Good-Bye Mister Hawking

Goodbye Mister Hawking. Sorry that you never got my letter. 

When the news of your death hit the InterWires, I cried. Sure we’d joked about those races up and down Virginia Avenue. Loser hahaha. Faced with my Diet Coke and Menthos powered chair you stood no chance! Maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much time on that fusion engine ya know?. *  During those hours of build time you once told me to look at the stars, not at my feet. It was so easy! I hadn’t seen my feet for 20 years. But seriously Steve…

Hawking cover

Most folks are already aware of your brilliance in helping to explain the universe the stars and our planet. Extracting the mysteries of the galaxies. There’s much more though.

You were a vocal advocate for the disabled.  Maybe vocal isn’t the right clickity clackity word. Ratting out the NHS. Several years back Professor Hawking stated that without his wealth and fame, he’d be dead already. There’s currently a year waiting list for a wheelchair. You go Britain. Right up there with the U.S.

For the first time a beam was shone on physics, science and all things space oriented. A Brief History of Time was amazing. Have an admission though Steve: it took two tries to read the book through. It was worth every stutter and stammer. Nothing personal.
Just like a real friend you began by leading me to many more authors. From there to new ideas and places. I haven’t stopped.

Why did you leave with no goodbye? What the hell brainiac dude? Thought there was plenty of time to write a letter to you.

cropped-too-stupid-to-understand-science-try-religion-856499612-800x800

 

Professor Hawking, you were hysterical and serious by turns. Your dry humor, obvious intelligence, and ofttimes snarky wit confidently hid an unimaginable emotional pain.  Fun to watch the pundits filled with greed and political agendas attempting to stutter back. Your Humanist comments reflect the best in logic and peace. You never did hide behind your computer.

A mind filled with curiosity, yet insight combined with knowledge of a short life.  Mister Hawking, you didn’t miss this new age of exploration and scientific discovery beginning. Space flight for citizens is possible! Richard Branson offered you a free ticket! Dammit I could have been your plus one.

Good-bye Mr. Hawking and thank you.

Your Pal,

Rachael B.

 

Three Favorite Stephen Hawking Quotes

  • Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious. And however difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at. It matters that you don’t just give up
  • I believe alien life is quite common in the universe, although intelligent life is less so. Some say it has yet to appear on planet Earth.
  • The thing about smart people is that they seem like crazy people to dumb people

 

 

 

 

The Most Outlandish Tale About Anxiety and Depression Ever Told

 Wait wait, the story doesn’t start here!  This is a blog hop, people!High Anxiety Blog Hop
Click HERE to start from the beginning.

 

 

I stepped closer. “Whoa! Is that what I think it is?!”

The Cretin Brothers took a step back. Disbelief shown on their ugly faces. Reaching around in the purse my hand found my lipstick tube. I flicked it open and pepper spray hit both of the ugly Midnight Movers.
“Ooops”  I said.

My heart thudded as the immediate arresting thoughts slammed me:

  1. I’d forgotten to re-stock the Xanax in this purse
  2. The phone number for 911 had completely escaped my mind
  3. That tube of lipstick had better not be lost. Revlon discontinued that shade
  4. The portable charger was easy to find in my bag
  5. We’re gonna need a bigger boat

As the ugly stick kids gagged and wiped at their eyes I hobbled over to the item they’d dropped. Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes. Bending down I grabbed the extension cord and plugged it into the charger. In an utterly selfless act I aimed the rounded end of the object towards Tall Guy’s tuchus. With a mighty push on the wheels a glow and hum began to emanate from the missile shaped package. They suddenly understood. Mascara running down his cheeks, Tall reached down to grab his ankles.

Short dark and ugly stood by and watched as the A-Bomb shot directly towards his comrade’s backside “Oh dear Gods! It’s a giant…..

Click HERE to continue the story!

 

2013: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Happy New Year 2014

Welcome to the YoYo-Dyne 2013 Year in Review!

Is THIS your kitten?!

Cute Kitty picture

New Year’s Eve. A hot Little Black Dress, 8″ Steve Madden stilettos, my Silver Fox coat, a Vintage 1950’s clutch purse and Call-Girl-Red lipstick.
If this doesn’t impress the cat tonight nothing will.

Here are a few of my favorite things from 2013. A collection of Miss R’s best Tweets, original images, stolen images, a cute kitty and the naughty bits too.

Have a healthy happy New Year and remember: Everything happens for a reason. For instance, if you’re on fire it’s because I don’t like you

Miss R Tweets for You!

