I used to spend a lot of time trying to come up with content for this thing. I didn’t want to come across as too sappy, or too emo, or too over the top. I should probably warn you that I no longer care. Sure, the ultimate goal is to share something humorous yet thought provoking… in theory. But the truth is, I’m just happy I feel inspired to put finger to keyboard again. So if I feel like writing something, I will write something. And if you don’t like it, shut your stupid face.

This week I had my first visit with a new therapist. I figured it was time for some maintenance. Plus I really really like talking about myself to someone who is required to give me their undivided attention…. as if you didn’t already know this.

It had been about 6 months since I have had any sort of official therapy and I had nearly forgotten how helpful it is. I truly believe that ANYONE can benefit from talking to an unbiased someone every once in a while. It really puts things in prospective. Granted, 9 out of 10 times – my sister, my friends, and my coworkers give me the same advice that the therapist gives me… but somehow it’s different when you pay someone to listen.

Since it was my initial visit with a new counselor, we had A LOT to cover. Three hours worth, in fact. Three hours of me giving her the rundown of every idiosyncrasy of my character, and every hardship I have ever endured. While it felt good to tell my story, it was a bit exhausting- to say the least. But it did make me realize something.

I’m dramatic. I’m emotional. I over-think and catastrophize every situation. I have a bad case of ADHD.  I have major sleep anxiety. I have general anxiety in nearly every situation in my life. I have a bit of an inferiority complex. I have absolutely no control of myself when I drink liquor. I’m constantly teetering on the edge of hypomania. I have a major case of body dysmorphia. I will probably never have a comfortable relationship with food.

I could go on for days about my emotional and behavioral issues, but what I realized was that I’m OK with it all. In fact, somewhere over the last year, I’ve learned not only to accept- but also to appreciate some of my issues… or at least the fact that I can acknowledge them and work towards dealing with them.

In the very least, they don’t freak me out as much anymore. The difference between this session, and the first time I met with a counselor last year is unbelievable.

That being said, I can’t help but imagine a world where I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself in check. Where I didn’t have to use “tools” like mindfulness and meditation to calm my nerves or talk myself down from cliffs. And especially where I didn’t act on such impulse all the time. Like, can you imagine if you could program yourself with your own, personal panic button that would prevent you from saying and doing things that you immediately regret?

Por ejemplo: Oh yay! Bob Schneider is playing my at my radio show’s Christmas benefit! He’s my favorite musician in the entire world. I should walk up to him and tell him about how much I love him.. and keep talking for about ten minutes until he looks like he might take off running in fear.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Carissa. Take a deep breath. If you want to say something to your most favorite musician in the world, fine. But for God’s sake, he doesn’t want to hear your life story, or how you once drunkenly wrote him a facebook message proclaiming your love. Just. Stop.

Por ejemplo #2: I’m at a co-workers birthday party drinking a little wine. Just the night before I decided to swear off liquor because SOMEHOW I ended up waking up on the bathroom floor of a boy’s apartment who I actually really like. Boss hands me a shot. Boy, I sure do love shots. Especially warm cinnamony whiskey shots. And it would probably make me a lot more fun to talk to.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Hey girl hey. If you take that shot, it’s all gonna go down hill. You’ll end up making an ass out of yourself in front of all your co-workers. Then you’ll proceed to call that boy you dig and ask, no beg him to pick you up. And THEN you’ll call your dad 10 times telling him you don’t know where you are. So, no… Don’t take that shot.

Sighhh… if only.

Instead, I have to learn these things the hard way. Stupid human body, unequipped with panic buttons. But I guess then I wouldn’t have anything to work on.

So until someone learns how to reprogram my head- I’m just gonna embrace my poor decisions and nutso brain.

