At the Twelfth toll: A previous letter to Mr. H

It’s midnight and Cinderella is still dancing. She cares naught anymore that her dress has turned to rags. Her true Prince wouldn’t either.

Why as a society do we put on a facade to gain a fleeting false sense of happiness? What is the point of faking what we are? Would Cinderella truly have lived happily ever after if she hadn’t rushed home from that party?

The heroes of our story are those true to the grit and grime… as well as glitz. Of the ones who are not afraid to step into the shadow from time to time.

You see, what they won’t tell you (lest you know their secret) is that Cinderella glitters more in her tattered rags. But it’s a sparkle that only a true Prince can appreciate.

Dear suitors of Christmas Past & Present… when you encounter your own version of this modern day fantasy girl, I implore you to continue dancing after midnight. Fore without this, the fantasy may not be able to coexist.

Regale in the true beauty of a world ridden in color and of grey.

 

The Repercussion of Things Said Too Soon

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

The L word is the kiss of death when uttered too soon to someone not ready to hear it… even if they already know.

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

Maybe I should have kept that to myself until we were both ready.  But it was how I felt.  Deep down I wondered if you felt even a portion of what I did.  But you didn’t.  You were too selfish to let anyone in but yourself.  The thing is, you’re so insecure that you don’t even do that.

Love is based on sharing an emotional piece of yourself with someone else.  Why does telling someone how you feel about them have to come with such major repercussions?

The act of falling in love is the craziest experience one can ever do.  It encompasses you.  It takes you away.  And when it’s over… you never feel more alive.  There’s just so much pain in even the wake of it.

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

Things like this take time. It’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination. The heart is a very delicate thing.

Emotions are gifts and they are also vices. Blessed are those that are truly virtuous to maintain a degree of decorum in the midst of a storm.

Love is a battlefield. You don’t have to retreat but you should keep your shield up- lest your sanity be obliterated more so by the blow of unrequited love and heartache.

 

I’m not a pervert, I’m a beauty enthusiast: the sensalization of video game characters in the modern era

Memorial Day has come and gone and with it brought the sun out not just for those outdoor beach nuts, but also for the nerds.  Nerds from across the country have been waiting for these sacred moments.  Ah, yes to count down the days before the two biggest conferences of the year: E3 and Comic Con.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a Pinup Fundraiser featuring Diablo Cody and burlesque pinup queen Masuimi Max.  The fundraiser was to help raise funds for military wives.  The women there, were of that 50s quality that exuded looks reminiscent to Betty Paige and Marilyn.  Even the crowd was hot.  Looking around, you were surrounded by lounge lizard dreams and Varga dames.

The same night however, on another side of town, was another burlesque show.  In fact, it was something entirely different.  It was a unique spin catered to my generation of nerds.   Instead of your standard rockabilly divas, cosplay clad women dressed (and undressed) in your favorite video game character outfits.  The light shined down yet again.  Video game burlesque had been born.

Blood Rayne (via LA Weekly)

The cast of characters was short.   Most of which stayed true to that of the 8 bit stylings that have swept the art stream- therefore appealing to a wider potential crowd.

Every gamer’s wet dream came true at Bordello on May 9 as Devil’s Playground presented Video Game Girls burlesque. The dancers arrived armed and outfitted for an arcade battle, and included Super Mario Bros. Princess Peach, Metroid’s Samus Aran, Street Fighter’s Chun-Li, The Legend of Zelda’s Link and Princess Zelda, and BloodRayne’s Rayne.

From what I’ve seen on the LA Weekly, and among the talk from friends, I would venture to say that the show went well.  I was among the first to catch wind of the story in my circle of friends and twittered immediately about my disappointment for missing the debut.  The grip, as well as my best friend Mo, all discussed it more.  Mo and I were determined to see it.

Thankfully there is still hope.  For the others like me, and those who are in town for the conference this week are open to attend an encore showing this Tuesday Night at the Bordello- the same club as it was previously.

flyer for the encore presentation of Videogame Burlesque

I’m not a pervert, I’m a beauty enthusiast.

