It’s been a minute since I have written anything. Okay, maybe a few thousand minutes but I know for a fact it’s been over 10 months since I have pulled this old laptop out. It’s funny when you know a keyboard so well. I am sitting in the dark, some random DIY television show on across the room and one lonely candle sitting on the coffee table. This old HP girl is sitting in my lap and I can’t see the keyboard at all. It feels nice to simply type and not have to backspace to correct or look at the letters. It reminds me of how if felt when I would throw out my thoughts on a blank word document with no real intention. This is again one of those moments. I have also started wearing glasses so it is a new look, not my face but the screen. Not so bad so far.

I have my sweet Sandido next to me, Bullet is on the other end of the couch but shh, he is supposed to be on the floor with the new addition, Trucker. Trucker is a Boxer and we rarely call him by that name. So far, I sat with a serious look while my girl and I were cuddled up watching a movie and said “Hunter, get down.” Yeah, that is so close to Trucker I am sure the makers of the Thesaurus will be contacting me soon. I heard Vanessa call him Jack today but in reality, he really does answer to Trucker. I chalk this up to what happens to my coworkers and the parents of humans whom call every child by the wrong name. I even have a lady in my office who calls another by her own Granddaughter’s name. They are nowhere near the same. I think it just happens.


I pulled out this old laptop to write a story about my recent medical tests because let’s face it; they are usually funny as all get out. I would like to start with this mammogram bullshit. Seriously, these milking things I think originally designed to feed those human puppies that fall out of the uterus from time to time were not meant to be smashed into a tortilla maker. You think I am kidding? There is even a crank to make them thinner. I fully expected to be asked sooner or later the ultimate question the woman at the deli counter asks as slicing meat, “how thin do you want this?” Of course my normal reaction would be to request thin but at this moment I want to scream, “Just the ends will be fine, yeah slice that whole butt end off, that’s cool.” However, these are the emotional outbursts that land me in the psych ward. Obvious no individual would understand me yelling this during a mammogram. Then again, if men had to put a testicle in that machine, I would have never be committed. Hell, at the end of this you could fit this boob in an envelope and mail it.



It’s time for me to calm down and focus on the task that is being done. It is not time to throw up the defense mechanisms and find humor in this situation. However, this lady does keep asking me to put my arm out and hold the side of the machine. I don’t think she should ask me to personalize this contraption. I was recently guilty of talking to a mannequin, not once, but twice so I could be in a full blown relationship with this piece of plastic by the end of this. I am topless and that adds intimacy to the situation. Oh shit, I better name this device. I might need to explain this. My breasts are in between her brute force like grip, I am being requested to hold her and not too firm and from time to time and I have to hold my breath, then breathe and relax. Yep, sounds like an affair to me. Great, I have to name this gadget. That’s it, her name is Gadget.

So Gadget and I are on our second set of engagement photos when the photographer changes it up. Now, I have to change my pose to the other side and hold her with the other arm. Oh great, here comes the tortilla maker again, no wait this must be a pasta maker. It doesn’t appear we are making lasagna noodles, this is feeling more like angel hair. I don’t think Gadget and I will work, I want to break up. I am not into this kind of thing. Well wait, should I consider an Italian/Mexican infusion and give this a chance? Nope, I’m out. Peace out photographer, Gadget and unfortunately I will miss the tortillas and pasta the most.


Going Back to Cali

I have been on a roller coaster from hell, like in out of fire, through snow, sleet and ice and I made it. I might just quite possibly be even more amazing than I was before my break down and even more beautiful after the second one. Oh I lost friends, acquaintances and loved ones during this and I am thankful. In time I will elaborate on my major depressive episodes further but right now, I don’t feel like it. I want to talk about a flight I recently took to California to see some of my favorite people. I worked over 50 hours that week to be able to go so I wouldn’t worry about things while I was gone. I stayed up way late the night before and at the last minute I was asked “what time does your flight leave?” Hmm, good question, maybe I should look. Yep, I thought it left when I was actually landing so I had to adjust and barely slept thinking I would nap on the plane.


While driving to the airport, I was listening to the radio and “School’s out for Summer” was roaring through the speakers and I thought why are they playing this on a Saturday morning in November? I shrugged it off as a repeat play list at 6 a.m. because quite frankly, who cares at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning?  That song was stuck in my head.

