proofing, using big words and the whatnot. But, if you are upset, if you are confused, if you are lost…speak aloud and the thoughts will come. Funnily enough, I was watching a show tonight that thought the very same thing…

Sometimes you say the things you need to hear – Grace, Frankie & Grace

The Ginga Ninja

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Lucille Ballsy

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Lucille-Ball-i-love-lucyIt’s long folks, but it’s probably worth the read if you need to feel like a winner today.

I’m clumsy, and ridiculous, and things just happen to me. No, seriously…picture a movie scenario and I bet ya that has happened in my real life. I constantly get told my world is like a sitcom and I’m that bumbling comedic actress with poor spatial awareness and my foot in my mouth. And a beloved ginger to boot!

Picture a scenario where you have a fling with your ex’s best friend…and he tells him at the bar…with you there. You are literally standing in a line as this real-life horror movie telephone plays out…and then he puts his arms around you both and says, “Ya, that really just happened”. Imagine that in all the bars in a city of over 5 million people your common-law ex walks into your very bar with his birthday party, only weeks after breaking up, annnd he doesn’t even live in that  town. Break up on New Year’s Day only to have your car die on the way home in a snowstorm and because of that hallowed day there’s not a gas station open for miles, so your tow truck driver and his son dry your salty tears and obviously, offer you homemade chicken nuggets and fries too.

Stories like this just seem to go on and on. Ridiculous stories. Funny stories. Awful stories as long as they don’t happen to you. You eat Chinese food and you faint at the foot of your Asian co-worker, you get a flu shot and almost land in hospital (oh the irony). You tell your boss that he looks too young to have a 14 year old daughter and he answers “I am, and she’s 17…and I was 17 when I had her. She was an accident, but thank you.” You leave your purse on a subway and end up in a month-long battle with a hooker for its return. You order a cab and walk away with a proposal. Even more insulting? A friend of mine was offered two camels for her pretty little hand…and my cabbie didn’t offer me anything but arranged wedded bliss.  Aw shucks.

Not long ago, the funniest of all comedic moments happened to me. Warning, this may not work in writing the way it would on TV, but do your best to make a mental picture as we go. Trust me, like Nike says, just DO it.

I was trying to throw a load of laundry in at a friend’s place while she was at work, but we had partied like it was 1999 just the night before. She seemed cool with this arrangement, so long as nobody was there when she returned, she was tired, she was cranky, she was hungover. So, I threw in the load and headed triumphantly out the door to tackle some errands. Well, one thing led to another and like is life, everything took longer than expected. By the time I got back to her house I figured I had enough time to toss the load in the dryer and then mysteriously sneak out like I was never there. Like a ninja. Except…..it had stopped. The goddamn washer had stopped.

So, like a pregnant teenager, I furtively tried to convince myself it had finished the cycle, but as I continued to pull sopping, dirty, clothes out of the washer…I realized in horror, it had stopped about a minute after I left.

I just wasn’t in the mood to explain it wasn’t working or see her disappointed face when she got home, stupid people pleaser that I am. So, I did what any logical person would do, I continued to load the clothes into the dryer, literally dripping wet. As more and more water sloshed onto the floor, I naively convinced myself I could get them dry enough to still sneak out in time. It was going to work, it had to work.

But, the closer I got to the bottom of that basin, the more pooling water there was.  Pooling, brown, dirty water. I started frantically searching my mind trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. Soooo, I started scooping out the water with a cup, but, Martha Stewart washes her freaking dishes by hand (even with a dishwasher), so I needed to wash the damn cup to hide the evidence. But, there was not a dry dishcloth in sight, so I had to use a clean one and then refold it in the drawer as though it was never used…sneaky, sneaky. To get rid of the last little bit of water in the bottom of the basin, I was going to use paper towels, but she was out, so Plan B, toilet paper, but that was down to one roll too! Plan C – I used her hand towels. These became drippy, dirty little messes and no matter how much I tried to ring them out…they just didn’t appear dry. So, I threw em in the dryer…with the very, very, very wet, still-dirty clothes.

In the meantime, the inside of the washer was hairy and gross, so I ended up using a bit of the toilet paper to clear this new problem up. And yes, once again, I did what any rational person would do. I tried to flush the wad of dirty toilet paper down the actual toilet (can’t leave the evidence in the garbage can of course). However, as is my fate, the toilet overflowed…annnndddd she doesn’t own a plunger.

