On Facebook

No one said life on facebook would be easy
You can get tired of me and delete me
I hate it when you friend my friends
My friends are mine
I’m living my life online

I go to your profile to see what you’re up to
You went to a party last night
I wait for you to poke me
or send me good karma
At least let me know you’re alive

On facebook im a farmer, a gangster
I can be whatever I want
Yesterday I made you a waiter
and you mopped the floor
of my restaurant

No one said life on facebook would be easy
You can get tired of me and delete me
I hate it when you friend my friends
My friends are mine
I’m living my life online

You updated your profile to say that you’re single
I guess I have to update mine
I was looking for friends
Now I’m looking for men
and I’m gonna find true love online

On facebook I am so good looking
I can eat until I drop
‘cuz in my profile picture I always look thin
That’s the beauty
of photoshop

No one said life on facebook would be easy
You can get tired of me and delete me
I hate it when you friend my friends
My friends are mine
I’m living my life online

I always remember your birthday on facebook
I am a really good person on facebook
I fight for things I care about on facebook
I don’t have to go anywhere but facebook
You broke up with me on my wall on facebook
For awhile I had to stalk you on facebook
Now I am your lady on facebook
We’re gonna have lots of babies on facebook
We will live forever on facebook

No one said life on facebook would be easy
You can get tired of me and delete me
I hate it when you friend my friends
My friends are mine
I’m living my life online

Words by: Charlotte Dean
Music by: Tracy Newman
Performed by: Tracy Newman & Charlotte Dean

It’s All About Twilight

laughing all the way…

more about “YouTube - seattle trip“, posted with vodpod

Finding Harold

The sex wasn’t bad. There simply was none. And no desire for any either, according to Sebastian. But there was desire thought Rick, looking down at his erection. Especially when Sebastian was gone. Like now. Sebastian had just left for bingo and the second he shut the door Rick’s body came to life. Rick was not ungrateful for the expensive gifts and nice clothes he was given, but oh how he ached to get under a man his own age.

Rick was barely twenty-one and Sebastian was turning eighty-three this July. They had been together two years now, and the age difference was really starting to show. Sometimes he felt like Sebastian’s cat, locked up in the house all day, yearning to escape. But no. He had his plan and he was sticking to it. Rick had to marry Sebastian. And he didn’t mind waiting a few sexless years for the laws to change. They would marry, Sebastian would die, and Rick would inherit everything. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled at the idea of being a young millionaire. Thinking about all the hot young guys that would throw themselves at his feet gave him another hard on. He sighed and looked out of his bedroom window thinking about his promising future.

Eight years went by. Gay marriage was still illegal and Sebastian was barely alive. Half paralyzed in his wheelchair and hooked up to a respirator most of the time, he was not much company for Rick. Rick was beginning to worry. He had met Sebastian right out of high school and had decided not to pursue his education. Maybe that had been a mistake. He was now twenty-nine and had let himself go more than he wanted to admit. He had stopped exercising, he drank obscene amounts of alcohol every day and he ate his food and most of Sebastian’s as well. His body was not what it once had been. Sebastian didn’t say anything about Rick’s increasing waistline, but then again, Sebastian didn’t really say much at all. Watching Sebastian slip into oblivion was hard for Rick. He did not want him to die after all.

When Sebastian died a few months later, his house was turned over to the state, and most of his money went to his only nephew. The little money he had left for Rick in his will was barely enough for Rick to rent a studio apartment. He still had his designer clothes and a few nice things, but it was hard for Rick to adjust to his new lifestyle. Rick was not bitter, but he was alone. He missed the sounds of Sebastian struggling to breathe in bed beside him. He thought about how much he had changed. He no longer ached for hot young men, only a companion he could grow old with.

Rick got a job as a janitor in a nearby hospital. He stopped drinking, and due to the physical nature of his job, Rick lost weight almost immediately. He felt good. He was comforted by the smells and complaints of old people — they reminded him of his last years with Sebastian. His hard work and his ease around the older patients did not go unnoticed. He was offered a job as a paid volunteer at the hospital. He would often read to patients, take them for walks, and even feed them. It was in his second year as a volunteer that Rick met Harold, the love of his life. Harold was a respiratory therapist and one year younger than Rick. Having sex with Harold was the most amazing thing that Rick had ever experienced. The desire he felt as a young man returned yet now he wanted Harold and only Harold all of the time.

