Gum in My Hair

An embarrassingly honest blog

Tolerance, Bitches. Try it. May 4, 2012

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 11:21 am
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Well, here it is. I’m writing again. No promises that it’ll be continuous. I’m not sure that I’ll keep it up. I just wanted to write about something that’s been on my mind for a while. In one word, it’s tolerance. But, you know, that word is so weighted that, of course, you can’t say tolerance without explaining yourself.

I’m a pretty open-minded broad. Yeah, I’m straight, but I could give two fucks about what you like to put where on your body. I mean, if ear sex is your thing, do it to it, bro. Just don’t come crying to me when you get a case of swimmer’s ear.

Damn, that’s one sexy ear.

I use sexual orientation as an example because, well, that’s what’s in the news these days. Hatred, bullying, acceptance, tolerance, love. It runs the spectrum and I like to think that I’m on the love side of it all. I mean, my best friend in the world is a vegetarian, but you don’t see me ordering a big plate of wings when we’re out and then just menacingly eating each one while looking her dead in the eye. I eat my delicious, delicious meat and she doesn’t.

But there’s one divide recently that’s had me thinking a lot about acceptance lately and that is religion versus atheism.

Hey! Yeah, you. I just saw you roll your eyes at me. Yes I’m talking about this shit again. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want.

Anyway, it’s a pretty weird divide for me, the whole religion (OK, more Christianity than anything else, since that’s what I’m most familiar with) and atheism thing. On the one hand, you’ve got people trying to convert you to religion to “save” you from an afterlife in hell. And a lot of these people are wonderful and sincere in their love. On the other, you have people that are trying to “save” you from a life spent as a slave to dogmatic teachings and faith. And a lot of these people are sincere as well. But there are also a lot of douchebags on both sides of the playing field here.

Do I get angry? Fuck yeah I get angry. I get angry at conservative Christians touting pseudo-science to prove a point. Or, you know, straight up denying science. It makes me bristle. I want to fight back. I want to yell louder than them. I want to “set them straight” about religion.

Then I say to myself, “Kelly, in with the rainbow, out with the storm.”

I calm down and I remember my roots. I was raised the daughter of a pastor, meaning I was brought up in a Christian family. I spent my life surrounded by Christians until I was 18. When I left home, I spent about 10 years reevaluating what I believed and I finally came to the conclusion that I do not believe there is a god in this or any other universe. Because of this decision, I’ve found my life to have much more meaning and I enjoy every day I’m alive because I don’t get a second life.

Here’s the thing. People might say that I’m a good person because I grew up in a good, Christian home. I call bullshit on that. I’m a good person, because I have amazing parents who taught me to think for myself and be kind to everyone around me (Have you seen the meanies that some “Christian” homes can produce?). Thing is, if you’re a good person, you’re a good person. You can use religion (being Christ-like) or non-religion (making sure everyone gets a chance at this life) to back up why you are that way, but the fact of the matter is, I think that part of our lives has VERY little to do with how we turn out.

I’ll get back to my point now. Tolerance.

This Easter, I went to my father’s Easter service at his new church (btw, if you are spiritual in the Christianish way, I highly recommend it. They served mimosas.) because I thought it would be a good chance to spend time with my family. However, I was late, so I sat in the balcony alone and just sort of watched. This was the first time I’d been at a church service in probably 5 years. It felt really uncomfortable, but miraculously, I didn’t catch on fire and my skin didn’t melt. When I relaxed a little, you know what I saw? A lot of love. You know why? Because my pops is a tolerant, loving guy who wanted a church that was open and loving of anyone who wanted to come and do their god thing. So, that’s the kind of congregation he has.

This is Christ’s, well, Christ’s orange juice and champagne. I’m too lazy to try and make a religious mimosa joke.

And I get it.

I get why people want to believe in a god. I’m not going to list them all out here, because, for some reason that seems like it would be really fucking trite. But I get it. Just like I made a conscious decision half a decade ago to reject religion and spirituality for my own reasons, everyone there made their own decision to love god and the bible and follow Christ’s teachings. Who the fuck am I to tell them that they aren’t allowed to be their own, free thinking person? If Christ is what they need, then Christ is what they need and I’m not going to judge a single hair on their head for that, because, you know what; I know exactly how they feel. I just feel it about the exact opposite thing.