  • Does the five second rule apply to my dignity?
  • If you suffer a strange pain today just remember that thousands of people die from that every year
  • Do I have to water this poinsettia or will it die on it’s own?
  • I’m sorry I wore your baby as a hat
  • The “Mayday” button on the new Kindle Fire should be renamed the “Let me show you my Ass” button. That’s all I’ll use it for.
  • I like to live each day as thought it’s my last. This explains having no clean laundry and the unmade bed
  • Ex-husband Number One is now available on Aisle Two
  • Gravity has had it’s way with me. At least something has
  • Stop playing the victim. It’s not even a real instrument
  • You’re never too old to throw random shit in other’s shopping carts while they’re not looking
  • A Happy Spanksgiving to you all!
  • I’m in serious trouble if people find out I don’t really have Tourette’s
  • Sure, he’s just the pizza delivery guy. With chloroform and some quality time in the basement he’s the one
  • My phone just changed ‘calendar’ to ‘cake radar’ and now I really wish I had that
  • I like you, but not “I’ll let you out of the basement” like you.
This is The Demon Seed. My daughter as a junior in college looks just like I did as a junior in college.   We talk about her grad school choices, watch Doctor Who specials together, fight over the Fall Out Boy knee socks and worry about our white girl problems

This is The Demon Seed. 
We talk about her grad school choices, watch Doctor Who specials together, fight over the Fall Out Boy knee socks and worry about our white girl problems

I had my heart crushed into the bitter coffee of a Starbucks machiatto

I had my heart crushed into the bitter grounds of a Caramel Betrayal Macchiato

Found some really funny people on the Internet. Funny ha ha. the funny strange people are reading this post.

Found some really funny people on the Internet. Found some really strange people on the Internet.

Got sick of people confusing Bi-Polar with psychopath, bugfuck crazy, too lazy to ‘just be happy’ and/or sad just to make you angry. Eric at Black Box Warnings chose me to contribute a guest post on Bi-Polar disorder. Got a new therapist and a new sponsor this year.

Spent a rainy radical week in the Nevada desert for 4th of Juplaya and attended the work parties in preparation of Burning Man. Missed one work weekend to recover from completely unexpected gallbladder surgery… I can now eat any damned thing I like because the gallbladder is GONE.

Things got weird a few days before my yearly foray to Black Rock City in August. Had everything planned to spend the week before The Burn with my daughter and bestie Spankers setting up our theme camp. Then Burning Man itself. My yearly vacation to Magic, Family, Music, Art, Insanity, Bliss and Gratitude. Home.

Instead I spent the Burn in a hospital bed, paralyzed below the waist. Good times.
Today I exercise and stretch to keep those body parts in good working order. You never know when Tall Dark and Hebrew may come knocking on your door. WASP is good too.

Tomorrow is a new year. It doesn’t mean a new start but it implies a shove of momentum to me. We just won’t wake up tomorrow shiny and thin and rich.
Well you won’t but I still hold out hope.

Life is still funny. I’m still funny. The milk smells funny but there’s a cure for that. So I leave you with a tune and a wicked grin
Cheers to friends. Cheers to Life. Cheers for Tears…

Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.
-Hunter S. Thompson

Love, Cute Kitties and Porn
~Miss R

A Poem In the Key of Depression

crows in rain LG

I can beat anything. Conquer anything
From intellectual pursuits to stupid bar jokes
From Music to Skiing
It’s a proven fact and my humility is obvious as you can see

Sitting on the bed
Looking at the damned walker
Thinking of the fall last week that
I told no one about. No more hospitals

Knocked me out cold and caused a concussion
Followed by the first migraine ever
Followed the next day by
Electrical shocks all through my body and numbness

Fuck you body! Fuck you disease!

The truth is kicking my ass
Trying to wrap my broken brain around something
Walking again might not happen at a 30% chance
No dancing no man to love my life a nauseating carnival ride

During the third week in the hospital
Psychosis and hallucinations had stopped
Idiot physicians had jacked me full of steroids and was allergic
Read the records last week they note Explosive Personality

Well when I was drinking and in a black-out it was true
As I read through the charts I laughed
Laughter tinged with grim thoughts
There were no notes on a previous steroid reaction

One night I wandered out to the nurse’s station
And asked for a Cabernet and a Cigarette
Don’t Drink Don’t Smoke What do You Do?
Thought I was on a spaceship. With a bar. It’s so me.

My boyfriend of three years came to visit the third week
After the cognitive functions returned
He admitted after diligent questioning and lies
He had been with another for months. My heart, will and soul crushed then.

So I looked at those paralyzed legs that day
Sitting on the hospital bed going on three weeks
Looking at that damned wheelchair
Knowing he had been cheating on me, why he had not visited but twice and quickly

The number one cause of death from TM
Is Suicide.
Not failure of the liver or respiratory system or falls
Those are the silver, bronze and runner ups

Mom calls every day
She drives from California every two weeks
She does the laundry, prepares food for the freezer
Cleans the house and brings me Fresca which is nice

No longer can I cook, clean or hold anything for long
Taking a shower is a bitch. On a chair. Like a geriatric
Please wash my hair I’m so lonely and it hurts
Feel a burden and pathetic whiner to express these words to anyone

These are my thoughts after almost three months
Working hard each day with PT exercises
Trying to take a few steps no concussion please
Never able to get on my tippy toes again

Fuck you body! Fuck you disease!

Mom called last night and asked how I was
Told her about the anger the shocks, numbness the embarrassment of the steroid reaction
The worthless neurologist with no prognosis and no advice
Exhaustion of the body soul and nerve function and tear ducts

So Mom said Be Glad you were diagnosed so quickly
So what if that steroid caused the staff to treat you as a scary diagnosed psychotic
Your boyfriend was an abusive piece of shit. There is progress. There is no longer a wheelchair
You almost lost your life

And I answered
What Life?

