Friday, July 30, 2010

If You Really Knew Me....

If you really knew me, you would know that I cry more from pride than I do from sadness. I tear up every time I’m at an event where the national anthem is being played. Or if I watch little kids sing (like at a school program). Or while I’m singing Christmas carols. Or various other things just like this. You know what I just noticed? It’s weird, but those things all revolve around music or singing.

If you really knew me, you would know that I struggle EVERY DAY with keeping myself happy versus making other people happy. And it’s a pain in the ass. Every once in a while it builds up and I have a mini explosion of depression where I spend one day (I never stay down long) at home, all alone, in my pajamas. But even though it sounds rough… I wouldn’t want it any other way. Because making other people happy is what I love to do and ultimately makes me happy. So it works out and is totally worth it like 99% of the time. I mean, I have my moments, but mostly I’m a pretty happy camper. I’m almost always optimistic and I do a pretty good job of keeping my struggles hidden on the inside. Because I love you all and you’re all worth it.

If you really knew me, you would know that I have a weird sort of ADD for life. I don’t have ADD in the typical way at all. I can do the same activity for hours and hours and hours. But I have some sort of weird ADD condition which causes me to change my interests and hobbies constantly. I think it stems from the fact that I love learning and doing new things. But in a few weeks I’ll be done with it and moving on to something else. It’s probably because there’s always another new thing to learn and do. It sucks because I have trouble finishing projects and rarely spend enough time on one thing to get to a point where I do it really well. It seems like as soon as I have done it for a few weeks and can do it right, I move on. I never get better than average at anything. But I sure can do a lot of different things, so I guess it works out.

If you really knew me, you would know that there is something wrong with me in my head. I hate being fat and convince myself constantly that “tomorrow is the day”. But tomorrow comes and I’m so upset I didn’t wake up skinny that I convince myself I’ll just try again tomorrow. This is a very sad, but true, story.

If you really knew me, you would know that I am ridiculously shy in real life. Sure, I’m awesome on the internet. But in person, unless you’re in my circle of friends that I see all the time, I will probably be extremely quiet and won’t talk to you; because I expect people not to like me. I don’t even like talking to the cashiers at Wal-Mart. I am afraid I’ll say something stupid or embarrass people somehow. My cheeks get all red and I keep my face and eyes lowered. Some of my friends have told me that when they first met me, they thought I was a snob because they were told I’m hilarious and then I didn’t even speak to them (except to be extremely polite, cause I’m a very polite person) for days or weeks. Then, once I’ve “let them in” they realize how lucky they had it and wish I would just shut up again.

If you really knew me, you would know that I have always wanted to do two things: photography and writing. As a child I dreamed of growing up and working for National Geographic magazine. I used to make mom buy me used NG’s at garage sales and I would hoard them in my room. As an adult, I still dream of being really good at these two things; though I no longer want to combine them. The writing, in particular, is my main love. But photography is easier than writing, so I tend to concentrate more on that. One of the reasons I haven’t broken out with a great American novel is because I’m a perfectionist. I hate the idea of sketching out a story and planning out a plot, etc. I want to just sit down in front of a blank word document and write the first sentence and then write every consecutive sentence until I reach the end. Obviously that will never work; unless you’re working on something very short, bringing me to my next paragraph.

If you really knew me, you would know that I sometimes write poetry. My poetry covers a wide variety of subjects. I say “sometimes write” because I have never really sat down and worked on a poem. They just seem to randomly spew forth from my brain in a huge rush and I have to immediately find some place to write them down before they’re gone. This comes in spells. A lot of poems have simply never been written down because I just wasn’t able to stop and do it. Sadly, they are soon forgotten. Several years ago I was a poetry-writing madwoman. Then I had a dry spell for quite a while. I never know when it’s going to happen. It seems to depend on what’s going on in my life. Sometimes it’s happy things, sometimes it’s not. A lot of my poems seem to deal with the occult or supernatural, which I love reading and hearing about, but do not practice or participate in. So if you read any of those, don’t be concerned. They just came to me, I didn’t experience them.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

I'm A Free Bitch, Baby

Tonight I went to a Lady GaGa concert. You wanna make something of it? I'm not too old for it, cause your only as old as you feel and I have felt like 23 for the last 17 years. And I act about 23 too. Is that wrong? No. It means I have more fun than you do. True story.

