Troma movies

There’s this one Troma movie I remember seeing or at least I think it was Troma. That movie had aliens trying to break down a door. I just remember it because there were two aliens trying to bust down a door, then some chick alien stops them and makes them stand aside while she busts it down. They protest, but seem to let her go ahead. She just keeps slamming her ass on the door and the two guys just stand back and watch looking happy. I think they were chasing someone? They just forgot. That was hilarious, and I can’t find that movie or that scene anywhere. I’m typing things like “Alien ass shake,” “Troma alien ass,” “Troma door scene alien.” I could never find the scene. I’ll find that one day. If that was some DvD, that I lost somewhere that wasn’t Troma, I’m going to feel silly.

The impression that I get

Figuring things out takes a while. I bought a short book called the Dispatcher. Simple idea, no more murder. Great short story, one day murder isn’t possible anymore. Anyone who gets killed by another person just pops up naked at whatever they consider their home 99.99% of the time. Just home in bed. Like apocalypse stories, no one knows why it’s happening, they just deal with it, sometimes enjoyably. Suicide is death 100%, but if someone kills you you get a re-spawn. There’s a part in the book where the main character gets thrown down an elevator shaft at the end of a conversation he’s having with someone. He wakes up angry at home.

We had a nice dispatcher she was obviously sad after her husband had dies. She kept coming to work. I sent her away for a break and took over. She left her email open. She had been writing to her dead husband. It was by far the saddest shit I had ever read. All real, not glurge. Raw and sad. Why was she writing this on a shared work computer? Did she want me to see it? Did she want the IT people to read her email? Is she shooting up a flare? She came back from using the bathroom. I wanted to say something or anything, but this was not stuff I could talk about and not with her. I tried, and got called a spy and told to shut up and go away. I hate spying. I was shamed into silence. She’s dead now. We were told at work that she had health complications. I don’t think people are being honest. I don’t think they can be honest. All of it it personal and probably shielded by HR somehow. Never stopped bothering me. Did she left herself die? Did she just let her health go? Does everyone do that when sad? I get fatter when happy.

My favorite ex-fiance had an aunt who was dealing with stomach cancer. She couldn’t eat, nothing was helping. We all hung out and partied. She seemed so sad and the self deprecating jokes she said were disturbing. She seemed like she had something to say, but she never did.

I want my appetite back, I’ve been forcing myself to eat. I had been pushing myself a little too hard. Scared my little brother, but I mean when you’re usually pretty quiet, being loud is scary to people. He made my dad interrupt me, to check on me. My little brother doesn’t talk about anything, trying to change that. Maybe he’ll grow stronger.

Wow, just dawned on me

I made a playlist of songs for when I get a weird paranoid feeling. I gave that to my Ex’s brother. He was saying a bunch of dark stuff online after something happened. Seemed paranoid to me, so I sent it to him, I thought it would help. You know, maybe that was taken all the wrong way. Wow, no wonder she really seemed mad about that. I didn’t even think about that.

My dad dropped by

Checking on me since I’ve been so hyper. I had a lot to say, good times. Getting drunk with him some time seems more and more like a great idea. I ruined the surprise for him about the book I’m writing for them. Now he knows what I’ve been up to. I need to call him and tell him not to spoil it before he talks to my mom. I told him I had kind of been inspired by my aunt to speak my mind. Can’t stop speaking my mind, it is addicting and fun. Too fun, hence all the support. Told him about what had happened when I was a kid, and therapies I had been using, he seemed to understand. Glad my dad thinks all the writing is pretty cool. Had to explain why it’s going to sound like insane gibberish and angry writing. I’ve been trying to use writing therapy with the stream of consciousness writing, but not be so dull otherwise I’d be too bored to write. I do love Mark Forsyth’s books. Things tend to take dark turns, sounds scary and this is why people don’t think about this stuff. I’ve just been going for it.