Transverse Myelitis

Have been in hospital for almost two weeks. Lost all feeling in legs and hands now too, and pain in back and hands has increased to 11.
Am in hospital until I can walk and take care of myself. Neurological disease called Transverse Myelitis. One in a million people get it. Docs know nothing really. Am unable to think straight, although mental acuity is returning bit by bit. Suddenly lost all ability to move my lower limbs, three hours after the onset and trip to the ER  lost movement in hands. Cannot go home until I can walk some with my walker. Am up to painful shuffling: a foot at a time using the walker. Can’t fall, cracking my skull. This had already happened in the several weeks preceding. Not sure it would matter.

THIS is the year of the unexpected disease! Watch your back kids.
p.s. didn’t remember how to log in and post. Now that is fucked up.
I may walk in 2 or three weeks. Or never. Oh physical rehab how I do love thee

My friends are passing through Reno to Burning Man. I am missing my 9th year. I hurt. This is fucking depressing as hell. The steroids made me psychotic. Literally

Hospital food is hideous. No one visits because this place is out in the boonies. I need ice cream, cobbler, sweets, a decent cup of coffee.

Okay Done Ranting and Rambling. Burn On kids!

~Miss R

A Serious Post from your usually Not Serious Bi Polar Writer

I was generously offered the opportunity to write a guest post for one of my favorite sites, Black Box Warnings. Some of you may have already  read the piece, but it is under my name, not YoYo-Dyne.

I hesitate to post it here, as it is very personal and not YoYo-Dyne material. It deals with mental illness and Bi-Polar Disorder, and not in my usual passing manner.

If you are interested you can find it here. http://blackboxwarnings.wordpress.com/2013/06/03/heavy-mental-2/

Thank you to my readers… this post will probably cost me a few heh. Damn, I just hit 1000 readers/follows this weekend too. Yay me!

Take Care,

~Miss R

Clean-up on Aisle 4! Today’s 12 Step Boogie Lesson

Just celebrated a Sobriety Birthday. Took a chip at my fave Reno meeting; sponsor and friends cheering me on. Feel free to have a drink in my honor.
Will be there in spirit(s).
Join me in a double espresso if you’re stopping by the house.

sober humor rachael TK

Currently working on Step 4:

“Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves”

If you’re familiar with 12 step programs you’ll know that this particular portion of  the journey is considered to be the most frightening, emotional and difficult. The point of working The Steps is to bring a person to freedom and happiness.
The freedom of bondage from self. Or self-will run riot as the 12 Steps say.
Or, the freedom that allows you to happily live in your own skin, as I say.
Knowing an ease of living which allows the organic occurrence of self will to spill naturally: the pursuit of helping others, recognizing the joyful incidents in life,  and by being an example to those who seek guidance and help them to recover from the disease of alcoholism.
The book Alcoholics Anonymous states that upon completion of all 12 steps the addict will find a ‘spiritual awakening’.  I’m an atheist so that phrase doesn’t resonate with me.

Freedom from my own past mistakes, guilt, blame, the ability to keep from repeating the same idiotic decisions over and over, and the selflessness resulting will allow me to be of maximum service to others. To stop hating myself.
By helping other people we get out of our own problems. It works both ways. Good deal.

Instead of following the suggestions of this program verbatim  I re-configure the phrase ‘spiritual awakening’ to reflect what we’re all looking for: Replacing the fear and anger which cause selfish acts and self-loathing with acceptance,  gratitude, humility and helpfulness to others. We have to fill the void left by self-medication to dull life and pain. Believe I read somewhere that nature abhors a vacuum. Or cats abhor them. Eh, either way.

I don’t believe Alcoholics Anonymous should be considered a work inscribed in stone.   The flatline in membership over the past few years can surely be traced to the rigidity of many local groups, and the General Services Council. Recently both Toronto and Kansas City threw out the agnostic/atheist meetings previously listed on their schedules.

There are as many specialized meetings available (in larger cities at any rate), as there are diverse groups in society as a whole. If you Google for a local meeting schedule you’ll find fellowship groups geared towards LGBT, Pagans, Doctors, Lawyers, Men Only, Women Only, Teens and many other special or minority interests.

The idea that being an agnostic or atheist precludes a person from finding sobriety, and doesn’t belong in 12 Step literature, meetings and groups is frightening. It’s not just showing prejudice, it is showing ignorance and most importantly it keeps people away who want help.

The ‘Big Book,’ as we alkies refer to the tome Alcoholics Anonymous, explicitly states that we are a fellowship and
The ONLY requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking.

Big Book Thumpers (think religious fundamentalists and zealots) make me deranged. You’ll find them all over the world. “By the blood of Jesus Christ and the power of Alcoholics Anonymous I am sober today!”
Holy crap Batman.
Not my style. A huge turn off if you are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Pagan and particularly non theist or deist. Importantly, being physically sober doesn’t make you happy. It doesn’t cure your woes. Without tools to aid us we’re just dry drunks. You know them. Sober but still all kinds of fuckered up, inherently unhappy and pissed off at the world.
Why bother then?! Unless you dig that whole cross and nails thing.

