A World Away

Many years ago there was an HIV/AIDS Epidemic in the United States. It is no longer at such dramatic proportions in the US, but it is still an Epidemic for many other parts of the world. Especially portions of Africa.

Yesterday (Dec. 1st) was World AIDS Day and former US President, Bill Clinton, did an episode of Sesame Street in South Africa to teach young children about HIV/AIDS. This was a beautiful video and I'm not going to lie, I cried. A lot. Because I can't even imagine how terrifying it must be to have this infection in your body and to not even be hugged because people are so ignorant. Especially for a child, who desperately needs hugs and love and kisses to feel better.

HIV/AIDS is not a "world away." It is not a fairy tale that exists somewhere else. It is happening to people, to children, all over the world.

Pork Chops

This is triumph. The audacity of living in a world that continues to berate you and tell you that you aren't good enough. This is the strength of hope, a shining light in the darkness that feeds on our fears and our sadness. This is beauty. And it lives in all of us.

The Velvet Goldmine

When I was younger I used to babysit my cousins all the time. I didn't mind this because I could watch what I wanted on TV after they went to sleep and I had an available assortment of snacks and what not at my Aunt's. It is on one such evening of babysitting that I discovered a movie called "Velvet Goldmine."

I didn't actually watch the whole thing at the time. Just bits and pieces of it. I couldn't get into it and, admittedly, the only reason I watched it was for promised sex scenes. I was approximately sixteen so I hadn't really figured sex out just yet. I was, however, overtly curious.







The other day I was thinking about it, out of nowhere mind you, and I decided to procure a copy of it. And the other night I watched the whole thing. THE WHOLE THING.

Worst decision ever, mind you. I stayed up until after 1AM watching a movie that I really had a hard time getting into. And it wasn't that good of a movie. Personally speaking of course.

There are a few things I have figured out from this film:
1. Lady Gaga is just a copy of Brian Slade/Maxwell Demon
2. Jeffree Starr is a poor imitation of Jack Fairy.
3. Jonathan Rhys Meyers looks like Fawn when he has longer reddish hair...

The story revolves around Brian Slade, a bisexual glam-rocker in the 70's loosely based on David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust; Arthur Stuart, a British journalist, closeted homosexual and glam-rock fan; and Curt Wild, a garage band singer on the edge. Also starring: copious amounts of Homosexual and Heterosexual sex and Ewan McGregor's penis.

Of course there are a few other intriguing characters such as Mandy Slade (played by Toni Collette) and Jerry Divine (played by my favorite comedian Eddie Izzard!). But they aren't nearly as interesting as the main characters.

Overall, I didn't like the film. I didn't like how they filmed it, though it renewed my appreciation of nude Ewan McGregor and Jonathan Rhys Meyers as a whole... But that was it.

If you read the synopsis of the film it actually sounds really interesting and very psychedelic. Which it is very psychedelic. But not really in a good way.

The lines purloined from Oscar Wilde are thrown in haphazardly, dialogue is practically non-existent. The music isn't very good. The whole thing felt like it was trying really hard to be deep and intense. It came off as being faker than fake.

On a scale of 10, I would rate this a 2. Ewan's penis is about the only thing that made this for me. That and Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

I Wanna Dance with Somebody

In honor of Whitney Houston's passing I wanted to post a song that I enjoyed by her. I love her vibrancy in this video. As well as the song itself, because in the end we all want to dance with someone who loves us.

Rest in Peace, Whitney.

Dear Dad,

Dear Dad,

I don't know what to say to you. I don't know where to begin or to end. Where do I even start? The beginning or the end?

Auntie says that I should forget you. That I am better off without you in my life. She says that you have done many horrible things, many awful things. She says I am better off without you. Maybe she is right.

My friends say that I should forget you. That I am better off without you in my life. That you are a druggie, a criminal. You are never going to change and what closure am I going to gain? What answer will I receive? Will reaching you give me any sense of peace? Will finding you give me any sense of closure? Or will it just bring me down further?

