So, this is for all the people that have stated that they wanted to read my blog.
This is a disclaimer.
I’ve mentioned some people in here. I blog when I feel compelled to get my emotions out. Chances are, we solved our issue regarding the matter by now, so don’t get mad at me for how I felt in the past. >.<
Also, if I didn’t give you a code name, DON’T GET MAD AT ME. XD
So, I spent a week working on and designing a shirt for my schools annual drag show. Mind you this is for a college drag show, that has a vegas theme.
Fits the theme, huh? You’d wear one or possible both of those on a black shirt, right?
I know I would. But apparently, my two superiors hated the design, and they also really want it on a bright pink shirt. With a silouette of a girl, just standing there. Which does not fit our shows theme, and overall is obnoxious and unflattering.
So, after working tirelessly for a week, which includes working with the tshirt company to get it all ready, and making sure we get the hundred shirts we had budgeted for. On the LAST DAY WE COULD POSSIBLY ORDER SHIRTS, my superiors came up to me and said, “I’m not feeling the design, so let’s completely change it, and I want pink shirts, because the shirt will be more obnoxious that way.” So they call the company, and tell them to cancel the order.
The aftermath: We can’t get 100 shirts, we will most likely only get 50, tops. My design will not be used in the slightest, and a week of my time is lost to the “controlling bitch” monster.
I’m at my wit’s end with this club. I really hate how this club is run, and I’m really hating how all my advice gets shot down, and everything I work at just winds up on the cutting room floor. I feel excessively useless with this club, when things like this happen, and I really wish they would stop putting me in this position.
My question for you is: Is the wearability of a shirt more important than the obnoxious-ness of a shirt?
It’s that time of year again. The Jews are doing their passover thing, and the Christians are celebrating Easter.
Why the hell do I celebrate Easter? I don’t believe in the Christian lord, I don’t idolize their stories, and I have no real evidence that a man was resurrected from death (since according to the bible, no one saw it. Grave Robbers? Possibly.) What possible reason could I have at all to enjoy this holiday?
I’ll tell you why. There are 2 reasons.
1: Every year I hope for the same thing: for Reese’s to get with the program. We have the chocolate-peanut butter egg. Now, let’s get the bunny, goddamnit! I want a chocolate bunny filled with peanut butter, and possibly caramel. And I want it to be the size of my head. (By the way, side note, I hate chocolate. I just love peanut-butter. And occasionally the combo turns out well.)
But for real now…
2: Every year, Easter rolls around. And every year (except this year) my whole family gets together, we cook, we “pray”, and we eat. In essence, we come together to be as one. It’s a great, and lovely thing. That is why I celebrate Easter; Easter means the Unity within a Family. There can be nothing greater than that.
This Easter, if you cannot be near family, give them a call. Tell them all you love them, and pray for them to be well. And for yourself, find your closest, and dearest friends, and share with them. Family is more than just your bloodline; it’s your friends, and your coworkers, and your classmates.
This Easter, be with family. Rejoice, and be happy. Smile, and let the days roll on.
Okay, so…
In my life, I’ve come out a total of 5 times.
First: As bisexual. Second: Gay. Third: Avid merman enthusiast (I have a tail costume!) Fourth: Polyamorous. And Now, I’m coming out as Asexual: Homoromantic.
Before your mind gets blown, don’t worry, I’m still gay.
Asexualism: The lack of sexual attraction to either/any gender.
Homoromanticism: The intellectual/emotional attraction to a member, or members, of your own gender.
Someone asked me this question recently: “But homoromanticism… it sounds a lot like friendship to me. How do you not blur the lines?”
The line is: I wouldn’t kiss my friend. Kissing for me isn’t a sexual thing, but in this case, that’s me saying, “I like you as more than a friend. See where this goes?” I’ve run into problems with this, but they’ve never been directly related to what I was doing. (as it turns out, he wasn’t over his ex, and had too many prospective partners).
The way I see it: I’m more love orriented. I’m not sex oriented. But if I’m deeply in love with someone, and I’m fairly sure they love me back, then sure, sex might happen, cause I’ll want to make them happy. If all goes well, they will appreciate the gesture, and be happy.
We’ll see what happens in the future though. Who knows what it could bring? :)
My Brain is a horrible mess of fashion and hangovers, and broken dreams.
Wow… that sounded highly gay and emo. But that isn’t what I meant for it to sound like. I’m currently listening to my playlist that is full of music that, if I were filming the video, would involve women singing out highly emotional songs in beautiful prom gowns, possibly with rain (depending on the song).