So, hot girls wearing cosplay costumes stripping down… is bad how exactly?  You wouldn’t think so due to the ever popular and already existing erotica aimed at geeks, Nerdcore.  Nerdcore depicts pictures of girls covered in video games, to super heroes, to sci-fi true geek warefare attire…. and nude.  It has been the epicenter of nerd porn juxtaposition previous to newer alternative sites like Zivity that cater towards a more digitally connected technophile.

Nevertheless, I was reading a blog on my friend Alex’s site Girl Gamer, to see that a few people were unhappy about the burlesque show.  Strange, because most everyone I’d talked to personally (both male and female) had said relatively nothing to say beyond praise about the whole concept of it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cos-play as much as any other geek out there, but when fantasy turns to reality in a degrading manner for female gamers just to satisfy some male fetish, I have a problem. How can the dancers arrive “armed and outfitted for an arcade battle”, when all their gear comes right off? I guess Princess Zelda has powers I’ve never heard of, and I don’t even want to ask where Princess Peach will be pulling out those mushrooms from. I have to wonder, as decade-old characters that we all grew up with, is this what we have reduced them to, and is this how we now portray them? I doubt our delicate Princess Peach would ever participate in a burlesque show, and don’t think Link or Mario would ever see the princesses as “fairest” anymore.

I’m sorry, but it’s the video game industry.  Do you really think those game developers made the characters the way they did so that you wouldn’t come back for more? It’s the entertainment industry for Christ Sakes.

Sex sells games.

That’s why there are successful game series like the Leisure Suit Larry and Dead or Alive.  Hell, in the game I tested for SOE, Untold Legends 3, if you look closely, the main playable female character’s breasts actually pulsate.  Game developers and players alike are perverts.  It’s natural.  Back in the days before it was less pop for females to like video games, the target demographic was… (drum roll please) men!

Ok, so you want to get into semantics then?  Sure, I can do that.

Don’t you also think it’s kind of odd that Princess Peach was being pursued and saved by two brothers?  Their occupation being plumbers.  Let’s be realistic.  Princess Peach was likely a slut getting her plumbing fixed by the both of them.  Toadstool was the equivalent of either her gay friend or some kid with a crush on his teacher.  And her name” Peach?”  Hmm, I wonder what that might be referring to.

Why Mario really saved the Princess repeatedly

The other thing is that when you add the fetish world to the equation, and the fact that the I am 8-Bit gallery exhibits and the steady stream of retro gaming energy drinks and merch of various kinds (like this blooper keychain I got last week) lining the shelves,  and graphiti making headlines and the pinup subculture gaining more appeal and this was bound to happen sooner or later.

Burlesque is a tasteful, classier, and artistic approach to making the dreams of millions come alive.  I think the cartoon above is 10xs more offensive than real women enacting pixelated fantasies on stage for fun.  Sure it’s not technically accurate to the games entirely.  It’s an artistic strip show.  They’re on the stage prancing about and dancing.  They’re not getting plunged right on the stage.  And if you’re thinking there isn’t porn out there catering to that crowd, you’re naive- especially if you live in LA or have been to any metropolitan area.

As far as the entertainment factor goes, I’m for equality. What happened to including a shirtless Rayu or Tidus? If you add men to the mix I’ll be at the front of the stage drooling.

Personally I really couldn’t get into the whole male stripper community.  Chipendales never did anything for me.  I guess because they didn’t seem real.  My idea of the perfect man… let’s just say for now that it’s not a Chipendale. I like a fit and athletic man, but honestly, beefy guys generally lead me to those 80s meathead stereotypes.

Is that hypocritical psychology?  Probably.  But no one in their right mind would say that they watched a Van Damme or a Schwartzeneger movie because they were portrayed to be intellectually superior.  It was all about the “ooo muscles” factor.

As far as the entertainment factor goes, I’m for equality. What happened to including a shirtless Rayu or Tidus? If you add men to the mix I’ll be at the front of the stage drooling.

