So apparently Green Day's record can't be sold at Wal-Mart stores because it's got a parental advisory sticker on it. For those who don't know, Wal-Mart makes artists censor their albums in order to be sold there.
I think it's really stupid. I personally haven't bought a single CD at Wal-Mart since I found that out years ago. I mean, all you have to do is require a license be scanned every time a PA CD is sold. It's not that hard. Wal-Mart is just lazy. Oh, but they can sell an R-rated movie!!! What? They sell The Sopranos there!!!!! There's more cussing, violence, and sex in that show than can ever be in a CD. They don't censor that show in order to be sold at Wal-Mart. What the hell is the difference, I'd like to know.
Also, it's up to parents to monitor what their children are listening to. Wal-Mart better take all the R-rated movies off their shelves, or I'll do it for them. I think we should protest. Everyone go to their local Wal-Mart and remove The Sopranos off the shelves. And Weeds and every other R-rated movie. Revolutionize Wal-Mart.
Really, I have nothing against The Sopranos, I love that show. The finale was weird, but that's OK. I just think it's very hypocritical of Wal-Mart.
I forgot to say that I again apologize for not being around these last couple weeks. All I've been doing is sleeping and working. Almost all I do on the weekends is sleep. I worked 60 hours the week before last and last week I worked about 56 I believe. It's been crazy busy with my boss not there. I got so behind on my paperwork it was unreal. One day I beat my personal best, I worked 14 hours. I don't think I ever want to repeat that experience.....
~
It was dark and quiet, save for the whispers. Then the music started and the lights came on, directed at the stage. It was a hip hop song, one I didn't know. The dancers on stage wore turquoise shirts, nearly black capris, and turquoise leg warmers. Those who had long hair wore it in ponytails to the right. It took me awhile to find her, but when I finally did, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. I'd practically been her mother, after all.
My sister didn't miss a beat. She executed each dance move right along with the other girls. I smiled for her. This was her moment. When their piece was done, my other sister and I whooped for her and clapped the loudest. I was so proud, I wished at that very moment that I could give her the entire world.
The dance recital continued on, but that was the only piece that Taylor was in. Still, I watched each performance raptly. After all, dance has been a huge part of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of cultures throughout the world for centuries. Dance is a huge part of many cultures, something to be respected. There was ballerinas and jazz routines, but the other performance that captivated me was the advanced modern group. It was very intriguing, and it told a story. It was called Not So Black and White. The beginning was birth, and the end was death, with one girl laying still on the stage, and the other three dropping a large brown piece of fabric on her. Then with the end of the music came a loud noise, and each of the three girls looked in turn to stage left. Very interesting.
They wanted to leave during intermission, so mom went to check Taylor out. Apparently, no one could find her, so we waited 10 minutes until they found her and she came out. I hugged her and told her I was proud of her. We hugged our other family members and took our turns saying goodbye. In the car ride back to my mom's house, she made a big deal that people had been looking for Taylor and she had made people wait. My sister felt bad, but nobody seemed able to drop it. Whatever.
First my sister Rachel left then my mom left. Rachel came back then mom came back. Everything was fine. Everyone pretends here. Put it in a box then duct tape every square inch. Put it under your bed and forget about it.
We watched Salad Fingers. Creepy. If no one's seen it, I'll put it at the end of this post. It might frighten you with its creepiness.
Then after Taylor went to bed, Rachel and mom smoked pot. Yeah. Bad feelings all over that bastard. Here's what I'm talking about.
I can't remember most of my life. If I didn't have diaries and journals and blogs, I would be lost. I can barely remember anything before the age of 10. Everything I remember is a wisp, a fragment, a small piece of a whole. I learned in my high school psychology class that this has a name (I can't remember what it is) and that it's a defense mechanism for your brain. Traumatic things happened to me as a child, such horrible things, that my poor, tiny, little brain couldn't handle it, and made myself forget.
It's all because of drugs and alcohol. Even though they were divorced, both my parents are responsible for these things that happened. Granted, my mother was never there. Well, barely there, I guess. But she did drugs and drank. When you do these things, you don't pay attention to your children. I don't know know why. Maybe it's a combination of laziness and they just don't care. I never felt love from these people that were supposedly my parents. To this day, I'm still not sure what love is. People can say it all they want, but it's a feeling. Words are just words a lot of time unless you can feel the meaning behind those words. I never felt it.
Regardless, these things happened because no one paid attention. Everyone was always high all the time, nobody gave a damn. I don't remember my life. All I know is that it's been dark and twisted. I can remember bits and pieces of what happened to me, none of it's good. Because no one cared. Because everyone was high all the time.