It’s called empathy, people. That whole “putting yourself in someone else’s shoes” idea. I highly recommend you try it if you have not already. You’ll find that things on the other side make more sense and your urge to fight the beliefs that are directly opposed to yours suddenly isn’t quite as strong.

Be open. Be respectful. Give love. Be tolerant and accepting. You’d be amazed at what you get back most of the time.

Ugh, I sound like a fucking hippie.


Am I Really an Adult? December 10, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 3:54 pm
Tags: , ,

I’m 32 years old. Yes. Thirty fucking two. I know I don’t look it and I’m thankful for that, or I know I will be when I’m pushing forty and I’m drunkenly trying to convince the bouncer at some horrible nightclub that “he should really card me.”

Looking young has mostly been kind of an annoyance in my life thus far. At 21, most bartenders would spend an extra 30 seconds checking my ID. Some even challenged the validity. At 17, most people thought I was in middle school. Though I suspect part of that was the fact that I didn’t get boobies until I was 18. Before that, I was an A cup, so not only did people think I was prepubescent, I also got mistaken for a boy with relative frequency.

Same haircut. Same leggings. Same belt. Fuck. I have the same outfit as he does.

That was awesome and I’m sure that it in no way has anything to do with the fact that I tend to overdo it in the lady sexuality department most of the time. </sarcasm>

I’m getting off track here. The thing is, because I look young, people tend to treat me like I’m younger than I really am. I look 23, so people talk to me like I’m 23-25; but really, I’ve got the mind and experience of a 32 year old. Actually, I’ll go ahead and say I’ve got a lot more experiences under my belt than many people my own age.

However, lately I’ve been feeling like I’m not much of an adult. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the fact that I feel pretty strongly that no adult should ever stop playing, and so I keep a pretty lighthearted outlook on life. It could be the fact that I haven’t “settled down” in my age (I actually tried that in my twenties when I was married. I might still be the marrying type, but I am definitely NOT the settling down type. I never will be). Perhaps it’s the fact that I don’t have a 401K or health insurance.

But the more I thought about it, the more I think it comes from the fact that I’m living my life the way I want to live it at such a young age. I mean, I get paid to write! I get paid to plan events and meet new people! I get PAID to do the things I truly love in life. What makes me feel like the kid at the grown-up table is that I’m happy doing what I’m doing. Do I want more clients? Fuck yeah! But do I want more responsibility? Do I want to manage people? Hells no.

Does it make me a freak of nature that, right here, right now, I’m happy being right where I am? I’m happy that I can take a nap in the middle of the day. I love the fact that, most days, I don’t shower until 3 pm. Sometimes I get the feeling it does. Sometimes I start feeling guilty for shirking my duty as an American to work 93 hours a week in a cubicle just so I can make enough money to buy a place that’s way too big for me and own a car I simply don’t need to drive.

I have to remind myself that just because I’m not VP of Marketing for a fortune 500 company by now does not mean that I’m not living a fulfilled life.

Here’s the thing: I’m a pretty smart cookie. A cookie that gets REALLY bored sitting in a cubical or office doing the same thing. I need to be faced with new challenges every day or my brain starts getting pissy. Freelance work gives me a new challenge every. Single. Day. And it’s fucking awesome. I’m not saying I’ll never work for “The Man” again, but it would take a pretty special company to get me to give up my no pants wearing, set my own hours, work with the people I want to work with lifestyle that I currently lead.

So, yeah, sometimes even I still feel like I’m 24 because for some unknown reason, I still have this picture in my head of what an “adult” does with their life and it sure as shit doesn’t involve watching Parks and Recreation at 11 am or writing copy at 11 pm.

But as long as I make enough to pay my rent, pay my bills, feed myself and my dog and have enough left over to spend copious amounts of time with friends and maybe, just maybe, do a little travelling too, then this is the lifestyle I’m going to continue to lead, whether people decide that it makes me an immature chick or they decide that that it makes me the smartest fucking woman on the planet.

But I’m hoping it’s the latter.


The Flat Line November 21, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 10:18 am
Tags: , , ,

This last week was a quiet one and I needed it. The week before was a blur of parties and events and friends. All great, nay, wonderful things. But by Sunday I was starting to get a little bit cranky. On Monday, when I had to get into the shower and go to another event, every movement I made was made begrudgingly. I ended up having a great time at this event and learning a whole bunch (and laying the building blocks for a horrible hangover the next day), but by the time I got home, I was ready to enter a hole and never come out.

