V-Day and other transmittable diseases


In about a month, it will be Valentines Day. By nature, I loathe valentines day, because I've never actually had a boyfriend during that time. So, while stores are starting to display their valentines goodies, I've made "goodies" of my own. No, I didn't go egg storesfronts again this year....seeing as I'm prohibited from getting within 50 feet of Walgreens anymore (note: I'm kidding)....but hey, that's not the important part. The important part is that I'm striking back against a holiday created solely for the reason of selling chocolate and sappy cards and little cute bears with arrows, and did I mention chocolate? Mmmm, I want some chocolate. So, instead of lamenting the fact that I do not have a "valentine", for the entire remaining time between today and February 14, I'll be taking my revenge against a sugar-coated world. Anyway, I've begun by creating my very own candy conversation hearts (thanks to ACME Heartmaker) and posting them online.

Here's today's post: Jen's Page of Valentines for the Real World


Hey, is that chocolate? Gimme!
Enjoy!

Call me Crazy? I don't think so.


It's come to my attention that someone who reads this journal thinks I'm crazy. Reading through some of my old entries, I've realized that a lot of what I write on here is either about depression or bipolar disorder. I can't explain why I do this, except that it has been an enormous piece of my life for the last four years. I also write this journal so that the stigma of mental illness (it's a terrible word, I know) is finally broken. If you knew me in real life as some of you do, you'd know that my own life doesn't revolve around telling people about bipolar disorder. My life is now full of fun and, well, life. I didn't have that for a long time. I have happiness now, and have managed to sort out the true friends from the fair-weather ones.

So I struggled with inner demons (not literally, figurately) and the very real potential of suicide every single day. I fought, and thanks to the keen eyes of my doctor, I won. I won a battle not unlike the battle against cancer. Sure, I didn't lose my hair, but the victory over it was no less sweet than someone finding out they're in remission.

So, to all those people who have no idea what it's like to never know what's wrong, or why you can never feel happy, I hope you know now. We're not crazy, we never have been, and certainly will never be.

I should be a Rock Star!


I was helping Jon move into his *brand new* apartment today, and when were driving to get *real* food (i.e. Not a peanut butter sandwich he made me earlier in the day), I got to singing in the car. For years I've known that the gift of singing has been in my family, but I sure didn't get that gene. I played Trombone instead, and I still sucked. But lately, I've noticed that my singing voice has gotten *dramatically* better. I think this is because of the frequency I belt out a tune while driving. Maybe I shouldn't sing in the car anymore, after all, I ran over three people this week. Just kidding. ;c) But anyway, after talking to my friend Pat, I've decided that I should be a rock star. So, I did a search on Yahoo!, and found this website In addition to that, I've compiled a list of my own:



Things Jen has to do to become a Rock Star
1. Come up with insane demands (like a bathtub filled with imported Italian mineral water), and trash things until I get them.

2. Come up with a new name, because Jennifer Wilton just doesn't cut it. Desdemonia Pistol, on the other hand, sounds edgy and rock star-ish (Both names are taken from Shakespearian plays, FYI. I like Shakespeare, so nyeh!)

3. Come up with a band name. The Band Name Creator has a fun little Flash site that flips words into a brand spankin' new band name. My new band? The Distressed Quasimodoid Cybergeeks. Hmmmm....How about just "The CyberGeeks"? I'm actually not a cybergeek, I'm a Computer Nerd, but that's besides the point

4. Dye my hair a myriad of funky colors. I've already been doing this from time to time. I've had red hair, orange hair, brown hair, black hair, and spray-in pink hair.

5. Find people who can actually play musical instruments and/or sing. Since I've played an instrument since I was 13, I've come into contact with people who can actually play the guitar, or drums, or whatever else I need.

6. Groupies!None of those yet, unfortunately.

Rock Star, here I come!

I hate it when my medication doesn't work...


I'm kind of having a rotten day, so I'll be brief. I've opened up the blogger edit page three seperate times, intending to write down anything about my day, but keep closing it down because I'm afraid if I talk about being depressed, it'll only make things worse, and I'll start crying.


Probably everyone that reads my journal knows that I've gone through depressive cycles in my life, and recently, everything was really looking up. Well, sometimes there are days when keeping my mood up is like walking on eggshells. There's about one week out of every month when my body completely counteracts my mood stabilizers (I think we can all guess which week that is) and I go back to my old moods. Then, once the week is over, I'm okay again. This week has been the crappy one. It's been stressful because my mom and I have been arguing about this stupid apartment which I've decided not to move into. The idea of being completely alone is too scary at this point in my life, especially since I have problems I'm still dealing with. I mean, last year, I did some pretty stupid things to myself, such as cutting my hand repeatedly on purpose, slamming my head into the refrigerator on purpose and when I was really upset with myself, smacking myself in the head. I know this sounds like I should be locked in a looney bin, but all these things have happened when I was 1) not taking mood stabilizers and 2) having a very stressful thing going on in my life. The potential apartment move was the stressful thing. My mom has been a little difficult to deal with because she has no understanding of how big a step this is for me, and how I react to things differently than others. My mom, although trying to do the best for me, has been not the most understanding person about depression and bipolar disorder. She refused to acknowledge that I had anything that "couldn't be solved by positive thinking" and that recently, she said I was absolutely *NOT* bipolar, even though my psychiatrist, psychologist and doctor agreed I most likely was. Apparently my mother believes she's smarter than three people with medical degrees. Go figure. This has been a most taxing week for me, and the sooner it ends, the happier I'll be.

