i’ve become absolutely desperate with this pain that remains in my ass. i haven’t been talking about it because BORING.  but it is tearing me up and turning me into some kind of obsessive nut job.

the more interesting news is that i’ve started seeing an acupuncturist for it. and i’m now taking chinese herbs. the herbs i have are called ossifex extract (jian bu hu qian wan). they’re for nourishing yin and purging fire, enriching blood, and strengthening tendons. guess what this ancient recipe translates to in english?

Vigorous Walk as Stealthy Tiger Pill; Health Step and Hidden Tiger Pill

i’m taking a tiger pill, y’all!!! how fucking cool is that? i’ll tell you how cool it is: totally fucking awesome supercalifragilistic cool.

i’m gonna be all stealth like crouching tiger, hidden dragon.

i’m gonna be like the hunk of burning love, bradley cooper, in limitless after taking NZT.

mostly, i’m going to be a modern day myth like charlie sheen.

so it’s only fitting that i have my own phrase of empowerment in place of “winning.” i gave it some thought and do believe i’ve got it.

are you ready?

puissance!

ok so it probably wasn’t much of a surprise after i put it in the title.  anyhussy, it’s a blast to say. i like to do a raised power fist when i declare it.

puissance, motherfucker!

and yes, you can use it, too. it has punch. i think cuz it’s derived from french and was probably used by those gnarly underground french resistance people or some shit.

this accupunturist has taught me some other things. like never drink cold water. only warm. warm water flushes out the kidneys, keeps your digestive system healthy, wards off diseases, and improves performance. yeah, try working out with warm water.

speaking of working out, apparently the western way is pointless. we try to expend energy, burn fat. the right way to exercise is tai chi. it’s meant to conserve energy, renew vitality and promote calmness and a feeling of emotional security.

i have my own ancient formula for that. it’s called franzia and xanax extract. plus there’s no way in hell those slow tai chi movements are going to burn off my franzia and pizza belly.

then she told me no stretching unless it’s backward stretching. so no doing any of the exercises the physical therapist gave me. no forward bending at all. walking is good. especially if it’s backward walking. can you see me backward walking in the city?

so much conflicting information. do i go with a western or eastern approach? i definitely think i’ll stick with the tiger blood pills. then again, i’ve always said yes to pills when it came to western medicine, too. but i’m not sure i’ll be able to take my herbs with warm franzia.

ps: i love puissance! so much i created some tshirts. you can even in get it on this action. (yes, i shamelessly promote my blog on the back of the adult shirts, but they’re still badass. i think.)

Puissance! by PattyPunker
Use Zazzle’s t shirt designer

click here for the Patty Punker store.

actually four of them in two weeks! but who’s counting. fuck yeah, i’m counting. but only because i can. i’m not one of these superbloggers who receives a bajillion awards. i can count the awards i’ve received on one hand. so, i’m school girl giddy over these awards because i am cursed with the ”seeks approval of others” neurosis. i blame my mother. and before you label me as having a victim mentality, you should know even my therapist said i can blame her. 

so here they are and you should definitely click on them because they gave me an award. no, click on them because they’ll like me more for sending traffic their way. oh alright, click on them because they’re cuddly, lovable and full of the awesome. 

from brahm at alfred lives here

from sandi at being peachy

from nikki at my cyber house rules

from sister merry hellish at inside out and backwards

it seems that the raw power of my writing (and by raw power, i just mean raw, as in uncultivated) isn’t enough for me to earn these awards. there are rules. i’m pretty sure we all know how i feel about rules, but i’m willing to suck up and play along, because in this case i happen to respect the proverbial man.

to a point.

three awards means three sets of rules and i sure as shit can’t keep them all straight. there was something about listing things you don’t know about me, answering a set of questions and pimping out other bodacious bloggers.

so you’ll get what i give. (in other words i want to pick and choose which ones i do.)

If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren’t anonymous, do you wish you’d started out anonymously, so that you could be anonymous now?

yes, i’m anonymous for the most part. despite the title of this post, my mother should never see this blog. she’d spend the rest of her days crying. and criticizing me like she’s so wont to do:

“karen johnson is always friendly and smiling. why don’t you smile more?”
“what do you call that color in your dining room? that’s um different.”
“john and i don’t eat fatty foods like that.”
“don’t you feel exposed without any window treatments?”
“you spent how much on dinner? you’re just going to shit it out the next day.” 
“why don’t you dress more feminine like claire mcdonnell?”

Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side. 

so ma, you want me to dress better? how’s this “too drunk to fuck” dead kennedys tshirt? i think it’s stellar.

What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror?

my mother. now get me a fucking sledgehammer.

Is there something that you still want to accomplish in life?

i want to grow an emotional on/off switch so i can assimilate in the world of fucking robots aka corporate america. or else, i want to work for someecards.

If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

email or read blogs. my A.D.D. makes reading books hard. unless they’re mini books, which i collect just for this reason. (chalk up one thing you didn’t know about me). 

or unless it’s this book by elly which is about to be picked up by a publisher any second. when you read the first chapter, you’ll know why–you won’t be able to take your eyes off the screen.  

and no way do i want to talk on the phone. talking on the phone reminds me of my mother.   

another thing you didn’t know about me is that i like my betty crocker cheesy scalloped potatoes cooked 10 minutes extra so that they are plenty tender and a layer of crispy brown cheese forms on the top and sides of the casserole dish.   

i recently discovered this sauce at the local vietnamese restuarant. it’s my new fave:   

if you recently began a diet as your new year’s resolution, i’m not apologizing for this post. i’m telling you to stop. you’re welcome.

am i in any way qualified to talk about this? fuck no.

i’m not fat. i’m not thin.

i’m not a doctor and i don’t play one on the oprah network or infomercials.

i don’t read self, shape, women’s health or prevention magazines unless they’re the only choice other than time, sports illustrated or parents magazines in the doctor’s waiting room.

i have no idea what gluten-free, pro-biotics, pre-biotics, omega 3s, superfruits, and night shade foods are.

i’ve  never dieted except that once i tried atkins 20 years ago and almost passed out on day 3 because i was only eating bacon or maybe it was from my halitosis that resulted from the low carb ketosis. (i agree, that’s too many -sis words.) 

i just know what i see.

diets don’t work. if they work at all and the person doesn’t give up after the first week or month, they don’t work over the long run. maybe a successful dieter will keep the weight off for a year to two, but then the old habits creep back and BAM the dieter turns into a yo-yo dieter. i have seen it eleventy billion times over. show me one hard core dieter that hasn’t tried a dozen diets throughout his or her lifetime? all yielding the same results: weight loss. happiness. weight gain. depression. new diet eventually.

why don’t they work? self-denial. it causes a perverse obsession with that which the person denying him/herself is renouncing. it’s a fucking mental thing. (this is the synopsis for my new book but i’m guessing my book editor will probably want to revise my adjectives somewhat.)

as soon as you can’t have something, you’re going to crave it hard. then do something completely neurotic like binge on that shit as though you were a mountain lion that hasn’t eaten in days and has fresh kill in your claws. then you’re going to be all “fuck it, i suck” and eat everything that isn’t nailed down or you’re going to starve yourself which is going to cause real physical cravings because your body needs regular fuel in varieties like dark leafy greens, franzia, imported cheese and crusty baguette.

it’s the same concept as celibate catholic priests denying themselves the sex and then getting a perverse obsession with it and resorting to the wrongest, most mentally ill behavior out there: pedophilia.  now you might say pedophilia is more complex than this. so is weight and body image. but i’m here to break it down for you, remember? you might also say that it’s not celibacy that makes priests pedophiles, but that pedophiles just gravitate to professions where there are children around. but then i have to ask why the same high percentage of pedophiles isn’t found in the teaching profession. maybe i’ll leave this part out of my book.

self-denial. it’s not good for the human soul.

and you know another reason diets don’t work: portion control. i love this time of year when all of these jenny craig and nutrisystems people start advertising their programs by promoting a week of free meals. oh sure their menus consist of “all the food you love and chef-inspired creations–prepared by registered dietitians.” first of all, the meals are fucking tiny. denial! you’ll be hungry all the fucking time. second of all, they’re frozen foods. again, not qualified, but i thought one of the tenets of healthy eating was to avoid processed foods and eat fresh foods, not “fresh-tasting frozen foods.”