ACTIVATE FREAK FLAG

First we have to rewind a few weeks back.  I was at my parent’s house and decided I needed a few new CDs to listen to on my way back to Dallas. I was a little short on cash, so I decided to obtain them the free-est way I knew how… by purchasing them on my mom’s Itunes account. After I picked out a few that I couldn’t live without (The XX, The New Pornographers, Manchester Weekend) I synced them to my own Ipod. I’m not sure if you are aware, but this is the riskiest thing a gal can do. No less than 3 times have I deleted my Itunes library whilst trying to take music from someone else’s computer, or vice versa.

Since I’ve started the new job I have spent the majority of my music face time on GrooveShark.com, so last night was the first time I’d really given the new play-list a good listen. There was a strong smell of water-hose water in the air, which always  puts me in an excellent  mood, so I was really enjoying myself. After I had  listened to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero’s “Home” about 3 times I finally let it move on to the next song in the mix.

When I synced up my pod I must have accidentally downloaded some of my mother’s music because it was a song I’d never heard before- but dude… it really made me want to dance-walk. I mean, I usually dance walk, but this song made me want to DANCE. I have rarely allowed myself to indulge in pop music since my “NSYNC” obsession ended, and I never listen to anything but NPR on the radio, but I swear… this girl had right about the same pitch as I do and within a few minutes I was singing “oooohhh baby, baby, baby” along with her at the top of my lungs.  I immediately started thinking of all the steps I would choreograph if I were still teaching dance, and started experimenting with a few of them right there on the street.

Without looking at my ipod, (I keep it on one of those arm thingies that make you “do the pretzel” just to look at it) I started the song over several times because there was this rap-part at the end that I decided I wanted to memorize.

When I finally looked down to find out who this new pop-chick was, I was freaking devastated.

It was – Justin. Fucking. Bieber.

If that’s not cool, I don’t know who is. And I obviously don’t…

I had seen his name on Twitter’s trending topics and once I looked into it, I recognized his face, but had somehow gone this long without hearing this song. The saddest part about it, is that I’m so late to the game. I KNOW people have been talking about him for months, and I simply ignored the whole fad. It’s kind of like I only recently found out what Crocs are, and last night I had to have my roommate tell me who Justin Cook AND Adam Lambert were… At least I think those were their names.

It kind of makes me feel sad and old all at the same time… It’s not like I have a crush on him or anything, I just kind of dug his sound.

HOLY SHIT!?! Is this the same thing that my mom did 15 years ago when she was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys and Nick Lache!? AM I THAT UNCOOL!???

I’m not sure what to do with this feeling I have. I mean, if I were 10 I’m sure I’d have his posters plastered all over my wall…

But I’m not 10 and I am admittingly kind of a music snob, and now I find out that I don’t hate this fifteen year old shim’s music?!?

Oh and I forgot the best part… When I was on the walk, after I decided to ignore the fact that Justin Bieber had given me the dancing fever and I decided to continue with my dance-walk, two hot boys who were running turned the corner and caught me in the act. Dancing and singing. To Justin Bieber. ( AND NO THEY WEREN”T 15)

I obviously rule.

It did make me feel a little better when I found out that I’m not the only person out of his target audience who has a case of Bieber Fever. I mean he did get nominated for a BET newcomer award.

You know what? I think I may just embrace it. I’ll probably lose my all my follower for this but oh well… I like that “Baby” song, and who knows… I may even like him more once I finish downloading the whole album. I might spend two hours making up dances in my room, and I may even post the videos of it on YouTube. But for now I’ll just do this.

AND YEAH. I  Did this too.

Image via Wikipedia

At the very least, I would like for the entire world to realize that Nickelback sucks hairy balls!

You know what? That’s not even fair. I am not even going to pretend that I know enough about music to say that they are musically shitty, because I’m sure they have at least a little talent or they wouldn’t be winning Grammys and what not. I do know enough about hearing things to know that listening to Chad Kroeger sing is only about 3 steps away from being literally raped in the ear.

Which is precisely what has been happening to me all week.

