I’m getting ready to head out of town for a few days and I don’t want to finish packing so I thought I would share with you this extremely disturbing conversation between Greg and I. Don’t judge.


B: If you could be any Disney princess which one would you be?

G: What?

B: A princess. Which one?


B: I would be Snow White. Wanna know why?

G: Sure.

B: Because she has the best minions. I really want minions.

G: Cinderella has minions.

B: Her minions suck. All she has are stupid mice and birds. Snow White has 7 Dwarfs!! I want 7 dwarfs.

G: Oh Lord.

B: No really, I’m going to see if I can find some little people to be my minions like Snow White.

G: Where do you think you might go about finding these dwarfs?

B: Craigslist.


B: No seriously. I’m going to put an ad up. WANTED: 7 dwarf/midget/little people to serve as my security team/minions. I will provide uniforms, comfortable work environment, and emotional support. And I’ll feed you too.

G: A security team?

B: Yes, I need a security team to keep the bad guys away. Since I’m a princess and all. I’ll get them all little outfits with black security T-shirts and tactical pants and little tactical boots. Oh, and they all have to look like tiny versions of The Rock. And sunglasses. They have to wear sunglasses all the time.


B: What?

G: I’m not sure what to say, but why do they have to look like The Rock and how are 7 little midgets going to protect you?

B: One, because The Rock looks badass and would still look badass shrunken down. And they would protect me by kicking people in the shins and biting them. There would be a lot of biting. And they would keep me surrounded in a circle at all times.

G: You know I’ll protect you right?

B: Yeah, but you aren’t as awesome as a midget minion security team. Plus you don’t let me dress you up for special occasions like St. Patrick’s Day and Christmas.

G: I can’t argue with that.

B: Good. Now I’m going to go write that Craigslist ad…

Not your mother’s Barbie

  My mother has the habit of accusing me of thinking that I’m Barbie. Yes, I get my nails done all the time. I have flowers painted on my big toes. I feel the need to be bleach blonde with long flowing extensions. I shop too much and have the constant need to feel as cute as possible. I’ve also been known to tan too much. For her the kicker was last summer when I decided that I should be a pin up model.

I started all this when I was manic. I did indeed feel like I was a rock star/super model/goddess/Barbie wannabe. Mania makes you feel incredible. On the very top of your game. You can be anything you want to be and you think everyone will believe this right along with you. Well, it actually kind of works, but mostly with strangers.

But I am not your mother’s barbie doll. Doing all this became a kind of obsession. If I didn’t feel beautiful and sexy, then I wasn’t in control. I had lost control of so much that these things were the only power I had. I was so sick. And no one realized it. They literally thought that I just wanted to play dress-up and be Barbie. Mania has some wacky symptoms sometimes. It seems like I’m being shallow to most people, but it’s really just a sign that I was suffering from a horrible manic episode.

Now, it’s how I hang on to those good feelings. It’s how I remind myself to fight the depression. If I am physically taking care of myself, I feel like I have the power to hold on to just enough of the mania to keep getting by. Yet, it also acts as a constant reminder of what I went through. I have been either hypomanic or manic for almost a year now. That’s the longest episode I’ve ever had. I’m not sure why it’s been so hard to regulate. I think maybe part of it is that I don’t want to let it go.

I know I don’t want to let it go. The reason is because I forgot what it’s like to just be normal. I’m convinced that if I let go of all my manic impulses then I’ll just become depressed and miserable forever. I don’t know how to find a happy medium.


There are things I should let go. Things I should do more of. Minor as well as drastic changes that I should make. But I’m scared and I don’t know any other way to cope. So if being Barbie makes me feel safe, then so be it. Sorry Mom, I know you wanted more for me. But if you look deep inside you’ll see who I really am and that sure as hell aint’ Barbie.

It’s Contagious

Yes, it’s 3:30am. And again I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d share my day with you.

