untitled melodrama of 1989

[originally posted on myspace on June 1, 2010]

So, I had an oddly introspective weekend (odd in that I went out of town to a show, which you wouldn't expect to be an introspective sort of trip). I'm reading Kelly Cutrone's book (titled something like If You Have to Cry, Go Outside...I left it at work today by mistake) and damn, wow, it's crazy. It's pretty much saying, don't buy into things, know yourself. And it got me thinking, about lots, but mostly, for years, I thought I wanted to be the little rocker chick...but maybe that's not me anymore, if it was ever me. Hard to explain.

But, I will say this (in a long, roundabout way): my tire blew up leaving Melbourne Saturday morning. I think it was the tire that was previously patched. I left the motel earlier than planned (see above paragraph and after a whole introspective evening, and not much sleeping, I was ready to head home) and leaving the gas station, my car kind of started pulling to one side and then shaking. Me, I get onto 95 anyway, figure it's the gas or something and it'll stop. The car starts violently shaking and I think, ok, I'll get off at the next exit. No such luck. The tire just blew and I (after freaking out for a few second) pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. More panic for a few more seconds and then called Triple A...got out of my car (when it was clear) to check the damage. The tire was shredded. I waited around 20 minutes for the Triple A guy to show...andd standing there, with countless cars speeding by (and most of them not getting over to the other lane, like they should do and I now faithfully do) at over 70 miles an hour...it felt so very lonely. I don't know what I expected to happen...someone to pull over and ask if everything was ok, for a prince to come riding through...don't know. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted a nap.

But the whole thing (the waiting and the later going to find a replacement tire in a brand new town I knew nothing about and being rewarded with Starbucks...'cause there's always a Starbucks)...it reinforced stuff mentioned in Cutrone's book, in what I know already, what I've learned a million times. Things could be worse. It could ahve been raining and/or late at scary night. Bad things are (usually) temporary. I could have sat on the side of the road and cried...but I probably still would be now sitting on the side of the road, with red eyes and a still flat, shredded tire...so, with everything, with every uncertain moment, I just need to be my awesome, kick ass self, trust in that, dow what needs to be done, see the awesome, positive, experience/life lesson in things (or at least, get a latte) and move on to the next.

Also, Friday and Saturday, the number '89' (as in the number and the year 1989) kept coming up. Weird, huh?

baby disorder

[originally posted on myspace on March 23, 2010]

So, yesterday, during the glorious day off, I watched some Dr. Phil (yeah, I know). It was an odd show about "kid obsession." The first segment was this sad stage mom wanting her three year old to make it in Hollywoodtown. Everyone told her, "don't waste your money, lady" and she nodded and smiled but did not listen. Poor three year old.

The second segment was about this very young (early 20s) married lady who really wants a baby. Really, really wants a baby. And not just any baby, but a "perfect" baby and, heck, make that three "perfect" babies. Um, ok. That's perfectly "normal." But this lady had bought thousands and thousands of dollars of baby stuff...and not just 'oh, that stroller's on sale, let me pick one, or two, up.' No. Toys and clothes and assorted baby stuff. She has a whole room devoted to future baby and all of future baby's stuff. A room that will not be, while she's alive, turned into a guest room or anything else.

Yup. That's perfectly.normal.

So, that combination...obsession with a "perfect" baby and hoarding (yes, hoarding) all that baby stuff before she has any true need for it...surely, Dr. Phil will tell her, "lady, this is crazy...you need to stop spending/wasting your money, go volunteer to hold some preemies down at the hospital if you really need to have a baby in your arms (and maybe that'll get you over the whole "perfect" thing)...because even *if* (yes, if, because not everyone is just promised a baby) you have a kid, who is to say that all the crap you've bought is "outdated" (even if it's not) by then...who is to say that you won't have a perfect baby or you may have a perfect baby who then grows up into a not so "perfect" kid...who is to say that buying all this unnecessary stuff for your future kid may actually bankrupt the kid for when he/she actually needs the money (doctors, schooling, etc)."

Please, Dr. Phil, please tell her something along those lines.

He turns to the camera to address the "women" watching at home. All the women who are watchign at home who absolutely, surely must be screaming at their TV sets (because, that's what ladies do, huh, they scream lots coz of their periods) that there is nothing insane or worrying about this, that the "biological clock" urge to have babies is absolutely normal, says women watching at home (according to Dr. Phil), so don't dare get after her about that...

I was so annoyed at the giganitc, sweeping gender stereotype made by a pretend doctor in the year 2010 during daytime television...that I turned channels and never looked back.

That's what I get for watching Dr. Phil.

venti

[originally posted on myspace on August 15, 2008, Friday]

Maybe it's the lack of food mixed with espresso, or growing older, or the Ryan Cabrera song that's on right now…but I'm starting to realize that venting has no purpose.

If something bugs me or I need to document something, I will blog and get it off my chest (or blog until it is) and then, I'm pretty good. I no longer need the marathon vent session, recounting and replaying for anyone that will listen that I used to need. I post, I feel better (to some extent), the end.

I just started reading a book last night that essentially says (most) women buy into fairy tales as young girls and wait to find the perfect guy to rescue them/save them/protect them rather than that help themselves. And (for me) I think venting is the same thing. I vent so someone else will tell me what to do or so someone else can feel bad for me. But, by blogging, I can re-read my own thoughts and think, geez, that's a dumb concern or well, shut up and do something about it already.

