I do say, SHUT UP

I'm a Graphic Designer. I don't currently work as one, however. Yes, yes I know. I'm workin' on it. That's a story for another day.

Shall we then?

Let me paint you a nice little picture. I graduated with an Associate's in Graphic Design  9 years ago. Sadly, I also lived in a town where the extent of graphic design demand doesn't really go much further than money mailers and visually repulsive billboards for clients that don't know their ass from their elbow.  The primary issue I ran into in freelance work in the armpit of the black hole that destroyed the lemming's universe, was the clients inability to let the creative reigns go even an inch. If you're the creative type, you know how this request to squelch your talents and creativity COMPLETELY, makes you want to stab them in the eyeball with a rusty nail and tell them to shove it in places even porn stars don't dare. And that's sayin' somethin'.

As a result, you wind up with a piece you won't look at let alone claim as your own or parade around as an example of the work you could produce working in design, as it looks like shit and winds up in the recycle bin on your computer almost as fast as you got fired for telling the client which dark places to shove the billboard. Why thank you, douche-tastic-ass clown, that's a fancy portfolio piece that will never see the light of day. It's been a pleasure. Now fuck off and go peddle your obnoxious need for VP status to someone equally as pompous and have yourself a pissing contest, kthxbye. No one cares that you have a chicken AND dairy farm making this fortune you're squandering on your ego. Well, except you of course. There's a whole world out there that would chew you up and spit you out where you stand my friend.

I didn't bust my ass in school to get to this point so you could insult me in my own element. I don't prance onto your chicken farm and tell you the color of the chickens shit is incorrect in accordance with poultry harvesting, don't march up in here telling me mustard yellow and vomit green are the new black and should be used as such. Open up your little Paint on your PC you most likely don't know how to operate, and have at it. Stop wasting my time. If you want someone to photocopy your bullshit, sharpied design on a napkin and print it up real nice for ya on a billboard, go to Kinko's. Only they were obsolete as well so they no longer exist. And please, for your own sake, shut your crapflap long enough to listen to some ideas I have instead of telling me I have no idea what I'm talking about. You smell like Hereford, TX and it would be greatly appreciated if you showered. Good day to you.

Now that's not to say I mean I don't want to hear your ideas or what you're expecting out of said design. It's your money, by all means waste it. I'm only speaking of the types who walk in like they own the joint and tell you they're the most brilliant human being on the planet in all aspects. It's about the equivalent of hiring an attorney to sit and let you do the talking at trial. You know who you are. Walk away please before this gets colorful in a verbal sense.

Granted, it doesn't help that I lived in a town where the most important things in life are how big your truck is and how loud your new stereo system will blare the equally obnoxious shit-kicker tunes at a decibel causing mass brain hemorrhage and impotence. And if you're not one of those types, I suggest you pick up a bible and start bludgeoning yourself in the face with it for looking at a chocolate chip cookie with such lust you've now shamed your entire family. If you don't, that's okay, someone else will and then tell you their attempt to drive out the chocolate chip cookie demons failed and you're going to hell anyway, whilst picking up said cookie and eating it in front of you.

Not everyone there is such, but it is a vast majority. The rest of us found shelter outside city limits or got the hell out at the first opportunity. If they saw me now with my tattoos and tiny piercings they'd banish my soul to eternal damnation just for crossing the city limit sign and entering their religious fanatic war without a stake through my blasphemous heart. I’m not saying I have issues with religion, or God, or whatever it is you pray to, but I have my limits in the way of extremist type teachings. And I damn sure have an issue with being beaten over the head with it because I don't like your mom's cooking or your opinion.

I am by no means saying I am the greatest designer that ever walked this spectacular planet of ours. The difference is I don't tout around that I DO know everything design and am the all seeing all knowing of the subject. Now that I've moved to a much more design conducive city, I can get on with it then, yes? Swell.

Well I'll Be Damned

I'm in traffic, rush hour naturally, because randomly at this time of day, I want fries. And they have to be a very specific branding of fries. There is absolutely no way of getting over to the far right lane coming off the highway, as the 2 right lanes are packed with undoubtedly more important persons than I. Well shit fiar 'n' save the matches, this'll be somethin'.