One year after they met, they bought a house together. That same year, gay marriage was legalized. Rick proposed one day at work over a comatose patient at the hospital. Harold, in tears, said yes. Rick was happier than he had ever imagined possible. As the years passed, Rick fell more and more in love with Harold. When Rick complained of pain due to his severe arthritis, Harold would massage him until the pain went away. They laughed together at Harold’s incontinence. They were aging together. Shortly after their fiftieth anniversary, Rick died sitting next to Harold on their couch. Harold died a month later.

Makin’ My Day

I am sitting once again at a table outside of Peet’s Coffee on Larchmont. It is my favorite people watching spot and I am feeling very lucky for finding it unoccupied. I am also in a particularly good mood today because I have not run into anyone I know. Just as I begin to get cozy in my stake out chair, two sleek looking asian girls pass by me and walk into Peet’s. One is wearing a short magenta dress with silver and black stilettos. The other is in skinny jeans and a fancy top with high heel ankle boots. Both of them are at most a size zero and their long, layered hair shines flawlessly. They make heads turn, including mine. They also make the Converse I am wearing look extra dirty. For the first time today I am thinking about what I am wearing; ripped jeans and the shirt I slept in. It’s only 2pm. I still haven’t showered. Isn’t it a little bit early in the day for them to be all dressed up?

The girls are now standing in front of the tables outside talking. There are plenty of chairs available but they continue to drink their coffee standing. Maybe they have somewhere to be and don’t have time to sit. They seem comfortable enough, but watching them stand in those heels is starting to make me tired. I will watch someone else for awhile. I turn my attention to an old man sitting on a bench across from me. There are two plastic bags at his feet. I soon realize that the bags are from Trader Joe’s and they are filled with dog treats.

This man has no dog of his own, but he feeds every dog that passes by. Most people seem to know him and look happy to see him. They chat for awhile and tell their dogs to thank him for the treat. He has a book in one hand which he glances at periodically. He is very distracted by the people walking by. Some people are caught off guard as he somewhat abruptly asks “Hey does your doggie wanna treat?” They look confused for a second, but before they can answer he is already in their dog’s face asking if the dog would prefer a biscuit or some jerky. All the dogs I have seen so far are happy to eat both. I find that I am not at all curious about this man’s dog feeding habit yet I would pretty much give anything to find out how long he has been trying to read that book.

I fantasize that this man has decided he will die when he finishes that book so he is trying to prolong that as much as possible. I imagine other things he could do to distract himself from reading. I am at this point so far gone in my own fantasy world, I hardly notice when a young couple walks over. They are both wearing skinny jeans and wool knit caps and are looking at their cell phones. They pause at the entrance to Peet’s and I manage to catch the three lines of dialogue that make my day:

Girl: Do you talk to them anymore?

Guy: No, I have to treat them like they’re dead.

Girl: That’s hot. Wanna get some coffee?

Bobby Bobo

··FYI: I found this story in my room the other day. I think I was about eight or nine when I wrote it. All the original grammar and spelling is the same. I just typed it up.··

I really used to hate Bobby Bobo. Bobby was really sick. He never brushed his hair, his teeth, or took showers and he always burped. When he got toys he would drool on them. When he spit he really spit a lot of spit.

I met Bobby when I moved to Formosa Avenue. My mom and my dad said “Check out the kids in the neighborhood.” So I did and the only kid in the neighborhood was Bobby Bobo. So I played with him for a little while and then he got too gross to be around he started burping and sneezing too much.

The next day Bobby was at the front door of my house and asked my mom “is Linda home?”

“Yes she is who is this?”

“Bobby Bobo.”

“She’ll be right here Bobby. Linda, Bobby wants to play with you.”

“Coming mom.”

“Hi Bobby.” I said.

“Can you play today Linda?”

I looked at my mom in disguse and said “Ok Bobby but this time I have to be back at six.”

“Ok Linda.”

“Let’s go.”

We played till six and then I had to go home. Lucky me. At dinner my parents asked me about Bobby. “I hate him. He does everything gross. Tell him I’m dead!” “Now honey he’s not that bad because tomorrow you and me are both going to the park with him,” said mom. “You know mom sometimes I think that you really are the devil.” “Thank you very much dear.”