I can appreciate that if you vent about something to someone else, maybe they will see things you don't, offer solutions that you could not come up with, but I don't need someone outside me to tell me what to do. I know me (somewhat) and I know what will work, what won't (for the most part), what I will do and won't do, and, most importantly, (cliché warning) change is growth and pain is inevitable but sometimes short lived and almost always teaching you something. And to quote NOFX: I ain't waiting on no prince to save me.

To vent excessively, especially to dwell on the bad, is to throw up your hands and say I have no control over this or anything and to get dangerously close to getting stuck in a rut, mulling around in your own negative thoughts, to give into pessimistic tendencies with the thought that someday, someone else will fix this.

I think venting (in the long winded sense) plays into the procrastination and negative energy that I've been trying to avoid/change (texting Kym about boy weirdness during late hours doesn't count as venting).

And, I don't mind if someone needs to vent to me (as they usually don't blog), but lately I've been thinking, why are they telling me? Because I listen/am easy to talk to? Because they want someone to feel bad with them? Do they want my advice or do they just want me to smile and nod?

There is something to silence, there is good logic behind keeping your mouth shut.

I’m not undressing you with my eyes. I’m adding a sweater.

[originally posted on myspace on Thursday, March 20, 2008]

I got a random email from a stranger: "hey sweetie whats goin on my name is @@ i just want to say hi"

Which is fine. The use of "sweetie" and absolutely no reference to anything on my profile makes me think he is cutting and pasting this sentence to a few hundred ladies he is emailing at one time. But, whatev.

I do check out his profile, as sometimes interesting people send dumbass emails. Under his "Who I’d Like to Meet" section, it says "anyone."

Eh. Desperate, much?

Anyway, on his profile: a few hundred friends, all female (except about 2), almost all with asses and tits popping to camera.

Delete.

Over the years, I’ve gotten some ribbing about my reluctant release of details (and pics, hell, sometimes even real name) online but I know the amount of stalker potential from when I was on the radio. Creepy boys (and some girls) would fall in "love" with you just because of your voice and/or song choice. They do not need to know my real name, where I live, especially what I look like as I don’t want to run into one of these people out in the "real" world…especially not at a bar, at a show or in front of my house. As much as I (at times) want fame, I don’t want the fishbowl lifestyle that comes with it.

So, back to the asses hanging out all over myspace…I don’t see the point. I suppose, if you have it, flaunt it (even some that don’t, flaunt it, ugh). I guess there is some ego boost to have lots of "you’re so hot" comments left for you, mostly from total strangers (as their opinion is so valuable). But I guess that little wire in my head never got crossed – that wire that made it alright, well, flat out desirable to post skanky picture(s) for some total stranger(s) to jack off to (come on now, you know they do). Some guy getting off without knowing a thing about me other than knowing my tits and ass. Classy.

And what about the (creepy) guys who do want to know you better…who see the "sexy" online and want to meet that in person…with or without you knowing they will be meeting you in person. I don’t delve into the skanky pic profiles deep enough to know a thing about them (nor do I care to – and I can say the same for skanky boy pic profiles), but I just hope for their sakes, they don’t divulge lots of personal and identifiable info.

Maybe it’s some (bizarre) feminist reaction (or backlash?).

I’m sure some of these ladies mean well. I just don’t get what the point of it is, what inherent value there is to it. Maybe some of them even find modeling jobs (snicker) or love (the kind of love Bret Michaels and Flavor Flav will end up with by season finale time that may potentially require medicine). Maybe it’s just artistic expression and I will absolutely defend your right to do so, but, really, ladies, you look stupid.

[see also: http://jezebel.com/369696/how-did-we-go-from-riot-grrrls-to-girls-gone-wild]

I need my own advice column

[originally posted on myspace on Tuesday, December 11, 2007]

Ok, so this lady gets "dumped" via Facebook (um, what's a "poke?") and she writes in to a column for advice on how she should "handle" it. The columnist then launches into how humans are becoming more and more reliant on technology and becoming worse at interpersonal communication…technology encourages lazy communication blah blah blah.

My reaction?

This lady says they were "dating pretty seriously for the past few months." Um, in real life or in Facebook world? And I am so curious as to how she defines "dating pretty seriously" versus what it really was/versus his definition of "pretty serious."

So, regardless, let's say they actually met in person and were real "boyfriend/girlfriend." This lady (and I do feel bad for her, really, because getting dumped sucks) is 26 (I'd have more sympathy if she was 18, truly). She asks how to handle this? UM – if anyone is that LAME to "dump" you (she says that she's had trouble reaching him since their last date –duh, warning sign number one- and then he changed his status to single without telling her) online, through a networking site…then good riddance. He's probably an idiot with zero social graces. Be glad of potentially dodging a bullet there. He probably came on fast (what is that saying, a candle that burns twice as fast..) and got bored/felt stifled/etc. Yes, he should have told her rather than avoid her and change his relationship status, but, whatever, he is LAME. He probably exhibited precursors of this lameness in their "several months" of dating.

I am so disappointed that none of that was covered in the advice giving (I am glad she suggested "Say no to being asked out over text messages" and a general suggestion of this person demanding "integrity" in her communications in the future) but maybe it was more a technology related advice column… At least they didn't suggest some online revenge campaign.

Ha…notice the web page is "how to handle getting dum_b" rather than "how to handle getting dumped?" I think that says it all. Ladies, don't let the boys get you stupid.

(yes, this high and mighty talk coming from me…the lameness of emailing someone –after a date and a half which, to me, cancels out some of the lame- to ask for some space)

[article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christine-hassler/how-to-handle-getting-dum_b_76139.html]