This particular branch of the ridiculousness that is the highway system here, only allows you to get back ON the highway if you botch up your reckless merging tactics and have to go through the light. I need to turn right at the light that the brilliant engineer has conveniently placed a mind boggling 50 feet past the off ramp. Remind me to place my left clutch foot rather forcefully in said engineers posterior should I ever cross paths with him.

Lucky me, my car is the size of a shoebox. I see a van trying to get to the far right from the middle, where I'm trying to get, so I slow down and turn my shoebox to move in where he's at and now was. Now, I'll be the first to admit I hate it when people block lanes because their ass is sticking out 3 feet over the curb from where they came from. I'm the one leaning out the window yelling, "You got 'bout 4 feet in front of you so whyn't choo just scoot on up there cowboy."

Moving along. I successfully get into the lane. Sideways. And am still, 100%, in the lane of my choosing. Now here's the part where I'm amused/annoyed/baffled at stupidity. This here road I'm fancy maneuverin' is 3 lanes with the far left of the road as the yellow, striped, don't drive here because 'we felt like paintin' yella lines here', that never seems to have a purpose other than taking up the street. That one. You know what I'm talking about. Although, it IS the width of a regular lane.

I've moved from the far left 'driveable' lane, to the middle, and have now perked myself within the visible lane lines. I of course smile and say 'yay' because this makes me happy as I am this much closer the mah delicious fries.

A Tahoe slams on it's brakes from the off ramp, tires squealing, most likely a following of squealing brakes and I'm fairly certain I saw a finger being flipped at me from the rearview. This tiny tiny man driving this very big truck is shaking his fist at me, bird intact and has dead stopped just outside the exit ramp, in rush hour, because I am possibly 1/4 of an inch over the line from my side of the line, in his space which has been predetermined by Big Truck Tiny Man Syndrome to be a minimum of 13.0351 feet in width . Now don't go gittin' yer gussie all up there half pint, your tiny head might explode and ruin my paintjob. I'm sure your vicariously sized vehicle will fit quite nicely in the 15 FEET OF EXTRA SPACE TO YOUR LEFT! *mimics PA system voice* If you'll look to your left, you'll see this fancy extra roadway we've cleverly disguised as a concrete wall. To your right, other drivers using only half the allotted space for your tank. If you have any further questions, get off the road. Thank you. Good day to you.

I suppose he was probably screaming a barrage of obscenities at me from his cramped parking space, because now he's decided to make an exaggerated curve around the back of my car, cept he was 'bout 3 feet from it, and didn't actually need to curve around even slightly. I 'spose he's one for theatrics, because as he's doing this, he's purposely glaring to his right, at me, whilst moving forward. To which I lovingly reply, "Don't you make eyes at me, boy! Me-n-you are gonna mix."

Who Are These People?

I work in medical billing/coding. ITT Tech or Virginia College didn't offer me a life I couldn't refuse, I just landed in medical billing doing data entry because, well, because a couple friends that work there recommended me to their boss. I've recently been trained to do the actual billing and have since decided to share my thoughts, interpretations, and misinterpretations of said codes.

I wonder who came up with the terms used to describe some of these diagnoses. I mean really, most of them sound terribly painful, others are just one term shoved in front of or behind another 2 or 3 terms to make one big fancy diagnosis.

An unspecified intestinal obstruction is 560.9. How many kinds of obstructions can one have in their intestines that there's a code for unspecified? I'm not entirely certain I even want to know.

The coding system works like this (from what I can gather on the code website): 560 is the initial identifier, meaning there are a series of decimal numbers depending on the kind of obstruction. The fact that this one is .9 is alarming. There are at least 8 specified obstructions and they said, f*ck it, the rest will go under .9 because they also had ADHD and got bored.

Speaking of ADHD, that code is 314.01 and the fancy term is hyperkinetic syndrome.  I fell into the Hyperactive/Impulsive group by the by, which I must add, is typically a male ADHD trait. "I have superpowers?!" No, no you do not. Shit. In fact, I'm a firm believer I got screwed in that department because the nurses already handed out the grab bags of specially chosen powers for any given ADHD individual based on personality traits and tics. Jerks. I want a refund.

I wonder what kind of super power it would be though. Hyperkinetic. Sounds like magically moving things with your mind, right? I accidentally knock things over but not from across the room, and most certainly not with my mind, so that power is out. I'm lucky if I remember to physically move things out of the way before my spastic arm movement knocks it off the desk.

