Why do we as humans feel the need to fix something in order to get that same thing fixed? For example, I have a friend who always had to go home and thoroughly clean her room because the cleaning lady was coming and her mom didn't want the woman to think they were messy. Then why hire a cleaning lady? This subject popped into my head as I'm sitting here with olive oil soaking in my hair.
My hair is severely dry and, due to that, damaged. I'm pretty sure the lack of humidity in this air has a lot to do with it, but that's not the point. The point is I'm supposed to be going to get my hair cut tomorrow. And what am I saying to the man or woman cutting it? That my hair is very damaged and I want a fresh start, so to chop off the damaged part. So why am I sitting here wasting about an hour of my night (and half a cup of olive oil) making a point of deep conditioning my hair so it isn't quite so dry tomorrow?
Seriously, why do we do this to ourselves? Is it a pride issue? We don't want it to seem like we're so flawed that there's no going back, so we attempt at making ourselves appear better before asking for help? We don't want the cleaning lady to think poorly of us for leaving clothes on the floor, so we better put them in the hamper when she is paid to do the exact same? We don't want our hair dressers thinking our hair is naturally dry and brittle, so we try and make it seem like it isn't so bad? People are a generally proud race, so that explanation appeases me.
I realize it's been too long since I've posted, but I have a really good reason! I found another outlet for my creative juices. With the help of a few friends, I have created the parody (for now) musician, Slothy.
And honestly, it shows how great the Internet is because I can be myself as well as a three-toed sloth that enjoys singing songs that it has rewritten to fit into a sloth's life.
But if you're interested in checking out Slothy, you can here:
and like him on Facebook
As October creeps closer and closer, I feel myself growing both nostalgic and homesick. October is my month. Really, the only thing better than October is an October with a Friday the 13th. But this is only my second October away from Kentucky, which shouldn't seem like a big deal, but I'll tell you all why it is.
In 2006, my younger sister Laura got me to go down to the haunted house she had been working in for a few years that was run by a company called greenfactory. I was terrified, but my first day down there quickly changed that. I was in love with scaring the literal and figurative pee out of people, which, surprisingly, was possible considering I wasn't even one of the people behind a mask (it just goes to show you what kind of sissies there are out there!) That first year, I started out as a life guard (which is basically a tour guide that is stationed in one area to guide the group without walking through the whole bit with them), but after a few changes, I ended up being a victim. I was a girl lying on the floor in a sleeping bag who was told that if I could stay down in the haunted house all night long, I'd win a prize of one hundred dollars. When my flashlight turned off, the music started and so did the anticipation. After a few screams in the soundtrack, I flipped on a strobe light from my hiding spot where the group then saw Jason Voorhees slamming an identical sleeping bag against a metal fridge. When he was done with my body, he dropped it and turned his attention to the group. He grabs up his machete and charges. Just thinking about it gives me that same adrenaline rush I got every time I went through it.
The next October things changed a bit, and I'd rather not get into much other than a few of us went and helped out in what used to be our rival haunted house for a night or two. But October 2008 was probably my favorite.
I was a freshman in college that had no real social life in my college town. This worked out for me, though, because my best friend and roommate Kelsey (who had been doing the haunted houses, too) had the whole semester to dedicate to that haunted house. Every weekend and in some cases every night, we drove the 45 minutes home and tour guided our hearts and voices out. I'm not kidding either. We were told to scream, so we screamed. There were so many days where I would make a point not to talk in my classes to preserve my voice for that night. I don't think I missed one night and I think I was only late once. I was dedicated. On Halloween night, I even tour guided in heels all night long (I was dressed as a Moulin Rouge girl). I don't wear heels, so you can imagine how painful this was on my feet. I even won the Flashlight Award which meant I was one of the two tour guides of the year.
Unfortunately, last season, I mainly helped with behind the scenes stuff. I helped clean the building we were using—and by clean, I literally mean shoveling piles of wood and debris out of the way to form a basic walk way thanks to a ton of debris—and setting up the rooms with props and lighting. I was able to be a life guard for opening weekend, which was extremely great. I even got to be in the same room as Laura, who was a greenfactory original character. But, as you all may or may not know, my husband is a U.S. Marine so that next weekend, I flew out to California to be with him. I missed the haunted house greatly, but I was lucky enough to have been a part of it for nearly three months before I left.
As soon as the weather gets down in the 60s (which is randomly here in Colorado), I start yearning for the roar of a chainsaw, the piercing screams of some sissies, the late nights and, above all, the mix of Rob Zombie, screams and movie quotes put together by Mark as the soundtrack blaring in my ears to the point that I can't hear myself think.