As for now, I will not be moving out on my own. I think moving in with people of similar age and place in life (college student) would be beneficial for me. I'd like to have a place where I could talk to others, but also be alone in my room if I wanted. I guess I just yearn for more friends than the ones I have, since I rarely talk to them.

Bite me!

Okay, the title is a little rude, and it has nothing to do with anything, but I figured it was catchy. I can't always think of clever things to say people, I'm only human! Well, maybe a little super-human in my dreams (as well as cartoons), but that's a whole other story.


So, today's journal is about my impending move, or what I'd like to call "To move, or not to move, that is the question". On one hand, I have my mom who says I can live just fine if I get a second job, and on the other hand, I have my friend Jon who keeps telling me that I should not move out. Then, there's me, the apprehensive semi-adult who has always lived under the watchful eye of her mom, but has practically been paying for everything on her own (some food, all clothes except for presents, etc) and can watch laundry like a pro and can cook (somewhat). Due to my semi-present depression and fear of being alone, I'm having second thoughts despite the fact that I am very much financially capable (you have no idea how well I'm paid for being a meter maid, but to live with a little left over each month, I will have to take a second part-time job, or go full-time at the PD).


To tell the truth, I'm scared. I've never lived on my own longer than 7 days, and although I relish those times, I'm still scared of being totally alone. I suppose I need reassurance that I'll be okay and that people are looking after me so I don't go absolutely crazy. The problem is that I have few friends. I have no female friends. Seriously, none. For the last three or four years, I've pretty much kept to myself and haven't really been outgoing (blaming depression again). The friends I have are the ones from high school and an ex-boyfriend who I still hang out with. So, that leaves me a total of FOUR friends who I actually talk to on a regular basis, and Tigger, my psychotic cat. So, I guess it's fairly obvious I need to make friends.


Geez, this journal turned out to be a real downer entry. Hmmm....friends. Need friends or a roommate. Can anyone offer that?

My love life sucks ass...And no, I'm not talking about tossing a salad!

Yes, I know, I complain about my love life quite often, but let me just tell you now: I'm a complainer. It's in my blood to whine. :) But anyway, today I watched the movie "Birthday Girl", which stars Nicole Kidman as a Russian con-artist who is "bought" as a mail order bride by Ben Chapman (who I think is cute in a slightly nerdy way, but I like somewhat nerdy-looking guys nonetheless). He falls in love with her, she betrays him, and several plot twists (Plot twists in a Hollywood movie? NO!) eventually they leave for Moscow together. That's where the movie ends, but if the film ran longer, we'd probably see Nicole Kidman's character take off on Ben Chapman again, thus leaving him sad and stuck in Russia (which would then turn the movie into a Horror flick for me. "No passport and in Russia? Noooooooooo!")

The on-screen chemistry between the two is good, but maybe I'm impressed because I think Ben Chapman is cute. But anyway, the love scenes are great, and hey, who can't get behind the suggested image of two people getting it on? I think I just like the "love" aspect to the scenes. Instead of sex being portrayed as "hot and wild", it's portrayed as romantic (except when Ben Chapman ties Nicole Kidman to a bedpost, but I kinda liked that. Just don't tell my mother!).There's a certain amount of trust between the two characters, which I really like, and plenty of kissing, which I also like, except when it's slobbery. (I'm looking in your direction, ex-boyfriend Sean. Your inability to keep your tongue in your mouth is what made me go "psycho-crying girlfriend" on your ass. Plus your sheets were dirty. Yeech!)

So, I now am dreamy-eyed, thinking about the day when my secure, loving "Ben Chapman" comes along and lets me pin a robbery and a baby that's not his on him. No, wait, I didn't mean that. I mean, I'm waiting for my secure, loving "Ben Chapman"-type to come along and learn Russian to communicate with me....even though...I....don't....speak Russian....No, that's not it either.

Okay, how about this: I'm hoping that someday a nice, secure, loving guy comes into my life at some point and I can have a happy life with him.

And he keeps his tongue in his own damn mouth

Cleverly Disguised as a Responsible Adult

I know I haven't written in a little bit, but with the Holidays and apartment hunting, I've been a tad busy. Yes, you heard me right, APARTMENT HUNTING. Now, some of you who actually know me might ask "How can a nut job like yourself possibly go out into the normal world and survive?!" Well, thanks to modern medicine, Jennifer is no longer a total head case. Actually, I wasn't a head case to begin with, I just had pretty bad depression for years which was later correctly diagnosed as bipolar disorder. So now, I'm doing a lot better despite the weight I've been gaining on the mood stabilizer (they always do that).

So anyway, moving into an apartment was at first a really invigorating (sp?) idea. However, now that I'm closer to actually getting an apartment, the idea is totally frightening. Responsibility! Oh my God! There's bills to pay, budgets to make, and money to invest wisely. Plus, unless I start working full time at the PD, get a roommate, or get a second part time job, I'll never be able to pull this off. Scary. If any of you have any good ideas for me to limit spending (I'm a cheapskate, so my spending will already be limited to absolutes neccesities) or have an idea for me to make money (please don't suggest that I should strip. That leads me to an interesting question: what do strippers do when they get their period? Those g-strings only cover so much, and what if you have to go nude? what happens then? Okay, it's a gross question, I know.) Email me at writerchick@hotmail.com

Au Revoir!