Riddle: You are in a room with three monkeys ... one has a banana, one has a stick, and one has nothing but Mean Girl, bitchy comments. Who is the smartest primate in that room?

Answer: You, you magnificent primate!

See, no matter how misleading that bitchy monkey is, no matter the level of gaslighting and snark, you have a bigger, better brain. You see through the condescending trickery, nonsense directives and psych warfare. You are wiser, more adaptable and brim with confidence because you are a kick-ass hooman! Even if it feels Sisyphean at times, you will eventually best that gaslighter. Don't think so? Ask Kirsten Pagacz. She knows because she has bested her bitchy monkey and now, she wants to tell you how to best yours.

Kirsten not only bested her monkey, but dominated him, trained him to do her bidding, not the other way around. Subduing this evil prankster presented her with the strength and confidence, not to mention some extreme exposure-therapy, to pull off the monkey's mask and show the world what he really is: OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). She's what I call an OCDominatrix! Submission leads to rebellion and having experienced the shiny, black, OCD boot on her neck for most of her life, Kirsten has chosen to share her torture in order that you, or someone you know might dominate their own monkey and push him off the driver's seat and into the sidecar where he belongs.

Kirsten Pagacz is a unicorn. Professionally, it stared with a B.A. in Communications which led to an impressive background in Entertainment: operating in skills as varied as writing, videography, photography and directing, to the arts of set design, graphics and even schmoozing. From local, Chicago cable commercials, she advanced to the A-list music industry. Kirsten sagely counts singing on-stage with Sting as an unmatched experience during these years. Still, she found it all simultaneously boring and maddening. (Well, not the singing with Sting bit. Zowie, what a perk!!) So, why not unhook the safety harness and swan dive into something she really loved: the retro world of vintage goodness?

Like a Portlandia character, she ditched the buttoned-up, sharp-suited, professional world she once knew and started crafting her own, retro-themed jewelry based on vintage movie posters. Crafting jewelry was not a skill in her ken; but she taught herself quickly and began selling it to the Rockabilly and Hellbilly folk at car shows and street fairs in the Chicago area.

Smash-cut to ... Big Chief in Charge at Retroagogo.com (Ragg), married to her college-sweetums and Head of Art at Ragg, artist Doug P'gosh - the man she describes as The Professor from Gilligan's Island - and slaying the retro-retail business world like Red Sonja on a quest: swashbuckling hither and thither, conquering conventions, galvanizing global distribution, producing promo reels, slamdunking sky-high sales and even managing the stress of flights with the slowest, schlubbiest inchworms and loudest babies in the sky.

A fascination with antiques, kitsch and yesteryear led her to true joy and she's crushing concept-to-completion, online as well as in her and her husband's brick-and-mortar store in Howell, MI: retailing/manufacturing/shipping/marketing everything from jewelry to original art, from t-shirts to tiki mugs, from Halloween decor to parasols. (Full disclosure: Ragg is the official JennyPop parasol purveyor. #Retroagogoparasol #thesunistryingtokillme #JennyPop)

Even with all this success, Kirsten still has the soul of a happy toddler. This is my kind of gal! TCB in a tutu and Docs if she chooses and stopping at thrift stores on her way to the bank as she pulls her little red wagon full of those yellow, cartoon bags of money, stamped with black $$$, and outsmarting the Beagle Boys as they lurk in the alley, waiting to steal her cash-money. 

If there were Olympic medals for not-adulting while still achievig adult successes, she and I would be the kind of fierce competitors whom drive each other to greatness. At the medal ceremony, in front of the world, we'd duke it out on the gold platform, sword-fighting via our Barbies and attempting to shoulder each other off the platform in our feather-and-tulle, true-vintage, 1920s, Sonja Henie ice-dancing costumes. Then, regardless of whom won the gold, we'd go out for Dirty Shirleys in San Diego's Gaslamp District during Comic-Con.

Of course, this is all happy ending stuff; and you can't have a quality book, or book review, sans some strife and struggle in the beginning. So, in the beginning ...

I'm not sure when monkeys got such a bad rap, but having a "monkey on your back" is a negative. Personally, I like monkeys and, had I a real monkey, would dress her up daily, like Ellie Clampett did on The Beverly Hillbllies. I digress ...