I get it Jack FM. You play what YOU want. And that is the exact opposite of what I want about 17 times every day.

Every time I hear those first few chords and his whiny groan of a voice chime out with-”How the hell we end up like this?” a little part of me dies.

And yes, I realize that that this may seem a little hypocritical considering that am writing this a day after posting how horrible of a singer I am myself. But you know what? I don’t get paid millions and millions of dollars to entertain people with my voice. (Though I bet I COULD  get paid tens of dollars NOT to entertain my five co-workers in my office.)

It does please me to see that there really is a lot of Nickelback hate out there. I’ve probably  heard more people say that they hate Nickelback than I’ve hear people say they hate Kanye West. If all the hate, then why are they still all over the radio? I’m starting to be convinced that half the people who say they “hate” this band are just doing it to get on the hateorade bandwagon. Maybe it’s just become trendy to shout out your angst at a band whom you haven’t really even formed a proper opinion about and then go home and buy forty dollars worth of their music on itunes to see what the hate is all about, therefore leading the radio people to believe that people want to hear this Godforsaken music and cause them to play it all freaking day. (I only know this happens because I have fallen for it myself. Thank you Miley Cyrus.)

I’ll be honest. Maybe I haven’t given them a proper chance. It’s not like I’ve heard any of there songs besides the five that are played 13 trazillion times on the radio every day. Nor do I want to.

My hate comes from a very personal experience, one  not even related to their music, (though I still think their music sucks) one that Ive spoken of briefly before.

Back when I was in college, our football team made it to the playoffs  resulting in a bowl game in New Orleans. I was involved in  a drinking spirit organization that went to all the football games and drank cheered from the stands. During After the football game, I went down to Bourbon street to meet up with a friend who had moved away a few years before, and had also come in town for the bowl game.

We met at one of those little stands where they sell the big Hurricane drinks (you know those tall red drinks you can buy on the side of the street with an umbrella stuck in it??) We had  just retrieved our drinks (though I was probably already quite a few deep) when we decided we should take pictures to celebrate our reunion and to show off our Hurricanes.

There were three of us gathered and we all wanted to be in the picture, so I looked around to see if there was anyone around who I could trust to take it.

I approached a group of people nearby who were dressed anywhere from “homeless” to “douche-bag,” but seeing as there was no one else around, I decided to ask them anyway.

CJ: Would one of  you mind taking a picture of us? My friends and I all want to be in it?”

I spoke openly to the group. As I did, the group all shifted their attention to the homeless looking greasy man in the center, who was obviously their leader.

Homeless looking greasy man: “Well sure ladies, I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

He left his spot in the group and walked past the camera that I held out for him.

CJ: Umm… Nervous laughter.…

Homeless looking greasy man: Where would you like me to stand? As he is already edging himself between my friends and I, putting his arms around our shoulders.

CJ: Tehhehee… actually, we were just gonna see if you could take a picture of us! We haven’t seen each other in a while and don’t really want a stranger in our picture.

The homeless looking greasy man was taken aback. He clearly thought we were joking until we had reposed without him and I was once again trying to hand him my camera.

Homeless looking greasy man’s group finally took notice of what was going on, and all at once started talking.

“Do you know what you’re doing?? one of them said. “That’s fucking Chad Kroeger!!!”

CJ: Okkkkkkk? (and why do I care?)

“The lead fucking singer for Nickelback you bitch.”

CJ: Ohhhhhhh yeahhhhh. (shit!… But still,  who cares? No reason to act like an asshole.)

Homeless looking Greasy man AKA Chad Kroeger: Fuck you, Fuck you bitches.

Then we laughed and ran away as fast as we could.

Looking back, I can understand that he may have been embarrassed to assume that we wanted a picture with him.

Regardless, to tell someone “Fuck you” for not recognizing you? Add in the ability to kill small children with the sound of your voice?

Suck it, Chad Kroeger. I’ll never forgive you.