The dirty double d

No, I don’t mean anything Guy Fieri-related.

After finding out about the whole diabeetus thing, I started a morning ritual of, oh, I dunno, actually eating goddamned breakfast. Sort of. I get up, I pour my glass of whole milk (doc’s orders) while making an espresso, and eat something light with them while checking social media.

Yesterday was a great example of why I do that, because I couldn’t, because once again (doctor’s orders), I was fasting. No milk. No espresso. No breakfast. Just water.

And boy howdy was I brain dead.

That still happens occasionally on mornings when I don’t have work. I sleep in too long, don’t get food, then spend so much time going “oh, I don’t wanna do anything” and whine and complain and…don’t eat.

It’s even worse when it happens at night. Usually, it’s like this: I eat lunch late. I get home from work, I’m tired. I want a nap. I don’t want to work out. I don’t want to eat. I spend all night staring at a computer screen.

Why is it a double d?

‘Cause if you add depression to it, it gets worse. You feel bad because a) you haven’t worked out b) you haven’t eaten c) you haven’t done jack shit.

While antidepressants may have saved my life before, I think the whole diabetes thing might have saved it recently. Had I not known – had it not been for people like my nutritionist and good friend Joanna, or Suzie, whose helped me with my workouts and is fun to chat with on Twitter – I wouldn’t have known how to handle it, and I would’ve maybe sunk deeper than Wellbutrin and Pristiq could’ve helped.

So, obviously, also thanks to Dr. Mircea for that.

And keep an eye on your own moods.

POST-NOTE on the other day: I got to work (and honestly, I probably shouldn’t have been driving on 495/66/28 without food or caffeine) and went to Kapao!, which has quickly become my favorite local Asian place. Spicy ginger chicken with lots of veggies later…man, I felt better. Also much better after too much diet soda. AND HUSH ON THE DIET SODA HATING, HATERS!

hey guys

Soon, I’ll have a post that’ll be locked. Somehow. If you can’t see it, please, don’t take it personally. If you want to see it, know that it will involve TMFI about me and a number of trigger warnings. I need to write it, I need to share it, but for some of y’all – especially my closest friends, in some regards – I … just can’t.

Just because I’m a hypocrite doesn’t mean you can be one.

In a month, it’ll be my ten year anniversary at my company, which means it will have been 10 years since I moved up here from Charlottesville. I spent the previous ten years saying, no, I’d never move to the DC area, it’s horrible, and now I love this area incredibly much.

And with my experience of 10 years, especially the past year or so, I can say that if I’d stayed in C’ville it would’ve been bad for me. I know the route I was taking. I am scared to death that I would’ve ended up being a neckbearded no-career-having MRA supporting asshole.

But, I’m not. I’m better than I was. And I’m still trying to be better, and sometimes it takes years to realize when you’ve failed.

About five years ago I dated a woman who was quite amazing (and thank god we’re still friends, because she’s awesome). At one point, she discovered I had the video of Erin Andrews, the peephole video, on my computer. She asked me why I had it.

“She’s pretty and I wondered what she looked like naked,” was the gist of my response.

I didn’t understand, I couldn’t even comprehend, that it might be wrong to watch that video. That she never consented to being taped. That she didn’t want people (like me) seeing that. That, just because she’s famous, didn’t give ME the right to ogle her bits that she preferred not to show off in public.

Let’s dive into that distinction a bit too. A person who has no nudes of his or herself (I’m just going to use the plural and fuck grammar, whatevs) doesn’t have them for a reason: they don’t want people to see them. Taking pictures of them when they don’t know and looking at them, much less POSTING THEM PUBLICLY, is a huge invasion of privacy and just a horrible thing to do.

A person who takes nudes of themself (note that), has never shared them, and has them taken off their phone/computer/etc.: same. They were not intended for sharing. They were not for others. NO ONE but the person in the picture has a right to those pictures.

A person who has nudes taken of themself, either by someone else for that person’s enjoyment, or that takes them of theirself and gives them to someone else, intends them only for that audience. This ain’t the NFL where you play lip service to the legalese at the beginning of a broadcast – if you weren’t specifically, explicitly given those pictures, THEY ARE NOT FOR YOU. NO MATTER HOW FAMOUS THE PERSON IS. That’s the kicker with J-Law, for instance. She’s not posed nude. She didn’t want those pics out.

You are a bad person if you think otherwise. I have been a bad person.

If you pose nude for something public, well, hey, that’s that, ya know? At least, as far as I can see.

Let’s talk about an anecdote, redacted as much as possible: There are two folks in this anecdote, one named Roberta and the other named Julio. I made those names up, but the story is true.

They had dated for a while, but it didn’t go anywhere other than to bed a few times. However, they remained friends, and after a while, Roberta sent Julio some images of her (and they were greatly appreciated).

Julio was not hugely successful with the ladies but realized if he shared those photos with friends, it would make him feel better about himself. “Sure,” he thought, “I might not be sleeping with tons (or any) women right now, but look how hot she is” he’d say, showing others the pics.

Years go on. He still does that.

Then: huge nude leak! All these celebs! OMG LOOK AT THIS!

He jumps onto the nudes, downloads as many as he can, shares them with friends. THESE ARE AWESOME.

But in the years, Julio isn’t the same person. He starts reading more, and he starts seeing women talk about what it’s like to have your pictures leak, to have them shared without permission. He hadn’t seen the problem before.

He realizes something.


Or, rather, I’m the problem.

I didn’t hack the nudes or anything like that. I just downloaded and shared. Just like I downloaded and shared someone else’s without asking.

Took me a long time to learn that and a lot of thinking to accept that.

I reached out to her and asked for forgiveness. She gave it to me. As someone who has spent the last year donating and trying to advocate for women, I need to do better. I’ve deleted what I can.

