Don’t you wish most of life could be put on “snooze”?

I love my new comedies that I have done. I wish I could do just that and forget everything else. In an ideal world, I’d put the following on snooze:

1. I need to find a new place to live as my current place is a temp place
2. My health has been precarious since the Oven housing scam, including constant nausea, vertigo, weakness, thirst, inability to concentrate, and more, all due to exposure to extreme heat inside my OTHER rental
3. I have pressing family issues with family who live in the States that I can’t even talk about on here (most that know me can guess what it is)
4. My wallet was stolen around Christmastime causing me tons of inconvenience not yet nearly resolved
5. Debt collectors call daily from the States, I never answer
6. I was scammed by an online situation a while back causing further debt, which is yet another thing I can’t mention on here (but plan to so that I can warn other people, psych survivors and poor people likely to fall into this trap! Beware!)

All six I’d love to turn off right now. Put them on snooze forever. I want to keep on doing comedy and keep you all’s laughing. I want that notification to vibrate, too. How about attaching that one to an obnoxious air horn that wakes the dead. Hey kid, time to be funny! Yesterday at a bus terminal I kept thinking of one comedy snip after another. It makes me love life, moments like that when I can think of new ways to kick God’s ass.

I am your ensalada

I have no best buddy to bounce things off of, no spouse, no parents, no sibs, no one, so when I just need to shoot the shit I do it with myself.  Sometimes, a person by herself needs another person to inform her that maybe a few of her wild ideas aren’t going to work. Most people’s spouses, siblings, or best buddies bring them to their senses. These wild ideas never see the light of day, thankfully, nor make it to the 9 to 5 job.

May we all be blessed with wonderful sibs and spouses who recognize when our wild ideas aren’t so dumb after all, and in fact, are flashes of brilliance.  These supportive buddies encourage us to develop our ideas, adding all the perfect seasonings and then serving them up right in time for the hungry public.

For me, without reality checks I have a large plethora of ideas to sort through.  These may include logical conclusions, downright stupidity, and flashes of brilliance. They sit in a mixing bowl, all mixed in together: lechuga, albahaca, and brotes de soja. In my normal day-to-day life, without spouse or handy go-to person, I’m left to sort through all this on my own. What most folks see of me, since they don’t bother to get to know me these days, is that unfiltered-by-buddy ensalada.

How to fix “ghost touches” on touch screens and touch pads (and never be called “disordered” or “stupid” again)

No, you’re not crazy. A touchscreen really can go wacko, and it’s not you. Here’s a terrific link that you can click on that will provide many answers and will stop most idiots out there that don’t understand why some of us have trouble with touchscreens:

I have had good luck wiping the oil off of my touchscreen with a soft cloth sprayed with plain ethyl alcohol. This will stop most ghost touches. I’ll bet that will make using a mouse touchpad much easier, too. I stopped using mine and used a USB mouse since the trying to use the trackpad only made things jump around.

Any time I said “things jump around” folks told me I was crazy or stupid.

You’re not. I’m not. People who call other people those nasty names need to get a life. Go get a soft cloth and some ethyl alcohol and lets fend off those name-callers. Don’t drink it, it tastes yucky.

Poor quality stuff that sucks

I have to laugh. I am sitting here at a rickety table that continues to wobble no matter what I do. The sides are badly warped, so invariably, whatever is on the table falls off. I cannot believe my landlords had their TV on top of this table and expected it not to end up on the floor.

Why put up with stuff that sucks? I am amazed at people who continue to “repair” shitbox cars. They put thousands into shitboxes when in fact, they are better off either ditching the shitboxes altogether or spending that repair money on something better. But do people listen to someone who uses logic and common sense or do they listen to someone slick-looking or glossy, the one with the prescription pad, or the ones with the fancy websites?

When I am done with this post I am ditching this shitty table once and for all. I am tired of saying swear words every time it wobbles, and saying even worse swear words when all the stuff on it slides onto the floor. You wanna here the most unbelievable compound swears? When all the stuff falls off and my fridge has already leaked a huge puddle, so the fallen-off stuff falls into a puddle. Welcome to my life. Therefore, I am folding up this shitbox table and putting it outdoors, and using my own table, the one I came with. I have three portable ones, but the one I like best is not warped, has a metal edge on it, a surefire guarantee that nothing will fall off.

Updated ECT page

I’ve updated the ECT page for you guys. I need to add more, of course, but I am tired and am going offline to record another comedy for y’alls.

Laughing on a Saturday night

Hey you guys, I should just do comedy, right?

See you later.

What do you guys think of this article?
That’s the link.  I wasn’t in the mood for commenting. I feel that there are so few colleges out there anymore that are offering anything but cookie cutter education anymore. That’s why for the most part, I agree. I feel that my Goddard education was so worth it, though. Actually, most of us loved it so much that afterward, we wanted to do it AGAIN! Seriously.