An EKG diagnoses I had just today. How you come to this particular conclusion upon reading waves of heart beats is beyond me, but this one had me in my own world for a good portion of the work day. *clears throat* Pregnant state, incidental. Incidental: not of prime or central importance; following or accompanying as a consequence. So does this mean some pregnancies are more important than others or that pregnancy is caused by something other than sex? Please, doc, explain. Because this one is stuck in my head. Thank you inventors of incredibly annoying multi definitional terms you've bestowed upon my already complex thought system. It is most unappreciated as this is my current means of income.

What if we all spoke in this code? What would that be like? How pissed off would I be every single day of my life if I had no idea what anyone was talking about because it was all in decimal ridden numbers? The normal ability to spot something far more important than what you're saying and tune you out to think about this spotted object, is enough of a distraction thank you. It's most likely a shiny object as well. Just sayin'.

Dating Site Creation

I am a dating site member, not on purpose, but I am nevertheless. They have the ridiculous quizzes I like to take and from lack of observance, I joined it for the quizzes only to find out later, it's a dating site. My response, by way of my public profile, was the following. Enjoy........

My self summary:

I like long walks at the city landfill, which is best only on a hot, sweltering summer day, when the smell is in the air. It's especially desirable just after a pouring rain. I absolutely adore overly sensitive, menacingly serious about their perfect match, fun Nazi's who would prefer a woman to be reticent, docile and overall subservient to his every whim: a dame much like myself.

The following choices are amongst my most treasured introductions upon the opening of the heartfelt messages I eagerly await.

1. You're hot.
2. When am I taking you out?
3. Omg, please tell me your hair is long.
4. I usually only date blonds, but for you, I'll make an exception.
5. You can ride me if you like.
6. Your sarcastic profile was fun to read, but I think it might be a little too abrasive.
7. The ever bitter and lack of discernment, "I cant imagine why you're single."
8. OMG! Please tell me you have a tractor beam vagina!
9. Well your profile certainly is hateful and it makes you appear like a stupid person.
10. So, you are a midget?
11. Hey sexy . You there. I got something for you!-)
12. You going to chat with me? I was to get you in the sack! You up for it?
13. Here's a tip: Men want to feel needed. They don't want a sarcastic, aloof child.
14. I want a mutual addiction of body and flesh and of course to have my way with you.

My ideal match is a man who loves to check himself in the mirror all day, has more muscle mass than brain matter, and only has one single photo of his flexed bicep (chest will also suffice). I expect any man'o'mine to require an immediate agglomeration of progeny. My hips were only created to birth your offspring, after all, and I desire only to be the bearer of a stalwart boy to carry on the inescapable carnal prowess of his forefathers.

What I'm doing with my life:

Waiting for the above to message me you beastly stallion you. There's only so many house duties to take care of in the little 24 hours a day I have to prepare your dominion for your arrival. Those empty 3 hours are restless in my anticipation for my eternal adulation of your sway.

I'm really good at:

very few things, so I'll simply list them so as to prevent you from tireless drivel.
Relinquishing independence, compliance, obedience, silence and, of course, capitulation.

The first things people usually notice about me:

Notice me? Now that's just laughable, darlin. Why would they go and do such a foolish thing as that? My only concern is your utmost sovereignty.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music and food:

Books:

- The True Submission of Wifely Requirements
- How to Attract a Douche Bag
- Playing Coy: How to Master Mind Games - Amateur Edition
- Nabbing Your Bread-winning Man: 10 Easy Steps to Ensure You'll Never Have to be Independent Again
- How to Fake Sincere and Kind: A Gals Guide to Her Sensitive Man

Movies:

- Kitchenwives
- I Need to be Needed
- I'm Incomplete Without You
- You Showed Me the Best Night of My Life

Music:

Perhaps, in light of my failure to produce this evenings spread in a timely manner, you'd prefer I held the turntable stylus in place with my teeth, as I know you despise your record needlessly skipping due to my careless dusting, and this is your favorite method of my compliance education.

Food:

How can I possibly have time to discover my favorite foods? As I've stated, I'm only beginning to learn the proper preparation for YOUR food. Until I've got it down perfect, I'm afraid I have nothing further to speak on this matter.

The 6 things I could never do without:

Dependency.
Arrogance.
Flippancy.
Dominance.
Provocation.
Malakas.

