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.