Am I using closure as a crutch, Dad? Do I need it to live? To move on?

Why do I even care anymore? Why do I bother? If you wanted to contact me you would, wouldn't you? You know where Auntie is, you could write her and ask her for my information. You could try. Does it mean that you don't care since you never ask about me? Or do you ask about me and she doesn't mention it because she is tired of me putting myself through all this?

Its my fault that you don't write anymore. That you haven't written in ten years. Nobody really knows that but me, so it is understandable that they can't comprehend why I try so hard to find you. And I need your forgiveness, Dad. I can live without the closure. I can live with you not caring about me anymore. But I need you to forgive me.

Forgive that thirteen year old girl who was trying desperately to recover from the loss of her grandmother. Forgive her for being hateful. Pardon her for hating you, at the time. She blamed you for Memere's death. But she was also hurting from promises that were broken as they were made. Forgive her for sending that hateful letter, so many years ago, saying she never wanted to talk to you again, because it was all your fault. Forgive her for falling prey to those horrible feelings building up in her chest.

Forgive me, Dad.

If I don't try to get your forgiveness, if I don't try to say I'm sorry, if I fail, I will never forgive myself. I can't live with myself, knowing that its my fault and that I didn't tell you I was sorry. Because I am sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry.

I miss you. I love you. I hate you. I wish you would give me some sign of something! Anything, really. I just want to know that sometimes you wonder about me. I just want to know that you can forgive my stupidity, that you still love me. Or feel some kind of emotion towards me.

And is that wrong? Is it wrong that I want this from you? I might receive some kind of closure, knowing I made the attempt. I tried. I worked hard, trying to fix it. Knowing it may never be fixed.

I've tried to cut you out of me. I've tried to drink you away. I've tried to lose you somewhere in my memories, far from me. I've tried everything I can think of to relieve this horrific guilt I feel for everything. I've been self-destructive and tried to rebuild. I've done things I'm not proud of, things I long to go back to, but I can't let myself. But in the end, you are a part of me.

You are in my smile, in my laugh. You are in my bloodstream, you are a part of me that I can never get rid of. No matter how hard I try. You are wired into me, just like our shared DNA. We are intrinsically entwined.

What do I do? Do I try to fix this? Do I let it go? Could I let it go?

Are you a crutch? Is this just a shameless cry for sympathy and attention?

I need some sort of resolution. What resolution do I expect? It has been ten years. Ten years and I can't forgive myself, or you. I can't let it go and I can't make it right.

So where does this leave us?

I was in the Newspaper!

By Christy M. August 29, 2011

A man who had smoked bath salts and fallen asleep in a stranger’s van woke to police handcuffing him early Sunday morning on *.

Timothy H, 42, of * first struggled with officers when they found him about 1 a.m., police Sgt. Scott M. said.

He tried to flee the van but was arrested on charges of possession of a controlled substance, resisting law enforcement, criminal trespass of a vehicle and public intoxication.

A woman had originally called to report two people inside her van, but when police arrived, they found only Timothy H.

When questioned, Timothy H. told police he had smoked bath salts earlier in the day and must have passed out in the vehicle, according to a report.

Officers found a clear container in Timothy H’s pocket that contained some leftover bath salts.

He remained in the County Jail Sunday night on $4,000 surety, $500 cash bond.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A * has replaced the place of origin and I have changed the names to protect the guilty.

Also, this newspaper article got it wrong, both people were arrested not just Timothy H. Just sayin'.

Another point, this journalist needs to work on her writing skills. There are numerous grammatical and punctuation errors. Honestly, someone who, presumably, went to school for this shit should at least be able to get both the facts and the basic English correct. Seriously.

Dreams of my Father

I dreamt about my biological father last night. It was odd, because I haven't dreamt about him in a while. I felt so many different things in that dream. Feelings I've been suppressing in the waking world.