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

the man who will come sweep me off my feet and rescue me from this mundane life of independence and individuality. I do fully discern that I must mold myself into an undeniably transparent dolt if I wish to attract the perfect man. I know there's no foolish time wasted by such a hearty embodiment of a real man like you, on figuring out the alleged complexities of such a fragile beings mind.

On occasion, I look at my few OKC awards and ponder why anyone with half a lick of common sense would ever find me deserving of such a thing. I'm hesitant to accept most, as I am merely a woman and there are far more deserving men here that should rightfully be awarded. No need to award me for such nonsensical rambling.

On a typical Friday night I am:

Enjoying my weekly dialogue with Aunt Grettle of the weeks happenings and the crucial improvements to be made.

I do vastly appreciate her advice, as she is the world's foremost expert on felicitous woman conduct. I eagerly write down every word for reference in hopes that one day I will be a suitable bride.

Her greatest advice yet is to never utter a single thought of my own in the presence of any man, if I wish to allure a suitor. I've told her on innumerable occasions, her enlightenment would be deeply advantageous to matrons far and wide supposing that she wrote a book. She would never conceive of doing so, seeing as it does not abide by the very advice she's imparting. A becoming wife has no valid information to disclose.

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

Deep down, I overly concern myself with the tone in which I portray myself. I know, as a man, your opinion of me is the only thing in this world that keeps the sun rising every morning. Without it, I would surely fade to nothing more than a forsaken, abhorrent shell of an existence.

You should message me if:

If every moment of every day, you require constant interaction from me to prove you are needed; if you can't bear the thought of not hearing my soothing voice, or reading my loving messages beyond a grueling hour; if you count the hours since our last words, then please, message me to your hearts content.

In the absence of my immediate response, I encourage you to continue sending me a reminder to do so. I only ask you send a bare minimum of 19 reminders, every hour, on the hour, until I've given you your answer. I would like to also politely request your utter contempt, open hostility, belittlement and berating in your reminders, as they are the only surefire methods of ensuring
compliance.

ADHD Complete Domination Successful: Day 1 (from 2010)

I woke up at 6 this morning for reasons unknown to my unemployed brain. Trying to reason with myself at that hour as to why I'm not sleeping, is utterly impossible. New reasoning: I'm awake, may as well work on some design stuff. Execute.

So I make my daily list, that I will most likely misplace by noon, and then open Photoshop AND Illustrator. Because ADHD has cleverly tricked me into believing this is the best possible solution to eliminating distraction. I have 9 bagillion ideas in my head, as the creative block has now left the building, so I get out mah trusty notebook and start writing them down.

But wait, another idea springs forth. I need to create some symbol libraries to use later in Illustrator, so repetitive things can just be popped onto the page. Not today later, in the future later. Why? I don't know, I forgot why.

When I need ideas for designing, I search online for various things. I needed ideas for symbols, so I googled vector images to browse for something that gave me an idea. Any time you search for some sort of free resource, you're led down an endless path of download sites, which I might add, DO NOT HELP WITH DISTRACTIONS.

Naturally, I'm no longer looking for ideas and writing them down, I'm now downloading vector libraries. LOTS of vectors. To put it in perspective, 3 hours of hyper-focused downloading.

Current time: 9 am.

In my quest to amass a boundless collection of vectors, I've realized I didn't create the libraries I already have correctly. Try to delete them, Illustrator says not a chance in hell. New idea: chat assistance on adobe.com That can't take long right? Uh huh. The help I finally get doesn’t work. In my frustration, I take a break.

Current time: 11:30 am (yes it took that long to get help)

Can't find my list OR my notebook, so of course this means I must go to Target immediately to get more notebooks. I've concluded ADHD sits in the back of my brain and waits for me to set my notebooks down and lose them, and then pounces and tells me it's completely rational to NEED to buy a new notebook, when mine is somewhere within a 5 foot radius of me.

I wind up buying more paper and pens and paint markers than I could ever possibly rationalize needing at any given point in the last 29 years of my life, for an hour. AN HOUR. While in the aisle I've now banished myself from, I randomly say, out loud, "I have a prehensile penis and retractable testicles."

