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It’s been brought to my attention that I have a knack for convincing the good people in my world I’m competent until it’s much too late for them to do anything about it. It was brought to my attention recently when I mentioned to a friend that I was changing jobs and she said she wants to change jobs, too, but she doesn’t feel competent in anything that’s open on the market right now. I laughed at her naiveté and told her that competency has nothing to do with it. I personally am not capable of carrying out the duties of my current job and I failed miserably at my old job…I spread my incompetence around like a STD but I’ve mastered the art of appearing to be quite thoughtful and able to do many tasks. Now you can, too!
• You need to go to LensCrafters or some asshole hobbit eye doctor and get thick rimmed librarian glasses.
• You should put your hair in a bun, no matter your gender.
• In the course of a conversation, pick something you know about (however little) and pretend to have a strong opinion about it. They will wilt in your knowledge because if you are vehement, you clearly know what you’re talking about. For example, when I was 19 or 21 there were elections going on that I knew nothing about but I was in college and wanted to appear knowledgeable. Or simply repeat someone else’s vehemence (is that a word?) as your own conclusion. I listened to a pundit sarcastically say that Pat Buchanan wanted to nuke the borders to keep the illegal immigrants out. I repeated this in political conversations numerous times at my university and got raves for really knowing my stuff.
• Mention research or statistics. Peoples eyes go dead and they bow down to someone who knows research or can read it. Even if you haven’t touched the research. Spout facts and the people will be believe in your ability. TRUST ME! Note: you don’t even have to spout facts if you don’t want to. Most people will not question you. For example, if you start talking about standardized tests, and you say, “statistically speaking, there is no way for everyone to “pass” a test based on a bell curve so “rigor” cannot be determined by an invalid test,” who is really going to challenge you?
• Make bulleted lists when you go into a staff meeting or when you write a bullshit blog. Be sure to have enough bullet points to seem comprehensive and give pointless details to make the bullet points seem especially important. For example, use “for examples” frequently. Note: Titling your lists as “how to” also gives credence to the idea that you actually know how to do something.
• Shake your luminous hair out with a pensive look on your face. You know how to look competent…you’ve made it this far, right?
I almost had a wet willie once
but as it turned out I didn’t have
a willie. I was wet, though.
I’ve been inspired by many of my fellow bloggers and my precious Bunny-Love (who considers me Mother and Poetic Grin his Other Mother, for he is the logical love child of the unnatural union of Bryan and me) has generously answered my probing questions with grace and good humor.
1. There was a skit on SNL once where Will Farrell was playing Harry Carry and said, “If you were a hotdog and you were stranded on an island, would you eat yourself?” Well, would you?
It depends on the type of hotdog I would be; if I were to be any sort of alternative hotdog–turkey, soy, etc–no. Just no. However; if I happened to become, in my hotdog island isolation, a chilli dog, there would be nothing for rescuers to find. If I were to be transformed into a corndog, that would be ideal, because I can only ever eat about half of one. The taste is great, but I get sick of it easily. And really, that sounds like me.
2. Where you do get your inspiration for writing? (Also, please tell our esteemed readers where your name comes from.)
I get my inspirations from a variety of sources. The major provider is just observations I make while wandering around, watching people or animals or plants or documentaries. The second source would have to be love. Friendly, lustful, insatiable, painful, distraught, miserable, wonderful, joyful, manic, light, and especially dark, love. I get little echoes of writings from my friends, but my best work derived from love comes from relationships. There are a lot of gay themes, and gay romances explored in my writing.
In regards to my name, B.R. Belletryst, I should say that the first part was given to me by someone who will always mean a lot to me. B.R. stands for Bunny Rabbit. The name came about during a particularly verbal sexual scene in which he told me to sit and hop on his cock, and called me his cock-rabbit. It developed into a pet name, Bunny, and has since become a name I regularly associate with. The second part, Belletryst, is my own invention. It is a portmanteau, sort of. A belletrist is a writer who writes centered around aesthetics, which is something I’d like to believe I do. The latter half of this word was changed though, because of my influence from love. A tryst, as defined by The Free Dictionary, is an agreement between lovers, especially in regards to a location to meet at. This word making up so much of who I am, romantically, as well as quite a few of my dreams, seemed a natural alteration to the word belletrist.
And so with the poem “in which he wakes,” B.R. Belletryst was born. I had been operating my website before that, but it was really with that poem, and that series of events that inspired it that I became the person and poet that my dear friend MedicatedLady is interviewing today.
3. Can you tell me why I’m so obsessed with my dog poo-ing?
No; but I can offer you this–cat poop is the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world. Ever.