This began three days of extreme hermitry. The only people I interacted with were clerks as I bought supplies for my voluntary confinement. And so it began.

On Wednesday, while talking to my therapist I described my time alone as being “flat” and drew an imaginary flat line with my fingers. It was neither high nor low, it just was. And for some reason, I chose to define it as a flat line, or being dead.

Beep, beep, beep, booooooooooooooooop.

I didn’t even notice my choice of words until they were pointed out to me. Funny thing is I used to crave this time alone. I used to be introverted. In fact, I described myself as an outgoing introvert. Suddenly, time spent in quiet leaves me feeling, well, feeling nothing.

Have I really spent so much time being stimulated, whether positive or negative, that I don’t know how to feel or what to feel when things are just neutral? What. The. Fuck?

I like to think of myself as a person who takes joy in the simplicity of things. And I really do. It’s the little things that make me smile and create this sort of patchwork of a fulfilled life. How then am I not able to take joy in the simplicity of just being?

This weekend, despite being busy, I felt this creeping feeling of antsiness. I sat in front of my computer on Saturday and tried to be entertained by the internet, but it was all boring to me. Last night, the same thing happened, AND I turned off three movies because they just weren’t interesting enough for me. This led to me becoming almost instantly grouchy.

I felt resentful and dangerous. Suddenly this side of me, the side of me that I have worked VERY hard to keep in a cage, started trying to break free. If this side of me was a dude, it would have an evil mustache. This is the side of me that wants to go into a cafe, order a cup of coffee and then dump it on the ground and walk out. I wanted to punch a wall or have someone punch me.

I just wanted to feel alive. And in the least healthy way possible.

I told a friend how I was feeling and they suggested that maybe I’m not challenged enough right now. Maybe they’re right. Life does feel pretty easy right now. I have a great job(s). I have amazing friends. I’m supporting myself. Where’s the fucking challenge in that?

So, now I’m on a quest to find some new challenges that will make me less… punchy. First up, it’s time to get that whole website thing up and running. Next, I dunno, something to vent all this pent up aggression. Brazilian Ju Jitsu? Capoera? Break dancing? I have no idea, but I’m open to suggestions. Anything but hockey. Hockey and I need some time apart.

In the meantime, I want to apologize if I am in anyway short or rude or aggro with you in the next few weeks. Feel free to punch me in the face if you want. Just be ready to get punched back.

And I have a mean right hook.


Design for Curves: A Message to Local Clothing Boutiques November 16, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 11:35 am
Tags: , ,

I am a HUGE proponent of shopping local and I do it whenever possible. It puts money back into the community, it promotes creativity and artistry in the city and I get to have pretty and unique pieces in my wardrobe. I mean, come on, anyone who knows me knows that virtually 75% of my accessories come from Pandora on the Hill. They pretty much rock.

Sadly, the one thing that I would love to shop local for, I never can. You see, I can never get any pieces of clothing that the clothing boutiques in Denver have to offer. For me, going into a small clothing store is like taking a diabetic to a candy store and telling them, “You can have anything you want, as long as it doesn’t send your blood sugar through the roof.” It’s cruel and inhumane and I leave the store just hating life.

“Why on earth could that be, Kelly? There are so many talented designers in Denver! How could you not find something you love?!”

The answer is that I find too much to love. I see colors that make my eyes twinkle, I see patterns that make my heart flutter and I usually see price tags that make my pocket book happy. Then I take a look at the tag. Small. Medium. Size 6. Size 4. Size 8. And all of my dreams are dashed.

You see, boutiques, this girl has ample breasts and a ghetto booty, making it impossible to fit into anything under a size 12 or a large (usually an XL). Nothing kills a lovely dress form more than slipping it over my head only to have it smash down my lady pillows more effectively than a fucking sports bra.

Look at that. Beauty doesn't always fit on a dress form.

I understand that they don’t make dress forms for all body types, and that it’s more fun to be creative using fabrics, patterns and lines, but maybe, just maybe, one or two of the designers could challenge themselves in a new avenue and try and design a dress that is meant to fit on a woman with curves and not just a flat dress form.

Also, while we’re on the subject, these double D’s and button tops NEVER work. Just add a zipper on the back and sew the front closed. Seriously, if the girls think there’s a chance of escaping their clothed confines, they will push until buttons go flying.

