Always Color Outside The Lines

I’ve never been one to live comfortably inside a set perimeter and abide my “normal” day-to-day standards. There are, however, certain times that I actually decide to be responsible and step up to the plate of being a fully functional adult. This weekend, however, will not be one of them. Not surprised? Me either.

It’s a special occasion, really. First off, I’m celebrating not just my birthday but also the start of what I’ve decided is going to be one of the best decades of my life – my thirties. So what, I can claim that I’m still twenty something and I can’t really expect to get carded anymore, but that’s okay. I don’t like digging my ID out anyways.

More over, my little baby sister drove all the way down here from Wisconsin to visit. Why is this a big deal, well, it’s almost like I see a little bit of me in her. There is a spark to her that doesn’t flinch at the thought of hopping in a 13 year old Nissan and driving for 16 hours straight through some of the most boring (and some of the most interesting) states of this country. There were naysayers, of course, but it seemed like the majority of them were more concerned that she was going to get kidnapped because her car was going to break down. Both which seem likely, but not really. The liklihood of her getting rammed by some sleep deprived trucker is far greater, or at least by my statistical standards.

Besides, she’s like me, don’t screw with her otherwise you’ll get an earful. I’d like to see the poor bastard that tries to abduct one of the “Weed Girls”.

Even more deviation from the norm is going to be going to the races with her, all the way down at Atlanta Motor Speedway. Although I’m a car nut, I can’t say I really feel like I’m up-to-date on what a Nationwide series is, or even what the heck is racing. All I really know is that the race starts at 7, and I’ve got a seat. I’ve done some pretty exciting things like jumping out of planes, but this is making me a little more on the edge of my seat than that did. I guess I knew that when I jumped out of the plane the parachute would open and I’d end up on the ground eventually – but the race – that’s a different story.

What if we get abducted by a crazy race fan?

With that mentality nobody ever goes anywhere. It’s one of my favorite childhood memories – which I’ll share – my aunt was watching me color one day and I was filling in the vacancy of the belly of a bear. The white page, to me at least, was screaming for some pink. Pink it got, but in the form of me coloring in the entire bear with this pink crayon. My aunt said “that says something about you, most people would just color it brown or black and call it a day.” I didn’t get it as much as I do today, but it seems like I’ve always been coloring my bears pink and having blatant disregard for what the world expects.
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Replacing A Turn Signal Light – Not The Walk In The Park I Had Hoped For

Whoever made up the saying about making lemonade with lemons was on drugs. I don’t care how you slice them, they’re still sour, they’ll still hurt like a bastard if they get in your eyes and they’ll still give you sores in your mouth if your deficient in Vitamin A. The whole logic of that saying is if you’ve got crap, add something to it and make it a little less crappy.

Case in point, highlight of my life today is riding to work on Max. Max is my buddy, he never lets me down, although sometimes he tests me to see if I’m paying enough attention to be a functional member of society. Particularly on the open road. On the way to work I get this odd orange light, one that doesn’t go off. Odd I thought, then I realized it was only when I was making a right turn. Bam, that’s it, it was the blinker. By that time I had already committed to getting to work before investigating.

When the lemons come, be prepared, because they’ll be sour, just like me rendevoux with that damn turn signal. This isn’t a standard bulb, no, you have to get it at the motorcycle dealership across town. This isn’t an easy unscrew the cover housing, you have to take the whole assembly and loosen it to twist it to unscrew the screws that hold the plastic thing on. Then you have to twist and pull, twist and pull, all the while being very careful not to accidentally have your skin take an involentary visit to the scorching hot exhaust right next to you.

No bulb still. I have no money in my motorcycle pocket, I have to go to class, and I am not in the best of moods. Hey, on the plus side I’ve got some sugar to put into my lemon juice….

Yipee?

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Working on something…. Something big…

So, it occurred to me that last year at this time I was feverishly planning the great American red shark adventure. It seems like forever and a day, but it hasn’t been, really.

I have started working on the book “the great American Red Shark Adventure”. I need some input though. Should it be text, pictures, neither or both. Right now it’s mostly pictures, they are worth a thousand words you know…

Lemme know what you think and if you’d be interested in ordering your very own copy!

A heavy sigh, a heavy heart.

The wheels of life turn and sometimes you have no choice but to follow them wherever they take you. I suppose my wheels have taken me lots of places to eat lately.

I look at myself and wonder “what the hell, Nikki, why can’t you put the French fries down?” it doesn’t work that way. Now I’m faces with the repercussions of My actions. It’s kind of like driving way too fast then getting a speeding ticket. You knew that was wrong but you did it anyway.

Now, for those that I try to help heal, and those that try to help me heal myself, say a little prayer of strength for me. This is going to be a rough week. I hate starting Mondays with a grand idea of looking fabulous but realizing my butt got too big to fit into my shorts and I look like swollen version of some decrepit doll from my childhood.

Does anybody remember “my baby all gone”? She would eat and eat and eat and giggle and giggle and giggle. Maybe that’s what I am, except for when I make all gone I just want to cry.

I really wish that there was some internal switch that I could activate that would put me back to where I was this time (body wise) in 2009. I don’t want to stay that way, but I do want to remember what it’s like to have my body start ingesting my organs because I didn’t eat and eat and eat. Just a friendly reminder that eating is okay, but only in moderation.