I know she's controversial and weird to some people. I know some people enjoy her songs on the radio but don't care much about her past that. Some people don't even like her music. But me, I'm a fan. Of her music and of her. Tonight just reconfirmed that for me. For one thing, I really like her songs. Not just because they're catchy, but because of the tremendous amount of natural talent GaGa possesses. Her voice is amazing, especially live. She can play the hell out of a piano. And does. But its more than that. It's hard to explain what I mean. She's a musical genius. She's definitely underrated at this point in her young career. I mean, the music world loves her for her marketability, her record sales, etc. But they aren't yet paying enough attention to recognize what a tremendously rare "true artist" she really is.

Another of the MANY things I like about her is how she sincerely reaches out to society's castaways. The freaks and geeks. The fat and the ugly. And everyone else in between who are picked on and made fun of and ignored. She encourages them in her interviews and concerts to be proud of who they are and to stay true to being however they want to be. I love that. It's such an important message. She wears weird costumes and makeup simply because she likes them. She says weird things because that is honestly what she was thinking. She's not doing an act on stage. She's just being herself. Tonight at the concert she announced to everyone that we were free to be ourselves, that the "freaks" were now the people outside and that she had locked the fucking doors. Do you know how truly amazing that was for some of these people to hear? For them to think, even if only for a second, that here is a place where they are accepted no matter what.

Now you may be wondering why this was important to me, because if you know me then you know I'm only a slight freak and a partial geek. But I do have issues that make me feel unwelcome to "society". Being fat is no fun for me anyway, but throw in all the disgusted looks, behind the back snickers and even outright meanness and I tend to not go out and do a lot of things I want to. Plus I gotta worry about how people my age from rural southwest Missouri aren't supposed to go to GaGa concerts. While I was at the concert I didn't care about any of that. I was proud to be there and to just be me. I was a free bitch, baby. And isn't that really how music and performers should make you feel? Yes. Yes it is.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

This One Time, In Jail

So here's a story not a whole lot of people know. I have been arrested. And not just the cute little "follow me over here to this desk and we have to officially book you". No, my arrest was down and dirty. Seriously. It was a horrible experience and I have Vietnam-like flashbacks about it still. There are so many things about this story that are frustrating. Including the way I was treated, the reason for the arrest and how the whole thing even started. Hold on to your hats... here we go.

February, 2005. I am sitting on the couch in my home in SmallAssTown, Missouri. It's dark, maybe around 8:00 pm. There's snow and ice outside. Suddenly my roommate and I hear a loud crash. I got up, glanced out the door, didn't see anything and we went back to watching tv. 20 minutes later we hear a car on the highway below our yard slam on the brakes and slide a long ways down the road. We get up, flip on the porch light and that's when we see (thanks to the car's headlights) a huge tree has fallen across the road and this guy almost hit it. Obviously, this is a problem that should be reported so that the tree can be removed from the road and people won't drive into it in the dark. So my roommate volunteers to make the call because she knows I hate talking on the phone. She calls the county sheriffs office, reports the issue and location. End of story.

Next morning, I am in bed. Sleeping in baggy shorts and a holy t-shirt. I am awakened by a loud pounding at the door. I answer the door with Medusa hair. A police officer is there and he asks for me. I say "I'm me". And he immediately places me under arrest. He made me step out onto the porch, he turned me around and cuffed my arms behind my back. He did follow me back into the house to step into some shoes, but that's all I got to do. I didn't get to change clothes, brush my hair or teeth, or even grab a coat (remember there's snow and ice on the ground). By this time my roommate was up and she was trying to talk to the cop to find out what I had done, where he was taking me and how to get me out. All he said was I had a warrant out for an FTA (failure to appear at a court date) and he was taking me to the County Jail and she could follow him up there to see how to bail me out. Then he walked my handcuffed, barely-dressed self out to the car and shoved me in the back seat just like you see on tv.

I forgot to mention.... I have been sobbing and crying since this all started.

We have a 20 minute drive to the station. Although he did read me my rights before putting me in the car, he has not said a word since. I'm still crying. We get to the station, he takes me into where prisoners go (not the office area) and sat me down on a concrete bench in a holding cell. He did not close the cell door, but I am still handcuffed. I don't know if any of you have ever been handcuffed behind your back, but it's not comfortable. Especially when you are sitting down. And remember, I'm wearing pajama shorts on a concrete bench in February. I'm freaking freezing. Shivering violently. And sobbing. Lots of sobbing.

After letting me sit there by myself for about 10 minutes, another officer comes in and leads me to the counter across the room. They finally decide they can take the handcuffs off of me and give me a lecture about not trying to make a move. Now maybe you don't know me... but I've never been in trouble. I mean, I'm afraid to talk loudly in libraries because it's against the rules. So obviously I have no record. There's no reason for them to think they should be afraid of me in any way. It was actually almost funny. But I didn't laugh. I was still crying.

They finally explain why I'm here. In 1998 (seven years prior) I failed to appear in court. I blinked. Umm... why would I have had a court date? I know nothing of this. Well, it's because in 1996 (nine years prior) I wrote a $15 check that bounced at the little local grocery store in SmallAssTown, Mo. The light sorta goes on for me at this point, because I do remember the issue with the bounced check. I remember it because when it bounced (which was a complete accident) the store posted the check beside the cash register for all the world to see. And my mom spotted it. In 1996 she saw my bad check posted at the cash register and she immediately drove over to my house and dragged my ass up to the store so she could witness me paying for the check. And I did pay for it. The original $15 and a $25 fee. I handed the cash to the chick behind the register. My mom stood there and witnessed it. When I asked for the check, she took it down off the register but said she couldn't give it to me because she wasn't sure if that was the correct policy and the boss wasn't there for her to ask. I had never bounced a check before, so I didn't know. The clerk said she would write it down, tell her boss the next day and they would tear up the check.

Guess what? Obviously that didn't happen. I now know I should have been given the check so I could have destroyed it. But they kept the check and obviously turned it in months later to the prosecuting attorney. Or whatever they do. So in 1998 the court got around to being concerned about my check and scheduled me to appear in court. Except they forgot to tell me. Because I never received any notice about it at all. I didn't show. A warrant was issued. In 2005, my roommate called the sheriff's office to report a tree had fallen across the road. When they tried to verify the address and asked her for her name, she gave them my name. Simply because I was the property owner and my name would tell them exactly where I lived and the tree was located. When they ran my name, they found my warrant.

So, back at jail. They've finally taken the handcuffs off and explained what's going on. My sobbing has dwindled down to silent tears. My roommate has been next door for the past 45 minutes trying to bail me out. I get mug shots taken. In my pajama's. With bed head and a tear-streaked face. Then they photographed all of my tattoos and fingerprinted me. The old-fashioned way with ink and paper. Then they put me in the drunk tank, with the door open, so I could sit down while I waited to be bailed out. It took another hour before my roommate sprung me. And $250, which I had to immediately give her back. The whole thing sucked. I still don't understand why I was treated so badly. I got a court date, appeared on time, was told by the assigned attorney to agree with everything he said, stood in front of the judge while the attorney explained how I am guilty. I was sentenced to 6 months unsupervised probation and had to pay court costs, plus $15 for the check that bounced and $25 for the bounced check fee. Again. Fun, huh?

Now honestly, this was 5 years ago. I'm mostly over it. And I had no problem with my probation of course. After I completed the 6 months with no issue it became a sealed record that I don't ever have to tell anyone about (as far as job applications). So, no big deal, right? Well it does make an entertaining story now. And I can usually freak people out by announcing that I've been handcuffed and mugshotted. Because I'm so not the type. But the whole experience did affect me. And I lost out on a job because of it. About a month after the court date I graduated college and had a good lead on a job with a company that supports banking software. I knew someone inside, I got an interview... and because it was all currently going on I had to admit to being on probation for passing hot checks. Not really what a company that works with banks wants to hear. I was so upset.

Anyway, that's my horrible story about how a technically innocent person spent some time in the big house.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Holy Schnike

It's been a while since I've updated this place. I feel really bad about that. I have been so busy keeping up with my Rosey's 365 Photos Project daily blog that I have neglected this one. I realize now I did the whole thing wrong. I should have just done my "photo a day" action here on this blog since it's my oldest child. But I didn't. So I am just gonna have to learn to pay attention to both blogs at once.

Today I leave you with a youtube video of 100 of the greatest movie insults (according to the guy who created the video). It reminded of me of so many great old movies and actually prompted me to look up a few I was unfamiliar with. Enjoy.