And, yes, I know I could stand to shed some weight and I’m working on it my loves. But I have a few points along that line. First, the number one rule of dressing well is to dress for the body you have and not the one you want. Weight loss is a long road; it could be a year or more before I could conceivably fit into your largest sizes. Second, even when my shitmuncher of an ex-husband was controlling what I ate every day and making me go to the gym, and I was at my skinny minniest, I was still a size 6-8, and the tits still didn’t fit into a lot of boutique designs and my ass still didn’t work in most typical dress forms. So you see I’ll never be the stick that your dress form wants me to be.

Oh, and before you tell me to shop for family members and friends, my sister is more buxom than I am and this butt is a family trait on both sides. Also, my best friend is near six feet tall and many of my other girlfriends are derby girls, so their muscular booties and legs all defy traditional dress and pant forms. I don’t think I’ll be able to find anything for anyone special to me in your racks.

So, dearest local clothing retailers, much to my chagrin, I won’t be in your stores as much as I would like this holiday season. Why go into a store that’s just going to make me feel like shit about who I am? And that is why I’ll still be shopping in big box clothing stores for most of my clothing.

Accessories and just about everything else will all be local though.

P.S. If anyone knows of a good, local clothing boutique that will not make me feel like a heifer every time I go into the dressing room, please, for the LOVE OF GOD let me know. I will shop the shit out of that store.


Coriolanus: A Review or the Title Says “Anus”: Try Not to Giggle Now November 11, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 12:19 pm
Tags: , ,

This lucky girl got herself a press pass to the 34th Annual Starz Film Festival, so I’ve been trying to take advantage of it this week as much as possible, so on Wednesday, I went and saw Coriolanus (I can’t, I just cannot say or write that without laughing).

I actually wrote this review and sent it to a couple buddies the other night after I saw the film, but I kind of made myself laugh with it, so I thought, to hell with it, I’ll post it here too. More glory, less work. My kind of blog post.


First of all, that “perfect sound?” What was that, a microphone held up to a boombox? Shakespearean is hard enough to follow when spoken in perfect diction, it’s even harder when it sounds like every actor is speaking through the fucking cowl of a turtleneck sweater.

Along those lines, just because Gerard Butler can open his mouth wide enough to swallow a fucking cantaloupe whole does not mean that his Scottish brogue won’t render every line of his script utterly incomprehensible. It’s OK though. I just imagined him naked every time he was in a scene.

Speaking of anus, what was with the “army scene?” Was it just me or was that the sexiest group head shaving anyone has ever seen? When they set that young cadet in the barber seat, I half expected him to get a lap dance.

Vanessa Redgrave, you are perfect, and ever shall you be this way.

Finally, Ralph Fiennes, I have two things to say to you: One, SPELL IT RAEF OR RAFE, YOU ARROGANT BASTARD! And two, your last monologue in the film terrified me so much, I think I may have shit myself. Your character in this film was so fully complete in his evil, that I will probably never even be able to approach you for an autograph if given the chance.

Additional note to the gentleman seated behind me:
Sir, I believe you probably have gum disease. Please get your mouth checked out.


It’s Simple, But Not Easy October 28, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 3:39 pm
Tags: , ,

First off, if anyone mentions that fact that I haven’t written in over 6 months, I WILL cut a bitch. I’m well aware of my epic lack of writing, but you know, when you write for a living, sometimes it’s not as fun to write in your spare time. And, yes, I always seem to start writing when I reach yet another introspective point in my life, but, well, hey, I’m writing. Please don’t demand any more from me.

So, yeah, introspection. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

It’s part of this whole “fix myself” kick that I’ve been on recently. Not that I’m irreparably broken in some deep emotional way, but I just came to realize that there are some things missing from “me” that I think I’d really like to discover. Trust me, when I tell you I know, in the deepest depths of my being, how fortunate I am to have my life. I have the most wonderful friends a woman could ever want. A job (OK, several jobs) that fulfills me and a room with a view. But there was obviously something missing because I kept trying to fill a void. And the things/people I was trying to fill it with were like square pegs in a round hole.