As you see in the above picture, there are a crap ton of musical instruments sitting in the corner of my living room. A piano, an acoustic/electric bass, and acoustic/electric guitar, a cowbell, a set of bongos, a folk guitar, an ocarina, some bagpipes, a mandolin, and a percussion egg. This was not the picture this morning. Greg and I had gone out to dinner to celebrate the refinancing of our house. Ok, well we were really just hungry and wanted to go out to eat somewhere yummy. Afterwards, we were driving home and I see a guitar center. I casually mentioned a while back that I thought it would be cool to learn to play the guitar, so we decide to stop and look. Just look.

It all just happened so quickly. And I’d like to point out that none of this was my fault. Long story short, we go in ask to see a beginner level guitar. Guitar guy shows us a few. I hold one and say, “Yeah it seems to fit pretty well.” Then, “What? I have to cut my fingernails to play? Greg, I think we should think about this.” What happened next I can only describe as Greg catching some of my bipolar manic impulse control issue. We walk out of there with the bass, a better guitar, and a mandolin. Oh and a Mario Brothers piano book. And even stranger yet is that we have no clue how to play any of these instruments. Greg, again with some kind of contagious bipolar symptom, justifies this by saying that we don’t own these instruments yet and that if we had them then maybe we could learn to play them. *face meet palm*

So maybe one day one of us will decide to ruin our perfectly manicured fingers and take some lessons or something. And if all else fails, we’re going to hang them on the wall and have some pretty expensive art.

p.s. Again this was not my fault this time. I will take responsibility for my random impulsive purchases, but this was all him. It’s catching you know…


So here’s a conversation between Greg and I today. This is by no means abnormal. In fact, it’s pretty typical.


Me: Greg! Look! There’s a baby face on my phone cover.

Greg: Why are you dressed like a hooker?

Me: But there’s a baby face!

Greg: I see the baby face in the smudges on your phone, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re dressed like a hooker.

Me: Most guys would appreciate their wife dressing up like a hooker.

Greg: You’re hair is too messy. Hookers fix their hair.

Me: No they don’t! They are drug addicts and don’t care.

Greg: Then they couldn’t afford those shoes.

Me: Ok then stripper maybe.

Greg: They also have nice hair and they at least shave their legs.

Me: Ok, you got me there.

The hooker outfit wasn’t entirely on purpose. I had lost my pants earlier in the day. Yes, lost them. Then I got heart burn and was uncomfortable so I lost all on top but a tank top. But then I wanted to go outside so I found a black spandex skirt and thought it would be comfy. I put my hair up and it was at this point I realized that I did indeed kinda looked like a hooker, so I added the shoes. I really like those shoes.

*I relayed this conversation to my mom and my mom wants me to tell you all that I swear that I’m not leaving the house dressed like this. Thanks for protecting my modesty Mom.

Bella and the Interloper



Today was kinda crappy. I had a pretty traumatic experience at the dentist. I tried my best to go to my happy place on a beach where sun-kissed speedo wearing cabana boys served me ice-cold margaritas and fanned me with palms, but in the end the pain was just too much. I came home feeling pretty defeated and out of control. To gain back control I started cleaning up every piece of clutter, throwing away every single tiny piece of trash, and had set my sights on organizing Greg’s underwear drawer when he came home and stopped me. He took me to a nice dinner at Rumba’s, a pretty cool Caribbean place, and I ate my crankiness away. Shrimp bisque, mussels in garlic sauce, and the most make-me-want-to-swoon coconut mahi-mahi.


Balance has now been restored to the force until I get out of the car in the driveway and saw this.