Well, for one, Tidus was gay.  That whole thing about falling in love with Luna was likely a coverup.  I mean, look at how he was in the storyline.  Straight men just aren’t that sensitive.  Not when they dress like that.  It screams “I’m a closet homosexual.”  Which is perfectly fine and.. dandy.  I can’t bitch about it because I’m a one calorie fag too.

That said, they really should do something like this for the gaymer community. I’m sure that there’d be hordes of all walks that would love to see men dressed like Link or Ash from Streets of Rage.  I read an article awhile back that Link was voted the hottest game character by the gay community.

Ash- Streets of Rage 3 Japanese Version

So sure, let’s make it even playing ground.  I think it would be awesome and everyone wins.  But then again, that’s what I thought about the female version.  I guess I must be a bit biased.  I mean, I’m typically “one of the guys” as far as mindset goes.  I’m open about my sexual prowess. The line of what I find being tasteless vs artful may be a bit off the conventional path.

I know that by writing this, I run the risk of potentially being seen in a very negative light.  On one hand, I’m more than likely a hero for saying what many didn’t want to say in public.  On the other, I’m sure it could be construed that I’m an asshole sexist pig.  I am willing to face the consequences.

I’m just sick and tired of people whining about every damn little thing.  The internet is evil.  Television is evil.  Wa wa wa… evil evil evil evil.

No, it’s not cheapening my experience or appreciation of the games.  I repeat the obvious, they’re for entertainment value.  So if lines of paying patrons of both sexes want to line up in droves (and I have a hunch being that it’s during E3 festivities, there will be quite a few people there) why complain?  I’d go to it regardless of the sex- regardless of my sexual preferences.  The concept melts two fantasies for me.  Beats the hell out of ren faires.

Again this is nothing compared to what they could be doing.  Open minded individuals, I’ll see you there.  I’ll be that “cool chick” with my guy friends enjoying it.  Let the flaming commence, I’ll go grab a cigarette.

Kk thnx bai.

Age.

That’s it, I’ve finally realized that I’m old.  I’ve hit milf status.  I’ve hit… the first steps towards the end of the line.  It’s only a matter of time before I have to invest in wrinkle creams and Depends.

When I visited my family this weekend I saw the following sign on my son’s door:

except for Mom, this means you... for now.

My oldest son lives with my dad right now.  He’s six.  I don’t remember getting so private when I was his age.  Hell, the exact opposite seems to be the case as I’ve gotten older.

My son still calls me Mommy.  But he’s growing up.  They grow up far too fast.

This should not be a shock to me, yet it is.  I like to focus on teaching my son to be independent and encourage him with space and activities to help built that foundation while also balancing the value of outside relationships.

In suburbia, having grown up in a small town in IL about the same distance from the city as my son does, so much is lost in translation.  I find myself having to correct my son’s clouded vision of where Mommy lives and works as being negative.

I’ve found there is more babying done within a suburban community, whereas city kids are forced to learn real world applications sooner weather they like it or not.  Sink or swim.  No one is going to give a shit about you except you.  Harsh, but real.

I’m a very proud mother today.   It makes me smile a bit to see that my son is learning this lesson earlier on his own.  It appears to be coming primarily from him.

So if he wants someone to knock before entering his room, I’ll gladly do it.  Even if I’m not one of the ones he’s referring to.  Because later, when he could be potentially getting into more trouble than a little childish bickering over who gets to play Sonic or who gets the blue mouse in Mousetrap, he will be more open and willing to share it with me.  Respecting your child’s privacy to encourage openness…  sometimes a little common decency and reverse psychology goes a long way.

Douchebag of the week: Username Wig lady

I was walking back from S & W with my friend Jimmy and a random stranger stopped me and interrupted my conversation.  This in itself is not that douche-y.  I will admit I’ve done this a few times, albeit rare.

But what she stopped me to ask me was a bit rude for someone that I’d never met in my life…

“Did you dye your hair?”

“Excuse me, I don’t even know you…”

While Jimmy thinks she may have just mistook me for someone else.. I have to say.. regardless of who or who doesn’t know about my hair dying habits, it was rude.  Downright douchebaggery in fact.