A lot of the best stories start good and end bad, but I’ve really been trying to keep it positive and there’s only so much humor you can add into things. Until you go back to reread and fix it or add more. So much sounds so sad, but those are the memories you remember with all the good stuff too. Embarrassment come up a lot, but embarrassing memories are strong memories. It’s always funny to write about stuff you used to be embarrassed about. Got him laughing out the door. I told him I only use Lisa’s name in my stories, because I hate her for good reasons. He seemed to love that. He’s smart, always reading. He says he thinks I hit a huge moment of clarity. I can’t disagree with that, I have never not been down about this until now.

He keeps giving me more ideas of what stories to add in. He reminded me of some more great ones.

Sitting with your father

Sitting with my dad outside at Easter having a shot. I am afraid to drink with my dad. Always feel like I might break down, if I see him sad. I can’t. I could never look at my father like that. We cried over my brother enough you would think. It’s never enough. Nothing is ever enough. You want it all, but you can’t have it.

He brought up stories about Tony this time. He brought up a story I think I had already wrote about Tony getting fired from retail. He kept asking if I knew the name of the manager that fired my brother years back. A weird thing to focus on. I may get a little too animated talking about this stuff. It’s too fun. My damn nephew just can’t stop being annoying while I’m trying to talk with my father. “Just sit down and stop bothering me.” is what I didn’t have to say. I guess my dad could see just how annoyed I was, so I didn’t even need to yell that. My dad made my nephew get away. Good, little asshole has two fucking cell phones just constantly taking pictures of me and everyone. My mom takes constant pictures when no one is paying attention, so he gets that from her. I don’t stop anyone, but I really wish they would stop that habit. I don’t give my nephew enough slack. He’s acting out, being a little dumbass most times and unintentionally upsetting me by asking me when he could see my ex’s kid again. His dad is back in prison and his mom is a terrible dumb cunt. Sometimes I just want to start a conversation with my dad like “Hey, pops. You know who a dumb cunt is? Lisa! Ha! Right?!” My brother would do this. He was fucking great! If I drink with my dad, chances are I might ask that, hmm better not. But maybe. I don’t know what his reaction to something like that would be. It might be fun to find out. I might do it the more I think about it.

She really fucked with our parents, well the whole family. It’s hard to talk about your family problems with your family. It’s great when someone just does it anyway. My aunt who collected precious moments figurines was there with my grandmother. My aunt loves how much I rant. I guess she loves to hear me rant. She said “I’m glad you talk much more.” That made my day and only makes me want to be louder.

My grandmother was there, she makes fun that she looks like she’s got less hair than me. I fucking love that. She’s sad. I can feel it. When her husband died only my brother and I were in town so we went to grandpa’s funeral. A quiet family funeral with no drinking. It was just me and Tony, everyone else was on a cruise ship on vacation. Funeral processions are dumb. Tony turned on some Oingo Boingo while we took the dead man to the graveyard. Great music for it, singing walking with a deadman over your shoulder in your head while literally carrying a casket. Things need fitting music. Shit cracks me up, but no way in hell would I ever tell my grandma that.

No complaints here

I’m sure I make my close family worry about me often. Always such a tension around them. I got stories about my brother for days, just ready to unleash on them. Makes people talk about my dead brother, so fun. Shit cracks me up. He’ll crack me up forever. Jolly assed guy. I wish he could have played Fallout 4. I wish he could have seen the last few episodes of the first season of Rick and Morty. He got me into it to begin with. I miss him being there to laugh at me. He had the best insults. I never talk about this stuff. I almost feel like I’m done writing about past trauma. It’s almost all down, I think. Took me too long, slow as a turtle poking along. Trying to give myself no distractions. No work, no games, just time. It’s hard to do that while you’re in relationships and I had been going from one to the next for too long, just putting everything off. Avoiding this stuff. Avoiding people and family. Deleting everyone on everything. Just deleting. No complaints is preferred, no news is good news. Had to stop watching the news too. Locked in holding myself down and back. I need to go for a walk.