We had moved into our new apartment, in my dream. And somehow I happened to see my father in a window across the way from my apartment. It was kind of "Rear Window"-esque. I felt like I was staring at him through binoculars. Realizing it was him I practically flew out of my apartment to his. Only to suddenly be in a hotel room.

There he was. As I remember him, a seven year old's image of her father. He is so romanticized in my mind. To me he will always be the handsome man who picked me up off the ground when I fell from the monkey bars and got sand in my eyes. The guy with glasses, and a great mustache, who was constantly filming me and my brother, photographing my mother, even though they were no longer together. The man I adored and thought was amazing, a god with flaws. I wish I could've saved him. I wish we had been enough.

There he was. My father. In that moment I felt a surge of love for him. With a small aftertaste of hate and realization. He hugged me. I told him I was getting married. He cried. I cried. I told him how much I had missed him. How much I wish I had never sent that letter. Never said the things I said. He forgave me. I forgave him. He was going to do the one thing I've always wanted. He was going to give me away at the ceremony for my wedding. He was going to dance with me, that father daughter dance that I'll never actually have.

I think part of my subconscious realized this was a dream, because I felt a surge of pain. A trembling in my chin, that trembling that always preludes a gut-wrenching cry fest.

He told me that he had been released. Released from the drugs, prison, etc. He was a free man and he was going to be there for me. He offered to help pay for the wedding. He offered to help in any way he could.

Then he disappeared. In a split-second I was talking to my mother. Telling her the good news. Telling her how excited I was. About the crying that we did. About the hug and the forgiveness. Then she tells me that he had lied. That he had escaped from prison, not been released. That he was on the run. Now he would never be able to do what he had said he would. Now he could never fulfill his promises. He would spend his life running. From the addictions, from the law, from his empty promises and his guilt. I truly believe he feels guilty.

And I felt that moment of realization again. The moment when I realized that he would never be able to keep his promises. Just like when I was seven and I made him promise he wouldn't do drugs anymore. And he promised. I think he meant to keep it. I'd like to think he really tried. I'd like to believe that he loved me enough to give it a valiant effort. But what am I compared to methamphetamine? What am I compared to cocaine and heroin?

I've never been so heartbroken upon waking from a dream. I have a damaged relationship with a father I've always worshiped and no real way to fix it. I think, as little girls, all daughters have this kind of romance with their fathers. Not the sexual kind of romance you find in smut novels or internet porn. Not a romance in the traditional sense. We have a love for our fathers that is so deep that it colors our entire outlook on men.

Our father is our first introduction to the world of men. He is our first husband, our first boyfriend. He is our first guy friend, our first impression. We romanticize him, even if we never knew him. Even if we have a bad relationship. Because in many ways we want him to be wonderful. It gives us hope for other men if our father is a good man.

I see the similarities between my father and my ex-boyfriend. I see the parallels between my relationship and my father's relationship with my mother. I see the parallels with my current relationship. I see the parallels with all my male interactions. I have always been so desperate for a man to love me. I have always been so afraid of the men around me. Not because my father abused me, but because I always felt like he abandoned me. Like he never truly loved me. How could any man love me if my own father could not? I wanted that love from my father that I never fully received. It is a terrible loss to me. An awful waste.

I hated him. I hated him for so long. I only called him by his first name. Or didn't speak of him at all. I tore him off of a pedestal and threw him to the ground. A displaced god in my personal garden of hell. The more I hated him, the more I loved him without even trying. I tried to justify his actions to myself, I still do sometimes. I tried to place him back on the pedestal the prodigal god returned to his rightful place of honor. Waged a whole war with myself. All for what?

When I woke up I felt raw. Tender to the touch, like a still healing scrape. Even now I feel hurt. As my wedding draws closer all I keep trying to not think about is that moment when the judge (or the pastor or whomever) says "Who gives this woman to be wed?" The moment when it will be only my mother standing there beside me. When my father will not be there to say "Her mother and I." When the music begins playing at the reception and there is no father for me to dance with.

I've never been so sad to wake up.

A Safety Dance

Today has been my day for being nostalgic. Of course I'm nostalgic for times in which I wasn't even alive. Or maybe I was... *shrug* See that is for a completely other blog, which I will probably post next. Anyway, so today I felt like cheering up my mom, which is always fun, so I played this song.

For those of you who don't know, this song is called "The Safety Dance" and it is by Men Without Hats. A strange name for an awesome band that really only had one great hit in the states. However, it remains one of my favorites of crazy 80's videos that really don't make any kind of sense (i.e. "Turning Japanese" by The Vapors, "Down Under" by Men at Work, etc...). Enjoy!


To quote one commentor on this video "Cocaine is one hell of a drug."

Circle the Drain

Music
I love this song, it is so poignant and beautifully done. Katy Perry does such an amazing job conveying the anger and sadness that are key to this type of song. However, the video is a little weird, because she doesn't have an official video and I had to make due with what YouTube has to offer.



News
Haunted Mattress, cue "Nightmare on Elm Street" music.
http://www.worcesternews.co.uk/news/8825676.BALLOT__My_haunted_mattress_keeps_me_up_all_night/

A man who had committed suicide in his car was not discovered until recently due to heavy amounts of snow.
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/02/01/2011-02-01_car_buried_in_snow_for_week_hid_suicide.html

A Virgin Mary statue may or may not be crying in a book shop in Ohio. Jesus in tears as well.
http://www.newsnet5.com/dpp/entertainment/weird_news/visitors-to-reading-shop-say-virgin-mary-statue-is-crying1296564961621

and...

A 21 year old model is being prosecuted for brutally murdering a man almost 3 times his age. Also, horrible penile mutilation.
http://www.azcentral.com/news/articles/2011/02/01/20110201new-york-hotel-castration-case.html

The Marilyn Monroe Blog

Marilyn Monroe was born Norma Jean Mortensen in Los Angeles, California on June 1st, 1926. She died on August 5th (Donnie and My anniversary), 1962 at the age of 36. She was married to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller at one point, a friend of Einstein and a lover of John F. Kennedy and Bobby Kennedy. Which may have been why she died.



Arthur Miller once said that Marilyn Monroe "was a poet on a street corner trying to recite to a crowd pulling at her clothes."

It literally hurts me when people say that Marilyn was a slut or a whore or stupid. When the exact opposite is true. Marilyn was very intelligent, interested in politics and loving. Admittedly, she had her faults, all of us do.



A red-head too. She was beautiful, even today she is still regarded as a sex goddess. But that is not what she wanted to be. She wanted to be a mother someday. She even said so herself.

"I have too many fantasies to be a housewife. I guess I am a fantasy."



"The thing I want more than anything else? I want to have children. I used to feel for every child I had, I would adopt another."

"Fame is fickle and I know it. It has its compensations, but it also has its drawbacks and I've experienced them both."



She loved Beethoven records and reading Tolstoy and Whitman. She took literature classes at UCLA and acting classes, because she was forever trying to be better. She was a human being who had addictions and trials. She had miscarriages and was increasingly drawn into the world of alcohol and drugs to cope. She was endlessly unhappy with herself and the world around her. The world that couldn't accept who she was.

A human being. A woman who just wanted to be loved.



This is to my beautiful Marilyn Monroe. A poem I wrote just for you. Sweetest dreams.

Marilyn Monroe
A mad poet, dancing through space. You scribbled venom, running from fate.
A wandering prophet, searching the deserts for a glimpse of God, only to find
sand.

A Goddess, you longed for mortality. Wishing for someone to love who you
were, not who you had been. All the while holding a world that loved only
your beauty, never looking within.

A gypsy forsaken by the music, surrounded by glittering diamonds, but they
weren’t your friends. Pursued by men who never cared or ever would, all
they ever wanted was between your legs.

A million sparkling pieces, exploding and shattering, will you ever stop
spinning out of control? Will you ever find what you crave? More fragile than
you appeared, you were stronger than they knew.

Norma Jean was lost, found in the coffin of Miss Marilyn Monroe. Was the
price of that last kiss worth your soul? Did they truly love Marilyn Monroe?
Were you still Norma Jean at the end of it all?

Now you are an icon, worshiped and idolized, but did they ever look into those
beautifully broken eyes? Beloved by a generation, one that never understood
the scars that lay just beneath the skin.

Noddin' my head like YEAH!

Current mood: Bouncy

First THE NEWS!

Explosives and marijuana were discovered at a Southern California home that was also a child day care center after Benjamin Kuzelka, 23, blew off his hand while mixing homemade explosives. The guy, Benjamin, walked into the ER saying he had SHOT his hand, instead of blowing it up.
http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=8784218

So apparently you should check your Bananas before eating them. Why? Because the Mexicans have started trying to ship several tons of marijuana underneath over-ripe bananas. Apparently before that it was bricks of cocaine in the Virgin Mary and a Frozen Shark. What do the Holy Virgin and a Frozen Shark have in common? Well they are both frigid. (I'm going to hell for that one) Moving on, follow the link and read the article.
http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=CNG.22a27d6246cb6cb39b275ef86dbe1fa4.3e1&show_article=1&catnum=0

At a Dartmouth Nursing home a 100 year old woman was strangled and suffocated with a plastic bag. Police vow to find her murderer. Why would someone strangle a 100 year old woman? No one knows.
http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2009/10/justice_sought.html

And I don't even know where to begin on this article! http://www.seattlepi.com/local/410808_radioactivepoop5.html

Apparently Bozo the Deer Clown died recently... he was found on someone's porch still dressed in his clown outfit... Well his name wasn't Bozo, but he was definitely dead and he was definitely dressed as a clown and he was DEFINITELY a Deer.
http://www.centredaily.com/128/story/1555284.html

And, for good measure, enjoy these two articles:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1218989/24-pygmy-hedgehogs-adopted-animal-lover.html

http://thechronicleherald.ca/NovaScotia/1146319.html

So my mom and I were driving down the highway yesterday, on our way to test out my new car (Yeah, I got a car!) and this song came on the radio. Immediately my mom and I started dancing in the truck, singing along and being silly. We were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic that wasn't going to move any time soon. And apparently the people in the car in front of us heard the same song, because they started dancing too. It was so great to share that moment with my mom, I only wish Hannah (my baby sister) had been there too, it would've been perfect. So, in honor of yesterday and the happiness that I will now ALWAYS associate with this song, here is what we crazy people were dancing to. ENJOY!

Poem I Wrote...

Drugs and Violence

She tries to recall the sound of her daddy's voice, but she can't years have passed since she heard him speak, years since he told her that he loved her or called her by name. When she can't stop the tears she sees his face and wishes he was there, but...      Drugs and violence took her life away. They dragged her under where she couldn't breathe. She lives with it everyday.      He sits in his cell, he's holding a photograph of his little girl. He wonders how he got here, where did he go wrong? He thinks about the life he lost, how he can't change it now. As the tears roll down his cheek, he sees his daughter's face and he wishes he could be with her. His father's mistakes become his own.      Alcohol and violence took his life away. They dragged him under, wouldn't let him breathe. Your father's mistakes don't have to become your own, but he lives with it everyday.      She's 17 trapped by her father's mistakes. He reads the paper and can't believe it ended this way. Crimson paints the pavement in front of the church where his daughter died. Her life was just beginning, but it's already over. As they wheel her away, her daddy cries. She got into what she shouldn't and, now,      The drugs and the violence stole her life away. Dragged her under where she couldn't breathe. In the end it's the choices you make, they affect everyone. She lived, and died, with the drugs and the violence everywhere.