In the beginning, there were monkeys and everyone has some form of a monkey on his or her back: mischievous, mean, big, small, relativey innocuous or jaw-clenchingly consequential. The beauty of Kirsten's book is that it's helpful on any level, for anyone whom wishes to be mostly monkey-free.

Confession: Yours Truly has, if not a full circus of monkeys, a little sideshow. Whilst I am grateful I have no consequence-based OCD issues (If I don't _____, then _____ will happen.). I do have a few tiny monkeys, like a pair of Pygmy Marmosets, mostly helpful with organization: wardrobe, hat boxes, kitchen cupboards, sock and t-shirt drawers, refrigerator magnets, tablescaping, jewelry cabinets and such. Of course, these are all things I happily allow my Pygmy Marmosets to control because it makes for a lovely home, ease of getting dressed (I know where every little accessory, shoe and pair of tights are.) and provides an efficient, inspiring, writing space. Most importantly though, I am aware of fixation possibilities and keep them in-check; this is common where shopping is concerned. I have a hard time shaking off something I saw, wanted, but didn't get.

Where I am most excellent about avoiding fixation is when it could affect other folks. If someone is waiting on me, I'm good as gold. I love fussing over the house when guests are coming over, but I don't obsess to the point where I can't enjoy my guests. Once the house is done and I'm dressed, what's done is done. Pour me a drink, Sugar. It's time to play! Ditto for leaving the house for outings like parties, road trips, holidays abroad or events like Comic-Con. Once I'm on the train or plane, or in the car, it's pointless to fret over earrings I should've worn, a better cocktail bag I could've picked, or those three pounds I really wanted to shed before being Lara Croft for Comic-Con. Let's just hit Starbucks and then Lewis & Clark this shit!

Other events in the JennyPop Sideshow include regularly checking that screen doors are closed, due to the fact we live in an area with so many lizards; I love the little creatures, but don't want them in my closet, trying on my vintage gloves. Monitoring my weight is a regular check. Yes, I have a specific maintenance/goal weight, with zero room for adjustment: .02 counts. Of course, the digital scale occassionally screams a two- to five-pound shift at me. (Dude, watch. I can make her cry.) The key, for sanity, is accepting a four-pound range ... then kicking up my Irish Step dancing or yoga practice on "disappointing" days.

Finally, there exists a leeeeetle bit of anxiety where elevators, planes and other small spaces are concerned, even the backseat of a Bentley: a 2-door, not the 4-door models. None of these are enough to keep me from going places and having a fab time, but I have used Kirsten's book to help me talk my way out of a pending panic attack, rare as they may be, using what she calls her Kung Fu Dance. (See wicked dance moves below)

Psst, kid! No need to peek through the rip in the canvas, step inside the JennyPop sideshow tent to see the amazing dorkette in-person!

So, I share these things not to steer attention from Kirsten and her book, or to waste word-count, but for street cred. Whilst Kirsten's whole book might not be applicable, one can read it, ruminate over it and process it as it applies. Sometimes, we primates need a little help from each other.
  

Leaving the OCD Circus: Your Big Ticket out of Having to Control Every Little Thing by Kirsten Pagacz is not fairly categorized as a self-help book. Leaving is really a memoir in the style of David Sedaris or Steve Martin. Like the best guest at a party, Kirsten is a ranconteuse of the finest order: self-depricating, modest, generous in spirit and innately funny. Her written journey is peppered with humility, deference, sadness and hilarity. She never plays the annoying, know-it-all and, like that party star, she doesn't solely regale you with her adventures; she intermittently asks you in-depth questions, because she wants to hear about you, too. That is the mark of a true storyteller: listening, as well as sharing. Kirsten avoids directives and absolutes. She is endearingly cautious about her "expertise", never leaning into arrogance or pomposity. The only time you will read an absolute, is when she is encouraging you, the reader, to keep pressing through the rushes. She believes throughly your OCD, and life, WILL get better, IF you do the work.

Leaving the OCD Circus is organized, as you might expect, very well. Like a proper college essay, author Kirsten Pagacz says what she's going to say (Introduction), says it (Chapters 1 - 8), then says what she said (Chapter 9: Habits of Happiness). Chapters are chronological, starting with Chapter 1: A Budding Relationship: The New Stranger and the Invitation, 1975: Nine Years Old (OCD Arrives).