So, what now you ask? Well, I ended up having to fish it all out by hand and resort to Plan D, just toss it all in my bag to bring home. Still, there was now water at the top of the toilet bowl rim, so back to Plan A, out comes the now clean cup again to be rewashed. Saga over you think? Now I’ve poured toilet and dirty basin water into her sink…so mother fucker, the sink too you ask?  Oh yes, the sink too.

After all this is said and done, it gets even better…she texts me that she’s on her way back, EARLY.

So I go to grab my now not-even-remotely-dry clothes and all I’ve managed to do is cover the inside of her dryer with hair and animal dander. Ugh, so NOW, I’m shoving wet clothes into my bags, using more toilet paper to wipe out the inside of her dryer and trying to use her shower towel to get the water off the floor. Big sigh and heavy-hearted I hung all her wet dirty towels back in the guest bathroom and hoped by the time she went in there they would be miraculously dry.

Well, turns out they were. And a bit discoloured. And a bit oddly wrinkled. I guess she noticed a couple of weeks later. Also, those errands I went to do? Well, those errands were driving a third friend to a neighbouring town. So, as it turns out…weeks later she did go to use that bathroom…and discovered the toilet was indeed plugged. She blamed it on our friend (I knew she would) and oddly enough, she also wondered where her toilet paper went. So, when annoyed she told me that our friend had plugged her toilet and used all the paper, I burst into laughter. Damn, and I was so in the clear….ish.

Either way, as I sit here writing this, tears are streaming down my face. As they have been for the last hour or so….from laughter. The whole reason I started writing this entry in the first place was because tonight I was painting. Painting something for this very friend. And I used oil paint, which I never use. Bright, neon orange, oil paint. The more I tried to wash this off the brush, my hand and out of the sink, the thicker and more stuck it became. It just kept spreading and was becoming a gelatinous mess and in the meantime, a scab on my hand had peeled off…and I was bleeding…and eventually I didn’t know what was blood and what was paint. Soon it just looked like a murder scene…but, as I stared at my bright orange, gooey, blood-stained hand I laughed and thought…yes, a clown’s murder scene.

So, I hung my shoulders, shook my head, giggled and thought….sigh…this could only happen to ME…or….Lucille Ball.

Ricky, get dinner ready, because I’m coming home.

The Ginga Ninja

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Where’s Freud when you need him?

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freud-illustrationAwhile back I tried to write a post about dreams. The problem? It was only a dream.

I’m kidding. The problem was that I was having so many at the time – holding hands with friends, spooning strangers, random people and sad situations…it was a very long and complicated entry; one I always thought I would edit when things were a little more clear. Instead I’m starting over. The other morning I woke up from some very strange and unsettling dreams. Nothing overly bad happened, but sometimes you gotta wonder – what exactly is your subconscious trying to tell you?

My buddy Sigmund Freud is considered the Daddy of Dream Decoding. He believed that nothing happened by chance and that every action and thought is motivated by your unconscious at some level. http://www.dreammoods.com/dreaminformation/dreamtheory/freud.htm

I awoke from a dream where I was at a party with a lot of my old friends. Correction, my ex-boyfriend’s friends, but once we broke up they slowly left my life. It’s sad, but hey, it’s life. Anyhoo, I was catching up with them all – slowly making my way around the room to find out where they lived, who was married, who broke up, their 3rd careers…you know, the usual coming of age fare. It was nice, except for my ex beau and his new squeeze were fuzzily in the background avoiding me like the plague, or more accurately, barely aware I even existed.

Fast forward time, as dreams often do and suddenly we were in my apartment (which was really a hotel room) and I was having an after party. For some reason I owned two places and was being told that I had to give this one up (ha – as if I could ever afford that) – but, this very loft that has helped liberate and create who I am today. A lot of lonely nights and a lot of blog entries have existed here, but a lot of independence too. Like usual, there were now two roads diverged.

But, in that room were a few of those friends, an annoying new suitor, my ex and even the boy before him. When I awoke, it seemed so real, having the two lost loves in the same room. The one was chatty and friendly, like he was in real life…the other hard to read and silent… like he also was in the flesh and blood. My feelings about them in the dream were reminiscent of my feelings about them in life. The one that is more resolved left the room and left it in a friendly way. The one that may or may not hate my guts sat there quietly and mysteriously not saying a word.

