Self-Loathing Looping Tape Vs. My Blackberry

Round 1: I bet you think you're real cute walking that dog don't you? Why don't you put the picture up here showing you and little Joey there running from the scary barking neighborhood dogs? That wouldn't make you look so in control now would it?
Round 2: So you're eyes are flaring up again aren't they? And you must have been crying because you don't have any mascara on. Looks like you goofed when you trimmed your own bangs. And you have something on your nose. Here I'll get it.

Round 3: Just because the museum of Native American Art asked you to be creative in your self-portrait is no excuse for your clearly secular choice. A superhero! Hmph. And she's a little androgynous you know. People will start talking again. What, do you think this is funny? Then why are you smirking?

Round 4: Don't be so dramatic! Remember that God won't give you more than you can handle. Did you take your medicine today? Close your mouth. We are not a codfish.

Round 5: I can still tell who you are under all that lipstick.

Round 6: Maybe more lipstick is the right answer.

Round 7: And a good leave-in conditioner

Ms. Poetdogwasher? Any comment?

[whispered aside from the looping tape: what'd you do? Spray those jeans on? Can you even breathe?]

Paddle Smarter Not Harder

Thank you so much Doo Doo for the article. You're right you're right I know you're right.

We miss you already, the Pembertonians

I'm Going Back To Disguises a.k.a I've Had It I've Had IT!

I'm going back to disguises...

Because too many people are talking to me about how much I screw up and not enough people are saying "Whoa, that's a weird mask!"

When I screw up I like to think of it as a mask. I'm not sure about that though.

I walked back and forth through the house saying, "I've ruined us!" to Pat because we are in collections. My PTSD is making it really hard for me to make money and pay bills and eat and sleep. Does anyone out there in the land of Financial Institutions give a crap. Of course not. It's like our ex-landlord said to us when we signed our lease, "I don't care. I just want my money."

Sunny also sat in the bathtub yelling "I've had it!" over and over because Pat was doing funny voices for me. We don't know if she had been listening to funny voices all day and that was one too many or what.

Let's Go Back to the Barter System

That's what I'm talking about. I wash a dog like this named Winston. They also call him Bubba. Which is completely understandable.

Back to work tomorrow after a while off. We went to Indiana to see Pat's family and my bestest buddy. I did extremely well with the PTSD stuff. Then I got home and Sunny went away for four days with my Dad to visit my brother. While she was gone my brain decided to let out another batch of nightmares/self-loathing/religious ambiguity. I worked double dogs each day and thought I was doing all right. When Sunny came home it was joyous indeed. Then my brain took a big breath and then blew its dragon breath on me again. I got a sore throat. More nightmares. Felt like an amoeba among many cells. Then I was sick for real. Coughing from my soul. Crying with body pain (just part of my PTSD). Fever dreams with flashbacks. And let's not forget the irritability. Ohhhh no. Can't leave that out.

So yesterday about 4:30 I got a weird voicemail from my bank's fraud alert department that there was some strange activity going on with my business debit card. Sure enough someone hundreds of miles from me was withdrawing $203, $203, $103, $203, $203 from my business account.

This would be a good place for Pat to recount what happened because I morphed into a paranoid lunatic. Go ahead fictional Pat: yeah, she was a paranoid lunatic.

See? Our neighbors were having a very pleasant smelling and looking cookout. I'm afraid I might have run them back inside with my high pitched fast talking. And waving my arms over my head like George Costanza's mom. [I don't need him looking at my braaaaaaa!--my favorite quote by George's mom].

Anyway friends. I have no nice conclusion for this blog. So here:

I'll tell you about that someday. Bill and Glo, the truth will set me free.

We Are With Kittens

Wait for it. Wait for it.

Squiggy/Squigmond/Squigward/Squigs/Scaredy Squig

Gooch/The Gooch/The Goocher/Goochy Goo

Depression Billboard from My Indiana Trip.

BILLBOARDS ARE REAL DOT ORG

The rip in the sign.

Angry Midwesterners with pitchforks chanting "get over it."

I had to remember my imagination

runs away without me

in my old town.

Maybe You Can Live On The Moon In Next Century

I usually add "in bed" to my fortune cookies and then giggle while crunching the tasteless thing that was around it.

But this one sounds pretty good to me. See the little smiley faces at either end of the fortune. They could be there to soften the having-to-move-to-the-moon blow. Or they are just really happy for the 133-year old version of me in my flying car and intravenous antidepressant drip.

I'm sick again. Again. Worried about pneumonia again. Again. Depression soaring again. Again. Writing the blues. Again.

Sunny's Fantasy World (A.K.A. Fanciness World)

[Editor's note: this is a blog dictated by Sunny to me very very very specifically. Even the photo. Even the title up there. This is one of those things that I think God does. See if you can find it. It's even easier than a Waldo thing.]


I have a shelter. And it's full of animals. Even wild animals. And I call my mom Mama.

So um well our family is with kittens. Well they are alive. Our cat named Lucy: she is mad to them sometimes.

And this is my blog. You can look at it whenever you want to. You can save it.

Um and I just like to eat cous cous. Um and I like to do a lot of stuff. And I have a great big world. I live in xxx xxxx xxxxxxx. My address is xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. [Editor's note: we paused here to 1st practice our phone number and address for kindergarten roundup and 2nd for me to make yet another mental note to tell her not to give our address to strangers after kindergarten roundup.]

I changed the color and first it was red. Then it was purple. And if it talked it would sound like Squidward. And I have my whole life. And this is my very own blog. I am a five year old. And my name is Sunny.

"How Long Have You Been Calling Me 'Balls'?"

Pom Poko is the craziest anime ever. Can't get enough of their very very functional testicles! 1:They parachute from the sky on their inflated scrotal sacks.
2:They beat the police into tears and submission.
3:If they really work together they can create beautiful mandalas suitable for group worship. 4:They can bounce really high and inflate their sacks and make them full of something that crushes everything below!

5:Not shown here is the more amazing gential stunt: making a large ship to the afterlife for hundreds of raccoon dogs. I think that's the way I want to go to the afterlife. Please. let there be an afterlife.

The Drawing Game/Sometimes the Obama Game

Notice that when it's my turn to draw...well...there is much laughter and confusion. I would have been the most-returned guest on Win Lose Or Draw (that made me old just then) because Burt R.I.P. Convy would have loved making fun of me!
She can't even speak because it's so ridiculous.
But I am trying to do a good job. Even with breakthrough depression which makes me cold.

Don't judge. I wasn't drawing it based on the real man (god?) just on a plastic mask. And in that sense I think I did a darn good job. It does look like a hollow soul-less piece of molded plastic.
For an idea of how the Drawing Game is suppose to be done see the sequence below. Each picture is followed by very hyper yelling guesses by Sunny and some quiet mumblings and little smiles by me.

Finding the Family Stoke is important. Why don't you all play along at home?

Sunny's Gonna Do Karate on my Depression

She's trying her darndest to get rid of my blues.

So am I.

Sunny's Bro