It is a fascinating read, to see how an innocent child of nine, one totally unaware of the concepts of clinical psychology, can be tricked and affected by this insidious mindgame. Her earliest introduction to OCD, involved simple "games", like Tapping. If she didn't play correctly, she not only failed, but was a failure.


Excerpt from Leaving the OCD Circus: Chapter 1

"Want to play a fun game?" this Stranger said softly, sort of in my head but kind of from above looking down at me at the same time.

"What's the game?" I answered him back silently.

"The game is Tapping, and if you play it perfectly, you get the prize. It's simple, but it takes a lot of skill."

"How do I play?"

"You tap your index finger precisely on the very same spot of the car hood with the same amount of pressure, over and over, exactly twenty-seven times with asolutely no error in your action."

___


At first, unaware the thoughts were even hers, she named her OCD, The Stranger. Later, she personified it as Monkey or, when the vicious, unrelenting version popped in, she called him The Sargeant. Stranger, Monkey or Sargeant, they all provided her with tasks and games that robbed her of confidence, sanity, time and life.

Mind tasks and games can be helpful, say, if moderated and if you're a dancer, a musician, a medical student, a Ph.D. candidate, a writer editing her own novels and blog posts, or a multitasking parent who needs to nail daily goals. For a little girl trying to escape the awkwardness of weekend-visits with her hippie, love-in kind of dad, these games started off as helpful distractions, but led to more unyielding, mentally unhealthy directives.

Was the guy in the car next to them of the freeway a serial killer? Maybe, said The Stranger. If you make sure you pick up all the trash when you get to the park, he won't kill you.

Is a serial killer waiting to go in the house, hide and wait for your mom to come home so he can kill her? Pretty sure he is, Monkey chimed in. If you check the deadbolt thrity-three times, Mom'll be safe.

Is the house going to burn down and kill your whole family? Probably, said The Sargeant. If you miss the first two hours of school and make sure every electrical cord in the house is straight and lined up against the baseboards, you'll save their lives.

Kirsten describes not so much the catalysts for her OCD, but the eras in which it blossomed and does so in jaw-dropping detail, commanding your undivided attention. From Chapter 2: OCD Like a Brush Fire: High School (Checker Maximus), OCD: 1980 - 1984) onward, Kirsten takes you on a very uncomfortable, intimate journey through the decades. Like The Ghost of Christmas Past, she takes your hand as you fly from a cringing childhood to hellacious high school years to disturbngly real adulthood. Fret not, fair reader, for there is hope! You will get to an "Oh, thank goodness!" kind of relief as she eventually finds herself, her husband, her business and a true name for her affliction: OCD.

I will note, some of her recalls and stories will invoke involuntary wincing: some as an adult making poor choices; some as an sweet child in the unfortunate company of adults making very bad, likely illegal choices. Those are her stories to share, via her book; they are not mine to share, via my platform here. Read the book, if you want the full-Kirsten.

Throughout Leaving the OCD Circus there are lists, worksheets, tips and the author's own poems. (See samples at end of review!) Take from these what you will. Maybe you have a Stranger, Monkey or Sargeant you need to identify.

Kirsten's Can't Dos ( a partial list, 1997)

• Can't have certain things confine or touch: must wear size 10 shoe, even though wears an 8, so it doesn't touch toes 
• Can't touch newspaper
• Can't eat sans a calorie count, over and over
• Can't use certain pens: some are unlucky and will ring bad luck to her and her loved ones
• Must check purse every fifteen minutes: incl. reorganizing and memorizing contents
• Must check all electrical cords for straightness throughout house before leaving house
• Must check burners over and over

 

Beyond her anecdotes, which alone are worth the read, there is light. Her sunny outlook is the result of a happenstance advert her husband heard on NPR one afternoon, as he listened in his art studio one day when he and Kirsten lived in Northern California. When Kirsten returned home that day from work, a half-day even, he told her what he'd heard.

The sixty-second spot went something like this, Kirsten recalls:

Do you or someone you know obsess about things and can't seem to let them go? Does compulsive behaviour interfere with your life? If so, then you may be suffering from obsessive-compusive disorder.

His name was Dr. Kalb. I immediately called his office. Baby steps. He's going to meet with me today! Baby steps. She cried and fell into her husband's arms. I think I can drive myself, if I can just stop crying. Baby steps.