I made it with plenty of time because if I don’t do this I instantly go into panic attack mode and that is not fun. I must be at the airport two hours before my flight or I start sweating, shaking, everything is loud around me, I get lost, panic and pretty much ruin my trip. So, over the years I have learned to avoid this, I must be there early. I also wanted to give my self enough time to look for this little shit head.


I had time for breakfast and sent a text “should I do Starbucks or a Mimosa?” She laughed and said “oh boy, you are in vacation mode. Have the mimosa and get some sleep on the plane.” She had me at vacation and I ordered one. That’s all I could handle, one. I drug my ass to the plane, boarded looking forward to my window seat. As I am approaching my row I see there is someone in my seat. Fuck. As I advance towards my seat the elderly lady says “can I have your seat?” Well, what the hell am I supposed to say “no, move your fragile cute ass because I need some rest?” Of course not, I nodded with no words and sat down in the aisle next to her husband who smelled. As people are walking by I am constantly bumped with back packs, suitcases, purses, small children’s hands and occasionally a hip. Great, I am going to arrive in California with a black eye and bruises and my friends will immediately take me to the closest women’s shelter for abused women. I physically can’t move closer to this man because as most know, I do not do well with aromas, perfumes, smelly lotions or really, people close to me. I don’t like touching others or them touching me. This is why I book the window seat. I can roll up my sweatshirt, use it as a pillow and check out in my own little bubble.

Nope, not this time. Instead I put the hoodie on backwards so the hood covers my entire face and I am not breathing 1922 Old English stale cologne. I let out a silent scream in my head “uuuuggghhhhh.” Where are my drugs? Oh, in my backpack, this is shoved under the seat in front of me giving me zero room for my actual feet. United, you suck on that leg room stuff. I am not even a big girl and I can’t turn in the seat area. My knee actually got stuck in between the seats and turned a way it was never supposed to. Again, I silenced my pain, my panic attack and hid in my hoodie. The pilot announced over the loud speaker that our auxiliary power was not working, he wasn’t receiving any warning lights but the crew outside said it did not sound good. They were simply waiting on a cart to come jump our engines since we didn’t have enough power to start them on our own. WHAT?  Oh, our engines will not start on our own and this is cool? Fuck you dude, this is not acceptable. He then follows it up “this will not have an impact on our flying experience today.” Uh, sorry dude, those statements just screwed this entire flying experience for me. I practice the breathing shit some horrible therapist taught me and looked around. I contemplated hitting that emergency exit but I fear jail, prison or being held against my will in any manner. So I breathe. Fuck, someone hand me a paper bag.

oGM4fjYTyO3NTJTU1kvn_Musical Chairs Brawl

“Folks it looks like we are all set and will be leaving the gate area, flight attendants, prepare the cabin for take-off, cross check” something, something, I couldn’t understand.  Oh boy, stay calm, he wouldn’t put his own life in danger so simmer down Nikki, and it will be fine. I don’t know if that was the devil on one shoulder laughing deeply or an angel on the other one being sweet. Wait, who in the actual hell is talking to me? Crap, I really need those meds but I can’t get to them because the airline is so fixated on trying to shove one more seat in this decrepit airplane they stopped giving a shit about comfort or claustrophobia.

As we get pushed back from the gate the plane comes to an abrupt halt. I look over at a lady who was inquiring about my jeans earlier and she gasps. I look down at the floor. After about twenty minutes sitting there an announcement is once again made, “folks, the fuel pump is not working and I think we have a sick airplane.  I’ll keep you updated as soon as I know the plan.”

Uh, no jackass, there is no plan. This aircraft wants to go play shuffle board in an Assisted Living Care facility with all of his retired friends. I don’t actually know what games an airplane prefers but it’s pretty fucking clear, it doesn’t want to fly today. He follows up his last statement with “we are waiting to hear if we are getting another plane, so sit back folks and we appreciate your patience.”

No, no, no, this is not acceptable. IF we are getting another plane, why is there an “if” in that sentence, why? Breathe Nikki, breathe. Isn’t this about the time they should start handing out vodka or just hook us up to and IV of valium?