The salient point of Step 4, and finding peace and sanity, is making an inventory.
In writing.
This is similar to what any business owner must do annually. If you’ve ordered items that don’t sell you’ve got to let them go.  I’m having a fire sale this month.

Step 4 is a literal inventory of character defects as opposed to an inventory of the items in a store. Such as that pallet of board games which turned out to be one of the dumbest purchases you’ve made that season.
Don’t ask me how I can relate to this metaphor so well.

I hear virtually all of you saying “Surely not! Miss R? Character Defects? Blasphemy!” Yes it’s true.

In order to be happy joyous and free (but still cheap nyuk nyuk nyuk) life has to be lived with rigorous honesty. Except with the IRS. I’m not talking about ‘cash register’ honesty. Have always had that.
This rigorous honesty has to be with myself. Which sucks. No more two day pity parties complete withblack balloons, Ben and Jerry’s, fabulous playlists of my favorite depressing music, and of course the number one offender: Not seeing my part in most past bad situations.

As a veteran of the sobriety wars my original 4th Step was completed 17 years ago. Think there must have been at least 140 items on the list. Today that list consists of less than 30 items, probably closer to 25.  Mercifully all of the years I was clean and sober did some good and a lot of information stuck.

Making the inventory list begins with writing down ALL persons, places and things which piss you off. You’ll start out thinking there are just a few. Suddenly your pen will begin flying as if possessed. Weird but true.

Next, you’ll make a second column describing the situation which brings up such commendable memories and thoughts -she said in her best snarky voice-.  The last column lists WHY you feel uncomfortable, agitated or pissed off at the items on your inventory list.

Once again, seventeen years later, it’s apparent that Fear is the basis for my discomfort. Fear translates into anger, self-pity, and blaming others. Including ourselves. There are a lot of items on my 4th Step list which are the result of outside influences. Letting go of unnecessary guilt is part of the process as well.

Going to stop today’s 4th Step dance lesson here. Hope you may have an idea now of what your friend, family member or yourself, is dealing with when talking about the 4th Step. They’re surely losing their friggin minds at this point.

It’s scary to look at our deepest fears. To see on paper every minute, agitating, horrifying detail ranging from cruel verbal outbursts to sexual conduct that has left us feeling like worthless pieces of human crap.

I’ll tell you what I know to be true for me in a brief overview:

Step 1:  We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable. –yeah I got that!

Step 2: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity –I’ll try anything at this point. Even AA as a higher power-

Step 3: Turned our will and our lives over to God, as we understand Him. –Wait. Back up. WTF?!

Note the last portion of the above step. It’s in there to ‘help’ us poor misguided agnostics and atheists and pagans to give up their idea of controlling the universe. I got over this hurdle by realizing that if there is no God, then I couldn’t be Her. Replacing the word God with your idea of a Power Greater Than Yourself can be a slippery semantic bitch. So, I use another technique as well; break it down to it’s essence. This is acceptance. We are not in control of life. I don’t mean give up.People have free will. It is refers to material problems. You have no control if your car breaks down, you get cancer or your neighbor pisses on your rose bush during the night. You DO have control over how you handle the situation. Act instead of react. Accept that a rain cloud has decided to storm over your life that day. Don’t take the anger and frustration out on other people. Or yourself.

Step 3 is really about Acceptance, not God. By using critical thinking it is possible to divorce the wording, divine the purpose of the step and learn how to use a new tool. Works wonders in lowering your blood pressure as well.

It’s hellish as a non-Christian to sit in a room full of people who happily recite God this God (with a capital G) that and all you hear is framed in Christian context. The Alano club (a building or room dedicated to hold 12 step meetings) where I hang out has a lot of murals painted on the walls. One shows a bar with people portrayed as ducks. Hell if I get the duck thing but that’s not the point. There’s a newbie pictured -falling off their bar stool. There’s an old-timer pictured -holding his big book and grinning. There are several other characters depicted including a duck labeled atheist. He has horns sprouting from his head.
I shit you not.
First time I noticed this I burst into laughter. Then thought about it and mused over the non-Christian who may have seen this, left the meetings, and died of this disease. All because a fellowship (NOT a program despite what too many members say and believe) cannot or will not accept anything not of their understanding. Particularly if it is not written down in the book.

For a group that bases virtually all of it’s tenets on Acceptance, this is some tough food for thought.

The 12 Steps DO work, if you work them with rigorous honesty.

For more than twelve years I practiced their principles in all of my affairs and led a bountiful, fun, laughter filled and generous life.
Do I have problems with AA as a whole? Clearly. Are their answers? Yes. Can people find sobriety if they truly want it and work these steps in order? Yes. If you are willing to go to any lengths to stop the pain, and find serenity.

Never said it was easy. It’s also not the Only way to get sober and find peace. It is the only way that has proven that sobriety and happiness can be mine. Hundreds of thousands of other 12 Steppers will also attest to this. Hundreds of thousands have shown that they achieved sobriety and happiness using other means. Statistically, AA seems to be the choice with a lower recidivism rate.