It’s weird trying to keep writing and tell Tony’s happy stories. He was kid who would go see a movie like Milk Money with his friends, then come home and tell me the entire movie. His friends picked that movie, because they thought there would be nudity. He told me all about being disappointed at the romantic comedy not showing enough flesh. Not enough jolly people anymore.

A Tony Story: Coffee packs

My brother had been up all night drinking all my flavia coffee packs. Worried quiet pacing. Thinking. Overthinking. He was a wreck worrying about losing his job over some work drama. If someone looks troubled, I don’t ask. I just wait for people to tell me. Is that the wrong behavior? Is that a bad habit? People tell you what they want to tell you for good reasons. Never pry. Girlfriends don’t like that or see that as in anyway helpful.

Ever really worry about someone? Really really worry? You can tell how much people don’t want to worry other people. That kind of shit always drove me nuts. I worry about my own family feeling like that all the time. Makes me avoid them. People don’t understand just how little it takes to make a person like my brother or I happy. Everything can turn around real quick just as fast as things go bad. People don’t acknowledge that. You can cheer up real fast or distract yourself with something big.

I can’t even remember what he was worried about honestly, something unimportant that had him worried sick. It might have been more. Instead I think I took the day off to go watch The Watchmen at the show with him after reading the graphic novel the night before. Tony had lent it to me after borrowing it from someone at the club.

We went to movies all the time and took our brothers and sisters. I still remember when we picked up four flavors of MD 20/20 with crazy straws and went to the show just to see whatever was playing. We ended up seeing How to lose friends and alienate people. We were always just going to shows just to go to shows. Got my sister addicted to movies, she’s nuts. I can’t remember seeing everyone love a movie as much as watching them all watch Crank 2. My family was dieing in that theater. Just a hilarious movie. God I love that. Just thinking about it.

Thanks to Tony I have way more exciting and fun memories than sad ones. It’s stressful not to be able to just focus on great stuff. When you start having problems and you focus on solving your own problems. Just thinking about your problems all day. All night. Up all night chugging coffee, so unhealthy. His problems were often easier to deal with than he realized. You need other people to help you realize these things. Reality checks. You can tell when people are trying to make kitchen noises to get your attention. Any noises. I was always happy when my last girlfriend would bite me for attention. Cute stuff. I loved that and knowing why is hilarious.

Glurge

That word like emotional porn motivational posters Irritating stuff. At the same time, so much of it seems useful. Helpful. A lot of people would rather be helpful than helpless, see that kind of stuff. Comes out almost as a reflex. Do you train yourself to react like that. I think so. Is it just being defensive? Probably tricks a lot of people into being real nice people.

Yeah, probably. It’s stuff you’ve been catching yourself say in your head, defensive stuff. How often are you being defensive to yourself in your own head? Who are you defending against? Why such a strong need to defend? Why is it so wrong to ask yourself this stuff? Why do you look up glurge stories to see if they’re fake? Just to disappoint yourself? Why do those stories tend to be so fake? It’s pretty mind blowing when you find one that is real and you don’t believe it.

Ultimately

Why push yourself? Why do anything? Well, I have to do something and I have to do a it louder every time. A little bit more every time.

Facing things

It’s hard to face the facts sometimes. Denying the value of your own mistakes, but realizing why you had to make the choices you did. You blame yourself, because that’s easiest. No one will argue with the person that just blames themself. You can end up doing that to all the events in your life. You’ll give yourself no credit for anything good that you do. You don’t have the time or energy to search for any actual reasons. Take on more guilt and shame that you don’t need and didn’t earn. “Oh shit, sorry. Must have been me.”

Emotional pain, it builds up and waits for you.

I tried to kill myself on a day that wasn’t my worst day years before my brother had died.

It wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it sure as hell felt like it. It wasn’t for any big reason. Looking back it wasn’t a big reason, and that was what was so damn confusing and embarrassing. I had insulted my brother. I insulted him at a party at a bar. He got up with my cousin and left me alone at the bar.

Betrayal

Ever feel like you betrayed the person closest to you? That’s the worst feeling in the world, or so I must have thought. No, I still think it worse. Worse than losing someone? A death in the family? People breaking up with you? I mean now there’s an intent by someone to actively stay away when people break up. I guess you could argue that a breakup could be worse. There’s no bad feelings when someone dies, but if someone is avoiding you that hurts.

They just left me, sitting alone thinking about what I had said to be hurtful. My mind goes there instead of literally watching my brother die at the hospital. That hurt worse, and I think now I see it as a distraction. It’s hard to be as sad at the hospital he was surrounded by family, i mean there with my family. I remember having to argue with some of the closest people to get to the hospital, I was mad. I was confused. I made people take time off work. I needed everyone there. Tony was dieing and there was nothing we could do.

These two events are separated by years and I can’t help writing them together. I notice that. Maybe it’s things that are just so connected.

It was shameful to demand everyone be there. It was shameful to be angry with them about it. I don’t talk to a cousin anymore, because he didn’t want to show up. Making demands of family. Emotional demands. Financial demands, well, I mean just asking them to leave or take off work. I just took off work. I can’t think right now. Too emotional. Been driving myself. I have no appetite and sleep is so bad. I want myself to take care of so much.

Glurge and emotional porn. The way I have been thinking about how I had been feeling. I want to empty it all out. Blow my nose. Grief doesn’t go anywhere and there needs to be a way to detach this shame from grief. Shame of life. Maybe I feel like I didn’t do enough. I wrote that and I

I feel like I didn’t do enough. I was limited in what I can do. It’s not like I was going to throw a few parades for my brother. Fuck people who didn’t do better. Fuck that feels good. Going to bed.

Hmm, neat

Letting your imagination get fueled by your emotions is nuts, dangerous, and scary fun. People talk about the dark places your mind will go if you over think. Stressful stuff. Works yourself up.

Got me thinking about other people in the past really reaching out and trying to either help you or themselves, it’s always a little of both with smart people. I worked with a guy who joined the Marines and took off right after we all went to his wedding. Great party! He came back just to get divorced because his wife decided that she realized that she was a lesbian. Poor guy. He was obviously hurt and confused, you could tell. We were going out drinking a lot. He was really trying to get me into AWOL nation. Explained that I would like it, because I always gave Irish goodbyes at parties and confused everyone. Leave enough big family parties, you always duck out instead of saying goodbye. I hate hugging people goodbye. I do it anyway.

I worked with a guy who changed his fucking last name just to try to get a job as a cop. He needed to sound more Hispanic, that’s what people said. He said “I didn’t get along with my father.” That’s not what it looks like to everyone.

You worry about what people think about what you think. Everyone everywhere does that.

We spend out lives trying to avoid as much horrible stuff, but it’s always hitting the people around us. You can try your best to keep dodging the rain, but it still hits everyone else. Your family and your job. Stuff to important to screw around with. Fucking with people. You got to stop fucking with people. Hurting everyone’s feelings. Somehow always.

You drive yourself by taunting yourself, but you can’t do that forever. Putting yourself down, just so you can argue against the putdowns reflexively. Making up sayings or using music. Using a lot of music. Addictive music. Lyrics keep you going. I like Green Jelly. They’re doing a show now every Saturday. The best online punk rock show I’ve seen in a long time. I want to hang out with those guys. Their anthem as always been great “I heard it from a friend, on that long and lonesome highway. Be ready for love, and every fork in the road. It seems that day that the music died, yeah… I drove my Chevy to the ocean, but the ocean was dry, and my and my baby, it’s a sweet tart, yeah, so sweet to the taste yet so heavy on the heart.” Making yourself carry on, using dumb song lyrics. You do whatever it takes to sell yourself the drama.