4. How did you know writing was going to be a major part of your life?
I never know that it will be. It’s just part of me. I can’t explain to you why I write, why I write what I write, and I can’t tell you, or others, to write, or how enriching it is, if it is. To give you an example of what I’m talking about, I just recently started work outside of writing, and haven’t written anything since September 28th, journaling aside. Writing is a biological function to me, natural. It is a bodily excretion, as someone once said to me. It oozes. It flows. It is important, and it is nothing. Writing is drool, is shit, is cum, is piss, is blood, is menstrual blood, is bile, is tears, is snot, is earwax. It’s slow, it’s explosive, it’s orgasmic, it’s release, it’s scary, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, it is salty, it is gross, and it is beautiful and delicious. Writing is alchemy; primordial fluids coming together.
I don’t control when I’ll write, what I’ll write, or if I will feel like it at all. My idea about writing is that writers are and constantly become. Every day you write something, you become a writer, or tap into it, and it takes something from you, and gives you something else.
5. Ohio seems like a nice enough place. Can you give me the high points and low points of life there? Also, do people from Ohio support cows?
Ohio. There are decent theme parks and some kind of history involved, but it’s very boring. I live in Lancaster, Ohio–a small city that gets its kicks out of preserving American Civil War history. I’ve heard so much about General Sherman (even went to the middle school!) that I’ve lost a bit of respect for history. I’ve been in all the historical buildings, seen all those meticulously preserved outfits, rooms, and cannons, and the only thing I have to say about it is that it’s like keeping your dead grandfather’s toenails; creepy, unnecessary, and obsessive. But that’s just my opinion. I fully acknowledge that the Civil War and all involved were important to history, and the development of our country, but the extent to which my city revolves around it is ridiculous. In all honesty, my favorite part about Ohio is the people, and getting out of my city to go to Columbus. There’s a bit more culture, the people are more exciting, and there is always something to do.
That was a bit of a rant. Oh well, I’m planning on immigrating to Canada in years to come.
Cows, cows, cows. Nope. No support for cows whatsoever. I think that’s sort of an American thing. Or a human thing, considering Kobe Beef and cows everywhere else in the world, excluding India.
All around me, carnivorous people ripping them apart, screaming, chanting “BEEF! STEAK! JERKY! PRIME RIB! BURGER! RIBS! BARBECUE! TONGUE!”
And I hear their teeth, just gnashing,
gnashing, and holy fuck, it’s like trains
crashing, brains just like potatoes mashing,
something disturbing, but can’t look away,
teeth sinking in, tongue chewed on,
trying not to betray my senses
as I fight off winces, hunger growing,
growing, thoughts start slowing,
racing to realization, serenity or actualization
–Beef. Beef. It’s what I want. Juicy, rip it apart, consume, consume, oh gods it has consumed me, that fucking cow head, that fucking taste, give me more! MORE! I demand it!
MORE! Suddenly, meal finished,
I’m back, I abhor;
I can’t believe it was me, those actions, those … poor cows. Thoughts of meat hooks, slaughter houses, mooing, mooing, chopping, sawing, hooves flying and butchers laughing… Am I repulsed? Am I horrified? I’ll have chicken tomorrow. Or maybe… beef.
Visit Bunny’s website at http://brbelletryst.wordpress.com/
So, I asked and she said yes. And so it is a pleasure to unveil our Val, our rightly nightly warrior. The one who speaks with truth beyond the Fucking Bullshit. I love her and this interview. Which makes sense as Val is perfectly loveable, as you well know, dear readers. Please give it up for our chosen one.
1. Val (dearest of all Vals). You’ve broken this down for me before. Tell me again. How does one endure the Bullshit of Life?
I’m happy you started us off on a topic I consider of utmost importance to a both a writer and a woman. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, being immersed in it, shooting it and philosophising about it.
First, one must identify the different types of Bullshit and their specific function in society/relationships before it can be endured.
Work Bullshit: This can be seen in the embellishment and padding of resumés, outrageous claims made around the coffee pot or water cooler (usually detailing some sort of extraordinary sexual conquest that is obviously false but everyone collectively pretends to believe), stories of active social lives outside the office/workplace that don’t exist ie.; yachting expeditions, cocktail parties with people in upper management, hanging out with famous people like rock stars, actors and writers.
In addition, we have those accessories that are what I term, Physical Bullshit: fake shoes for short men, fake breasts for flat women, botox for anyone wrinkled and makeup applied by a bricklayer.
All acceptable Bullshit, but should be left at work, because it’s not applicable to anything else.