what does work? i’d have to say probably those stomach rubber bands. they remove the mental from the equation. they actually make it so you can’t eat too much. so if you’re craving a greasy pub burger, probably the most you can get down without getting sick is the snack-size burger in the mcdonald’s kid’s meal. which is a fucking tease.

if you’re not obese and don’t really qualify for the surgery or wouldn’t risk the possible complications, here’s what will really work, or the advice i plan to put in my book:

eat whatever the hell you want. 

don’t skip meals. not even breakfast. feel full and satisfied.

you like a giant blueberry muffin for breakfast? eat it.

you like a roast beef special and ruffles with ridges for lunch? eat them.

you like a cowboy rib eye and loaded baked potato for dinner? eat them.

when the dessert is chocolate gateau? you better motherfucking eat it.

when you stop denying yourself, you’ll stop binging and overeating. you’ll start to realize you don’t need this shit all the time. you won’t eat like this everyday. and even if you do, just throw in a salad the next day. whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up or that dirty little cycle will start all over again. avoid the mental thing.

oh yeah and get off your motherfucking ass once in awhile.

ps: i promise to do real research for my book but not to offer any qualified advice.

pps: don’t you dare steal this book idea. i mean the outline and sample chapters are practically jumping off the page.

ppps: if you’re a book agent, i’m sure you’re interested already. you can email me at pattypunker at gmail dot com.

pppps: what should the title be: “diets are dumb” or ”the punker’s guide to losing weight” or something else?

are they over yet?

them, the holidays. they over?

no, of course not. we of excess and gluttony need one more round of overindulgence and self-destruction. motherfucking awesome.

i’d like to tell you that i’m all resolved, absolved and involved in the new year. but, i’m still looking out at all of you wondering how you have it in you to remain spirited, social, and drug-free.

i always wonder what those of you with faith do when things seem dark and hopeless? i mean isn’t that why you have faith, so things don’t seem all dark and hopeless? at least being an atheist, i’m not pissed at god for feeling low and estranged. one less person to be mad at and blame is kind of a win, don’t ya think? unless of course god is within, so god is me; therefore, i’m just feeling more wrath with myself. that actually sounds about right.

oh i know i should be all ”to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.“

turn, turn, turn.

but i don’t fucking get it. every time should be a time to laugh, embrace, and dance. fuck the times to weep, mourn, break down, hate, lose, etc. are they really necessary? i’m done with those times, just like i’m over the ass sore that is the holidays.

so i wont talk about those times in 2010 that were supposed to provide some kind of ‘leveling,’ ya know to keep us all humble. like the bp oil spill, teabaggers election wins, jessie james’ infidelity, arizona’s anti-immigration law, bristol palin’s psa, prop 8 supporters, bill donahue blaming the gays for pedophilia, etc.

thrash, thrash, thrash.

this ain’t no grammys, no oscars, no disco, no fooling around, this is just the shit i like from 2010 presented in categories i like:

indie album: high violet by the national (it’s my new testament. their album, alligator, is my 13 commandments. hey, i’m very religious — god is within me, remember — so 10 commandments weren’t enough.)

pop song i couldn’t resist: love the way you lie by eminem and rhianna. (shut up, it’s like a punk pop song. ‘sides, bitch got pipes and i totally sound like her when i wail in the car.)

ukele song: http://bugginword.com/2010/09/24/uke-me-away/ (ok, i may be self-absorbed, but i still suffer.)

breaththrough movie: the kids are alright (color me a lezzy cuz i have the hots for annette bening and juliane moore. then again there’s mark ruffalo. so color me bi-curious.)

salacious sex scene in a movie: casey affleck and jessica alba in killer inside me (not for the faint-hearted and really sick to like any part of this ultra violent film. but my dreams don’t lie.)

rocker tshirt: tie between “it’s motherfucking booze time” (check it here) and “i think i brained my damage” (here).

caught on tape: joe biden to president obama on the passage of health care reform, “it’s a big fucking deal” (vp with a dirty mouth = hawt.)

commercial worth watching: tie between the kia hamsters doing the black sheep and kevin bacon talking about kevin bacon. (i don’t know what product this latter one is for, but who doesn’t love kevin bacon crossing his fingers wishing he could turn into kevin bacon.)