On that note go out and enjoy a great day, bring merriment to the masses, and set a steel-spring trap under the roses.
Currently, your intrepid writer is convalescing at mom’s house in northern California. Came for a four day visit. On the final evening my gallbladder decided to attack, caused itself and the rest of my body to be rushed to the hospital ER, and was then removed.

A CLASSIC! Can't believe this is out of print

A CLASSIC! Can’t believe this is out of print

Three hours of surgery, lots of IV Fentanyl and Morphine and two days later I’m back at mom’s house recovering. I’ll share my Norco with that espresso I got going on the stove.
Back to Reno on Friday after having stitches removed.

If you’re going to become ill, suffer pain so horrible and intense that you wished a large rock was in reach -to bash yourself into unconsciousness-  while on vacation, then make sure to do so at mom’s house. Especially when she is an RN. Especially specially when she knows your favorite childhood dishes. If you’re an addict or alcoholic it also provides plenty of time to finish writing out that pesky 4th Step.

Pack your Xanax though. There’s a reason we leave our parents to begin with.

~Miss R

Fuckin’ A Friday!

so kinky wrong greeting card

As Friday Foolishness has been usurped by El Guapo, and Friday Follies™ by Red, we here at YoYo-Dyne present: Fucking A Fridays! As this blog will never see the light of the Freshly Pressed page (some wargarble regarding  inappropriate language) this seemed the only possible title available.

As your Bi-Polar and Bi-Coastal host it’s a toss-up to see if this weekly posting can be kept alive. Or, at least zombified. This column is dedicated to Miss R’s Weekly Weirdest/Most Disturbing/Funniest/Offensive/Musical Best of the Interwebs.  The list is limited to graphics and videos viewed during the preceding week.

WARNING: All have the potential to amuse, amaze, agitate, alliterate (didn’t see that coming did you), nauseate, masturbate or Sharon Tate. No Refunds. All Rice Must be consumed with Nigiri orders. You Must Be This Tall To Ride. One Coupon Per Table.

Okay Roll ‘em!

Mr_Noodle

Hell On Heels –Poppin’ Pills

too-stupid-to-understand-science-try-religion-856499612-800x800

Below is a shiny video courtesy of Mr. Autin from his homage to El Guapo

die alone

shit glitter

homeless warehouse whore

Hope you’ve enjoyed this inspirational quote to begin your weekend. Until next time…
~Miss R

Burning Man Delayed… and Defiled.

Hello all.
After all of the build-up,personal obsession social media and physical work- devoted to Burning Man here,  then you may be wondering why I’ve posted nothing until now.

This is the first post. It isn’t pretty. No pictures, wonderful stories, or even the hilarious drunken antics of our citizens. Those will come later.
For now, this is about my daughter.
It is an Urban Myth come true.

Sexual Assault on the Playa

As an 8 year Burner I feel safe, kept sane and amazed every year by the experience of fifty thousand people (this year 58,000+) coming together from all over the world. Sharing cultures, fun, food, ethnic differences and ability to integrate all of them. Best part: we all watch out for each other.

For years I’ve told the Demon Seed that I would not allow her to attend until she was 18. She was 19 this year. It is truly an adult event, despite ‘Kidsville.’ and the past 5 years of the BORG (sorry, should be ORG but hell) encouraging people to bring their children.
This is cretinous. If an adult’s lungs can barely take the dust and heat how is a small child supposed to survive. Sorry. Digressed.

One beautiful evening my daughter and I took our bikes out to see a few art installation on deep playa. Deep Playa refers to the area outside of the miles of camps surrounding The Man and where the biggest, most amazing structures are.
She wanted to see Burn Wall Street, before it burned.
We had climbed Mal Mart, been to the head of Anubis, and met new friends already.
I was tired and told her to be careful, it was beginning to rain.

Next time I saw the Demon seed was 15 hours later. Hallucinating, and with an IV bandage on her arm from the med tent. She remembered nothing. A camper from Emerald City had apparently found her face down behind their camp. Overdosing.

Now, I may be brilliant, a total fucker, live too fast, try anything once (twice to make sure), and a fabulously crazy biatch –as is my daughter. We do NOT do heavy drugs or take insane risks though.
When she got back to camp I noticed something wrong with her, and the fact that she was hallucinating was scary. Sent her back with two of her friends to find a camp Ranger (the Burning Man ‘police’, as opposed to the Pershing county police who also have a presence on the playa).

Another 8 hours and she had not returned. I’m waiting by our camper and losing my mind with worry. Left camp in a dust storm white-out to find a ranger and my daughter. Finally learned that she was being returned by the sheriff’s department to our camp.

What happened? She had been dosed (taken a glass of ‘water’) at a camp called ‘Want It.’ She was then raped and dumped on a side street.
The rangers originally believed she had over-indulged, as did I originally.

She identified her attacker –a DJ with the aforementioned camp- but no charges can be brought because:
1. There is no Rape Kit on the playa
2. There are no Forensic Nurses on the playa
3. Her only choice (while under the influence of Ketamine and PC-2 which the cops believe was the dose) was going to Reno, being stripped, examined then released with no clothing, money or possessions.
Two other women besides my daughter were attacked that night: the others also dosed and showing signs of strangulation marks.
One of the rapists was arrested by the police. He had kept a ‘trophy’ of his rape and it was found in his car. Pershing county police (and everyone else I know) are hoping he will roll over on his accomplice.