So we sit and we sit with no further news except for the occasional text message alert from the Airline saying we have been delayed and will now be departing at 10:10. No little text message, you are incorrect, it’s now 10:30 and we are still sitting here. As I am about to jump on board with the other passengers who are demanding to get off the plane (which is their right and a law) the elderly woman in my seat requests that her husband would now like the aisle and she will sit in the middle. I almost think out loud, Whoa, you mean like the seats we were assigned? Instead I nod my head in agreement and grab my back pack, set it in the aisle as they make their way out. The jean stalker lady looks at me and says”are you going with the bandwagon and getting off?”  I shake my head back and forth and mumble “no, this lady wanted my seat when we got on and now she is giving it back.” She looks bummed and I grin as my knee throbs and I get in my window seat and breathe a sense of relief. Screw it; if this sick plane is going to go down I am going to be comfortable at least.


I did have thoughts that maybe I should get up and get off the plane. If it did crash, I would be the one on the news saying “Yeah, I just had a feeling I should get off and I am so glad I did.” As I sat pondering my options I decided it would be a hassle to get up and get off. I don’t want to be interviewed by any reporters or have people paying attention to me or just really any more interaction with people than I already have had today. I am on people and germs overload as it is. No, I am just going to sit here and take what happens in stride, even if we are plummeting towards the earth. I am tired, just plain worn out.

My daydreaming is interrupted with a new voice over the intercom saying “Thank you for your patience, this plane has been cleared by maintenance and we are waiting on new paperwork for the new pilots and then we will be on our way to Orange County.” HUH? The pilots jumped ship? I mean airplane, whatever. Where in the hell did they go? That dude said the plane was sick. Was he drunk, did he say “hell no, I am not flying that plane?” Did the airline just grab some random guy who said “sure, I’ll fly that plane” and they threw him a uniform and said “put it on and meet us at the plane, pretend you know what you are doing.” Oh yeah, I’m flipping out. I send Lori a text giving her the low down about how bad I am delayed so they aren’t sitting at the airport waiting for me to get there…three hours late. She responds by saying “the lady who took your seat should pay for your drinks.” I reply, “Fuck, she needs to buy me a Spec’s.”

We FINALLY push back 3 hours and 15 minutes after our scheduled departure date and sit next to the runway while they rev the engines for about 5 minutes.  I am assuming to get all the fuel through the lines and let the plane know that instead of a retreat you are going to have to get up and go Mr. Plane, your Social Security has been denied and there’s no room at the Assisted Living Hangar. Sorry.They did explain that the other pilots timed out, whatever that means. I guess they were in trouble and had to go stand in the corner. Probably the corner in the one bathroom that is NOT working on the plane.

We finally are hauling ass down the runway and then in the air. The plane drops a little bit and I think, oh hell, we are going to crash and then I settle down and realize everything is fine. As the snack cart is approaching I definitely need something in my stomach. I mean, we did just almost die so I ask for the cheese and cracker thing and they are out. How about a sandwich? “Nope, we are out too.” Did you assholes sit back there the last 4 hours and eat up all of our food? Okay, “may I please have whatever you have left?” I have watched the flight attendant roll her eyes for 21 rows and I am no exception. I can only assume she is so miserable because she ate all of our food as she chunks me a box of Tapas. The drink lady looked at me like I should join an AA meeting when I asked for 2 drinks.In my head I am screaming “No really, I need two, I have been sitting on this plane for 5 hours now and all you have offered me is six ounces of water” but I say nothing and take my lecture like a preschooler. She tells me I will have to wait for the second round to order another and she can give me one. WHAT? Is this Junior High School? What in the world would it matter if I have one now and another in a little while? Geez. Oh and yes, they charged me for the second. That is why they wanted me to wait.

I finally make it to Cali some 9 hours later from my first arrival at the airport. I am excited to see my friends and even more excited to be out of that airport. As we drive off from the airport I wave a little middle finger gesture towards the United sign and when I see the ocean off in the distance, my blood pressure drops, my shoulders relax and I am finally okay.

My time there was flawless. We ate delicious food, relaxed; I got my ass up on a paddle board and liked it, a lot actually. I’m going to be pursuing that more and have the perfect person near the beach to enjoy it with. The plants were vibrant, I probably saw 70 different types of succulents, surfers were everywhere and fun to watch and most importantly I spent the perfect amount of time with two people I adore and their fur kids.

The flight home went off without a hitch (what does that even mean) and I landed on time. However, when I was approaching my seat, there was someone in it. I don’t know if it was my stare, the fact I kept my ear buds in and pointed and grunted as if I were deaf and mute, “MINE” but she got up and went to hers. Not this time people, not this time. My only gripe was the sweaty warm man sitting next to me on the bus back to the parking area. He had no choice but to touch me while we sat but I was not a fan. At this point I have exhausted my extrovert skills and I need time to recharge, in my room, alone with Sandido to take in how very wonderful my life is right now. I start the car to drive out of the parking area and I’ll be damned if “School’s out for Summer” doesn’t start playing. Who are you people that play that on a Monday night at 9:00 p.m. in November, who are you?