Please, let me explain. I have this book that's basically just a metric ton of ways to screw with people's heads based on the scenario at hand. This fantastically sane phrase I've burst out, is something you teach a pet store parrot to say. I haven't read this book in about 3 or 4 years. Keep that in mind.

Current time: 12:45-ish

I walk out of Target with my goodie bag of shiny new pens and ridiculous amounts of notebooks, and proceed to the row in which I have parked. Or not. I make it all the way to the very end of the parking lot before I realize, not only am I in the wrong row, I'm in the last row before the street on the opposite side of the parking lot from where I actually parked. I can remember an obscure and disturbing quote from a book I read 3 or 4 years ago, but I can't remember where I parked an hour later.

*Note to self: find phone app that gps tracks where your car is.* This is not the first time I've done this. Last time I had a cart full of groceries on the opposite side of the parking lot at Walmart and instead of walking back up the row, strained to get the cart pulled up on the grassy curb things that separate the rows, so I can just take the straight route. This gathered lot of fun this bitch is off her rocker looks.

On to my car. I'm hungry at this point after my exhausting trip to my untimely demise, referred to as Target. I get home, just a block down the road and suggest to myself that a sammich is required. Except I need to go set my stuff down in my room. But wait! I can't put my new notebooks in such disarray! I need to organize my desk to make room for new shiny paper and pens.

Sammich? What are you talking about sammich. I've got new paper you fool! Oh right, I'm hungry.

Current time: 2 pm

Make a delicious sammich. Go back to my room to eat and design. I've only wasted 8 hours at this point, there's plenty of time left in the day to do something constructive. Find my list of things to do and say, again outloud, "Oh yeah. Vector libraries." Actually start listing libraries this time but I want some music.

Proceed to open my playlist and start doodling in my shiny new notebook. Because yes, this it TOTALLY part of amassing vectors.

Current time: 4 pm

I think I shall partake in a delightful cigarette. Naturally, I can’t find any one of my 3 lighters. I search my room, which by the way, isn't messy. It's rather clean actually. Give up 15 minutes later and go outside to see if my roommates have left one of theirs outside. SCORE. They have.

I smoke, go back inside and open the fridge and immediately forget why. Confused, I stand there looking at the freezer door trying desperately to remember why I'm standing here in the cold breeze the open fridge door has created. Give up, close the door. Turn around to go back to my room and remember what I wanted. Ahh yes. A coke would be fabulous, but so would some easy mac. Put the mac in the microwave, and head back to my room.

Sit back down at my desk and hear a clicking noise. Look down and I'll be damned if all 3 of my lighters weren't in my sports bra. I put the lighter there when I go smoke because I have no pockets and if I leave it outside, one of the roommates will pick it up. How I managed to forget ALL 3 OF THEM WERE IN MY CLEAVAGE? ADHD strikes again!

Now that I have my trusty pyro tools again, back to vectoring. I stop downloading for the time being because I'd like to try to keep them organized as I go. Organizing vectors it is!

Current time: 8 pm

I hear from the kitchen, "Alisha? Is this mac & cheese yours?" *ears perk up* "I KNEW I forgot something."

So here I am at 8 pm on what promised to be a constructive day and I'm looking at my list.

I haven't done a single thing I so lovingly wrote down this morning. Not one. And the cherry on top of today's lapse in brainwaves……… I haven't even used Photoshop or Illustrator.

An Introduction.

At the ripe age of 28 my doctor informed me I'm not in fact insane, or pointlessly inattentive, I just lack particular brain functions, like a brain to mouth verbal vomit filter and an inside voice. That I in fact, have a little something called ADHD, and there's a medication to assist in said brain functions.

Upon researching the particular symptoms of ADHD, I've discovered that he is indeed correct in this diagnoses, as well as requesting my official testing. And I mean researching to a point that I'm now a member of a few sites that offer coaching and advice and any kind of information from psychiatrists you could ever need. I am eternally grateful to him for inadvertently explaining my entire life with those 4 letters.

My quirks I've always known in my childhood, as well as adulthood up to this point, begin to make so much sense, that I'm guessing if I were to bump into an old teacher from high school, they'd say, "You?! ADHD?! NO KIDDING!" I'm running like a bunny on fire to keep these......quirks as we shall now call them, that make me, well......me. It would be most unfortunate for me to be 'normal' as I've always been quirky and would be in an element I lack understanding of.