There is more of course.

How can I ever let this go? I had promised her a safe, fun, eye-opening and life changing week. This was not what I promised. I have NEVER heard of such a thing happening on the playa.

I have to thank camps and random wonderful strangers from all over the playa for their help. We had people, with no idea of my daughter’s identity, come by Spanky’s to leave gifts, smudge the camp with sage, give offerings of love (baseball bats, dull steak knives, hefty bags….), and the tireless help of the Rangers.
Burners came to give their support and love from literally miles around. People we did not know, but the word had spread through the city.

Mercifully my daughter does not remember the exact details.
In college I was raped by two men, and also blocked out the details. Only remember climbing from the mud in my white outfit.
I never reported the attack. Believed it was my fault as I was drunk (and looking back probably dosed) at a frat party. This was the late 70’s as well with a small town backwards police department.
For this to happen to my beautiful loving daughter is far worse than my experience. The tears will not stop.

The Demon Seed will be staying with me until next semester. She is in SF right now gathering her belongings and tying up loose ends. Hopefully she returns to SF State next year, and I’m sure she will.
She’s a strong gal. I love her. She is my life. Please send her your positive thoughts.
Oh, she can hardly wait to go back next year to Burning Man. In her words ‘I will not let that fucking experience be my memory of the happiness I’ve found here!’

~Miss R

N is for Neurosis

Kurt Vonnegut -neurotic

Kurt -The Ultimate Neurotic.
Caricature courtesy of artist Kathryn Rathke

Listening to Joe Sample right now, after an earfest of Sinatra. I’m doing an El Guapo here. Posting this late afternoon’s musical choices that is.
Not to be confused with ‘listening similar to’ El Guapo.
EG and Tony: don’t tell Mrs. Guapo

Anyway, tertiary is my middle name. Except this post is N for Neurotic. Ergo, all theorems proved by scientific method; see paragraph above. Same results in pristine laboratory settings (the living room and office) or your kitchen.

Neurosis runs (gallops, bobsleds, careens, bucks…you get the picture) through the family. Being a lifelong over-achiever I’m appointed the poster child for the Black clan.

Go ahead and get married, have the last name of an ex-hubby, change your name legally. The Black curse is upon you all Buahahahaha. –stops for water and takes Xanax-.

Okay, back now. Here are the three main criteria for getting your familial Neurosis on:

  1. Nature: Are you and/or your family subject to any of the following DSM certified symptoms?

a)      Eating Disorders

b)      Bi-Polar

c)      Eccentricity

d)     Black ™ Sheep Family Syndrome

             2. Nurture: Are you and/or your family involved in any of the following professions?

a)      Psychology

b)      Psychiatry (three thumbs up here!)

c)      Waste Management Disposal (+2 if your surname ends with ‘I’ or is similar to the range below Falsetto…)

d)     Addiction Specialization (social workers, AA ashtray cleaning, nursing, dealer –either here in a Nevada casino or located at the local street corner-)

    3. Intelligence/Talent?

a)      Off the charts Mensa 1%er IQ?

b)      Savant i.e. dumb as a box of hair taped up but able to play an oboe in tune

c)      Genius IQ AND musical/photographic/acting/writing/amazing artistic ability

d)     Tap dancing even though Ed Sullivan is still dead

Well faithful readers how do you score? On the test. Not with the opposite (or same) sex.

Years of intensive research have led me to this simple questionnaire. Combined with years of psychiatry, therapy, analysis, medication, hospitalization, straightjackets (oh hell that was a club in San Fransisco nevermind)  and obsessive reading/learning skills. Damn. Reminds me. Forgot to list OCD up there with the ‘Nature’ answers.

Conclusion: Fuck Piaget.

See Online Merriam Webster definition for Neurosis below.
Have left out the pronunciation guideline because if you are reading this you know how to pronounce it.

Neurosis: a mental and emotional disorder that affects only part of the personality, is accompanied by a less distorted perception of reality than in a psychosis, does not result in disturbance of the use of language, and is accompanied by various physical, physiological, and mental disturbances (as visceral symptoms, anxieties, or phobias)

neurotic facebook

Bah humbug. I got ‘yer solution right here. Closer to the Holmes 7% Solution than any meds on the market. Don’t ask me how I know this.

Dr. Rachee Black (I play one on TV, parties and stayed at a Holiday Inn Express) recommends a minimum of 2 G&T’s per evening. Xanax bid or as needed. Some days none are indicated. Those are the days that begin with S; for Somnolence. Watch this Space for upcoming definitions!

*This study may be affected by pharmaceutical US costs, physician co-pay amounts and general degradation professed towards any person suffering from anything BUT admitted Neurosis. Once again, not that I’d know.

Cheers!

~Miss R

 

-addendum: iPod just switched to Elliot Smith; Miss Misery is the first track. Gotta love being in synchronicity with life, the universe and everything. Say isn’t Towel Day coming up?