Be kind and expect the same people!


Alarms, Temper Tantrums and Get Out of My Way

So the last two days have been a little hectic for me. It’s nothing awful or anything, there has just been some unimportant challenges. The first is my stupid car again. Yes, it is getting up there in age and seems to get more tired every day but I still like it. And I am sorry I called it stupid.

Anyway, I get to work barely on time and as I am walking up the steps I hear this siren like thing going off. It actually sounds like one of the emergency vehicles overseas. For lack of any real words it is like “weee-ooo-weee-ooo.” I hit the panic button on my remote but it doesn’t quit. I unlock the car and open the door. It continues to blare “weee-ooo-weee-oooo.” I slam the door, lock it and unlock it. Nothing is working and the noise is piercing. I decide fuck it, I am pulling fuses or cutting some wires so I open the hood and it quits.

All I can think is whew, that was awful. My heart is pounding, my lunch is on the ground and my pants are falling down exposing a plumbers crack I am sure. I shut the hood very softly, pull my pants up, pick up my lunch, shut the door and leave it unlocked because I am scared of it now. I didn’t even know it had an alarm, I knew the panic button when accidently pushed caused it to cry out like a hungry infant but I didn’t know it had a separate alarm. Someone once smashed my window and it didn’t notify me so I was a bit shocked it was having this fit even though I had not pushed the panic button.

Okay, I figure it is over the temper tantrum and I head up to work. I hear nothing else from Ms. Car until the next morning at the exact same time. Just when I get upstairs this time my co-worker says “Nikki, I think your car is doing it again.” Great, just fucking great, I run down the stairs and this time I just open the trunk and grab some needle nose pliers because I am going to cut some shit or pull some fuses. I open the hood, look at the fuse box, find the fuse number that coincides with the alarm, throw my keys on the ground and it quits. Well for fucks sake.

I calm down by slamming the hood this time and nothing. Oh no, Ms. Car is acting like an angel. With this recent expression of anger I conclude it must be the key fob thingy. She doesn’t make any sound the rest of the day and I figure it is fixed because I opened the remote, cleaned it out, got a new battery and everything is hunky dory. (What does that even mean?)

Life is good, work goes by quickly; I am happy and meet a friend after work for some chit chat and what not. I run some errands, stop by a friend’s house for a bite to eat and I head home after dark. As I am on the three lane cumbersome road known as Cypress Creek Parkway, I hear a noise. I look in my rear view mirror and expect to see red and blue flashing lights, the people in front of me are pulling off to the right, where is that noise coming from. Oh fuck, it’s me and my car alarm is going off as I am driving down this busy road. Yep, that’s right bitches, move out of my way “weee-ooo, wee-ooo” is on her way home.

Here’s my new alarm system.

Bat Shit Crazy is No Laughing Matter

I am posting this from the site

I think more people need to be aware of horrible and difficult struggles.


Bat Shit Crazy

I would say that most people have heard the expression Bat Shit Crazy. It’s all fun and games until it happens to you. I could sit here and write for hours on how I lost my mind but I only recall bits and pieces of it. I have never been a believer of depression or mental health issues partly out of ignorance. I just believed a person should suck it up buttercup and get on with life. Well, that’s easy to preach until you are the bat and certifiably insane.

After I had isolated myself from every person who loves me, attempted suicide, drank myself into a catatonic state unconsciously, became homeless living out of a hotel, spent time in two psychiatric facilities, two Emergency rooms, six to seven Psychiatrists, three Therapists, and prescribed a total of 16 different types of medications in 5 months I finally have a sense of being.

I am not writing this so people will feel sorry for me or forgive my actions during that time. I am writing this to let people know mental health issues are no joke. If a person has a heart attack you don’t just say “come on, get out of bed and get going.” It was the same for me. My mind was going crazy, I couldn’t stop it. I wanted desperately to be me, the fun loving, calm, sane, down to earth girl I had always known. Instead my mind raced nonstop, suddenly no one seemed loving, work was boring, my entire body felt like quick sand, especially my thoughts. Anything that had ever caused me pain, shame, guilt took over my entire psychic space. There was no room for reasoning or sanity. The only way I know how to explain it, imagine being stuck in a trough of oatmeal trying to walk to the other end all the while crying and people just going on about life around you as you struggle to just take a step. You feel invisible and worthless and will do anything to get out of that misery.

Yet, like a heart attack, you can’t just go out and eat a cheeseburger and fries to feel better. It will have a negative impact on your body just as drinking alcohol will do to a person in a depressive episode. If you are really stuck and add the prescribed drugs to it all of the sudden you are face first in the oatmeal. I remember bits and pieces of the last few months. I can’t take any of it back. I can attempt to understand it and get to the bottom of it. I continue to read to understand it, I continue to write to explain it and I will do the work so it doesn’t happen again.

I take responsibility for my actions and I forgive myself. Yes, even the parts I don’t remember because my actions contributed to those episodes. I do not apologize for being in a major depressive episode though. I did not have any control over this chemical imbalance. I did not see any meaning to life and only wanted out. Thankfully I did have enough sense to get help and continue to do so every single day. It is going to take quite some time to understand the actions of that amoral, narcissistic person I had become. This started some years ago and I let it go untreated until it became quite complex. The truth is it is a matter of finding out what these underlying issues are and understanding them.

So, for those of you going through this there is definitely hope. Trust me on this. Watch out for medications prescribed. Don’t self-medicate and listen to your body. Get second opinions, third, who cares how many until you find what works for you. As a person once told me “some people are just wired different.” Stop yourself and ask for help when you feel like you are suffocating.

If you are experiencing a loved one going through this do what you have to do to take care of yourself first. Don’t give up on them if possible. If you have to then don’t feel guilty. Again, it’s similar to the heart attack. If they are out jeopardizing their recovery from the attack by drinking, eating greasy food or those kinds of things you have no choice but to let go.

If you are a third party trying to give advice on such a difficult matter, DON’T. You have not a clue what either side is going through and people experiencing such a horrific thing do not need to hear more negative things. A person going through a severe depression doesn’t do things to get a response out of others. They simply don’t see any other way out. What an awful thing to say about another person fighting to just survive.

No matter what, try and be kind. In any circumstance it is the only thing that helps.
And just to be clear, I know I am not crazy but it’s fun to say bat shit crazy. Oh and I can’t stand oatmeal.

Baby on Board Nonsense

Oh let me count the ways this bothers me.


1. Well shit lady, I was just about to smash my car into yours until I saw the sign.

2. Is this an advertisement for kidnappers? Just hang your kid from the window.


3. I am pretty sure every car out on the road has a human in it. Yes, every human rather small or large has a heartbeat and that is why we don’t want to crash into one another.

4. Did you drive like an idiot before your child and now you are more aware that you share the road with other morons who can’t drive?

5. Do you think that sign will stop some reckless wheeler from acting a fool? If they have no regard for others do you think that sign is going to stop them from being a dick? I can picture the thought process of an asshole driving fast and dangerous. Oh look they have a baby in the car, I better put my beer away and slow down.

6. What if someone can’t have a child and has been trying really hard to conceive or adopt? Now you are just rubbing some good fortune in their face, rude!

7. Oh your baby is a surfer? (Might take some of you a bit for this one.)

8. What in the fuck is wrong with you? Do you own a sign company and just had some leftover vinyl letters available so you thought I’ll just announce this to the world. This person even had it on the side windows.


Here are some of the signs I want to make:

Here’s my Baby on Board


Stop with the stick figurine families as well. Some Stranger Danger Dude could be bored one day and see you have a bunch of children up for grabs. Just follow that car and bam, your honor student is snatched up. It’s even more brilliant when someone puts their name on a soccer ball. Now Creeps McGeeps knows the kids name when he offers them some candy. Hey, I don’t like the way the world has become either but we have to cover our asses and those we love now.

I was once a passenger in a car where sperm in a semen tank was being transported. Hell that might be a good sign, sperm on board. We could roll down our windows and make our hands flow with the wind to signal other people future children are on board.

I am not even anti-kids. I happen to share a home with three of them whom I love dearly. I have actually been the chauffeur on occasion. Yes, I become much more of a defensive driver and pay closer attention to my own surroundings but there is no announcement needed. We are all precious cargo people. It should be a given not to have to announce it. I don’t give a shit what’s on board, drive with courtesy so we all get out alive and well.