Example songs: Halo-Beyonce, Hungover-Ke$ha, The Cure-Jordin Sparks, Behind these Hazel eyes- Kelly Clarkson, Lithium-Evanescence, The Last Song-Rihanna, etc.
The majority of these songs are sad… er, not sad. More reflective than anything else. I take a few lines of each of these songs, and I design a video in my head around them. I cloth all of the dancers, and “actors” if you will… Every singers makeup is perfectly done, their hair perfect for them… Everything is filmed from the perfect angle, and still shows the individuality of each performer…
One day, I’ll do this with my own music… but for now, this fantasy dream world will do.
All of this is to distract me that I’m probably failing Scriptwriting, because I can’t summon creativity to be used for something I don’t care about. This stupid woman seems to think I WANT to write plays for the stage… No, no no no, I want to write for the silver screen. My friend Maykel wants me to act and write for his next webseries, and I want in on it. I want to write a movie that maybe someday someone will want to help me film… maybe.
Wait a minute… Is there something wrong…? Can I monologue my entire midterm? and still make it interesting? I’ll give it a shot.
It also took an hour to write this blog. o3o wow.
Disclaimer: If you don’t like what I said, please tell me, and give me a reason:
Everybody knows what GLBTQ stands for around now. For a long time, we’ve been focusing on the G and the L. B is generally not troubled by it’s lack of focus. We haven’t quite gotten to T and Q yet. Today, I’m gonna talk about how I feel about T.
Transgendered people. I love them, I do. I will never understand them, because I’m more than happy with how I was born, and I don’t ever wish to change that. But what I do understand is the feeling of not being comfortable in ones own skin, because of something on the outside. Granted, my messed-up brain solution to that was anorexia, but that’s a completely different story.
I’m not transphobic. I don’t understand the concept of Transphobia. My main issue with this, is the same I have for homophobia, and even heterophobia: It’s such a personal fact about someone… you may never know it about someone, so what does it ever really matter? But Transphobia is a little bit different, in that sometimes you can see the change that the individual is undergoing.
I met someone last semester (herein referred to as Alexander). When I met him, I knew, due to aesthetics, to call him “He”. This was mainly due to the fact that he had no visible breasts, and facial hair. He told me that he used to be Alexandra, and I couldn’t believe it. He said he still had his “lady bits”, but when the time (and money) came, he’d exchange them for a penis. I said to him, “Good luck with that! I really hope that goes well for you.” Because that’s the truth. It’s a rough, dangerous process, and I’d like him to live through it, so he can have the life he wants.
But I met another person last semester. I’ll call him “Andy”. When I first met Andy, I thought Andy must be short for Andria, because I could see small-but-noticable breasts and a smooth hairless face. Thus I called him “She”, and was not corrected. Later on, in the same day, I was yelled at for my mistake, and called rude for making “the assumption”… Granted we offered an opportunity for him to state his gender identity… But overall, he looked like a manly-ish woman, so I guessed Lesbianism. Clearly, I was off. I have not met many transgender people, but I know they are essentially the same as everyone else. But pronouns are so annoyingly confusing when you are dealing with them.
Someone called me Transphobic for not wanting to acknowledge what I thought was an over-reaction to a situation at a school community event. They said, “Transphobia is much more common than homophobia, and far more severe.” Not gonna lie, I’m gonna have to disagree. Homophobia and Transphobia are still about the same. Though, Transphobia is less likely to be dealt with publicly. But by the same token, Transgendered people it seems would rather not let their transition be known. They would rather the change go unnoticed, but acknowledged as a “rightening” of everything. “What matters is what’s inside, and that hasn’t changed.”
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with them. I’m saying, as far as transgendered people go, please stop yelling at me for accidently messing up. Just correct me politely. If you haven’t started the “transformation process”, please don’t blame me for not knowing. Especially is I just met you that day.
Anywho, I’m interested to hear your opinions. Let me know?
Congrats everyone, you’ve created a new category of eating disorder. Let’s break it down, shall we?
You know those already skinny girls that go on a date, and they say the following to the waiter: “Do you know what the nutritional facts are about this tossed salad? I’m on a very intense healthy diet.”
La’quehqueh: Bitch, that diet ain’ gon’ do shit fo’ yo’ ass. Whatch’all need ta do, is get a big basket a’ frieeeed chick’n from Roscoe’s. Yeeeah, where ma sistah’s at, y’all know how we do.