I am also concerned about the scams. I am hearing more and more stories about college scams. I hear about loan scams and “good students” being forced or pressured to stay in school to keep the school’s image appearing strong, even though inside, the school isn’t really doing much for these students except forcing them to stay in for the sake of keeping up a statistical front. Meanwhile, the schools continue to milk the Financial Aid system dry, without regard to what is going to happen to grads after graduation. In reality, accreditation or not, these schools aren’t much more than degree mills, though they look pretty on the outside.

Don’t go unless you LOVE learning. Don’t go for the job you think you will get afterward. That’s a trap. I loved learning so while I was there, I found it enriching in that very moment. If you are always saying “someday,” when someday comes, you’ll find your someday ain’t so nice all laden with debt.

The comments are interesting. What’s your opinion?

Humor piece on Spreaker and YouTube I did yesterday

I did this piece yesterday on Spreaker which cross-posted to YouTube:

i hope you like it.

I will be posting more links on the ECT page. Again, it’s at, there you find links to my ECT related writings and other pages that contain news and information about the upcoming decision at the FDA.

I also have information about the ongoing conference calls that we are having. Those of you who are survivors of ECT who are interested in the goings-on are welcome to participate. These take place Wednesdays at 2pm New York time and all you have to do is call in with a regular telephone (cell or landline work fine, I use Skype-to-phone which will also work).  There is a code to punch in to get into the conference. We usually have up to 10 and even maybe 15 people on. Usually Lauren and Celia are moderating, and they do an EXCELLENT job. We are trying to keep track of which states people are calling from (or where you had your “treatments”).If you are on Facebook, undoubtedly you have already found the variety of “survivor” groups out there.

I am not sure if it’s okay for me to publicly post the number so I will not do so here, but you can get in touch with me regarding all that information if you’d like, or visit Lauren’s MIA article. I’ll be supplying a link.

My Life

I took Puzzle out this morning and tossed out the trash at the same time. We didn’t stay out long since I felt as if I didn’t get back home fast, I’d pass out. Of course, I can’t tell too many people things like that, because if I do, they’ll claim I’m being manipulative or crying wolf even though I’m simply stating a fact. This is what happens when you live in an uninhabitable house. Yes, I’m still suffering the effects of what happened in December. Because no one was listening then and I had to do what I had to do, then got blamed for what wasn’t my fault.

So here I am. I got home, sat down, tried to take in a breath. I felt really sick. I told myself no one believes me anyway, that it takes such a lengthy explanation. “Is it really that hot there?”

“No, it’s not, it’s quite mild.”

“Then what was the problem?”

I go through the whole thing, the whole song and dance about that place, how the homes were squeezed into a tiny plot of land, how there are such slums all over the world that should never be built, that the sun beat on that home some 18 hours a day and how the walls were almost hot to the touch. How the first thing that happened was that Puzzle lost her fur. How the kids next door screamed all day and how on the other side, my neighbors, who weren’t even home, blasted their TV some 12 hours a day thinking that would ward off thieves. That’s what I lived with, boxed into my tiny space, with blasting TV on one side, screaming kids on the other, and then, the parents started beating the kids every single day.

Not only that, but I was turning my electricity off as much as I could, knowing that I had to, knowing that during the winter the family next door had run a heater on my account and run up a bill. They also used cell phones to max out my internet two months. I kept my electricity turned off as much as possible, leaving only one remaining switch on, and only if I was home. The last thing I wanted was for them to run an air conditioner all summer long at MY expense. I knew if they could get away with it, they would. This meant I had to use a minimum of electricity myself.

It was hard enough saying “No” to the kids all the time. I wanted to let them in. I wanted to play with them. I didn’t want to shoo them out. They kept knocking and knocking. I had to send them away. They kept on bugging me, every day, even opening my windows. That family got a puppy eventually, and would leave that puppy in the yard for days. The puppy took down our other neighbors’ laundry and chewed it up. Too bad. I stopped hanging my laundry in the patio and stopped putting out anything anymore. I didn’t even want to walk outside. Between one side and the other, there was this constant rumble of motorcycles immediately outside our door and frankly, it was all too much. 

That’s about when it got too hot in there. By noon it was around 96, and then, by 1pm, 100. It stayed 100 for hours, or higher, and then would still be well into the 90’s after 9pm. Imagine trying to sleep at night. Outdoors, it was pleasant, barely above 70. I tried to tell people and they told me I was “nuts.”

I got very tired of the questions such as, “You can just run a fan.” No, you can’t just run a fan. I already had foil on the windows and tried all the tricks I read about and tried everything I found on YouTube. The kids and the TV were driving me insane and I was scared, too.