I’m a fixer. It’s what I do. Writing shitty? Let me proofread that for you. Problem with your significant other or any other life decisions? Let’s get a beer and we’ll talk it out and find a solution. Manic depressive? Here, let me take on your entire life for you so you don’t have to. Do you also want a homemade brunch while I’m at it? So, naturally, when something is “broken” in my life, I try to fix it. And when the fixing doesn’t work the way I want it to, I get caught up in a sneaky hate spiral.

So, lately, I’ve been trying this new thing called “acceptance.” Have you heard of it? I mean, apparently it’s been around for, like, years, but I had never really paid attention to it until now. I just know that in the next couple of weeks some shitchomper wearing a fanny pack, thick framed glasses and rocking a rat tail is going to come up to me and go, “I was practicing acceptance waaaaay before anyone else was.” And then I will punch him. </metaphysicalhipsterjoke>

I digress. My point is, the concept of acceptance is simple: sit with your problems in the moment and just experience them. Not even just problems. Just with life and let it exist. Jesus fucktard, how simple is that?

Well, have you ever tried to do that? Do you know how hard that is? It’s like petrified whale dick hard! And I’m a spontaneous goddamn person! Seriously, trying to sit still, quietly with no agenda, no observations, just letting the world spin might as well have been like giving me a hammer and chisel and telling me to perform surgery on the pre-frontal cortex. It’s not easy.

Then I had this weird thing happen to me last week. I had the urge to take a bath, rather than a shower, so I filled the tub.

Bath Fizzies: A staple in every lady's relaxation drawer.

Then, because I’m a motherfucking lady, I put a bath fizzy in the tub.

I don’t know if you’ve ever used a bath fizzy before, but besides softening and scenting the water, they also sometimes leave a veeeeeery thin layer of bubbles on the surface of the water. Well, I was sitting there, in the tub, and I noticed that when I moved my fingers, this foam danced around in the water creating some of the most beautiful, yet completely random swirly designs. I played with the water for a good ten minutes before I was suddenly struck with the profundity of the situation. Holy mother effer! I was living in the moment! I wasn’t thinking about anything but those stupid, wonderful swirls and how I could make them twist and turn simply by moving my fingers slightly. It was so simple! But consciously trying to do a similar thing while seated in a chair is not easy.

I’m still trying though, because I think the thing missing in my life was me. Each week, is Star Trek for my psyche, I seek out new worlds and explore new civilizations. Metaphorically, of course, but you get the picture and I really wanted to use a Star Trek metaphor.

But each week that I spend growing and learning about myself related only to myself and not to the people around me, I find myself getting stronger and feeling more whole. It’s funny because the more I look inward and focus on the intimacy of self, the more space I have in my heart and in my life for everything around me. The simple things in life astound me now, because there’s this sort of implicit understanding that, even though they may be simple, they certainly aren’t easy. It’s a connection on this really primordial level and it feels pretty good.

Anyway, that’s enough rambling for now. It’s just nice to have my brain on again.

And, I still really suck at acceptance, and it will probably take a long time for me to be comfortable with it all the time, and that’s ok.

See what I just did there?


What Happened to Art Class? April 19, 2011

Filed under: Shut Your Mouth! — dulcedementia @ 11:33 am
Tags: , ,

This morning I went to a bi-weekly tech meeting/Apple circle jerk and heard the news that an Auburn, Maine elementary school is getting all of their kindergartners iPad 2s. Then, after talking with another friend this morning, I learned that the Denver School of Science and Technology is getting rid of all of their art teachers. Yes. I realize that nowhere in the school’s name does it mention art, but still. Come on.

Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I feel like children may be missing vital arts experience in schools in exchange for more and more technology in the curriculum.

After writing that sentence, I think I just uttered my generation’s “walking uphill to school both ways” clause.

For realsies though, while I think it’s great that 20 kindergartners will get to smudge up an iPad for a year (if those things can even withstand the abuse of a 6 year old for an entire year), I do wonder what programs got passed over for this to become a reality. Did the music program get passed over for new sheet music once again? Did the art class get denied its request for better easels? Did other important arts programs get passed over yet again so that children that are at an age when they can barely write can get technology that some adults lack the dexterity to control?

Think what you want, but the arts played such a critical role in my development that the thought of these departments getting passed over yet again, or even completely eliminated so that schools can get kids the latest and greatest tech (that will just be outdated in a year anyway) really, really pisses me off.

I’m no Luddite, but goddammit, can we please keep the arts grounded in the real world instead of virtual space?


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