Dr. Kalb used exposure-therapy to help Kirsten recognize and break through her OCD. The homework was difficult, extensive, hopeful and, in the beginning, angering. I've been fucking robbed! Kirsten realized. Years of living taken from her by The Stranger, Monkey and The Sargeant, taken by her own passive, puppeted actions.

It is not simply humility that keeps Kirsten humble in her domination of OCD; it is pragmatism. She dominates her evil taskmaster, but to do so, there must be an object to dominate. Kirsten admits she will never be totally free of Monkey, just that she knows how to handle him now, and demoting him to a useful minion named, more playfully, Chimpsay, puts her in charge. She drives the motorbike and Chimpsay sits in the sidecar, silent and well-behaved, waiting to be told where they're going and what he will do, if anything, upon arrival.

In the course of her therapy, Dr. Kalb told Kirsten, "It's great when sufferers can reach the point where they say, 'I'm willing to take the hit of anxiety, in order to free myself, so I can live in accord with what's really important in my ife. I'm willing to put my energy into tolerating doubt and uncertainty, instead of squashing it, so I can move in the direction of my values.'."

Everyone has something, a fear or anxiety, real or imagined, that can either drive you, or drive you underground. For some it's a general pursuit of Better; FOMO can be a great catapult in higher education, professional advancement, financial worth, physical excellence or artistic recognition. Conversely, that drive can be just enough to overwhelm and keep you so far from your goals that even the simplest things, like registering for classes, buying plane tickets or starting a small project become "someday" dreams. For Kirsten, just leaving a voicemail message was a terrifying task and a ridiculous, nonsense time-suck: getting up the courage to leave a message, then playing and erasing messages over and over until it was just right. Now, she's Big Chief in Charge at Retroagogo! You, too, can be Big Chief in Charge at __________!

Kirsten lists yoga and meditation amongst her "Habits of Happiness". On a personal note, I can attest to the almighty joy of yoga. For approximately ten years, I have been following and practicing with Boho Beautiful yogi, vegan, animal lover and all-around Earth angel, Juliana Spicoluk. Every practice I get better, stronger, more confident and more bendy. Of course, at its core, yoga is not about being bendy or fit enough to wear whatever kind of cosplay you want. (Although, because I adore clothes - vintage, current, couture and cosplay - fitness for fashion is a large part of what drives me.) Originally, before the world of Lululemon and Calvin Klein performance wear, yoga was meant as an exercise to prepare and relax the body for meditation. Yoga is about connecting with the present moment, letting go of what has happened, because you cannot change that, and the conjecture of what could happen in the future, for that's pure fantasy. What matters is now, and yoga, with its meditative qualities, breathing exercises and all-intensive engagement, especially if you're trying advanced poses like Bird of Paradise or Flying Crow, keeps you fully in the now.

Meditation is harder; it's easy to drift off and think about other things: good and bad things. What's he making for dinner? What costume should I do for Comic-Con this year? Are they even having Comic-Con this year? Should I cut my hair like Lady Mary on Downton Abbey? Maybe I should bleach my hair like Marilyn Monroe. How would I look as a blonde? We're all out of yoghurt. What if FreshPet goes out of business? What will I feed my dog, then?! I want to go to Ventura this weekend. Are they still making new Ghost Adventures episodes? Why isn't Zak Bagans married? When is Woody Allen's next film coming out? Where is Lisa Kudrow these days? Isn't Jennifer Anston just so pretty?

Life is fabulous, exhausting and inspiring. Would that there was enough time to read every book, learn every language, perfect every dance form, drink every bottle of Cab, hit every thrift store and high-end vintage shop, learn every Woody Allen script verbatim, visit every world-class museum, hear every Mozart opera, learn to sing opera, travel every square mile of Europe until you're sick of it and do all of this with your favourite people.

Who has time to straighten electrical cords, count forks, fret over stove burners, touch the corners of Xerox machines, list people you've met "who might want to kill you", memorize the contents of your purse and so many other evil tasks Monkey dictates? Well, as Kirsten says, Not today, Chimpsay! Not today! I'm going to go eat ice cream and have some fun! Dum vivimus vivamus! Let us live while we are alive! Let's do this! 

*Book detais, because this stuff's important, especially if it's your book:

• Author: Kirsten Pagacz
• ASIN: 1573246816
• Publisher: Conari Press (October 1, 2016)
• Language: English
• Paperback length: 264 pgs

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