Do you know what happens when a person becomes dehydrated? You lose short term memory. You can’t think straight nor make any plans. You lose everything. You have something in your hand for one minute and the next minute, it’s lost. You spend the next 45 minutes searching for it if you can even recall what you’re looking for. Each time you start a sentence you can’t recall, by the time you finish it, where you began. This happens because of electrolyte imbalance due to lost fluids.

Please, tell me how a person can “plan ahead” in such a state? Tell me. Tell me why those judgemental assholes of the world who cannot wrap their heads around 100 degrees Fahrenheit (even though I repeated this loud and clear and asked people to Google it) continued to berate me and nitpick over various aspects they didn’t “like” about me? I think those who are incapable of human empathy and caring need to get some compassion now. Go down to your local Walmart and buy some if you have to.

So today I was wondering why only the rich have peace and quiet on this planet. Is that asking too much? Do people value that here? I tried going places to sit down, but there are no quiet cafes here, none in existence, and we don’t have a public library nor quiet bookstore. No quiet parks, no quiet anywhere for a person on a budget. You gotta pay for that. I keep wondering about this.

When people grow up here, do they learn about peace and quiet, do they learn that this is important, or do they learn to live with constant shouting and loud music? Is the value system really different? I notice that very few are offended by noise. I also noticed, when I inquired around at the pharmacies, that when I asked about “earplugs,” I was handed swimming pool earplugs. Earmuffs for hunting and construction are readily available, so there’s an understanding that these types of noise harm ears, but no understanding that the ungodly loud “music” of those stupid parties that people go to is just plain deafening. That’s not even music in my opinion. Do they really WANT to play their televisions at that ridiculous volume? Why?  Why shout when you can speak , or better yet, whisper or not say anything (please!) at a reasonable volume? Why are only the wealthy privy to the quiet and peaceful places, and the poor stuck in the noisy places and crowded in like sardines with no private moments to themselves? Is this universal around the world? What can we do about it? It’s not the fault of those who have less money to be stuck living in such horrible conditions. Peace and quiet do wonders for a person.

I came home from walking Puzzle, still thinking of all this, baffled by these questions. I reminded myself that I need to get medicine for Puzzle today. I need to get a head start on the bus, since waiting too long means a crowded bus during tourist season. But I don’t feel well. I need to try to get some fluids into myself. I am sitting here with a glass of water. Drinking too much too fast means I’ll feel sick and nauseous. I don’t want that, since I don’t want to have to  lie down for a few hours, and I can’t wait too long because I need to get out and beat the crowds. Have you ever had to stand on a bus when you feel like you are going to pass out? Especially when you are too ashamed to admit it to anyone.

So I will sip on this water for now. I’m not supposed to “complain” since assholes out there don’t like that, either. I think it’s time people in cyberspace quit nitpicking over me. I think I am fine the way I am. I don’t think anyone who has never met me should stick their neck out and claim they are “offended” by the way I live or that they dislike my “lifestyle” or any aspect of my “character.” Come be me for a bit, have an actual conversation, spend time, maybe consider my point of view. come down to my level (or up), feel what I feel, see what I have actually endured (which in fact DOES matter). then I think you’ll reconsider.

Please keep playing the blame game because abusers should stop abusing, imho

I am getting tired of these posts by bloggers instructing us all to stop blaming others. Please, blog readers, look at who is writing these posts. Look at the income level of these writers and ask yourselves to examine the source. You’d consider such things if you were asking for advice, wouldn’t you? If you were asking a person, “Where is the best barber?” you’d consider income level, wouldn’t you? If you asked two different people of two different income levels you might get two different responses. One would be the ritzy barber, right? The one you pay a fortune for. But your buddy with all the bucks doesn’t even consider how much he has to pay. So yes, the source of advice matters.

So it is with these idiotic blog advice posts regarding “You make your own future” or “You created your own mess.” If you are being told you created your own hell and to quit blaming others, don’t even believe it for one minute. Look instead at who is saying this. Look at their wallets and how much they are charging you to tell you this. How much have they charged you already for their  “workshop”? How much have you paid for their “ebook”? Well? How many copies have they sold? Yep, they aren’t hurting.

How much have you been charged for the appointment you’re sitting in right now with the “therapist” who is telling you to quit blaming other people? Tell her to shove it. Has she seen the slum you live in? Maybe she needs to pay you a visit someday. (That would be hypothetical of course.)

Do you realize just how rich those advice-givers are getting off of telling people this, and making people feel very guilty over feeling the way they do? Do you realize that abusers shouldn’t be let off the hook so easily? Yeah, we should all forgive those that abuse so they can abuse again. Just let it go, let them abuse more. It doesn’t matter. Abuse is good. Let’s turn our backs and encourage it. After all, we’re not supposed to point fingers anymore. We’re only supposed to make idiots richer. and then, worship them. Be blind, drugged, happy sheep. The more blind the better, the more we praise these advice-givers, the scarier it gets. Just don’t buy into it.  Don’t buy buy buy.


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