Friend Bullshit: Oh I wish I was more like you, I’m so jealous of you, You look great in that dress/suit/relationship. This is cowardly saving face and not wanting to be alone Bullshit. Anyone worth their salt is well aware the friendship can’t be real without lack of bullshit.
Dating Bullshit: Sure I loooooove bungee jumping/sky diving/rock climbing…this is of course related to: Sure, I can play guitar/was once in a film/loved the movie Titanic. All designed to get in someone’s pants/car/apartment/house/family/life. NOT conducive to anything longterm but fun as a time waster and exercising your inner thespian.
Universal Bullshit: This is a giant umbrella term used to cover a wide range of social illness creating bullshit: Anything said by a politician/clergy/health organization/scientific think tank funded by a government/drug company etc…All lies I tell ya.
Now, how does one endure it.Take control of it, never believe it, treat it like an explosive and only use when you need to move a large metaphorical rockface and NEVER…EVER…ignore it!
2. For that matter, Val (dearest of all Vals), how do writers endure? Tell us your secrets.
Writers endure by getting the crazy out of them and committing it to paper. If we didn’t have paper or laptops, we would see a whole lotta crazy people chipping away at granite boulders with a hammer and chisel a la Fred Flintstone. What is in must come out…it’s therapy really and same people call it art. Hehehe
3. You’re quite the scandalous Canadian. And by scandalous, I do not really know what I mean other than you’re Canadian and because I’m American, that seems scandalous. I know you understand what I mean and do not take offense. Do you (heart) Obama? Did you ever watch Alf? Don’t you think Obama and Alf would make a cute couple?
Yes, I fully embrace my hockey lovin’, snow shovellin’, prime minister electin’, maple leaf adornin’ gay marryin’ weed legalizin’ scandalous canuck self. :0
Do I heart Obama? NO. I don’t heart him. I only heart people I feel I know to be real. I’ve yet to see that person. When he emerges…oh say halfway through his term, ask me again. 😉 I think Obama would make a cute couple with Rahm. I’m just sayin’. Hmm, Rahm does look a bit like Alf…especially the eyebrows. hehehe
4. How did you celebrate your birthday? I need to know specifics. Val (dearest of all Vals), I feel as though I might take to stalking you. I have a great affection for you. Tell me about your birthday, dammit! I will not be ignored.
I opened presents: A painting of a medieval door, an ornate pie plate I’ve been coveting for eons, an African Violet, a journal for…wait for it…writing, a large lovely Swiss Chalet dinner and one more day of breathing, living and winding up anal people.
If you stalk me, you should be warned that I’m NOT a boring stalkee. Peculiar things seem to happen to me on a regular basis, so be forewarned. I won’t ignore you medicatedlady because I don’t want that sharp scathing weapon of wit turned in my direction. I’m wise about these things, I’m old now and I know stuff. 😉
5. Such a clichéd question but where do you get your inspiration? And also, when did you know you would be/were a writer?
Bullshit of course. Well, that and pain. The agony in pain that causes a person to give up or emerge stronger. The humour in pain…oh yes, it’s a veritable flourishing field of hilarity on the frontline of suffering. I’ve met the funniest people on the street. True comic geniuses with nothing to lose.
I knew I was a writer when I was three and I told a lie and someone believed it. I then told it the next day with more details and they still believed it. Oh god I knew I was on to something then and when I learned to make letters into sentences I wrote those lies down so they would be permanent. Now, it’s called fiction HA! Of course as I grew older, the truth started creeping in and now it’s called ART…Remember? Therapy for crazy writers.
I enjoyed your probing questions my dedicatedmedicatedlady and I’m flattered as fuck that you chose me. Many are called to this blog, but few are chosen. HUGS
Please be sure to check out Val’s blog! http://valbrussell.wordpress.com/
Bunny and I met recently through Bryan and we’ve fallen in love. He’s also our Asian love child, which has a little bit of an Oedipus-esque twist minus the shame and eyegauging, and I am happy to share the fruits of our love with all of my dear readers.
I. From dearest Bunny Belletryst.
Careful, my medicated lady, for if
you prescribe, know this, a narcotic, is what
you’ll imbibe.
A bunny leaps,
reads the label, but what it should say,
is a bunny takes you, takes you,
may lead you astray.
Should my jolly roger affect you lightly, pop a few like jolly ranchers…
Should my taste suit you, a Pavlov-drooling, babbling, witty banter…
take more. take more. take more.
What’s your dosage, my lady?
Can you take the bunny-pill pledge, Lady?
If you think the shoddy design on the old bottle is faded,
just read the poem,
the inscription, get jaded.
A bunny leaps and leaps and leaps.