I got to stop torturing myself like this. I stayed home all day, I didn’t do anything fun. I didn’t play any games. Forcing myself to be a mope. Moping. Have to do it. Got to make myself do it. Dumb. Can’t focus now. Obsessing over this.

Time for a break, besides all the sleep. I need to play.

Search for fun. Too important. All of this stuff seemed so unimportant and dumb. I always remained kind of thankful that the bands I loved best never got too successful. Small venues were best venues. I went to so many small concerts. This shit is bananas. My older brother understood this stuff or pretended to, then we’d go party. You miss that. You miss that kind of understanding and you search for it. You assume if it makes sense to other people, it doesn’t matter how dumb and how little sense it all makes if it makes sense to people closest to you. You ruin some relationships trying to figure stuff out. Then you get ashamed about how many relationships you burned through like this. Childish attitude, so immature. It’s immature to want to have fun doing the things you like. You find the people who want to do them with you or you just never do those things with those people. You program your own behaviors. Just by what you do everyday. Like running to the bathroom at the same time every day when you get home from work. You get your body so used to the same stressors. You do your best to make good habits. Habits that build you up somehow.

The Etymologicon

I always have people who get me into things. I had a girlfriend who would like to listen to audible books before bed. One in particular that I loved was The Etymologicon by Mark Forsyth. I recommend the book along with the other ones to people often. The book really made me interested in language, idioms, and how they were formed. I loved his other books too, and the narrator was great to listen to. Smart people encourage me to do smart things, but she did have high standards and was higher maintenance. I’m sure I’m not the only one who learns a little bit from each person they’re with for a while. I learned a lot from her. She was Polish and spoke Polish, Spanish, and I really wish I could learn languages well too. I really could only greet people and say cheers at parties. She went to Polish school and public School. I never knew that a lot of the Polish community sent their kids to take extra classes to learn about their culture and language. That always seemed like a private religious school thing, except for learning the languages.

Why am I writing about the Etymologicon? I want to write about the things I like and not let my life or even my memories revolve around the things I don’t like. It’s probably not healthy to do that anyway. Bad memories sure do like to bring themselves up it seems. I have a friend who is just my current girlfriend’s brother. He’s been going through a rough breakup with someone and he’s been posting some pretty sad stuff.

Shit then she dumped me. I don’t remember when I started writing about this. Damn, I was a busy bee. You know, I really don’t give myself enough credit. Rereading this stuff I mean, damn. Woops, I guess I should have just deleted this one. Deleting stuff has been ruining my flow. I got to stop doing that.

Great book, fuck. I feel like she was just pushing me to better myself every time I think about all the stuff we did. Really, inspiring stuff. Seemed to be a constant push into writing all this stuff out. Free writing. Like this book. Lead one thing into the next. One step at a time. At the time I was too busy being sad and fat. Maybe I wasn’t moving fast enough for her or anyone. Moving beyond your own feelings of grief and sadness that linger on and on. Griefs and traumas are just too much to write about. Man, once you get started though. It pulls you in. Reliving stuff is weird. I didn’t think about it, but writing it down seems different than just thinking about it or talking. There’s a real safety in just writing. I didn’t think you could actually draw this kind of stuff out of yourself. The right people will find you the right practice. Good protips. Did she know how much I would love that book? Am I always this obvious? I loved all three books.

I had worked with other people who have written books and I had been inspired by them. I know that. This stream of consciousness writing has been eye opening for me. Shit hits hard and is hard. Fun. It’s easy to do things that are fun. You get better at thing you have fun doing. Shit, encouragement is exciting. Overwhelming. My sister wants me to be careful of course, you can lose yourself in writing like this. It’s like the opposite of meditation. All that stuff you set aside, you just bring it up instead. All the release of that meditating you did released to, well, here. I guess.