On the plus side, I haven’t puked in over a month down. Woo… I think.

So today, I’m going to hop in my car, the tard, and drift into work as I usually do. Just because I can really, and perhaps try a liquid diet for a while, or at least until next meal time.

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An angry Zips…

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Funny enough, when humans are in a tizzy and not able to focus on anything but raging and being mad, Zips focuses on nothing but becoming whole again. What will it take to get him back to where he was before the incident to upset occur. Like an insurance policy of sorts, he wants nothing more than to be whole again.

Why is Zips mad, who knows, but we can all learn from him. Instead of acting irrationally and doing something that isn’t going to provide positive outcome, he furrows his brow and plans a different route of attack for the situation. Zips doesn’t fight the wave, he rolls to shore with it then analyzes the situation. Zips doesn’t before the sea to retreat, he grabs surfboard and rides the wave.

Right now, Zips is in the car wondering when the next adventure is going to be….

On some days….

“There were some nights when The Doors were the best band in the world.” HST

It’s difficult to argue music, but it’s impossible to argue feelings, emotions, gut wrenching passion for things.

On some days Led Zeppelin II is the best album in the world, this morning just happened to be one of them. As i slowly woke from my slumbering position on the couch, I reached for the first comfort I could think of, sweet sweet music. Of course possibilities are endless and the internet doesn’t exactly make life easy when it comes down to it. Not to sound like an old woman but I remember when you actually had to go FIND a cd to listen to. Those were the tough days.

Now, I rely very heavily on Pandora One. It propels me through road trips, amps me through a work day, and almost reads my mind when I’m blue.

This morning it thought my mind wanted to hear Kris Kristofferson. Sorry, strike one. Then it thought I wanted to listed to Cake. Strike two, Pandora, you’d better have something up your sleeve.

Then the familiar chords came pouring out of the system, Ramble On. The anthem of my high school years, the anthem of my adolescence, one of the few songs my cousins band could play. (and they did, over and over and over again). I’m taken back to a time of hope, dreams, and lack of disordered thinking. All I worried about were pimples, working, and getting good grades. I guess not much has changed, except for maybe my zip code and not living with my Mom.

I still get comfort from sleeping on the couch when I’m alone. I still like to listen to loud music all hours of the night. I still like chocolate mother fucking donuts with glaze. Come on, Zips, hop in the electric car with me and adventure to the rest of Led Zep II. (skipping over the Lemon Song).

Tip your hat to the day, and remember, you don’t even have to like The Doors to agree that on some nights, they are in fact the best band in the world.

Zips in his bee safety seat. We're still not sure exactly if or what his age is...so tucked away from the danger of an airbag is the place to be.

Zips in his bee safety seat. We’re still not sure exactly if or what his age is…so tucked away from the danger of an airbag is the place to be.

Before And After – Does It Hurt Or Heal?

I’m not one to skirt around what I really think, and I’m certainly not one to tell others how to run their lives, but as a common courtesy, I’m going to warn you right now, the images you might see in this link are a bit disturbing, at least to me.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/makeup-before-and-afters

After seeing this posted on an “official” eating disorder recovery website it turned my stomach inside out and made me want to unsee what I saw. For all of the “empowerment” that website has given me it feeds me this garbage. I mean, isn’t recovery supposed to be about shedding the phony persona that we’re trying to have. Isn’t getting “better” becoming comfortable with who you are, no matter what you see on the outside? Shouldn’t people like and love you for who you are on the inside?

I guess not, and this is proof that the world, is just leaning more towards the “barbie doll” mentality. I’m not, and never will be fit into that mold, and I’m not trying to anymore. This morning I sat over my breakfast pondering how I have wasted my entire 20’s on having an eating disorder. I’ll never get that time, energy, money, or relationships back. Not even the most caked up make up can hide that. It’s innate, it’s inside, and I’m angry.

What made me even angrier, was that I wanted to be like the after pictures just to see what it felt like to “transform” into a confident made up self. Of course, without the proper make up I couldn’t go all out, but what I had on hand at work this gloomy Saturday morning was enough to get the point across, not only to me, but to my coworkers. I’m the same ridiculous person that I am with or without makeup.

I spend a whopping three minutes putting on foundation and glamorizing my eyes. I then proceeded to fume myself out of the bathroom with my hairspray that seemed to spray everything except my hair (now I know what the mystery film all over everything in the bathroom is). I looked in the mirror and for some reason I wanted to throw my shoulders back and strut around like I was a goddess. I took my self portrait and almost had to delete it because to me I looked ridiculous. I looked like a fake me, almost like a me impersonator. It was “Nicole” not Nikki. I exited the bathroom in a grand display of ta-da and of course my coworkers weren’t quite sure how to take it. After some comments I realized, it wasn’t me. They were confused, so I promptly put on some sunglasses and they said, “we like that Nikki better.”

I’m hurt that people feel the need to hide behind paint, but I’m also happy that some people feel more comfortable in their skin afterwards. I just don’t want to be thrown into the same boat as every other female and feel like I need make up. It’s a choice.

You decide

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