I told a couple of people about my mixed feelings when I awoke. It all felt so real. It made me for about an hour want my old life back. It made me for about an hour want my ex-boyfriend back. It made me for about an hour feel like nothing had changed, when really everything has changed. Dreaming about an ex can mean many things – feelings unresolved, the desire for affection, missing a relationship, entering a new one, or even meeting somebody who reminds you of them. Usually they are proposing, you are kissing, they are dying…but very rarely are they just there. I’ve dreamt about them separately and at times with confusion, but never, ever have I dreamt about them together – two worlds crashing, but neither my world any more.

The funny thing about my dream was it wasn’t set in the past, it was in the present. The fact that they were both with other people was known and my feelings about them seemed to be screaming from their actions. Subconscious my ass. It could have simply been emotions unresolved about the way that life and love worked out. But, more so than that, the fact that old chapters of my life were there and I was being told to let go of this new one because clearly the second apartment was newer and nicer may speak volumes. What I have tried to avoid is people telling me how to be or what to do and yet, it still plagues me from time to time. What I have tried to avoid is the need to have the best, the most, the biggest or the baddest and only have what works for me, but it too still haunts me every now and again.

As my life progresses I have a difficult time of supporting my decisions, but also of letting go of the past. Even if it’s wrong right now, a day will come when I will need to let go of this sanctuary and move on. Maybe them being there and being there in the exact same way they were in life was simply speaking to the choices I’ve made, the roads less travelled and that well-known fact that life is ever-evolving and ever-changing. Maybe mentally I’m preparing for something big again. I’m acknowledging what I have had to sacrifice to get where I am and what I may have to again to keep moving forward. I don’t know what that something is yet, but perhaps we need to let go of a bit of the past in order to have a shot at the future.

Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.                                                                                                                                                         –  Sigmund Freud

The Ginga Ninja

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And Your Number’s Up.

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Why is 11:11 haunting me and what does it mean?

When you were a kid, did you make a wish every time you saw 11:11 on a clock?  I sure did.  The very simple phrase, “11:11, make a wish” has come out of my mouth for a good 30 years.  But, like a jinxsies, it wasn’t all that often and was just a cute little stop sign in your altogether busy today to take a minute and enjoy the moment with whoever you were with…or wish you were with.  Aha.

But lately….lllaaattteeely…this is more than a once in a blue moon occurrence.  This is more than a here and there, once every 6 months, or in the company of other’s kind of occurrence.  It is a weekly, if not daily, if not twice daily happening that is frankly starting to creep me out.  It is eerie and abnormal and in some ways I want it to stop, but in other ways I’m not sure it should.

You see, the thing is, 11:11 is a global phenomenon.  Ancient philosophers and the Bible alike put importance on this number, as do new age spiritual followers and even psychics.  I never thought much of it, until a friend mentioned to me that it had been following her around.  She realized that it meant something more than meets the eye and knowing I’m a bit of an open-minded soul, directed it my way.  Well, she seemed to have opened some sort of cosmic Pandora’s box, because whatever was on her shoulder has most definitely moved on to mine.

I joke that it’s the same old personal perception phenomenon that we all experience now and again.  Buy a new car, everyone has the same car.  Visit a city, and suddenly the city is in every TV show and song you hear. Try a new restaurant and everyone else has too.  It is the mere fact that something happened in your life and therefore you notice what you never noticed before. I told her that I would start looking for the number 9:08 and since then have not seen it even once, but 11:11? Don’t even get me started. This is different, this is constant, this is unplanned and this is unnatural.  I keep thinking that if I plan to try to see it, then I will twice a day every day, but I don’t.  I’m starting to think this isn’t my plan at all.

Apparently seeing 11:11 can be life’s little way of telling you to open your eyes.  Spiritual guardians have a watch on you and a change is coming. Some believe it is a divine opening, or a snapshot in life; a rift in time and space where all is suspended and in that moment you can insert an alternate reality into your future.  I already live in unreality half the time, so for me and my good friend…well, this means a whole hell of a lot of time not living in the real world.