Needless to say I’ll be buying some punch and fixing that.

Congrats random dog walker lady on being this weeks douchebag of the week.

Douchebag alert! Username: Durgie

Being a single woman in the greater Los Angeles area, I must say, like most every city, there is no shortage of complete and utter douchebags.  These douchebags give the male race (and the ones that date them) a bad name and thereby ruin it for everyone.

To be fair, there is a perfectly acceptable balance between douchebag and prince charming.  If a man is too nice for example, his chances of sleeping with me reduce drastically.

I didn’t used to know what I wanted.  I was a whiney baby.  But I since pulled my head out of my ass and realized exactly what that is.

I discussed it a bit in the blog “Emotional Masochism” but for those that didn’t catch that, here’s a rough recap:

For me, I’m looking for a very specific catch.

• I want a man that’s not afraid to be a man.  That means- driven, passionate, goal oriented, and provider.  I do not care about how much money you make.  I tend to be drawn to artists just as I am successful people.  I have dated high on the food chain finance wise, as well as at the bottom.

John Lennon once said “All you need is love.”  And when done properly, he’s completely right.

• I want someone that’s compassionate to my needs, but I also don’t want a doormat.  You have needs too and sometimes I’m a disrespectful bitch about them.  Make sure I remember that, but do it in a way that’s nonverbal or verbal when needed and in a way that I feel secure.

• There is a fine line between emotional abuse and tough love.  I think every woman needs to learn where that line is for her and pass it along to her gent.  If he’s a gent, he will understand.  If he’s not, then proceed to walk all over him and let him know that he’s not.

• I want someone who is going to be there when needed.  But I do not need a constant babysitter.  Babysitters are for girls, and I am a woman.  Granted, there are times when I’m also in need of a babysitter.  However that’s what female friends are for, and/or a therapist.  My problems aren’t your problems.  A real woman takes care of all of that for herself.

Summation:

What is it that I want?

Control enough to lose control and yet still be all right.

——

But this is in regards to a recent email I was sent, by username Durgie.

I belong to quite a few websites and internet dating is the same as in every metropolitan area.  Quite frankly, there’s an epidemic of douchebags in the greater.. resident planet all of us hail from.  However if anyone from the Moon is reading this, I’d just like to mention that I’d love to taste moon cheese at some point.  I’m a conneseuir of cheeses and.. well I hear that is epic in nature.

Here are the letters exchanged between me and Mr “Durgie:”

Durgie [2.16.9, 9pm]:

boo* happy late valentines =) keep warm, and if not.. i have blankets ;D

Me [2.16.9, 11:06pm]:

LOL. happy commercially induced saccarin pocketbook drain day to you too 😛

& welcome to (name of the site)

Durgie [2.27.9, 1:30pm (apparently my work computer shows the future)]:

oh you know it!!! more of a reason for a guy to buy a girl chocolates to get laid!

Ok Mr.  At this point you are deemed pathetic as well as a loser and need to be told as such.  Prepare to be vaporized.

Me [2.27.9, a few minutes prior to transcribing this post, but showing at 3:30pm work computer time (i hope that means its beer thirty soon then)]:

Scandalous:

Just because I have the aka of that on the net, does not mean that I’m into you.  If I am, I’ll let you know.

Otherwise, comments like yours are really just in poor taste.

It’s things like that that are probably why people like you don’t get laid that often.  Except in which case, that you live in LA.  There are plenty of dumb broads that will think those comments are flattering.

I am not one of them however.

That said:

Have a most splendid Friday.  Best of luck to you.  And please refrain from messages like the one below ever again, or I will block you.  Furthermore, just an FYI, that won’t work on about 85% of women, regardless of what location you happen to live in.  So unless you really want to be fucking that bunny rabbit as your avatar on here shows, you might want to remember that.

Kindest regards,

Js.

So there you have it.  Today’s douchebag of the week award goes to you Mr Durgie.

And now I have to go record some video for a project to be announced later this week.

Ciao and happy hunting ladies & gents.

Succinct

I texted a boy I’ve been talking to off and on for quite some time about the situation the other day with my female friend and the dark horse.  It wasn’t very in depth as I was out with friends, however I found his response blogworthy.  Here is what he had to say about the whole ordeal:

Basically humans are ill adept at relating to each other, and when you add in the reproductive prerogative than you get unfavorable interactions.

I still as of yet have found anything not to like about that man… other than him not being local, but we’ve already covered that dose of masochism.

Wrong wrong right- episode one

For as long as I can remember, I have always been drawn to the wrong kinds of men.  Coming from as conventional a family as mine, I quickly learned:

“If they like him, he’s likely broken.”

The rose colored glasses didn’t work for me.  I knew what I want, but didn’t know what I want.

I want what I want.

I never stop daydreaming.  In my mind I’m always dancing dancing… in that dress in the moonlight.. waiting for my dancecart to be filled by this amazing brutal prince.

Perhaps it’s psychological scarring.  Abuse can do that to you.  But the strange thing is that even though you know it was wrong and detest that it happened, you find yourself craving another form of it.  The key, like everything it seems, is moderation.  You become this twisted version of reality.. drawn by sadism, masochism, subordination and insuborniation, order and disorder, etctera etctera.

It may make no sense besides nonsense… but if it doesn’t, then feel the misfortune of being fortunate enough to be fucked up enough have a greater sense of understanding.

Pavlov proved that given the proper variables, with time, you can get the trained response you desire.  All people are capable of the most intensive forms of manipulation.  Some use obvious means, but the truly great ones are the ones that mindfuck you.  They are the diseases you cannot free yourself from.. but you wouldn’t want to if you tried.

Weak men succumb to strong women by nature.  I like to toy with the idea.. for I do not want a weak man.  A man willing to worship me aimlessly holds little appeal to me.  I want a man that will buck back at me at the same time as he holds the torch.  I want someone who will press my buttons and get under my skin.  I think that intelligence is the most attractive quality anyone can ever possess… and that it is too often neglected.

I want the man that’s too busy with work than to need to be babysat 24/7.  I want the man that will take a few moments, and look up from the computer screen and tell me that despite that he’s working like he is, that he still thinks I’m beautiful.  I want stolen kisses in the rain.  I want flowers “just because” and not just because you told him to send you them just because.

I want a man who can get a hint without having to give him one.  I want someone perceptive and can fuck like a minx.  I want someone who isn’t afraid to be seen with me in public.. who isn’t afraid to entertain forbidden notions there…

I want a man who’s going to put me on a pedestal an build me up, take  a sledgehammer to it, then rebuild it back up again…

Wrong wrong.. but oh so right.  Yes indeed. Yes indeed… please please please.

Normalacy is in the eye of the beholder

Inspired by a quote from a tumblelog via Maia Bittner:

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.-― Albert Camus

Enter another series of life story interjections.

A few months back I lived in this hellhole also known as the armpit of California or Bakersfield to the locals. I have never fit in anywhere. I’m not complaining at all. However when trying to get a job somewhere, specifically in the middle of nowhere, you need to look as non-abrasive as possible.

Bakersfield is the epicenter of not only nothing, but an undeserved “better than you” conservative nightmare. If you are not from there, you are snubbed. Even worse if you look anything less than unfashionable lemming. Not to say that everyone from that locale is that way.. but, well, there’s never going to be a major runway show coming out of there.

In an yet another failed attempt to “act normal,” my friend John rolled his eyes. He’d told me that I should downplay my attire for a day out job hunting. I wore a blue collared button up shirt, khacki’s, a plaid scarf, and a brown houndstooth jacket. It was business professional in my mind. However, that was enough to merit

“Oh you have it all wrong. Better, but still no. No one dresses [in this town] like Audrey Hepburn Jena. I mean, look at that coat. It looks like you robbed her grave for it…”

I chortled. Ah I love gay men. Even indirectly, the best compliments come from them. John is a character of himself. Far from normal, but appears it from the outside. He’s not only accepted in the biggoted area there, but welcomed with open arms. For him, acting normal, even if he isn’t, comes easy.