I thought about all of this. I cried. I wanted to leave, because I finally could. I have a car, I can just go home. My mother hid my keys. On top of it all, they cracked gay comments. Proof that they didn't love me for who I am. "She's saying a girl is hot and she's mad at us for smoking pot."
There it is. I'm not loved. I knew it all along because I'd never felt it. It was still a slap in the face to hear it. I'm gay due to circumstance. I'm gay because of what happened to me when everyone was high all the time. I've been attracted to men. I can't have sex with them. I've tried...more than once. I have to be completely wasted to even let a man touch me. Even then I can barely stand it. Just the thought of giving a blow job makes me want to throw up. Years ago I thought I was bisexual, because I love women. I've learned that I can't be. I won't allow a man to touch me. It's my mother's fault. It's my father's fault. They both did drugs.
I've tried drugs twice in my life. Both times I was drunk. I've been on the verge of becoming an alcoholic more than once. I pull back when I realize what's happening. And I'm totally fine. I have a few drinks MAYBE once a month, and I haven't even gotten drunk in more than 4 months.
So they tried to throw that at me. Then they tried to say that what they were smoking is all natural, made by God. First of all, God didn't make shit, because I'm not a Christian. Second of all, if you really think any pot these days has nothing added to it because your buddy so and so or your buddy of a buddy grows it, you're an idiot.
My mother tried to say that there was different drugs that they did back then that caused the things that happened to me. My reply is that it doesn't matter what drug it is, when you're high, you don't pay attention. Plus, stoners are the laziest bastards of all. And stoners go nowhere in life. They're too lazy.
If they're getting high to be happier, that's the dumbest reason. Really, all of your problems are right there waiting for you when you're back on earth. Life is cruel, and life is hard. Drugs don't help your situation. They make it worse.
She finally gave me my keys and I left.
The salty water squeezing out of my eyes made it hard to see at night. All I could think was getting home as fast as possible. I set my cruise control to 9 miles over the speed limit. As soon as I got out of the city, it was all country. Nothing except for the road and my headlights. These yellow and white lines and my headlights. The loud, angry rock music blaring from my speakers, bass thumping. The lines and headlights. I stare straight ahead.
I should have been watching for deer. I just bought this car, so I should be watching for deer. I don't watch for deer.
My breath is shallow. Am I finally having a breakdown? I should crash my car into a tree. I should roll my car going 75 miles an hour. I don't know who I am. Who is this person driving? I don't pass any cars and I don't remember my life. I don't know who I am. Because I can't remember. I should crash my car into the cement divider.
All I do is hide. Hide everything bad, let everything good shine. Because that's what they want to see. I swallow the bad. I don't let myself feel it. It's hidden. That's what I've been taught. Pretend it doesn't exist. It's not there. It's not there. I'm not there. Where am I? Who am I?
I stopped crying miles ago. The dried salt stretches on my face. My eyes are burning. These lines and my headlights. I stare straight ahead. I drive 9 miles over the speed limit. I think I'm breaking down. I should call Becky tomorrow. I should get a recommendation. I should see a hypnotherapist. I need to remember. I need to remember myself. I need to get past this. I'm not healthy. I should drive my car into the cement divider. I don't think hypnotherapy is covered under insurance. I guess a regular therapist will do. I'll call Becky in the morning.
The lights of St. Paul welcome me. I feel slightly better. It's amazingly beautiful, all these lights. They reflect on the water of the river. This bridge scares me. What if it collapses? I make it over the bridge. I just want to get home. Is it really my home? I don't have a home. Because I don't know who I am. Because I don't remember. They don't love me. I knew it all along. There's no traffic. I'm speeding. I just want to get home. I left that place behind me miles ago. I haven't cried in miles. Is this my breakdown? Am I breaking? I'm already broken. I just can't remember.
~
This Girl
Sadness and fear grow like a wild rose bush, Thorns tearing into your flesh, Vines twisting and turning, Trying to find an escape. Love shrinks, A wilting bud on the cusp of death.
The roses here are not red, They are black. There’s a little girl standing near the rose bush, You can see her side, But most of her face is hidden in shadows.
She’s only about four or five years old, Her hair is long and unkempt. It’s light brown, And goes to the middle of her back. Do you see the wind snatch it and twirl it around? And just behind her, there’s a party.
People, Laughing, drinking, whispering, dancing and flirting... Paying her no mind. They are wearing all white. White shirts, white sport coats, White dresses, skirts.
White tents blow in the light breeze, White table clothes billow slightly. White chairs and white plates. Crystal glasses sparkle white wine.