actual comedy: modern family (lmao every week. should be on hbo for added irreverence.)

dramedy: nurse jackie (girl likes herself some narcotics. why didn’t i consider nursing?)

real drama: tie between dexter and mad men (serial killer who slays serial killers vs. stylistic ad biz show. that’s a toughie, right?)

useful technology: ipad (internet on the train with a large screen for my over 40 eyes + name jokes = no brainer.)

memorable talk show moment: conan obrien doing freebird on his farewell show. (dude can rock out with his sub-woofer out. and he tickles my funny bone.)

depraved blog: vodka and ground beef (i’d link you to it but for some reason it’s like gone. without notice. wtf!)

intriguing blog commenter: tie between bugginword and dufmanno. (both make me feel like i’m swirling in some kind of an imaginarium. that’s a good thing, btw.)

awesome gift giver: three way tie between subwow, wicked shawn and a vapid blonde. (i retire my tiara to these sexy, amazing girls who all blew my mind this year.)

rad nail polish design: fuck u on lindsay lohan’s middle finger (how much do i want to wear this in the corporate conference room!)

book without flowery language: tie between squirrel seeks chipmunk by david sedaris and life by keith richards (each of these artists are iconic and the fiercest in their respective crafts: satirist and rock star.)

and since i’m still wallowing in my suckdom, i’d like to end on bad note. why jimmy choo, why?

uggs aren't pretty to begin with, why bedazzle them?

i lost my fun. it just up and left. i looked for it in all the likely places. i tried to find my fun in music, shopping, dining out, mashed potatoes, a swedish massage, and even a happy pill. it just wasn’t anywhere. i kept hoping my fun would show up somewhere unusual the way a missing train pass might, but it hasn’t.

i’m worried that in a moment of fear and self-loathing i may have pushed my fun away. kicked it to the fucking curb. and it won’t be coming back.

not sure if it’s mr. punker’s recent double discectomy, having the home computer wiped out with a vicious virus, my persistent back and leg issues and now a numbness in my hand, my car leaking something, the pugs contracting fleas, the shorter days and lack of sunshine, or just my bad chemicals flaring.

but how is it possible to feel blank and have your whole body ache at the same fucking time?

 yep, this is how i feel without my fun.

i’m not sure where my fun could be headed. if i were my fun, i’d go someplace where i know i’d be welcome like bali, st. john, key west, new york, new orleans or paris. but you never know with my fun. it didn’t always need the obvious stimulus to kick it. it could come out big anytime or anyplace without warning. it was spontaneous and combustive like that.

have you seen this fun?

fuck, i loved my fun. what i wouldn’t give to make it feel at home again by offering it lightness, delight, hard laughs, and lots of energy and excitement.

well, if you see my fun floating around your neck of the woods please welcome it with open arms and treat it with kindness. it’s probably feeling disconnected and alienated as it is no longer inhabiting its body. grab my fun by the hand, take it in, tell it i miss it, feed it original ray’s pizza, give it franiza, play it the national’s songs, and by all means let it dance its motherfucking ass off and play some air bass.

kibosh is a weird word. so is kielbasa. but this post isn’t about sausage. sausage just isn’t as worthy as bacon. bacon is king.

back to kibosh.

know what you can put the kibosh on? i’ll tell you what because it’s my blog and i’ll kibosh if i want to.

you can put the kibosh on low back pain. that’s an imperative and not an auxiliary verb in case you were wondering. so, who can i count on here? (auxiliary)

i somehow injured my lower back and have a constant burning and radiating pain.  it’s got me all in a funk because i’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt for a year and a half. maybe two. which means i won’t be able to ever work out or play tennis. and then i’ll become fatty patty. i just know this is how it’s going to play out.

i sit at a desk and write for a living so it tightens up and gets worse everyday.  it’s got me so depressed, i’m losing it.

how do i know i’m losing it? i’ve been obsessively:

• picking the scab on my heel which means my boot blister is now open and raw again.
• clenching the steering wheel of my car like i’m choking it to death.
• twirling my hair like a school girl into an alfalfa like horn and tugging on that shit.