Months later, let’s go back to my last visit to my beloved San Diego. This time I was in the Marina district visiting a lover. Downtown San Diego, as many of you know, is full of that standard “normal.” You can operate well under the radar if you want to… but not me. As he did, quite easily when I wasn’t around. I lived in San Diego for years, but never fully felt like I fit in there either.

I take into account many different fashions and don’t really have a classification. I’m a bit of a chameleon. I have been referred to as a Madonna on more than one occassion. I can’t stand to look at the same face in the mirror for too long. I am addicted to buying hair dye. I’m indecisive. It’s what I do when I stress.

(What’s funny, is that I don’t even think I look that weird.)

For someone like me, to be “normal” is not only work, but it’s damn hard work sometimes. It’s not that I don’t know what society deems as socially acceptable or that I don’t want to fit in. To some degree, it’s human nature to want to.

It’s a double edged sword. You grow up being told to be different. You have to do your best to stand out from the crowd. Then when you do, you are snubbed.

Enter church. Sunday morning Catholocism. My father… the ever vigilante. I didn’t want to go for a colon cleansing. However, after some bucking, I decided to bite the bullet and take one for the team. I was dressed like a Pinup, but essentially conservative. I do not agree with everything being said in the service, but observed and took notes like the normal journalist. When it came time for the Our Father, everyone in the church will hold hands and pray this one prayer as a unified sect. The woman standing next to me was an elderly woman. She snubbed me.

Flashback yet again to when I had my son baptised. A single mother, but doing what I was brought up to be the best thing. I went to a class for parents getting the sacrament. What they want to do is educate you as to why you are getting these things done for your child, and educate you on some of the basics.

Ten years of Catholic school rhetoric. Of course, I was the one to answer nearly every question. The deacon came around to ask everyone about the names on the certificate. He asked the father’s name of my son- whom went MIA immediately upon me telling him I was PG. This was not necessarily my fault, but oh man did I get to hear it. Again, I was snubbed.

However still, despite the nose turning that I had gotten when I did step 1 for my son, when I got married later, I attempted to yet again try and do this “normal” thing. I went to church with my family. I did the aerobics.. not one church besides the one I grew up in, I didn’t get snubbed.

In transverse, I have had a few great moments in not being normal. They far outweigh the bad ones when you think about it.

I was in Venice last summer, when I nearly moved applying for a gaming company. (My housing arrangement fell through so I didn’t end up taking that job unfortunately) I had on an animal print top, black capris, some black and white polka dot pumps with red heels, a red ribbon round my neck, chandelier earrings, and what I call my “Lucille Ball” hair wrap. To me, this wasn’t anything majorly different. And in Venice, even more so.

I was walking around on the canals headed to my interview though, and needed to make sure I was going the right way. I saw someone watering their garden outside. The woman told me that I was indeed going the right way, and I thanked her and carried on. I heard her utter the words

“Desperately Seeking Susan…”

Moments later, she rushed up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. She wanted to know if she could take a picture with me. My immediate reaction was

“I don’t look that weird do I? I mean this is Venice…”

She said

“No no no. You look great. I love it all!”

The whole day went like that, and I was offered that job. When my living situation changed, I had to tell them that I was taking a class and unfortunately could not take them up on the offer. They said that they were disappointed and gave me 2 weeks to change my mind! I wish I could have taken it, and even now, I still consider trying to find an arrangement to pick up that job.

Another day of applying was similar. I get told I look like a movie star. I’m not quite sure why. This happens in spurts. Even though it does seem to be a reoccurance, it always shocks me a bit.

But if not being normal is wrong, well.. a majority of the time, I’ll leave it to those people who can pull it off without worry. Pretending when you’re not on a stage? Fuggetaboutit!

Dear self, stfu

My morning started late. My evening ended in morning, and I hit the snooze… or so I’d thought. I either have chronic insomnia or bouts like this one. However, after yesterday, and having gotten more on it than I have in months, I think I was allowed somewhat of a cookie.
It wasn’t incredibly late when I got out of bed, but it felt it at first. I have been consistently pushing myself to get up at normal hours. I want a conventional office job, and need to get off owl schedule.