More seriously though, after months of this, a major change did come for her.  And sadly, not necessarily a good one, but it most definitely caused her to open her eyes and evaluate her life.  I have also had a change recently, I started a new job, but in some ways it is counter-productive to the bigger personal journey I had already begun. I have been in transition and have come to realize that the person I am and the person I thought I was meant to be aren’t necessarily one and the same. What is still coming, only time will tell.  Something tells me I’m into something strange.  But, something also tells me I’m not alone.  And that in itself is strange, even if only for that one minute.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/11:11_(numerology)

http://www.examiner.com/article/number-11-and-its-meaning-the-bible

http://www.collective-evolution.com/2013/04/29/what-is-the-significance-of-1111/

http://www.examiner.com/article/the-11-11-phenomenon-not-just-another-internet-meme

Time is only an illusion. – Albert Einstein

The Ginga Ninja

Oreo? Or…Eee…Oh.

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Red oreosWonder if I gave an Oreo?  Would it change the course of my world?  To be honest, my world is pretty great these days.  Buuuttt….what if there were really a simple little gift or simple little phrase you could pass along to change all people and all situations?

Oh wait, there is, it’s called the middle finger.  Kidding.

Okay, the middle finger is slightly true, but on the completely opposite end of this spectrum.  Either way, Oreo’s new advertising campaign tries to sell it as a wondrous little miracle; in fact the new tag line is wonderfilled.  I wish I had a secret little miracle I could pass to an angry boss, a moody sister-in-law, a butterfly-filled crush, or a reckless ex boyfriend.  It could appease all tense situations and it could turn everything in my favour, apparently even my run-ins with the ever-charming Dracula.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDDwRI4LYFY

But, since sharing an Oreo for world harmony is a little far-fetched and my gorgeous smile just won’t do….I’ll have to settle for a little honesty, a touch of confusion and a lot of problem solving.  I recently read an article that unhappiness is not an issue with what you have, but a desire for what you don’ t have.  So, I’ll do my best to chin it up and relish under the breath comments, family dysfunction and car repairs.

Even though picturing sharks, squids and seals in a group hug and talking about the undead seems completely ridiculous…even I have to admit the song is catchy.  My girl Kate articulates my thoughts pretty darn accurately. http://jezebel.com/oreos-weird-new-commercial-will-lull-you-into-a-twee-c-504470002

So, I guess, what I’m really saying is make the best of what presents itself and just put up with the rest…even weird Oreo commercials.

The Ginga Ninja

buddhist oreo, red

G is for Glutton, G is for Girl

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How often do you give up on dating?  Me?  About once a month.  Hell, probably about once a day.

I find that trying to find yourself can be a difficult thing if you aren’t used to being alone, however trying to know yourself without anybody else can be difficult too. Well, at least if the best version of you actually comes out when you are in a relationship. Oh the irony. Suddenly you have all the time in the world to be whoever you want to be and you aren’t always sure who that is.

I often find that my best version of me is actually the version of me that has somebody else to focus on.  I am organized, I am put together, I am doting, thoughtful, calm and all my affection and effort goes into somebody else’s life. I am more focused, less needy, more confident and less pensive.  But, what happens when they stop giving their all back?

It becomes a battle of being the best version of you who shines when with a partner, or being a version of you that deserves better. Or possibly even worse, trying to find the version of you that can learn to be alone. Or crazier still, the version of you that can learn to be alone and completely content. We all deserve the right partner back, but when does the benefit of having a partner outweigh the uncertainty of being just plain old you?

So, once a month I rule out boys.  I decide I’m not ready to date, or I don’t want to date, or nobody is good enough to date.  I don’t form real crushes that easily and yet I often go through the motions of dating because it seems like the healthy thing to do. Ya right, if guilt over not messaging people back, pushing off drinks, and checking your email a zillion times a day is healthy then I’ll be damned.  But, maybe the healthy thing to do is forget about men altogether.  Their strong arms…their scruffy beards…their warm embraces…

Who am I kidding?  I will continue to date.  I will continue to try to play it cool as a cucumber, but completely obsess when I believe I am being rejected. And though I will have many days, weeks, even months where I think being without somebody is easier…(and knowing I deserve the fairytale)…I may still secretly hope in my immature little girl way to meet somebody to complement me again.  Not just the better me, but maybe for once the best me.

The Ginga Ninja

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