And so will you, come, creep
to my bottle, hold out your hand.
Look before you leap,
or you may never understand.
II.
From MedicatedLady to Bunny.
An indelible duo
of heart and head
Your Honey to my Bunny.
Twenty-four hours is too long to decide to love.
Let’s make it snappy
and I’ll give you double snaps
and a freckled smile
not much to give
but what I have.
It’s not that I think I’m good
it’s that I know you are
and I’m happy
to follow you
wherever your bunny trails may lead.
See Bunny’s blog at http://brbelletryst.wordpress.com/.
I mentioned in a previous blog that I would post the finest confusing rejection I’ve received in my relational career. It is from one Nuclear Luke.
Background: He winked, I winked, he said, “great smile,” I said, “thanks,” he said, “sorry for not getting back to you sooner, I’ve been studying,” I said, “okay, what are you studying for,” he said, “a nuclear test,” I said, “oh that sounds pleasant, are you originally from here?”
And then his last correspondence (July 3):
sorry i saw you emailed, ive just been busy and honestly didnt take the time to respond. im headed out of town to visit family for the 4th. have a great weekend!
No, I am sorry, dear Nuclear Luke, because I deserve more than this. You can’t capitalize the first letter of a word starting a sentence? You can’t bother with apostrophes to signal contractions? You dare send me a run-on?
Dearest Nuclear Luke, you are the biggest piece of shit I’ve had dumped in my lawn today. [Note to readers…this was prior to the ex’s dumping of steaming shit via bulldozer, which completely smothered the lawn. Nuclear Luke’s shit was overruled, I’m afraid.]
Ha. I wrote this post yesterday. This morning I had an email that said, “ok I suck at email. here’s my number.” And I cannot tell you how amused I am. I forgive his lack of punctuation and capitalization simply because he acknowledges that his previous email/response time is oddball. Of course, I have the urge to call him. But then Jade, rightly, points out that how can he possibly have time for me if he doesn’t have time for email. But then, some people are major duds electronically-speaking, yes? And then, Bryan says, see? He loves you because you ignore him. So then I think I want to be loved so I should just ignore him, right? But then I wonder how am I going to ever snag a man if I’m so busy ignoring him. Bryan says it’s a game. I’m pretty sure I’m hopeless.
I considered my options. I wrote them all out. I tried to be measured instead of impulsive. I decided that 1) I did want to respond to him, but 2) only to ask if he really had time to get to know someone, and 3) I put the calling back on him and gave him my number, should he decide he has time. I won’t call him. There is no sense wasting time. We’ll see if he can man up. I am willing to consider that he’s not an emailer…although I met him ONLINE. I am perfectly willing to overlook him for distraction’s sake. Still, you know I get myself in trouble when bored, so let’s hope he just says he doesn’t have time. I hate being ignored, that also gets me in trouble.
Trouble=bad.
I’m not sure anyone will necessarily think this is funny but it amused me. If you want a good time, go back to your old emails and read them. Share them.
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 2/21/05
MEMO: It has come to my attention that some members of this staff feel that it is professional to wear denim garments below their waists. This behavior must come to an abrupt stop. It is counterproductive and sends the wrong message to the childrens. If I catch any of you wearing these denim garments, I shall strip you then and there and let you feel my power.
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 8/18/04
On Tragedy (a Haiku)
Weed in a taco
Broken swings, asses, and dreams
Satan’s spawn inside
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 12/2/08
(Bryan’s poem to my/our then-boyfriend (who was in the Air Force but is not Air Force John, this guy was just a “Luke”), who later left the country without telling me/us)
Dearest Airman,
How I want to fly with you,
to say your name with a heavy “K” sound
resonating in my throat long after
I’m silent.
I am air sick
love sick
love struck
lightheaded
from this quick
change
in altitude.
*An email exchange between Bryan and me concerning the matter of a straight man.* Please note, we are usually completely off the mark about straight men but we have conversations like this all the time.
From MedicatedLady to Bryan: What a crybaby Air Force John is. Seriously. If he’s blowing me off, he is doing it in the strangest of ways. I am honestly perplexed. It’s probably just coming down to I’m not giving him the nookie. He’s friendly enough and kept the conversation going for hours (texting of course). He invited me to cuddle. I considered it. I said, really? He said yes. He says, I’m going to bed (he said this before as a way to get me to hurry up and come over). So I say, So are you saying I’ve missed you or to get trucking? And then he says, no, you can come cuddle w/ me. And I paused for a moment and said okay. Then I brushed my hair for him. And then I text, will see you in a few minutes. And then he says, can we reschedule? And I say, ouch, but okay. He says he’s been up since 5 and is tipsy. I say, okay. 10 minutes later. He says, I don’t want to offend you. I say, it’s all good. 20 minutes later. He says, I’m afraid I will make a move. I say, moves aren’t necessarily bad things but it just depends if you can be swatted away when it’s time to cool it. So he says, Nope (smiley face) and I say, well then there you go. 10 minutes later. He says, I’m in my underwear. I say, Um…good? He says, yeah. I say, well, underneath my pjs I’m wearing underwear too. End conversation.