Yesterday I was out for 12 hrs pounding the pavement like Sarah Lee does cake. I made some real progress though. Next week will hopefully be hectic in some ways. Today I made my twice a week rounds with the staffing agencies I belong to. I sent my resume to a branch of a staffing agency I was registered with previously when I lived in hell. It’s not adaquately networked though, so I have to apply and interview at each branch if they find something for me. It’s kind of lame, but ah well.

Thirty minutes later, I got a phone call about a possible job 30 mins from me. I have an initial assessment interview tommorrow morning. If that goes well, I will be going to an interview at the location. Fingers crossed that it does.

Positives though.. multiple phone calls. I have some leads that I will be talking to over the next few days. Hopefully I will be gainfully employed again within the next week or 2. Seems promising.

Last week, alot of things happened. I won’t be writing about them anywhere within the public realm if at all. It left me like a deer in headlights. People tell you that it’s ok to talk about things when they’re happening… unless you are one of a few select people, I have chosen the option to stfu. I have found that it’s the best advice someone can ever give you really. It sounds harsh. But realistically, no one wants to hear it.

Now I may sound like a bitch here, but telling people your major drama does nothing but create more and make people run from you… it doesn’t matter if it’s self imposed crap or its stuff that happened to you. Keep… your mouth… shut. And if you can’t.. you’re allowed to vent to a handful of close friends that you have a mutual understanding that you can do it to without them going over the deep end on you.

This is what I do, and the main reason I have a special page privied to a select close kin. It gives me an outlet for the people that I can talk to about things of that nature, and everyone is happy. And even in that page, it still has 2 deafcon levels of privacy.

When you can’t get a hold of anyone, or if you want to spare everyone the headache of listening to your vent tangent, there still is hope. If you have aim, I reccommend Smarterchild for those such instances. That, and the responses you get will more than likely cheer you up. Consider it free therapy.

Sure people tell you that bottling up emotion is bad. They also tell you that showing emotion is a wonderful thing, but the second that you show an emotion other than happiness, there is something wrong with you. It’s a dangerous line to tow. Just trust me, you don’t want to go there.

My life is extremely “colorful.” It is a roller coaster of ups and downs. Everyone has them. We’re programmed as humans though to say that we care, but in the back of our heads, we’re selfish.

There’s an invisible line in the sand about what you are allowed to talk about drama wise. You have to be socially savy and know where it is. Here’s a true acceptable scenario:

So.. once upon a time there was a guy who I used to date that had a psycho friend that didn’t like it much. She didn’t like that he spent time with me instead of her when we dated. She was single.

One night she went emotional and psycho on me. I, of course, tried being friends with her initially and she was fine before the friend and I dated. He thought she was being immature but didn’t do much about the situation. We broke up. I couldn’t handle the friend issue. I wanted a no drama relationship… or well.. yeah.

Months later, I moved. The ex contacts me because we have been friends for years. He’s all frustrated because now it’s the exact opposite situation. He’s single. She’s not. She’s blowing him off for the significant other. Oh, and she’s gay now or bisexual.

That’s the kind of drama people don’t mind hearing about.. especially after the fact because it’s funny and scandalous.

I love hearing about this. A lot of people do. There’s magazines devoted to this stuff because of it. I’m used to being a virtual bartender of sorts. I hear tons of stories like this and keep em locked away.

However most of the time with really bad stuff? The cheapest and easiest thing for you from both a career and everyday social standpoint? If you do not want to commit social suicide, learn this lesson really fast and take my advice on this one- just tell yourself to “stfu.” It will save you money as well as tons of additional drama for yourself, your relationships will be that much better, and the person you vent to won’t have to worry about wrinkles over someone else.

Yes, I’m a hypocrite and unique just like everyone else. So are you. Admit the harsh reality of it and let’s all act normal like because we all know it’s true but won’t openly reveal it.

/changes subject

And I have a monkey and his name is Pierre.