As you see there is a little bit of soap opera drama occurring here. Well, maybe you don’t see. Let me give you the back story. Bella, my kitty, does NOT like other animals. Especially not ones that come into our yard. She’s super protective and territorial. She once saved my life from a pair of blood thirsty boxers that had dared to enter her domain. Well she didn’t exactly save my life. She got in between us though and got really angry looking and yowled at them until I scooped her up, still yowling and hair sticking up, and I ran inside and called animal control. But in her kitty mind, she saved my life. But I digress. One day I came out and there she was nose to nose with another bigger cat. I was ready to go get the hose at first, but then I realized they were nuzzling and being friendly. I found out the other cat was a boy when I saw him spraying my shrubs one day. So after that “Boyfriend Cat” as I’ve named him, has been around a lot. At times they have a rocky relationship. She’ll often get mad at him and chase him out of the yard, but the next day I’ll find them curled up together in the sun. This has been going on for a while now and still no other animals are allowed in the yard. I thought their relationship was working out just fine until today. Back to the picture. Bella is sitting on our side of the property and Boyfriend Cat is over in the Mexican’s yard with the “Interloper.” Bella was PISSED. I saw her hunched down ears all flat when we pulled in and when I got out I saw why. Boyfriend Cat was over there rubbing cheeks with the Interloper, whom I’m assuming is some spicy little Latina kitty that lives by the Mexican’s doublewide. (There’s always drama by a doublewide.) She watched for awhile making sure they didn’t try to cross the property line. I tried to talk to her about it, but she acted like she didn’t care and didn’t want to claw the eyes out of the Interloper. Too bad she’s declawed…I’m pretty sure she’s taking it well, but she was hiding in my closet next to my desk earlier and I think I heard sobbing. Guess we’ll just have to see what happens tomorrow. Will Boyfriend Cat be allowed back in the yard? Will Bella plot her revenge? Will Bella and Interloper become friends and kick Boyfriend Cat’s ass? Who knows? To be continued…


Today’s post was brought to you by sleep depravation and my twisted sense of humor. And don’t forget to laugh ‘til you cry and cry ‘til you laugh!


laughing under water



Ok, a few things…

1st, view above screen shot of texting between me and greg.

2nd, it’s not my birthday or even near my birthday.

3rd, Bella is the cat.

4th, i’ve been reading the health care card material from julie at (hopefully more about that soon)

5th, i’m super hypomanic and as julie says ultra ultra rapid cycling, but staying on the hypomanic end most of the time.

6th, Don’t even ask about the banana picture. instead just watch the video at the bottom of the Creative outlets page. it’s way too long of a story. and it also cameos greg which is fun.

Finally, please take this all as pretty damn funny. Because poor greg has to listen to all this randomness day after day after day.


I’ve learned an important lesson. We have to be able to laugh. laugh good and hard. life is really hard. so hard that most of the time we wish we could curl up in a ball and cry, or spend a lot of money on shoes. either way, not good. even though it’s been pretty freakin’ rough, i’ve realized lately that i’ve been coping pretty well because i can make fun of myself. I can laugh and make a tin-foil hat when i’m paranoid. laugh when i bounce off the wall because i’m sleep deprived. laugh and make fun of myself when talking to the mail order pharmacy woman because i’m acting like a little old lady with all of my 100’s of health issues and complicated medications. I laugh so i don’t cry. i laugh because i’m tired of feeling weak and pathetic. i laugh to release stress and stay strong.


because of this new super power, i thought that i might like to make a new blog. a place where i can go and be funny and leave all serious things over here. a place to be positive and funny and laugh. i even registered a domain name. it fits my recently acquired ability to make light of things when i’m so close to drowning. let me tell you the hours i spent brainstorming every way i could think of just to come up with a site name. i tried to make a site, but for some reason i just couldn’t make it work. I couldn’t get software to work, domain name wouldn’t transfer, i didn’t like any of the templates. it just felt forced. And just now as i’m writing this, it hits me. having a second blog might not be meant to be. having two sites would be like reading a book and missing half the chapters. i think that i need to be here and maybe here needs to reflect my current change in attitude. adding another site would take away from the story and not give anyone a clear view of who i am. my writing needs to be cohesive and in one location. BEcause I know that with bipolar disorder there will always be change, but that is one more good reason to stay consistent and let this blog be what ever it needs to be for me.


i am so thankful for another manic monday. it’s been here for me in the depths of depression, throngs of mania, and everywhere in between. so it might be time for a bit of a change, yet i’m going to keep writing the story i started where i started it. but i hope my future entries are way funnier, not as scary, and will make you smile. New goal= make myself and everyone who reads what i write smile. oh, and check on my broken links. LOL


and What the heck happened to me getting that birthday cake………….???