Bryan’s response/translation: I think he was horny, and then he wanted sex, and he invited you over, and then he felt guilty, and then he was horny again, and then he just masturbated.
Once again, I’ve asked a fantabulous writer and blogger some questions for those of us who are not “in the know” but would like to be.
1. Do you ever take a handful of raisins and eat them quickly because you suspect if you took time to really think about them, you might actually hate raisins?
I savour my raisins. I do, however, swallow my deep fried hedgehogs whole as a result of an unfortunate accident as a child.
2. How the heck does one pronounce “gingatao”? I am at a loss and no medication seems to help me figure it out.
‘ginga’ is Portugese. The first ‘g’ is soft and long and sexy, almost like ‘shh’, and the ‘inga’ is like a German lady. Tao should be pronounced as though it was Dow. Strangely, I have only ever heard one other person say it out loud.
3. How is it you became a writer, dearest?
When I was seventeen I felt far too ugly and ungainly to become an actor so I chose the other career in which one never has to be oneself.
4. How do you get out of a writer’s rut?
Alcohol. (or reading the great writers of the past.)
5-ish. Do Australians really say “crikey”? Also, do you all wrestle alligators? Is it true Australians are zany? Do you think I would fit in in Australia? Do you were funny hats? What is Australia’s stance on clogs? Do you call flip-flops “flip-flops” or “thongs”?
No Australians say Crikey anymore. Many of the old Austalianisms have died out. Noone refers to ladies as ‘sheilas’ anymore. Interestingly the Prime Minister is copping some stick at the moment for using blokey language like ‘fair suck of the sausage, mate.’ Australia also has the highest rate of indigenous language loss of any country. There were thousands of indigenous languages and now there are only handful still in active use, which is a tragedy.
I hope we are not zany, a word I use interchangeably with stupid.
Everyone fits in in Australia, it is one of the most tolerant and multicultural countries anywhere. Like the rest of the world though, we have developed a deep suspicion of Americans which you would have to overcome.
I wear funny hats. At the moment I am wearing a green felt hat.
Our stance on clogs is neutral, our stance in clogs is a little crooked.
We call thongs thongs and the other thongs g-strings.
Thank you for your questions, M’Lady.
I’m sorry my answers weren’t as clever or as funny as Bryan’s but I just woke up on a Monday morning. Have a fantabulous day full of tiny miracles like unexpected flowers blooming,
Paul.
Paul–these answers are not to be compared with Bryan’s. These were YOUR questions to answer and I think you did a mighty fine job, kind sir.
- If you have to use Aspercreme on sore muscles, wash and rewash your hands. Once or twice is not good enough, because should the icy-hot fire somehow get around your what-not area, it will burn for hours and you will be miserable.
- If you haven’t already done so, just get on with it.
- Eat chips and chocolate.
- Drink regular Coke and Pepsi.
- Go to your bathroom stall at work and take out the book you’ve been trying to finish for weeks and go ahead and read a couple of pages per trip. You can make special trips. This will make you especially happy with feelings that you have duped everyone.
- Don’t hesitate to sleep. Defend your sleep privileges to the death. If you have to tell the Gays they are too stressful to be around right now, so be it. You’re their Princess; they will surely forgive you.
- Lay out.
- Jump in random pools. Or at least imagine jumping in pools irrationally over a period of no less than 5 hours of constant “I should jump in a pool” loops running in your head.
- Find an Air Force John. He will not have the energy to blow you off. He will want to cuddle with you. Except that maybe he only responded because he’s intoxicated and watching “WifeSwap” when he’s a 26-year-old military man. Anyhow, he will respond if prompted and offer distraction, if not frustration and perplexation.
- Never mind if “perplexation” is a word. It should be. Own it.
- Even if you know you will have to write about it again sometime, keep your darkness at bay. It’s the only way to keep from crying racking sobs every day.
- Do not think about your dead aunt.
- Do not think about your impending summer program.
- Do not worry about tan lines.
- Recognize raisins are good for you.
- Stay conscious for only mere minutes of time until drifting off into something as close to peace as you get.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: