the RAWR blag

Okay, two things are happening today on my blog because I went to youtube and had fun putting off my religion paper until the VERY last minute.

A) I’m eventually going to bring back the musical teddy bear and put some christmas music on it.  *inside the fire laugh* You’ll see.

B) I found this:

Also, not all the songs are incredibly different to me, or metal.  80s metal was a lot lighter than modern metal, in my opinion.  I think most people wouldn’t even consider some of the 80s stuff metal if it was made today.  However, some of them are very funny.  I particularly like the ABBA at the beginning.

Has anyone else noticed that there used to be tons of chicks in metal bands?  Not so much anymore.  Name me 10 metal bands–not just alternative rock–with a chick in them.  Can you name ANY with more than one chick?  I can’t.  It’s sad.  I love metal.  Other girls should like metal.  The male to female ratio amongst metalheads is like, 3:1 or something.  Also, has anyone every seen a chick seriously headbang and not thought, “Well look, there’s a girl who’s headbanging!”  I mean, we have the hair for it, why don’t we headbang?  I don’t know.  I don’t headbang either.  It kinda hurts me head, though.

Yeah, forget it, life sucks again, and hell if there’s anything I can do about it.

No, I did not just discover this song, and no, I didn’t just rediscover my blog.  It’s just that sometimes life gets in the way of things like blogs (and math homework, but Laycock’s treating me right about it).  Jason Mraz–”I’m Yours”.  Believe it or not, I first heard this on retreat, which is embarrassingly late.  The thing is I listen to X103 and don’t have much music exposure outside of that, even though I like some soft, chill stuff like this.  I’m guessing I’ll reveal more of myself in this post than I really want to… don’t hurt me with it.

Well, you done done me, and you bet I felt it.

Over the last… month… or more… I’ve been pissed at the world.  I felt like the whole goddamn world was closing in on me, and all my friends had turned their back on me, with good reason.  I’ve been an awful person to everyone I know.  Some more than others.  I’ve done a few unforgivable things.  The whole thing took a real toll on me.  Read what I wrote exactly a month ago, November 5th, that got saved in the drafts:

I am an arrogant, abject failure.  I am the worst friend a person could have.  I suck at life, and I’m an idiot.  I trust too easily, and I manipulate people to my own advantage.  I am evil.  I am worthless.  I should not exist.  I have caused more trouble than good.  I am too quick to blame others.  I have no control over myself.  I am an addict.  I am an abuser.  I am abused.  I am pathetic, and I am cruel.  I deserve worse than I have received, and I have suffered plenty–but not enough.  I am a disgrace to the words that fall off my lips.  I am laughable in my attempts to be anything but the lowlife that I am.  I deserve to be killed.  I need to be insulted.  Any ridicule you could give me is not enough.  My life is not worth it.  I am doted on in pity I do not deserve.  I pretend I am great.  I pretend I can help.  I can only harm.  Each word I say is one better left unsaid.  I should not attempt–I will only fail.  I am unforgivable in my condescension.  I am unforgivable in my malice.  I am self-serving and self-centered.  I am unloved with good reason.  If I spent the rest of my life apologizing for taking up oxygen, I would still owe the world.

You’ll probably all want to admit me to a psych hospital after reading that.  I would understand why, as reading that now even surprised me.  But that, that quote, is proof of what I was arguing about a couple days ago.  I needed to get away.  I needed a break from things.  And even though I distanced myself from one things that was killing me, the weight of the world still pressed me down.  I wanted to die more than I ever have in my entire life.  I tried to die, and no one bothered to save me.  I just failed at dying, too.

I can’t say I’m more optimistic about where my life is going.  I can’t say that I’m really any happier.  But for some reason I feel as though I’ve surpassed hopelessness.  I want to do something.  I want to get out of this hole, and I want to see sunshine again.  Somehow.

Well open up your mind and see like me.  Open up your plans and, damn, you’re free.  Look into your heart and you’ll find love, love, love, love.

Somehow today I remembered the line “there ain’t no better reason to rid yourself of vanities and just go with the seasons.” It just played on repeat in my head, and I started listening to this song again.  It seems like music always has a way of healing my heart just a little bit when I need it most.  I feel like the clusterf*** of drama going on in my life right now all results from people being more selfish than selfless.  We run around and care about how much we, ourselves, are hurting, without regard for the pain of another.  I’m included in this “we”.  I cared so much about how much I was hurting, I forgot to love the ones I love most.  It disgusts me how selfish I can be.  How hypocritical I can be.  We have forgotten that love is putting others first, and there is no happiness without love.  I just want people to chill out and remember that we’re all friends, at the core, and we all love each other.  All of us.  Even the people I fool myself into thinking I can’t stand… they’re still an important part of my world.  Can’t we forgive?  Can’t we all just get along, kids?

I fell right through the cracks. Now I’m trying to get back before the cool done run out. I’ll be giving it my bestest, and nothin’s gonna stop me but divine intervention.

I have no idea how the hell to fix things that are broken.  I’m an abject failure when it comes to helping people, even though it’s the thing I seek to do most in my life… Maybe there’s a good reason no one bothers to ask my advice on anything.  But if it’s one thing I’ve learned in all my Catholic indoctrination this school has been so kind to force upon me, it’s that when you identify an injustice, you should take action to fix it.  I don’t know what to do.  I’m almost to the point where I’m going to pray about it.  There was an episode of House where the atheist husband of a Catholic was in the chapel, praying, and House said, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”  The man said, “I don’t, but I promised her I’d do everything I could to fix her.  If I don’t pray, I’m not doing everything.”  Nothing’s going to stop me.  I will fix this shit.  I will.  I don’t know how yet, but I will try my damnedest.

God of mystery, I have no idea where I am going.  I do not see the road ahead.  I cannot know for certain where it will end.  But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.  An I know that you will lead me by the right road, though I may not know the way.  If I am called, give me strength and lead me forth.

We’re just one big family, and it’s our God-forsaken right to be loved, love, loved, love, loved.  So I won’t hesitate no more, no more.  It cannot wait.  I’m sure.  There’s no need to complicate.  Our time is short.  This is our fate.  I’m yours.

As I was sitting watching Gray’s Anatomy last night (and before you even comment on how much you “omg i love that show!!!1″ I never watch it.  I think it’s ridiculous–similar to a Lifetime original movie–and the fact that everyone sleeps with everyone else bothers me.  In real life, people usually have the restraint to not sleep with ALL of their coworkers.  I mean, yes, even on House Cameron and Chase hook up, but the circumstances are just so more realistic.  As in Cameron is high.  Unfortunately, Chase wasn’t, because honestly Cameron’s not really that pretty.  Maybe I just can’t get past her weird eyebrows.  No, seriously.  I mean I know mine aren’t perfect and I should get the plank our of my eye, but she looks like someone drew two diagonal lines above her eyes.  If you’re going to have a character that’s supposed to be a hottie, at least get a hottie to play them.  Like Dr. Chase.  Or go the NCIS route and be completely realistic in your characters.  Tony’s a cutie but he’s also completely full of himself–until you get to where he has that nurse for a girlfriend and suddenly turns into a sweetie.  I didn’t like that.  The whole point is that Tony’s honestly very nice and funny but ultimately going to try and give McGee the crap jobs.  And McGee.  Has anyone seen the USA commercial talking about three times the fun, with three hotties?  They have McGee in the shot as one of the hotties.  Sorry, but the whole point of McGee’s character is that he’s a total computer dork.  I’m CERTAIN they named him McGee so they could call him McGeek.  Don’t get me wrong, I love McGee.  He’s just not a “hottie”.  And I’m glad that Kate left the show.  Because Ziva is so much more interesting.  (She’s Israeli, speaks like ten languages, and can accurately throw a knife.  That’s harder than it sounds.  Not the being Israeli part.  Well maybe, I’m not Israeli so I wouldn’t know if it’s difficult.  Still, the fact that NCIS pulls of Ziva’s character is amazing.)  Kate was just a witch.  Although my favorite character is Abby.  I love Abby.  There are not words to describe how awesome Abby is.  She’s all of CSI in one person–ballistics, genetic analysis, AV specialization… She’s basically amazing.  And she’s a spunky goth.  If NCIS wasn’t always about naval crimes (I mean… duh…) it would be my favorite show because of the cast.  Except apparently in the recent seasons the team got split up and drama and everything–I hate it when they do that.  They did that on House, too.)

Anyway, as I was watching Gray’s Anatomy last night, I kept feeling like I had something that was due on Friday.  I just remembered! I’m like two and a half chapters behind in No Room at the Table.  Thanks for reading my rant.

Two I need, one I need to get rid of.  I don’t think I need to explain which is which.

I need some meds for something–ADHD, depression… something.  Maybe just a nice batch of Imitrex.  I can’t concentrate–the sociology paper I’m writing might as well be written by a fourth grader the vocabulary is so repetetive and awful.  The sentence structures are atrocious.  My blog post sounds more intelligent than this paper.  And I can barely make it four pages long.  Argh.

Oh and it was due on Tuesday.  I need to keep my A in sociology… it’s an easy-A class, after all.  So I can’t get a B on this paper or anything.

I’m falling behind in so many of my classes–especially AP chem and precalc.  I hate precalc.  And it’s 8s, so when I come home early because of headaches, I always miss that class.  I think I made it up to Laycock by coming in on the day I don’t have the class.  I’m still confused about a few things.  I need to see her on the PRT before the test tomorrow.

I have a headache now.  It’s almost 1am and I need sleep.  I still need a couple more paragraphs of this paper.

ARGH.

So yeah, if you read this post, sorry for wasting you time.  Haha.

So apparently being a musician means that I have a memory for voices.  Because I tend to remember a person’s voice, even when I’ve never seen them before, or if their voice is there, but they aren’t.

For example, a while ago Mariska Hargitay (Olivia Benson on Law and Order SVU) did a commercial for child autism research or something of the like.  I totally called it.

William Petersen from CSI did some commercial sometime, too, I swear.

Right now there’s this awful old 80s or something sitcom on Spike.  (I was hoping for CSI…)  I started listening and I noticed that I recognized this one woman’s voice.  Oh yeah, Leela from Futurama was once a sitcom mother.  See the resemblance?

I like this song. I also really like Candlebox. Watch the video.

Lyrics

My favorite quote thusfar:  “I have the emotional stability of a Molotov cocktail.”  I asked myself, is it …bad… to share that characteristic with a heroin addict?

So ever since I heard that the Heroin Diaries was actually written and in book form, ready for the reading, I have wanted to read it.  It has nothing to do with the fact that I like Sixx: A.M., Motley Crue, or even just metal music.  Because the Heroin Diaries isn’t a book glorifying a famed rockstar.  It’s not an autobiography about how he “made it big.”  It’s a book condemning addiction.  It’s a painful, raw, uncensored book based upon the actual diary of a heroin-addicted Nikki Sixx.  It’s sex, drugs, and rock and roll–the bad parts.  The awful parts.  It starts out with Nikki crouched next to a Christmas tree on Christmas Day, clutching a shotgun with no one to tell “Merry Christmas.”  As some of the beginning quotes put it, Nikki was so addicted, he had to die twice before he thought about changing.  He may win in the end, but it’s not a success story.  It’s disturbing.

Everyone has their secret ambitions–the ones they know will never come true.  Maybe you aren’t talented enough.  You arne’t dedicated enough.  It’s not a dream so much as a fantasy.  I’ve wanted to be a rock star for years.  I think it’d be amazing to live off of writing music.  To make people go crazy.  To bring thousands of people together in one concert venue, screaming, sweating, and flailing.  I love music with a passion.  But I know I’m not an inkling talented enough to be a rock star.

Also, its situations like this book that scare me out of trying.  While Nikki claims in his book that even without Motley Crue, he would’ve been an addict, there’s a point at which our surrounds would eventually influence us.  And I know that I have a very addictive personality, and no hardcore moral foundation.  I’m okay with people smoking pot if that’s what they want to do.  They can drink–I don’t judge.  I can’t stand to date someone if they believe in abstinence until marriage because I just don’t have that kind of patience.  If I was launched into a world full of drugs, drinking, sex, and god knows what else?  It’d be the death of me.  I hate the taste of alcohol and I think pot smells really bad.  I’m scared to death of death and needles.  (Still traumatized by those shots the other day…)  But I know I wouldn’t last long, even with all that.  My depression and my rebellious streak would give in.

On a completely different note, I really wanted to read this book because I’ve realized something that caught me off guard.  I like reading nonfiction.  As a kid, I HATED it.  It didn’t matter who or what it was about; if it didn’t have fairies or elves or at least cute boys and sassy chicks in it, I would not read it.  Then in middle school, I started to like books by Michael Crichton, or books like Digital Fortress.  Or I liked science fiction.  They were realistic, but they were still far from the truth.  People didn’t act completely real.  The situations they found themselves in could possibly happen, but they didn’t.  Now I like nonfiction.  I like reading about real people, real humans, in real life.  And not gooey inspirational crap.  I like reading about sabotage and deviance.  I like reading about cults and people who live on the fringe of society.

Now, I don’t mean to imply that I want to emulate Nikki Sixx.  Heroin is far from in my future.  Drugs are not my vice.  He’s not a hero to me; he’s just a human.  I want to know his story and his life.  I don’t find it entertaining.  I don’t find reading about suicide cults and the minds of pedophiles entertaining either.  But in a weird way, it’s how I appreciate life.  Life is a ridiculously complicated, crazy, f-ed up thing.  It’s ironic.  It’s stupid.  Things don’t always turn out right in the end.  People don’t always get what they deserve.  Good guys only win because that’s where we say the story ends.  And what’s good and what’s evil is a matter of perspective.  The true beauty of the world, and the only way I’ve ever “found god” is that the entire world EXISTS.  That we are here is god.  That we are on this planet, living this life, sharing in this experience that is a beautiful fluke of nature… that is god.  To believe that we are here for a reason would take all the fun out of everything.  To believe that we were created with a grand purpose would detract from the beauty.  I don’t want to be something’s pawn.  I’m just here!  That’s all that I need to know.  If there’s a meaning of life don’t tell me!  I don’t want to know.  I’m perfectly happy knowing that I am here, with you, and him, and her, and every other atom of matter in existence.  That is my god.

And that is why, even in heroin addiction, even in death, even in blood spatter, prostitution, and all types of suffering, I see only beauty.  To me, the story of Nikki Sixx is terrible, sorrowful, powerful beauty.  It happened.  The world allowed it to happen.  In good and in evil, in human brilliance and human degradation, in creation and destruction, the big ever-changing existence we all share is beautiful.

Edited to Add:  I can’t put this book down…  It’s interfering with my homework.