Tag Archive: life


Tattoos and Stupid Girls

I am one of the older of the waitstaff at my new job. Everyone else is about 18-21, most trending toward 20 and below. After a few days of listening to conversation as I work, I came to a realization that both saddened and annoyed me:

I never realized how damn big the age gap between the age of 22 and 18 could be.

Getting drunk is still modern and cool to this lot. I’m not kidding, one of them will repeatedly whine at her friend on the staff that she wants someone to get drunk with, because “I wanna get sooooo drunk 2nite lol.”

Okay, look. The one time I got truly “hardcore” drunk was not on purpose (I underestimated how much alcohol was in a mixed drink. Never again.) and I really don’t see the appeal. Furthermore, I’m at a loss as to why anyone would think that memory loss and throwing up multiple times is fun. So, okay, fine, maybe I just don’t get that one. But honestly, I think it’s just forbidden fruit syndrome– it’s more fun because they aren’t supposed to do it and they’d get in trouble with mommy and daddy if they’re caught, which gives them a thrill. All right, fine. I can understand that, but you’re still an idiot. Frankly, I expect this type of stupid behavior from them. Most kids fresh out of high school are that way.

What really annoys hell out of me, however, is their attitude toward tattoos/piercings. They don’t want tattoos for a reason, they just want a tattoo. They think they are “SO hardcore” because they’re going out to get a piercing tonight, just because they can. Seriously?

For those who haven’t been to piercing places/tattoo places, a tattoo generally runs 50 USD minimum, because they make you pay for the cost of opening a new tattooing kit and new ink. Piercings, meanwhile, I’ve seen for under 20 USD. Makes it a bit obvious as to why they want a piercing: it’s the cheapest way to piss off their parents. Never mind that it can cause horrible infections, scarring, and even if you get it done at a reputable shop, your body can still reject the piercing and it is NOT pretty, nor pleasant. However, as much as they want the piercings, what they really want is (apparently) the Holy Grail of pissing off your parents: Getting a tattoo without their permission. A piercing they can make you take out, mommy and daddy CAN’T make you take off a tattoo!

“Why do you care, exactly? So they’re morons. Judging by your various angry tirades you think most people are idiots. How is this more annoying or surprising than anything else?” You ask.

It annoys me because I have a tattoo. I have a tattoo that I put a fuck lot of thought into, mulled over for a long time, and that I got because it means something to me. Ever since one of these idiots glanced it when I took off the wrapping (I have to keep it covered at work for dress code reasons), she won’t stop bothering me about it. It wouldn’t bother me except for the fact it’s very clear she cannot wrap her head around why it has/should have any significant meaning. It’s just a random symbol on an arm to her, and to her, just means I have a tattoo.

“So…?”

So, she thinks that because I have a tattoo, clearly I got it for the same reason she did: just because I wanted one and it’ll piss off mommy and daddy. In her mind, I’m lumped into her little group in some way and I object to being lumped in with a bunch of empty headed drunkards.

“And?”

Okay, look, I know I’m getting worked up over nothing. It’s a rant for a reason. I honestly just really object because of the fact my tattoo is there for a reason, and these idiots enforce what seems to be the general perception of a 20 something with a tattoo: They got it to piss off their parents, have no ability to think long term, will rebel in a structured setting, be it home, school or the workplace, just to rebel, and are generally an entitled pain in the ass. That is the exact reason you should always keep your tattoos covered around prospective employers. They see that, they will NOT hire you. They can use whatever exclusion criteria they wish, of course, but it still greatly bothers me that if I accidentally push my sleeve up too far because it is hot in the interview room, they glimpse a line on my arm in ink and I’m automatically kicked out. It doesn’t matter how qualified I was two seconds ago.

Forgive the ranting in frustration. It’s been a long week.

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Gaga did coke. Hemingway, Stephen King, and Poe were raging alcoholics. Countless other artists have died from drug overdoses or been steeped in some sort of illegal substance for at least part of their lives. It leaves whack jobs like myself wondering if to be great, I have to develop some sort of substance abuse problem.

Of course, realizing how stupid an idea that is, my mind went wandering for another explanation. Best I’ve got is that a whole hell of a lot of people that create greatly influential work are troubled. Troubled at best.

What leads those with depression and troubles to the arts? Maybe it’s the only thing we can do to escape our pains and troubles.

I’ve got pretty much nothing for this week’s blog entry, and for that, I apologize. There’s been too much other shit going on– too much drama and other bullshit none of you want to hear. School is always a problem. Family is always a problem. Money is a problem for everyone right now.

When I said I was thinking I needed to develop a substance abuse problem, maybe I was looking for an excuse. House has his vicodin (or did) and Holmes had his heroin. Hell, from what I’ve heard, Alexander the great was an alcoholic and he took over half the goddamn world.

Me, however, I am not great. Just fucked up. Fucked up in ways that my professors are starting to notice that I’m not quite normal and starting to worry about me. Not normal in ways that interfere with my school work and classes. Much stronger than needed reactions to certain types of events. Discovering “triggers.”