The next day Bobby my mom and I all went to the park. We were flying a kite. I was holding the kite. Then I had to go to the restroom so did Bobby. Then mom said “I’ll roll up the kite while you two go to the restrooms.” So I went in the ladys and Bobby went in the mens room. Then Bobby came out and heard me screaming because there was a fire in the metal trash can blocking the door of the girls bathroom. So then Bobby spits on it but it wouldn’t go out then he trys to move the metal can but its too hot.

Then he took off his shirt and put out the fire he kicked the hot metal can out of the way so I could get out of the fire. “Gee thanks Bobby you saved my life.” I said. “My pleasure,” said Bobby. Linda ran and told her mother the whole story and all the details too. “Mom he really saved my life.” I said.

Then Bobby came over to my mom and I. “I hear you saved my daughters life.” said mom. “Yes I did.” said Bobby. “You shall be rewarded.” said mom.

“No really I don’t need to be rewarded,” said Bobby as we were all going home.

“Ha, ha, ha, you don’t have a shirt,” teased a boy. “And you won’t have any teeth,” I said. “Or any legs,” added my mother. Then we all went home happilly no shirted after!

Ten Years Ago Today

Ten years ago today, I was sitting on the floor in a corner of the library at Cal State L.A., eating chili cheese fries with my boyfriend. We were talking about Halloween. He was going to be an old pimp and I was going to be a brunette. He was growing out his hair so he could shave a bald spot on the top of his head and glue the extra hair to his chest. I had bought a long brown wig and was excited about wearing it to school. I know this because I wrote about it. There were very few days that year I managed to write about in my journal. October 26th was one of them.
I was two months into my senior year of high school. I had gotten my first car that summer and would soon be ditching my pager to get a cell phone. I was a theatre major, but had little interest in the subject. I spent most of my time writing poetry, taking pictures, and drawing on my textbooks. I knew I would go to college, but I had no idea where, or what I would study. I had just started filling out applications; I had never even heard of Bard.
There were so many things to think about that year, and I was excited about everything. Winter Formal was still months away, but my boyfriend and I were already writing down songs we wanted the d.j. to play. I was counting down the days until New Year’s. We were going to kiss as people around us shouted out the last few seconds of 1999. He was my first love.
A few months later, he was also the first person to break my heart. I remember getting pulled over by a cop one day on my way home from school. I had been crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. That cop actually put his arm around me and sat with me on the side of the freeway until I stopped crying. I did not think I would survive that broken heart. What had once been a great friendship and love had turned into who could hurt who more. I learned how mean, how sad, and how crazy I could be.
Somehow, we managed to remain friends through it all. We supported each other through breakups and heart aches. He flew across the country to be best man at my wedding and gave me a shoulder to cry on when my marriage wasn’t working. We are so different now and we continue to change. With each passing year, we drift further and further apart. We are almost strangers.
But on October 26, 1999, the day I chose to remember, my heart had never been broken, and I loved without fear. On that day I wrote: We went to “our corner” of the library today. We were laughing so hard that we were rolling on the floor. Then we were kissing and when I opened my eyes, we were on the other side of the library! I have no idea how we got there. I thought we just kissed for a minute — but it was almost an hour! I’m so happy I can’t believe it.
p.s. I still feel like I’m floating.

Do it Yourself Psychology

Chapter 1:

Unfinished Business

As you may already know, repressing emotions has always been considered a major no-no among psychologists with degrees. It has reportedly been the cause of stress and in some cases severe mental retardation. Ground breaking research now suggests that keeping our business unfinished might actually help us live longer. Some would say it is what keeps us alive. Lets observe the following cases.

Case 1:

Jackie and Fernando

Fernando never cleaned his pubic hair off the Dove bar in the shower. It was gross and drove Jackie nuts. She couldn’t say anything about it because Fernando was the one who cooked and if she upset him at all he would burn the food. Every morning while taking a shower, Jackie’s blood would boil. She would stare at that hairy soap and imagine all the terrible things she wanted to do to Fernando. One morning while Fernando was at work and Jackie was in the shower, someone broke into their house. The intruder came into the bathroom with a gigantic knife and tried to stab Jackie in the face. She grabbed a bottle of Pert Plus to defend herself with and ended up beating the intruder to death. According to Jackie “I was just so pissed at that nasty bar of soap I became like a superhero or something. And there was no way in Hell I was gonna die before telling Fernando what a disgusting pig he was.”