Their skin is alabaster stone, Pure.
Your attention goes back to the little girl, This poor creature. You notice her clothes, A black t-shirt, ripped and too small, Can you see her ribs sticking out?
A pair of blue jean shorts, Where frays show where they were cut off. Do you see her white stick legs? You feel like taking her into your arms, And protecting this young girl. She needs to eat, You want to give her the world.
She was born of them, But she’s not one of them. Cast out, Cast aside.
Do you hear that thunder? It’s so angry, Angry at the injustice of her. She’s been neglected and abused, And the world is furious.
You look at the sky and see dark black clouds. It starts to rain tears, And the party continues without a care. When the tears fall on them, You see that the tears are tears of blood. The sky is bleeding for her.
Their white clothing is stained, With the blood of the sky, And they don’t care. Their laughter seems to grow louder, Trying to rival the thunder that incessantly grows. It starts to sound twisted and grotesque, Disgust fills your mind as you watch them.
There’s crimson blood on their white faces, Tainted.
You look back at the little girl now, This mystery of a girl. The bloody rain does not touch her. She bends a rose off the bush, And, fiercely clenched in her hand, The thorns pierce her skin.
Her innocence flows out with her rich, warm blood. Somehow you know that this was a point, A point of no return. You know it’s true with every fiber of your being. Her arm that holds the rose is at her waist, The other hangs motionlessly at her side.
Do you see her blood, running down her arm, Onto her fist, and down onto the ground? After staring at the rose for what feels like eternity, her gaze turns toward you, Her body still faced away.
Are you locking eyes with her? Her eyes are electric blue, The bluest of eyes you will ever see. They hold you, never letting you go. Do you see the tears of blood, Running down her pale face?
Do you see the never-ending pain in her eyes? She’s got bruises, On her body and on her heart. She’s been a victim, But until now her innocence had been maintained. In a moment, It was shattered.
This girl mesmerizes you, You want to give her so much, Your heart aches, But she’s so unreachable.
She’s so close to you, Yet so very far away.
Do you see her in your mind, Standing next to the black rose bush? You notice the party behind her, It’s gotten even louder, The laughter more garish, And still, No one but you notices her.
Do you scream for her, Telling her to put the rose down? Even though you know it’s too late, Do you try to run for her?
But, You notice that your feet are glued to the ground, And for some reason unknown to you, You cannot move toward her.
Do you stretch out your hand to her? Although you stand only feet from her, You cannot reach her. She’s so close, Yet too far away.
Do you yell at her, Telling her to come to you?
How can you yell over the wind rain and thunder?
Are you crying for her?
The black rose bush starts to crumble, Turning to a pile of blood and ashes. It’s fulfilled its purpose, And ceases to exist. Her rose remains perfect, Black silk petals a flag of loss.
No matter what you say, She cannot hear you. She just holds your eyes captive, Never wavering, never letting you go.
The laughter behind her has begun to mock you. They know what you try to do and jeer you for it. They point and stare at you, But you don’t care. You still try, But still you cannot reach her.
Yea. I just received a 5% paycut (on a side note, I complimented a co worker on her burgundy hair color and her reply was "Thanks, but it's only 5% of the dye because I can't afford the rest." I LOL'd!!!), so that sucks. But since my boss is gone this week and half of next week on vacation, I'm going to be the one working 13+ hours a day. And my wages are hourly, so that's awesome for my bills =] It's going to suck when the OT goes away though, which it will in a couple of weeks. Ouch.
Oh, and on the subject of working long hours, I apologize because this week I won't have time to post much or read anyone else's blogs, I'm sorry. I already feel like all I do is work and sleep, and this week is going to be hell if the rest of it goes anything like tonight...
Yesterday we got news that pay is getting cut 5% company wide. Senior managers are getting larger pay cuts.
They say the good news is that we still have jobs. They say we have jobs to come back to after our manufacturing shut downs.
Due to unexpected difficulties with our new operating software, we have to hire 6 people to support the added work. 600 applications were received for these 6 positions.
Is this really getting better?
Honestly, up until now, the down economy hasn't affected myself personally. I've seen staff reduced at my dad's job, and he took a pay cut months ago. I haven't worried about anything, really, because I've been so good at my job that I'm a valued employee. If people are laid off, I won't be one of them. But what if the entire company goes down in flames? I don't think it will happen, but I'm just saying. We're seeing it with large corporations across the US, why not a much smaller company? There's been Linens N Things and Circuit City, and more. What's next? Is this really over? And how long after it starts getting better will we really start seeing improvements?