 

Steak, Asparagus and the Band Next Door

First you’re probably wondering how an Executive Urban Hobo such as myself came to be eating steak and asparagus. No not ‘steak and vegetable ‘food product.’ The real deal.

Well, after receiving the obscene amount of a monthly stipend from SSD it’s time for grocery shopping. Asparagus on sale at $1.88 and two tiny filets wrapped in bacon for $3.97. I don’t purchase anything that isn’t on sale. Hear that Red? –grin-.

Aw, downsizing from Balducci’s and A&P bites heh.

Yes it was a splurge but we here at YoYo-Dyne have put on considerable weight after winning a huge loss after last’s year’s surgery. A tasty splurge.

Back to tuna, cheap ground beef and a bag of frozen chicken breasts to make the rest of the month. Oh how I’d love some fish..mmmmm fishies!

F’ing low carb diet is expensive on my ‘salary’ and a pain in the ass to prepare in the 45F kitchen at night.

Back to the topic. Slight derailment after speaking of a tasty meal. Uh huh.

Fell into a stupor after said tasty meal to be awakened by…The kids next door.

Have mentioned on prior occasion that I live in an old 1928 (drafty, impossible to heat, scary and dangerously wired, big-ass with the requisite spooky enormous basement) duplex. The architecture and lay-out make up for it, I assure you. In the Fall and Spring.

My neighbors are all members of a band. Actually two bands. One’s a sort of Rockabilly. the other Punk. Have played in other bands with two of the neighbors, when we practiced in my basement. Our lead singer and guitarist used to live in this place.

Now their bands practice in their basement. More fried-to-a-crisp electrical cords, small electrical fires and fuse blow-outs on their side now. Told you, this place is old and the circuits prevent the use of a toaster (or space heater) or practice Peavy amp use at the same time. It’s all fun and games until you’re outside in your bathrobe/fleecy sweats and T-Shirt in the snow, at the back of the house, at 7:00 am in 12F weather outside in snow because your Demon Seed is  home from college and uses the microwave and two lamps at the same time..

Second Derail Apology:  This means I can hear everything up from the floor and through the walls when it’s practice time; which sucks on Sunday morning I can tell ‘ya.

They put up with the concert grand piano,  MIC’d vocals, and occasional jam session in the living room on my side so it works out. Yes, we DO blow the damned circuits in the living room too. I blame my bass player friends.

Who doesn’t?

From my nommy stupor tonight I hear a new tune (for best acoustics the bathroom is highly recommended; you can hear the trumpet and banjo far more clearly). These guys play all originals, in both bands. Caught my ear tonight with the sounds of a fave Old 97’s tune ‘Wont’ Be Home’

Dig this tune. Also dig my sleep. It did compel me to make a cocktail though and wake up. Whoop. Can be up all night tonight. Just as well actually.

About 300 blog notifications again…behind. That’s the least of the nasty news today so in reality the tune made my day.

So a shout-out to The Kids Next Door. And their 5 peeps packed into a two bedroom ancient duplex, basement electrical smoke, other tasty smelling smoke, and smiling, wonderful companionship on warm summer nights sharing the porch..

Back to your regularly scheduled madness.

~Miss R

Nothing Much

Graphic courtesy of Marcus at brainlesstales.com

Am clearly on unscheduled hiatus.

Current unopened mail in the YoYo-Dyne Email Inbox: 306. This does not count the 30 or so that have been opened and not answered or viewed.

Love you all. I do not subscribe to random or ‘please add me!’ blogs. Only read those that draw me in. Writers who are savvy, funny, and left of center. You know who you are.

The Demon Seed (aka my brilliant daughter) is visiting for two weeks. The Best.
Life itself, as in day to day, financial, physical, emotional has gone sideways on too many tangents too personal to mention.

Promise to catch up, absorb all of your fabulous words, and find a way out in another week or so.

Miss all of your emotions, tales, vivisections, views and blues. See you soon. In the words of Miss Vega…

If you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Off of the strip

In the outskirts
In the fringes
In the corner
Out of the grip

When they ask me
“What are you looking at?”
I always answer
“Nothing much” (not much)
I think they know that
I’m looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch

But I’m only
In the outskirts
And in the fringes
On the edge
And off the avenue
And if you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Wondering about you

I think that somehow
Somewhere inside of us
We must be similar
If not the same
So I continue
To be wanting you
Left of center
Against the grain

If you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Off of the strip
In the outskirts
In the fringes
In the corner
Out of the grip

When they ask me
“What are you looking at?”
I always answer
“Nothing much” (not much)
I think they know that
I’m looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch

But I’m only
In the outskirts
And in the fringes
On the edge
And off the avenue
And if you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Wondering about you
Wondering about you

~Miss R

Holidays! Suicide Rates Up! Corporations Thrilled!

It’s actually a myth that suicide rates increase during the holiday season. Same type of urban myth that  insists crime goes up during a full moon.

Sounds Pagan and cool though eh?

Bummer for the Insurance conglomerates.
No more threats of paying out for medical costs until Spring. Party on Doctor Garth.

Paging Dr. Howard, Paging Doctor Fine….

It's a Wonderful Life

Here’s a cheery fucking Christmas ditty. Decided to ditch the Haiku this year.