Case 2:

Lisa and Frank

Lisa and Frank had been married five years. They had a two story well furnished house in the more affordable part of Glendale. They had a poodle, a pool, and two children. Life was what it was and they were both content. One day, Frank was out for a stroll by the pool when he tripped on a rake and fell onto the pool cover. Frank’s weight caused the cover to sink and close in around him. He was quickly going under water. Frank fought frantically for his life and after a long painful struggle was able to reach the edge of the pool and pull himself out. When asked about what went through his mind in those would be last moments, Frank recalls in detail a burning desire to scream at Lisa for leaving the rake out by the pool. He claims that while he loves his life, he would not have fought so hard for it had he not been so angry at Lisa.

Final Thoughts

Case 1 is an example of years of harboring resentment. So far there is no scientific evidence that long term bottling of emotions is a more effective means of life preservation than the short term need to resolve unfinished business as shown in Case 2. However, here at D.I.Y. Psychology, we recommend storing some awful experiences just to be on the safe side.

Pain Free?

The first three nights after my back felt better, I cried myself to sleep. I was so terrified that the pain would come back when I woke up in the morning. There was this constant voice that nagged at me saying that seeing the neuromuscular therapist had been yet another temporary solution. I never wanted to feel that pain again and I wondered if I would ever stop being afraid. As the days went by, and I felt no pain, the fear died down. I was taking part in more activities than ever and I was on zero pain medication. I finally believed I really was better. So why was I still crying myself to sleep?

I was fine during the day. I purposefully made it so I had to literally run to get from one activity to the next. I tried to exhaust myself so that when I got in bed at night I would just sleep. It didn’t work. Chronic back pain had for me a sort of Vicodin-like effect on all of my other problems. I knew they were there; I just didn’t have the energy to care about them. I could not focus because of all the physical pain I was in. Once that pain was gone it was like I had opened the flood gates to everything else I had grown used to not feeling. I began to feel everything.

Everything that had made me angry before now sent me into a rage. The sad was heartbreaking. The loss unbearable. I felt suffocated by my own thoughts. There was nothing to distract me from my never ending stream of conscious. It went something like this:

I’m such a waste of space. I can’t believe I crashed my car the day after I got it. I suck at being in relationships. I’m so alone and I will be alone forever. I hate dating. I’m so picky and selfish and ungrateful. Why have I always been so uncomfortable in my own skin? Why did I eat all those brownies? I should have done something better when I walked across the stage at my high school graduation. My grandparents flew out to see me from Chicago and I just walked across the stage and smiled. My grandpa was disappointed. I wish he could have come to the art shows I did this year. I don’t think I will never be able to paint again. Why am I even taking this stupid birth control? So I don’t get pregnant from all of the sex I’m not having? I wish I could sleep. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could sleep.

I would cry and cry until I finally just passed out asleep on the bed. It was like the autopilot switch I had been using for so long was now unavailable. When my back hurt, I had an excuse for everything. I didn’t have to be funny or interesting or even try. Without the pain, I suddenly felt so responsible for my life. Every night I would at some point arrive at the same question: Now what?

Back Master Jack

A few months after I turned 21, I hurt my back. At first, there was a shooting pain down my spine whenever I moved my neck. After a few days, that pain was gone and the aching began. I went to doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, and physical therapists. I did yoga and Pilates. On the recommendation of one doctor, I got a bone scan and they found arthritis in my upper spine. I asked what could be done and the response I got was: take Advil and exercise. Basically, just live with it. That was six years ago and I have been living with that pain ever since.

Two days ago, for no other reason than having some extra service credit here at the ranch, I decided to see a neuromuscular therapist named Jack Howe. I recognized his name from my daily events calendar — his band was going to perform in the lobby that night. Needless to say, I was not expecting any miracles. The first thing Jack had me do was stand up straight in front of him. With arched eyebrows he asked me if I was sure that I was standing up straight. I rolled my eyes and said I was. Then he asked me to look down at my hands. I gasped. My left hand hung next to my body as expected, but my right hand hung about four inches in front of my right thigh. I was completely twisted.

Jack explained that my chest muscles were so tight it was causing my right arm and shoulder to come forward. I had limited movement in my neck and I literally could not stand up straight. I told Jack about my previous diagnosis of arthritis. He said that while that diagnosis might have been true, arthritis in my spine was not what caused my pain. Arthritis only causes pain where two joints rub together. He said my only problem was that my muscles were tight. I smiled but I was really thinking that I just wasted what could have been two massages worth of credit coming to see this guy.