-cough- but for real now. Earlier this year, my mother decided, “As a family, we’re going organic and gluten free.” To which I promptly responded, “Hell to the no.” Having already fallen to (and risen back out of) the influence of anorexia, I don’t need to fall into another new eating disorder, Orthorexia Nervosa (the obsession with eating healthy.) This disorder leads often times to malnutrition and death when followed, and shame and guilt when broken (much like diets).
My skinny ass doesn’t monitor what goes in by “how healthy it is”, because that destroys the “pleasure” of food and eating. If it’s tasty, I’m gonna eat it. I went in for a check up the other day, and my doctor said, “Joshua, you’re looking so much better. This is the best I’ve seen you in almost 7 years. What’ve you been doing?” I was proud to be able to tell her the following:
“I eat for the pleasure of the food, not the dietary facts of the food. It promoted weight gain, and more energy than I’ve had in years. I look good, because I really feel good now.”
My friends, please, just say no to Orthorexia, and eat what you want, not what you think you should want. Don’t live according to a Diet, live according to taste buds.
It’s 2:30. I have to be up at 6:30, to go with my mother to work. Promptly following her leaving work, I’m taking her car, and going to a deposition.
This case is plaguing my life.
3 years ago, on December 26, 2007, I should have died in a car accident. It was a t-bone collision, but I wound up outside the car, having gone through a windshield, hitting a tree. However, by the grace of some higher power, I survived without a scratch on me, save a small abrasion on my lower arm caused by the airbag deploying. The next few months were plagued with insurance charges, faulty complaints against me being a “negligent driver”, intense PTSD, and almost obtrusive therapy to remember the time of the accident. There was a faulty police report, from a cop who wasn’t doing his job appropriately, asking the hysterical 17-year-old questions that he’s unable to answer. “Sir, did you see the stopsign…” Somehow, “M-m-my uncle is trapped in the car…. MY CAR IS ON FIRE.” got mistaken for, “No, I did not see the stop sign, and plowed right though it.” Dumbass cop. The judge ruled that the police report was inaccurate, and the police officer was scolded for poor judgment. The latest claim is based on THAT police report, and claims that my mother was a negligent parent, for letting me drive while I was 17. First of all, there was in fact a licensed adult in the car, and I had gotten my license. I had obeyed all traffic laws, and I was rule not at fault for this accident. This gigantic waste of time is really getting on my nerves, and this woman’s greed is astounding.
As the title suggests, I’m struggling for control. Not over my life, not over my love life, not over most anything really……. over my thoughts, and my brain. I feel like an ADD kid in a sparkly room, which is odd, because I know I don’t have ADD.
This has happened before… Suddenly, for no reason, my brain becomes plagues with bad thoughts. Envision Kingdom Hearts, if you will: I’m happy on my island, and then… for no reason…. Heartless show up, and disappear.
Today, I was thinking about Starbucks boy, and I was just thinking about how cool it would be if we actually got together. Now, I know that may seem like I’m getting ahead of myself, but I’m not. I’m not building him up to be some great ultimate person who might be my soul mate, and I’m not putting him on a pedestal. However, my brain decided to think about: “What if you became obsessed with him? What if he doesn’t like you, but you know he’s perfect, and you have no choice but to kidnap him?” And it just kept going like that. It was bloody awful. I felt so horrible for my thoughts that I just wanted nothing more than to cry my eyes out.
I’m starting off the new year by dealing with a demon. Fabulous.
Well, okay, I’ve done a fair amount of thinking about Starbucks boy…. Whenever we talk, he’s wicked sweet…. but we rarely get to talk. We have “plans” to hang out, but the other day he posted something on his wall saying, “What’s wrong with flying solo? nothing.” and it got me thinking…. Does he know I think I might like him? And if so, was that his way of telling me, “dude…. just, no.”
Part of me wants to do the whole junior high thing of asking his friends/co-workers: “Does he ever talk about me? Good things, or bad things?” But then, I know that’s a bad idea/ a party foul. Do I give up on this guy, who might be a great guy but I just don’t know yet? Or do I tough it out with this guy, and keep going until I get a verbal legit response from him?
Lord have mercy, PLEEEEASE. Help a brotha out. o3o
Someone asked me today the most heavy hitting question:
“What do you want to have accomplished before you turn 50?”
I’ve been thinking about it all day. And I’ve made a list.
That’s really it. It seems like a lot of stuff by 50, but I think I can do it. No, I know damn well I can do it. :) And I will.
I feel empowered.