The perfect picture
Great film and memories most dear
No lighted angel nor pine bough
No comfort this year
Maybe a bell will ring
Maybe I’ll answer
and get my wings

Cheers to all of you celebrating without loved ones; gone and remembered or far away and felt.
Let’s enjoy that tuna sandwich, dearth of lights joy and family. A new year is coming. Make it through the night.

Miss R

Buy a Gun, Enjoy My Self-Loathing or Move Along Citizen

Have you ever suffered from depression?

bi-polar hell

I mean the type diagnosed by a physician. Not a few weeks of sadness, or grief over a loss or death. Yes, these will all lead to depression but for the majority of people who suffer these or other tragedies it may mean several months or more of counseling, perhaps an anti-depressant for several months in order for a therapist to work with the depressed patient.

No, I’m talking long-term, 20+ years of clinically diagnosed depression including meds and therapy. Followed by an accurate diagnosis of Bi-Polar for at least five years. More meds. Different meds. New cocktails of meds. Sadly current medicine (forced by the insurance companies) no longer truly allow a psychiatrist anything more than prescribing medication. To conquer problems you also must see a therapist. Of which you cannot afford because they rarely accept Medicare and you’re no longer able to pay all of the co-pays if they did.

And if you’ve lost everything; a successful business –that you built up by working 14 hours a day, not being able to hire even one employee for the first two years, finally being featured in magazines, opening more stores, a huge e-commerce business as well, television coverage, and mentions all across the Internet.

Your retirement money, savings, home, vehicle all lost to the recession of the Bush years (and attorneys to divorce and restrain a psychotic ex-husband), and you are dependent on a Social Security Disability stipend of less than $1000.00 a month.
How the hell will you EVER feel better?

Add back surgery, which did not work –FAIL tag-  and the cost of co-pays to doctors and hospitals that you cannot possibly pay off.
Constant pain, inability to swim, hike, ski or even walk long distances. And another surgery being scheduled.
How the hell can you SEE a future?

Have you ever attempted suicide? More than once? More than twice?  And failed? –Insert FAIL tag- . Pro-Tip: pills are too easy to accidentally throw up, or change your mind. Plastic razors chew up your skin and you don’t bleed quickly enough. Use a gun for godssake.

Oh, and you’ll be 50 in another month. Wonderful. With no more close friends; they already know about your problems and seriously don’t want to hear anything else. Hell I wouldn’t. Family you don’t dare reveal your psychological pain with, nor an understanding boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband? Your fabulous fifty party –as if turning 50 is a fucking pleasure and isn’t deathly depressing in itself- will be at home.
The entree a can of tuna fish and a single piece of pie from Raley’s market for dessert. Okay maybe dinner out –my genius boyfriend suggested a casino buffet. I’m thinking the tuna far preferable. And safer.

A call from my daughter –the only reason the suicidal ideation backed off, with her 4.0 grades and beginning college-. A card and call from Mom.
Missing Dad since his death, so no call from him. His birthday is/was a week before mine.

So, I spend 16 out of every 20 hours awake weeping uncontrollably. No longer wanting to live, but not wishing to crush my daughter by blowing this neuro-scrambled brain on the walls.
The back pain never ceases, unless I drink too much. At which point I’ll pay for it in the morning and it’s goddamned fattening as well. Not even self-medicating is a viable option.

Enough self-loathing for today.  Am tired of being witty, enjoyable or even caustic.
I just want it all to end. There are no dreams left.
Some days are like this.

 

Sure to offend Everyone…except my family. For once.

Black Rock CityBurning Band

There’s a bad moon rising.
Oh alright it’s just ended for the month. It’s the image that counts dammit.

Back is getting worse not better. What the hell is up with that? Can’t get a refill on oxy -even though it’s a  Way low dose  for what I need. Isn’t there anything else??  God knows I don’t need another fucking addiction. Can’t believe I don’t have PICA.

Anyway, life seems worthless (check: x), daughter gone away to college and grown up (check: x) wondering what happened to my interesting lively life (check: x), depression on the wax (check: x) back pain getting worse (WTF check: x). Band officially broke up (check: x) OH, and best of all…. SSD reduced by over 1/3 since my daughter turned 18. As if I don’t have to support her in college (Go SF State heh) (check: x) meaning I have to live on under $900.00 a month (including daughter)…when I spent most of my life living on six figures (check: x).

Lost my houses, 401k.s IRA’s etc in the last divorce and then trying to live .Just to get away from Psycho-Fuck in Michigan (aka ex-hubby number two)

Waiting for Burning Man to cheer me. See my other family. Relax. Look at art. Play in the Burning Band -even if I have to buy a new uniform shirt because after 5 years it doesn’t seem as though all of the wine, beer and random brass instrument spit will come out of it anymore.

Just needed to write tonight. It’s after midnight and have been a mess all damned day. Usually save these exciting and amusing tidbits for my ‘other’ blog. But really. Fuck it.
Give a shot, cola, thumbs up or whatever is needed to get me to The Burn.

Livin’ the Life in Reno
OR as you may know it ‘the OTHER city in Nevada’
~Miss R