Jack returned my smile and told me to lie down on my back. The therapy session lasted and hour and twenty minutes. It was extremely painful. He pushed hard in all the places my body hurt. I even learned some new places where I could feel pain. When it hurt a lot, he pushed harder. He pushed until I felt nothing at all in the places where it had hurt moments before. When he finished, he had me stand up and look down at my hands. They now hung evenly at my sides. He opened a book on his desk and showed me a drawing of the muscle that I had injured years ago. It is a thin muscle that runs all the way down the spine and it is also one of the major pressure points on the body.

I thanked Jack, left his office, walked back to my room and cried. Jack never said I had to believe in what he was doing for it to work. He did not try to sell me any products. He just saw what was wrong with me and fixed it. He said the one therapy session was enough and I would never have to see anyone for this pain again. When I stopped crying, I turned on every light in my room, took off my clothes and looked at my body in the mirror. My posture wasn’t better. It was perfect. I got dressed, went to dinner and made friends with three women. I was amazed by how easy it was to talk to people when I wasn’t distracted by how much my back hurt.

Stacy and the Sun

Just enough light shone through the blinds of Stacy’s bedroom window to let her know today would be a good day. The sun was shining. Finally! The past five days had been overcast and gray and it had been a challenge not to slip into that depressive state she knew all too well. She went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and peed happily. Stacy went out to her backyard with a cup of coffee and let her face soak up the glorious morning sun.
She went back inside to find Vince in a bad mood, angry about being late for work and blaming her for not waking him up. He told Stacy she obviously only cared about herself and now his day was ruined. Stacy rolled her eyes but said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to the dust collecting on her kitchen floor. The goddamned sunlight coming in through the windows made the dust even more evident.
She decided to go out for her morning walk around the neighborhood. Stacy was grateful for the warm sun that instantly took away the tension in her neck. The sky was so blue and the air so fresh. Even the roses looked more colorful than they had the day before.
When she got back home, Vince was gone. The newspaper was scattered all over the kitchen table and coffee had been spilled on both the table and her carpet. She cleaned up his mess and went into her office to work on her novel.
The glare on her computer screen made it impossible to concentrate and she was furious. Closing the blinds didn’t help. The sun still found its way into the room and onto the screen. She wanted to grab the monitor and slam it into the wall. Stupid Vince didn’t even leave a note saying goodbye. Whatever. She didn’t need him. Just then the phone rang. She did not answer it. The machine picked up and it was Vince. “Hey baby are you there?  Oh well, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to kiss you goodbye. I miss you already.” Stacy smiled. He really did love her. She opened the windows of her office and sat back down at her computer. She tilted the monitor down a little bit and decided that the glare wasn’t so bad. She began writing.     Satisfied with the work she had done, Stacy decided to eat a sandwich. Of course there was no more bread and that ass Vince hadn’t even told her. Now she had to go to the store. The afternoon sun turned out to be much hotter than she had expected and she arrived to the market hungry and sweating. Inside the market, the air conditioning was on full blast and she was suddenly freezing. Angrily, she grabbed the bread and got the hell out of there. She had already broken out in a sweat by the time she reached her car.
At home Stacy ate her sandwich and thought about dinner. She loved cooking with Vince and was looking forward to their meal together that night. Stacy checked her email and went upstairs for her afternoon nap. She felt the afternoon sun wrap around her as she eased into her bed and quickly fell asleep. She woke up renewed and happy that the sun was still shining.
Stacy turned on the stove and prepared the meat. She had just started to cook the potatoes when the phone rang. She went to pick it up hoping it was Vince calling to tell her he was on his way. It was Vince, but he was not on his way. His tire had blown out on his way home and he had no spare and no AAA card either. He needed her to come and get him. Stacy sighed and told him she would be right there. She turned off the stove and shook her head. Vince was such an idiot. Driving to go get him was torture. The sun blinded her eyes and she couldn’t see the street signs in front of her. When she finally got to Vince he was just as pissed as she was and they drove home in silence.
When Vince saw the food on the counter he smiled at Stacy and said “I’ll cook baby, you relax and have a martini.” The food was sensational. Vince really was a genius in the kitchen. They sat together on the couch smiling at each other as the sun set in the window behind them.