If you haven't realized, greenfactory is my family away from my blood family (with the exception of Laura, obviously). I love them. So here's to you, greenfactory. Even though you all aren't having a haunted house this year, make sure you have a great haunted house season. I miss you guys.
This week has been Suicide Prevention Week, so I figure I'll write about it as I see it as a very important and overlooked topic. Well, I don't even think overlooked is the correct term. Too many people see the subject as a joke. A literal, “let's all laugh and spread the hilarity” joke. It's sick, really. Beyond sick.
No, I have never dealt with depression or suicidal thoughts, though I know plenty of people who have dealt with at least one of the two. I know how serious of a disease it is. But that's what too many people refuse to believe, that it's a disease. I know it can be difficult to understand, but people need to try harder to understand.
The reason I'm writing this today is because I've seen two of the most beautiful girls who have struggled with depression get attacked for defending their opinions against a photo that was edited to say “Depression? Kill ur [sic] self.” All they said was that it was offensive and ignorant. Of course, as this is the Internet, retaliation was even more ignorant, saying things varying from “Kill yourself twice” to implying one was a transsexual man.
What does it say about humanity as a whole when someone doesn't realize that telling someone to kill themselves could actually lead to them killing themselves if that person was just looking for a final reason to do it? It's as though society is moving backwards instead of forward. I really don't think these people would be writing things like “Cancer? Just die already.” So why is it okay to joke about depression and suicide? It's a disease just as cancer is.
So what I'm asking you as my readers is this. Help raise awareness of depression and suicide. You don't have to donate money to an organization, just help try put a stop to this hate and ignorance. Don't just do it for suicide prevention week, do it all day, every day. If you see someone making jokes about it, tell them that it's not funny and explain to them why it's not a joke. If you know someone suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts, talk to them. Better yet, just listen to them. Some people just need a place to let out everything they're feeling to help themselves through it. If you're suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts, don't give up. Listen to your favorite band if music's your thing, find a friend, a doctor, the suicide hotline, whatever. But know that you're not alone in the world.
Here's some websites you may be interested in:
I apologize for my lack of posting. I've been trying to find the way I want to phrase this specific topic.
I honestly believe people are put into your life for a specific reason and purpose. Sort of like our own personal angels. I'm really starting to realize the major impact people that could've passed me by have had on me. Yes, of course family is always a huge impact, but for most people, they've been there. My family has been there and I couldn't ask for a better one. But what about those people that you got the random urge to talk to out of nowhere that became your best friend? Or the teacher you actually listened to that showed you you could follow those so-called far-fetched dreams?
Yes, of course there are the people that come into your life just to hurt you. Our own personal demons. But maybe they were here to hurt you to show you just how strong you are without them? I know that that would explain some nasty friendships that I've questioned. Yes, it hurts at first. But you make it through. And when you do, you know you're the bigger person and that they're still there at the bottom with all that hate and anger. But, at least I hope for you, there are more good people than bad.
The reason I bring this up is that a girl came into my life a couple months ago. We talked about music and discovered we have some of the same favorite bands. At one point, we got on the subject of people being put into our lives for a certain reason. As I said earlier, our own personal angels. Ironically, just the other day, I brought up the idea of us being friends for a reason. She told me she had just thought the same thing earlier that day. You see, she is a musician and, as you know, I'm trying to start off my career as a writer. One day, after listening to one of my favorite bands that I had ignored for quite a long time (and got back into for talking to her), I wrote the best short story I have written thus far. I showed it to her and she turned it into a song using my words and her music. Though I've yet to hear the finished product, I know it'll be amazing. I feel like that formed a bond between us that I don't have with my other good friends—like we're each others muses in a way. I think the term I used with her was success partners or something along those lines. We're both trying to succeed and we're doing it together.
I truly do believe she was put into my life for a reason and I was put in hers for a reason. And I don't think she's the only person I was meant to meet. I believe I have plent of personal angels made up of people I know and those I don't. So here's to you, Mary Richard! I owe a lot to you. And to my other personal angels: Sherri Smith (one of the best English teachers someone could ask for!), Muse and My Chemical Romance, to name just a few.
Wanna hear Mary's music? Check her out here.
Hello! I'm Lindsey. I'm a writer with a ton of random thoughts bouncing around in my head. So I share them here in hopes that they reach others with these thoughts.