one thing i like about blogging is that you never know what may show up in your posts

i wonder what you’ve done for low back pain. keep in mind, i live near and work in a northeastern city so i need the remedy to be fast. i also can’t afford to get fatter. unless it all goes to my boobs. which it won’t.

by the by, i’d also put the kibosh on arm swingers. especially the ones walking slow, holding a cigarette or carrying an umbrella.

and hipsters. they’re so smug and unethusiastic. enthusiasm and passion are way more hip. besides they all look alike making them conformists and not really hipsters.

and boy scout popcorn. at $9 a bag it should have crack in it, like the girl scout cookies. i’m all for supporting the troops, but gimme a little buzz for my money.

i’m patty punker and i approve this message.

i finally had a little spare time today and was able to catch up on some of my favorite bloggers. i should have started looking for a new job because i really want to make more money. i figure if i’m going to wilt  in the corporate world away under fluorescent lights, i should at least be compensated better for the ass raping my pain and suffering.

also other people are moving up around me and i just keep thinking what the fuck am i doing wrong? frat boys and ass lickers who work part-time hours are getting promoted to the likes of assistant vp positions.

my title: piss ant.

also if you really think about what i just said you’d realize the senior vp doing the promoting likes her ass licked. doesn’t that say it all?

i need out.

but looking for a new job is just too heavy a task for me today. i was in nyc over the weekend looking at art. went to the matisse show at moma. it’s been too long since i’ve been to moma. damn, that’s a fun museum. i really love modern art something fierce. it lifts my spirits and makes me feel less alienated. that’s huge, punkers. cuz like major tom i’ve hit an all time low at work and really feel like a space oddity lately.

but then again some modern art leaves me flummoxed. for instance, i think this installation was just too modern even for me.

yeah, i don't get it either.

anyhussy, i also partied like lilo in nyc and am rendered useless today. so job hunting is out and reading my bloggy buddies is in. like modern art, they make me happy. they calm me down. distract me from the dissonance in my head.  (btw, that’s two motherfucking awesome words i’ve used in this post. flummoxed and dissonance. count with me.)

they show me love. they give me shelter from the storm.

recently three of them gave me props on their audacious blogs.  (yep, we’re up to three) midwesternmama, dufmanno, and wicked shawn all turned my frown upside down just by mentioning me.

then one of my all-time faves, midget man of steel, visited and commented on my blog for the first time ever.  i was like SCORE!

and one of my most loyal followers started a blog on turkey trading and alluded (four or no?) to my having been an inspiration for her blog on facebook. ok, it’s not really about turkey trading, it’s about stock trading but you need to read her to get the background.

and the greatest love of all came from elly. she learned a song for me on herbert the ukele and gave me shivers all down my spine.  i’m not kidding, i was so moved i cried listening to her sing and play it.

so maybe i don’t want a new job after all. with a new job comes more responsibility and less time for the blogosphere. and that would make patty punker a very sad girl.

also to every single one of you on my blogroll: thank you for making my world a happier place and bludgeoning (definitely four now) my demons on a regular basis. you are all so original and inspiring to me. i love you all. 

take me away with you my loves.

time for me go into my cage punkers. don’t be concerned. it’s a self-imposed imprisonment. i shouldn’t be near people right now cuz i’m all ragey and hormonal.

and angsty.

and angsty ragey hormonal.

when i enter my cage, i look like an untamed bush woman with dilated pupils, and sticks, leaves and dirt in my dreadlocky hair.

when i’m in this condition, primping and grooming take a back seat to wanting to closed-fist punch a baby bunny.

the cage is good for me. it’s full of oversized cushions. but also with knives and small feather pillows that i can mad stab the fuck out of.

it’s stocked with potions like pitchers of sangria and franzia boxes laced with xanax for soothing my savage beast.

the cage is also replete with lotions for softening my skin, conditioning my hair, calming my nerves, relaxing my muscles, and inducing deep rem sleep.

there is a life size voodoo doll that i can jab with chopstick sized needles to circumvent the irritating behavior of:

• slow walkers (stick in the hips)
• loud talkers (stick in the throat)
• ego-maniacal corporate bosses (stick in the gut)
• douchey drivers (stick in the eyes)
• mean girls (stick in the back)
• catholic priests (stick in the scrotum)
• people who eat up all of my time by talking incessantly about all of the minutiae in their lives (stick in the neck).