I like to imagine that I'm not a spaz, I just think faster than others and they can't keep up with the mind boggling speed at which I change subjects and later transition back to the original topic with such ease. And that my particular brand of humor is only misunderstood because theirs has yet to evolve to such heights.

I don't forget short term things, I simply misplace them for retrieval of a later time. I have methods in place for helping this short term memory, such as a hook on the wall where my keys go, only I forget to put them there, in turn losing my keys, only remembering what that hook is for when I'm using said keys.

I make lists of things to do in a fashion that they can be checked off upon completion. The problem isn't knowing what needs to be done any particular day, it's the distractions that come in the process that cause hyper focus, thus throwing the list out the window. This main culprit is something I like to call, the obsessive downloading of free design resources.

I can now, after 14 months of unemployment enabling this particular hyper focus, say I am the proud owner of over 900 fonts and an endless number of icons for my computer and brushes for Photoshop. Being a Graphic Designer, this actually isn't that bad of a thing to have. The problem lies herein when it comes time to finding these resources on my external hard drive, as I've yet to organize all of them. I didn't think to do this WHILE downloading, so you can imagine the process that would take place in doing it now, as they need to be organized according to the terms of use.

I pay attention.......to things I have interest in. Otherwise there's a 99% chance, in 5 seconds, I'll have no idea what you just said, or what I just said depending on the topic. There's also a very good chance I'll remember something from a previous conversation, sometimes from days ago, that I was having trouble thinking of at the time, and I'll blurt out said thing mid conversation of a topic completely unrelated. It happens. More than anything else. Interesting, you're talking about Star Trek, I could totally pay attention to this.........."SILK ROAD! That's what I was trying to think of the other day when we were talking, it's called the Silk Road. You may now continue on Star Trek."

I skim read, meaning: I read long printings by way of catching most of the information, and inevitably missing the most important parts that always wind up being the information I need for, say, a school discussion question. This is frustrating, as I had no interest in reading it the first time and now I have to go back and find this tiny, tiny bit of information, in the depth of the crap I wasn't paying attention to in the first place.

I randomly say things that I'm thinking. I don't mean complete thoughts, I mean a few choice words taken from what would have been a complete sentence in my head.

Example: A girl I frequently encounter wears these boots, all the time, and I'd heard about these long before I witnessed them. I was starting to wonder if it was a myth. This girl wearing these boots, walked past me, wearing these boots: emphasis on BOOTS, I'd heard so very much about. The only thing that came out of my mouth, by accident I might add, was "Santa Boots." I didn't mean to say it, but I was thinking it and per ADHD rules and regulations, I was required to say it.

I was left with no choice. Allow me to explain the Santa Boots so as to help you understand why they've been so lovingly named. They're black boots, with a rubber work boot looking toe, they lace up like combat boots and have faux fur on the top. Not the cute kind of furry edged boots, this fur looks like the wool lining of a plaid lumberjacks light jacket, hence the reference to Santa's boots. They're ugly and she wears them with whatever pants she has on tucked into them: even if they're not jeans.

The other day, this random announcement of thought reared its head again, at the same person actually. She was wearing the almost shorts almost pants kind of slacks, and this vest/cardigan thing that has LONG fringe coming from the bottom at just below the waist level down past the knees. My brilliant thoughts manage to produce one audible line: "It's FrodoBaggins!" I'm not proud of this, maybe a little I am, but it's something even the meds can't help at this age. I've known the random comment without filter reaction for far too long to just say goodbye.

And last but most certainly not least, my favorite quirk of them all. The random recollection of anything I've read, seen or heard in the past. My best example of this to date is this; Picture if you will: I'm walking through Target spending entirely too much money on ridiculous unnecessary items, like pens and notebooks. Out of nowhere, and with no 'trigger' to this recollection, I say out loud, "I have a prehensile penis and retractable testicles," as a woman with her child walks by. What the........you're asking. I have a book that's a collection of things you can do to mess with peoples heads, one of the topics being what to teach a parrot in a pet store to say. This gem of a phrase is one of those phrases you teach this parrot. I haven't so much as opened this book in about 4 years or so and why that particular phrase is what I thought of, has yet to be determined.

Now being 2 weeks away for the big 30, I can honestly say the last year and a half of knowing why it is I am the way I am, have been pretty interesting. Stay tuned for more happenings as I continue this blog.