And now I’ll have to advocate more. Ten days ago was the last time I shared something I should not have, and so I’ll have to explain to those drunks (hi guys) why I was wrong to do so. Then to everyone else.

It’s a start, but maybe one day I won’t be a hypocrite.

Robin Williams & Depression

If you read this, you know who I am, probably.


Yup, that’s me.

And you probably also know that I suffer from depression.

First, let’s define what I am not talking about here. I am not talking about a momentary sadness, or a movie that makes you feel down, or “I just feel down in the dumps today but ice cream made me feel better!” People will say, “oh, that movie made me depressed,” and that’s a definition of the word, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Nor is it some emo whining teenager. There’s angst, and there’s depression.

(And before we go any further, uh, trigger warnings I guess. Also: I am not looking for a debate or argument here, so don’t even start one, and also, I have no plans or desire to self-harm. I am describing what I go through and what I talk about regularly with people that I know as well as my therapist and other health professionals.)

For me, depression is a voice in my head I hear every day that suggests I would be happier if I didn’t have to deal with life because I would no longer be living it.

For me, depression is a voice in my head I hear every day that suggests no matter what I do, it’s worthless and going to come to ruin, and I might as well give up.

For me, depression is a voice in my head I hear every day that that hopes when I go to sleep, I don’t wake back up.

For me, I know depression lies, and I fight it every day, I fight it with medicine, I fight it with diet and exercise, I fight it with perhaps some bad habits (for me, it’s hard to hear that voice when I’m sitting outside, smoking a cigar, sipping a beverage), I fight it with my doctors and therapist, and most of all, I fight it with my friends because I’m not afraid to talk about it publicly. I let them know that I fight it, and when it feels like it’s winning, and they let me know that they’re there and they support me.

I also fight it with humor. I pretty much make jokes constantly. It’s a coping mechanism, and while it’s not always perfect, and you have to be careful not to hurt others with your jokes, it feels good to make people laugh.

That, perhaps, is why when Robin Williams died, I was devastated. Immediately, I thought, “this could be me.”

Normally celebrity passings don’t bother me. But here was someone who was brilliant, and had battled his demons, and one day, just one day, lost that battle.

The day after it happened I was speaking with someone at the event I was at. Somehow things came around to this person’s life as newly single, and the person told me why singlehood was new – a partner of 20-something years committing suicide in front of my acquaintance. Having never felt depression or suicidal, it was left to me to try to explain how it feels. My acquaintance just can’t understand it.

If you don’t have it, it can be very hard to understand. But whether or not you have depression, remember a couple of things:

  1. Depression is NOT a weakness any more than cancer is. It is a disease. It is an imbalance of chemicals in your brain.
  2. You can not wish it away, or meditate it away, or just “cheer yourself up”. 
  3. If you do not have depression, and you propagate any of those myths from #2, you’re a horrible human being. Please either remove yourself from my life forever or let me know how you feel so I can do it for you.
  4. Suicide is not cowardice, it is not weakness. It is an advanced stage of the disease. I can’t put in words what it feels like. I can’t put in words what happens to your mind. Suicide is only cowardice when someone takes it to avoid what is due to them – for instance, Ariel Castro committing suicide in prison? That’s a fucking coward. Robin Williams? He lost the battle just one day. Just once. That’s all it takes.
  5. If you’re feeling suicidal, call 1-800-273-TALK right away. Talk to them. GET HELP.
  6. If you’re suffering depression, talk to your friends, your family. 
  7. If a loved one is suffering from depression, keep in touch with them. Do not condescend. Don’t tell them to “cheer up”. Listen to them, be there for them. That’s what they need. You may be well-meaning in your desire to give advice, but often it just makes a depressed person feel more isolated and alone (“they don’t know how I feel”).

Anyways. The week that Robin Williams passed, between that and the Ferguson riots, killed my desire to write anything. This is the longest writing I’ve done since. I needed to get it off my chest. Thanks for reading.


Fucking Cooch

You know what? I was going to write a whole long post about how much I can’t stand the Cooch, and how if he gets elected I’ll start looking into moving to DC or (shudder) Maryland, but you know what (again)?

Fuck that guy. I’m not even going to talk about him. Or how he makes up poll numbers. Or how his discharge from the Marines is fishy. Or how his invisible sky god tells him that he should ignore the Supreme Court and try to regulate what people do in the privacy of their own home.

Goddamnit. I wasn’t going to talk about that douche bag. Let’s just hope his big bag of crazy keeps going down with ol’ McDonnell.

So here I go.

Odds are if you’re here, you know me, and for someone reason care what I think. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, probably puppy murdering in a previous life or something, but whatever.

FIRST OFF: I’ll be policing comments quite heavily here if I need to, if I don’t turn them off altogether. This is for me to vent my spleen and I mostly don’t give a shit what other people think.

SECOND OFF: Look at the title.

THIRD OFF: whatevs.

Now, some background.

At one point in college I considered myself conservative, mostly because everyone else seemed to be liberal. Then I discovered the libertarians, and decided I was one of them – in fine format, by arguing with them mostly. But who doesn’t love the idea of complete freedom?

Then I grew up.

Look, it might still be accurate to say that America is the most powerful nation in the world. However, if you say greatest, I have to say: not while we still negate the rights of our own citizens due to the color of their skin, their sex, who they want to sleep with. Not when we have declining education and scientific budgets and progress. Not when members of our legislature are too busy playing games, passing bills that are doomed to fail (such as repealing Obamacare) instead of bills to help the economy, calling special sessions to push through legislation that degrades and humiliates women (such as Texas and their abortion law) while endangering their lives, not when the legal system’s correct result is that a fat coward who murdered an unarmed teenager will go free.

That shit is wrong, and I cannot stand for it.