Thankfully, I’m too poor to afford most drugs. And those I can, I don’t want. I don’t want any of them really– my body couldn’t take it, as fragile as it is. So I’m stuck with what I can do: Hide in plain sight, staying inside my head, and playing Resident Evil and whatever other survival horror games I can get my hands on. I can murder the monsters in the dark there. It makes the specters here easier to bear.

Title of Post: Lyric from “We Are the Kids from Yesterday” by My Chemical Romance.

“Well now this could be the last of all the rides we take
So hold on tight and don’t look back
We don’t care about the message or the rules they make
I’ll find you when the sun goes black

And you only live forever in the lights you make
When we were young we used to say
That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break
Now we are the kids from yesterday…”

First off, I’m going to participate in the “post a week” hoo-hah that is going on. You have all been warned.

Second, I have made a decision of my life path. I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that my dear friend over at The Uncomfort Zone has some terribly ambitious plans in the making, and is making them happen by studying for the LSAT and being all adult. Those of you that follow my twitter and have read my delusions of grandeur know what I’m talking about.

I’m gonna be a screenwriter. Preferably for TV.

You know how shows seem to fizzle at the end of approximately two seasons, and that’s if you’re lucky? How House has gone all to hell because (House Cuddy ) Huddy is fanservice. Bad. Fanservice. That would be fine except for the fact it is OUT OF CHARACTER for both of them? How Chuck is dead to me because of the shit they pulled in season three? (Aside rant: Chuck is not James Bond, people. I don’t give a flying fuck what magical computer he has stuck in his head, he’s still been a dork for how many years of his life? And NOW he’s Mr. Superspy? Oh no. Also, the only reason Superspy Barbie (Sarah) hasn’t been hauled out and shot in the head for some of the stupid shit she pulls is an act of Deus Ex Machina, nothing more. I hold to my idea that she is what murdered the show because the writers keep trying to set up chemistry that ain’t there. If Chuck has any sense at all, as he seemed to demonstrate early on, he would have taken this yo-yo thing and gone “You know what? Go cry in your ‘daddy’s in jail, I trust no one, I’m a hardass spy and cannot love you–OMGPLZDON’TGO I NEED ATTENTION IN THE FORM OF BLIND ADORATION BECAUSE NO ONE LOVED ME’ corner. Fuck this. I’m going to go find someone sane.” )

See that, right there? That’s why I’m going into screen writing. Because apparently, character continuity does not exist. It’s all about “omg, MAKE SEXUAL TENSION. MAKE IT NOW. Now beat it to death! Do it, do it!” Further more, there seems to be a trend of perpetuating the idea that you should keep pining over people that treat you like shit that needs to stop. The idea that you should let them treat you like shit, and that this is good writing and television, disturbs me. Huddy is an example (really, Cuddy? You’re the “tough” chick on the show and suddenly you NEED a baby and are letting House treat you like garbage?) and so is Chuck/Sarah. There are other examples in popular literature at the moment (Twilight, anyone? “OMG, I love you so much I’m going to take away all your friends and your decision making ability! I KNOW WHAT’S BEST”) but I’m taking on fixing TV. Why? A little history.

I have always been into two things: characters and the way they talk. I love mind hacking characters, I love figuring out why they do what they do, and I love the way they say what they do and don’t say what they do. I have been writing fanfiction most of my life. Yes, I know, I just lost all respectability as a writer. Stay with me.

Why did I turn to this hobby? Well, combine a shitty home life, school life, and a fascination for people in a little sixth grade body. Add in a dash (okay, more than a dash) of wanting to talk to someone. There you are. My writing process for getting to know characters in a nutshell. I drag a character in, sit them down, and talk to them. I’ve been poking around other people’s brains and lives ever since, learning from their mistakes, their biases, pondering the questions of what it is to be human and to be alive. Why one should bother to be alive is a popular topic, especially with the pessimists that claim to hate humanity.

Perhaps it is because of the way that I deal with characters, as beings I have little control over, real living breathing beings that have their own agendas and thoughts despite whatever I come up with and are not simply playthings for me to fuck around with and puppet as I please, that dialogue is a strong suit. How I first get to know characters, how they first charm me or repel me, is how they speak. What the say. I listen, however offensive I may find it. I spend a very long time having conversations with them before I dare to try to write for them. As a result, I always tend to get high marks for dialogue in assigned work even if the rest is crap. It’s from all those years of imaginary conversations that I kept writing until they rang true, not just settling for making the character say what I think they should to make me happy.

The other stuff, meanwhile? The long-winded ramblings of setting, back story as provided by an omniscient narrator, writing that “This happened, then this happened?” Ehh. I can, but put in that form, my words come out as clotted cream, not something you would want to put in your coffee. Dialogue, or text that sounds like dialogue, is how I tell a story, other wise it comes out dead and flat. That’s a problem in books. You gotta summarize something sometime, and describe things sometimes, and I just… suck. Believe me, I’ve been trying really hard to fix it, but I still suck. Screenwriting, on the other hand, is all dialogue and actions. You CAN just imply other action, or skip it entirely. You can cut between scenes much more easily, showing what is important rather than the important bits AND a whole bunch of summary AND description. You set the dialogue and the scene, but the rest is implied via stage direction and other suggested action.

Maybe there’s a way to write books like that. Maybe. But at the present, I’m leaning toward screenwriting as being the place I wanna be. It plays to my natural strengths. All that stuff, the arguing around the table with a bunch of coffee driven writing fiends, the deadlines, the being a part of something that’s a hit but still being able to walk down the street unmauled– I like that idea. I really do. Plus, I’m overqualified for the job, which helps. I’m gonna have a degree in English and Psych both here soonish. Now, all I gotta do is convince the folks out at Warner Bros. to let me in their elite screenwriting program once I get the hell out of this damn college.

Wish me luck.

The first is mentioned because it’s what I’ll be rambling about, the second is mentioned because it is part of the reason why I’m up at 6:35 AM writing a freaking blog because I can’t sleep. Yay having a sensitive stomach, eh?

So, here I am, on a highly uncomfortable couch in a friend’s apartment because I’m maid of honor in her wedding and we’re going to a wedding show today. This lovely friend lives with two other girls, another one that is getting married soon as well, and another that doesn’t believe in marriage. As she put it “I’m just going to have fuck buddies the rest of my life. *Shrug*”

Got me to thinking. What is all this hoopla surrounding marriage?

I mean, I get that for a lot of women it’s the one day that they get to flip shit and do whatever they want, and if that includes being brought in on a white sleigh with horses and snow in June, they will freaking do it, never mind how much debt it puts them in. There’s a fair lot of folk out there that say “I have the wedding planned, now I just need the groom” or, worse “I just want to have a wedding!” My friend isn’t like this, thank god, but does this depress anyone else?

I mean, I realize I have a unique perspective: Where I live, I’m not allowed to get married, because two sets of boobies in a relationship is just too much for the Midwest to handle. In my own personal journey of why I should give a fuck about being ABLE to marry my dear girl I’ve discovered a awful big pros to being able to:

1. If I’m knocked the fuck out on a hospital bed, my medical proxy defaults to her, not my parents. Big plus.
2. If either of us get a call of “OHFUCKSHITWENTBAD” and rush to the hospital, neither of us can be shut out under the “family only” bullshit. We’ve discussed this, being the morbid folk we are: If we’re dying, we want the other one there. Period. Sadly, without a(n) (honored) marriage certificate, if they really wanted to, they could shut me out. I can’t deal with that.
3. Suddenly, insurance becomes a lot easier. MANY things become a lot easier, actually.
4. It has the added societal bonus of “It doesn’t matter if you or your church recognize my commitment or who I am– the legal system does. Blow me.”

The first two are the main ones, but the third and forth are awful nice all on their own. Especially that last one.

Here’s what baffles me: A lot of straight folks seem to take this for granted. It’s all about the wedding. The marriage doesn’t factor in. For me, the wedding is just an excuse to have a huge-ass party with all my friends and get to wear over the top clothes I WISH I could wear on a day to day basis. It’s not the main event, and it’s CERTAINLY not worth getting my ass in debt for. I have school for that.

I’m not one of those girls that has been planning my wedding since I was three, and there’s only so much hemming and hawing over place settings I can take before I go “THEY’RE FUCKING NAPKINS, JUST PICK A FUCKING COLOR!”

In the process of helping my friend get ready for hers, I’m realizing just how much that above fact sets me apart from a lot of people. I originally was going to say “sets me apart from a lot of girls” but that implies I belong to that group in some way, which I really… don’t. I sure as hell don’t describe myself as transgender in the sense that I identify as the opposite gender from my sex, but I really don’t identify with that whole…. “girl” thing. Or that whole “boy” thing. Love of make-up and clothes keeps me from identifying as wholly masculine, and love of a being a force “as loud as God’s revolver and twice as shiny” and some of my distinct lackings in femininity keep me from identifying as feminine.

I never realized quite how much that matters until I was in the middle of a group of traditional *girls* that to my knowledge, have no gender conflicts, giggling and squealing over wedding things. There’s just something in the *way* they behave that is distinctly alien to me. I haven’t been that way since high school and… sometimes I miss it. I wish for it now so I could be squealing along with them the way normal girls seem to. I really, really don’t want to fail the wonderful woman that made me her maid of honor. I don’t want to make her feel like I don’t care. It’s just that honestly… something in my brain doesn’t understand how you can pour over things like dresses and colors for so long without a break. I know some of it is that it’s *your* wedding, not mine, but… the traditional floof and tittering is really just lost on my dumb ass that doesn’t understand when my girlfriend facepalms because I eat my ramen out of the pot I cook it in because in my heathen mind, bowls are unnecessary. I mean, the pot is a bowl. It’s even warm! And has a convenient carrying handle! How cool is that?!

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