i have a pretty young thing who comes to shampoo my hair, massage my scalp and give me a blowout. she brushes my hair for hours, does foot reflexology and applies lotions where i can’t.

there is triumphant music piped in like beethoven’s ode to joy when i need to jump up and feverishly conduct. and tender lullabies like asleep by the smiths when i want someone to sing me to sleep (for the last time).

or i may choose to partake in the magical poppy garden.

it is sunny, 80 and breezy in the cage. there are splendorous butterflies and an eccentric lepidopterist who explains how the butterflies got their brightly-colored and complex-patterned wings. he also teaches me how to catch and hold a butterfly. the always curious look in his eyes and his baritone voice pacify me.

there is copious fresh fruit and delectable cheeses.

no shoes.

only sundresses and warm skin.

and what cage wouldn’t be home to my inner barbarian without the perfect social anxiety drug (no side effects, no half-life grogginess, no calories). in abundance.

the bars on the cage are there so i don’t try to leave. sometimes i’m a glutton for punishment and feel the need to leave my protected environment to go out tilting at windmills.

enter again the untamed bush woman.

won’t you join me in my cage? my guests must be careful not to overwhelm or overstimulate me. and do not think it possible to enter unless you can amuse me with fantastic tales or braid my hair.

you’ll never catch me complaining about the heat. i don’t care if it’s 90 degrees and humid. i love summer. it’s the weight of winter i loathe with every bone in my body. but summer puts a spring in my step and lightens my spirit. the warmth of my skin, longer hours of daylight and ease of summer clothes all make me feel like doing a round of motherfucking cartwheels. 

so much so, i made a word cloud about all the things i love about summer. so check me out and make sure to tell me how impressed you are with my mad technical/graphics skillz in the comments. yes, i’m joking. of course i realize it doesn’t get anymore amateurish than this. still, it’s about summer so it sure as shit rocks! and it’s an easy read. you’re welcome.

i’m pretty sure “important factoid” is an oxymoron. fuck it, the title stays.

here are 10 important factoids about your punker:

1. i dislike the serial comma. the less punctuation, the better. punctuation just slows everything down. and formalizes shit. i write like i talk and the only time i pause is when i go into an absinthe trance. (although the tilda~ might be good punctuation to represent that.)

2. i used to be a catholic, a bartender and a smoker. not all at once. well i did smoke with my bestie in the cemetary while attending catholic grade school. anyhussy, the only one of the three that i miss is smoking. i just pray for one month’s notice before i die, so i can smoke my motherfucking ass off.

3. i always take the biggest, cheesiest slice of pizza. i have no qualms when it comes to my pizza. i’ll cut a bogarting bitch.

4. i don’t think farts, pirates or dane cook are funny. chances are you do but you should know that shit is not universal. and i won’t fake laugh or crack a crooked smile for it either.

5. i stockpile xanax just in case it all becomes too unbearable.  if my daughter dies or i get a horrible disease, i don’t want to live through it. i NEED control in this. sorry for the heavy, but that’s the way my brain works. i consider it forward-thinking and good planning.  also, i think i’m pretty clever outsmarting my doc to write me multiple scrips (i tell him they’re for the pms rage and no doc argues with that) and i get my insurance company to pay for them. you’re welcome.

6. i’m not a lesbian but i like to flirt with girls. especially foxy girls who give good blog like a vapid blonde, buggin word and wicked shawn.

7. i always liked yoko ono. even when everyone else blamed her for breaking up the beatles. not that i was alive then. okay maybe i was but i’m sure it was only for minutes. she makes good art. for realz. and this is one of my favorite songs that john lennon wrote about her.

Oh Yoko!

8. speaking of music, this is my favorite love song of all time.

This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)

9. i may or may not have tried heroin. but i if i had, i would have snorted it because it would have been the 80s and needles–aids… no thanks.  and if i had tried it i would have really liked the euphoria and heroin-sex but not the vomiting all night.

10. i think the jolly rancher should sell bags of the watermelon flavor 0nly.  i don’t care for the grape, cherry or blue rasberry ones. and i hate the sour apple ones. this is a huge miss on the jolly rancher’s part.

what’s an important factoid i should know about you?