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: http://www.youtube.com/user/slothsgreatesthits and like him on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/pages/Slothy/145924888782535
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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: http://www.twloha.com/ http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ 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. It looks like I have two habits when it comes to writing on this blog. I always write really late at night and, more recently, I'll have a gap between entries and then post two. Oh, well. All the more choices of which post to read, I suppose. But what brings me here at this late hour of 1:33am mountain time is the cake I just baked. Now, if you personally know me, you know that I enjoy baking. I'm pretty good at it, too. My downfall in baking is appearance. I could make the most delicious cake, but it would look like someone had already eaten it. What started this baking adventure was when I saw that my older sister had a Cold Stone milkshake. I started craving Cold Stone. Because it was already rather late and I shouldn't be spending a lot of money on ice cream, I couldn't get it. So I thought I'd try something. I would make homemade cake batter (without the raw eggs, of course. I don't want salmonella!) and freeze it to see if it would be anything remotely like the cake batter ice cream I always get. Well, the recipe I used was a bit odd and just didn't work out. I didn't see a point in throwing it out, though, so I decided to go ahead and add the missing ingredients and bake it. There was just enough for two cakes, so I figured I might as well try a layered cake! I've never done that before! Once the cakes were baked and cooling, I got started on the frosting. It didn't thicken like the recipe said it would. I even refrigerated it for a long period of time to help the process. It finally got to a semi-spreadable texture and went ahead and iced the first layer. Now, I don't know much about baking and decorating cakes (I've mostly been a cookie baking girl), but I think maybe I should've went ahead and taken the other cake out of the pan. When it came time to add the second layer of cake, it went even more downhill than this whole project already was. I fought with it, hitting the bottom of the pan, hoping the cake would slide out as easily as the first. Finally, it came out! Well, part of it. It was falling to pieces. I didn't know what to do. Finally, once a big chunk of the edge fell off, I got an idea! I would carve it! So I took a turner and slid it underneath the cake to help lift it up and started cutting away some excess. I then added it to the cake and finished icing. And voila! I had my very first tiered vanilla cake with chocolate icing! But the point of me writing all of this isn't to tell you about how bad I am at making a pretty cake. I'm looking at a deeper level (this must be the late night hour talking. Or maybe my English class experience in analyzing the smallest things to be something more meaningful. Mrs. Smith would be proud.). What I'm really writing this about is how I started out with something in mind and ended with something completely different. I wanted ice cream and got a two-tiered vanilla cake with chocolate frosting. And, though it's not pretty, I made it work. I didn't give up and throw it all out the minute something went wrong. I just went with it. That's what people need to realize when setting out on any personal journey. The outcome will more than likely not be what you expected. Things will come up that you didn't expect. You may feel like you're doing something completely different than you started out doing. All of this may be true, but that doesn't mean you'll be standing at the end disappointed. My two-tiered vanilla cake with chocolate icing. Tonight, while watching Anastasia for the second time this week, I realized an error, of sorts. Well, it probably isn't an error, but it's wrong to me, so therefore it is! I have great logic, really. Anyways! If you've seen the movie, you know what it's about, but I'll explain for those who haven't.
The movie pretty much covers what happens with Anastasia after the Russian revolution and the murder of the Romanovs (with the missing body of Anastasia, but it's a kids movie, they don't go into all of that). Well, in the movie, she gets separated from her grandmother and hits her head, losing her memory. She meets up with con-man Dimitri and his pal Vlad and they try to pass her off as Anastasia, but would ya look at that! She's the real thing! Add in some awesome songs, the evil Rasputin trying to kill her off as he did her family and some romance and you have this movie! Anyways! To the point. When her grandmother realizes she is the true Anastasia, they reminisce and she places Anastasia's mother's crown on her head. Then set up this huge ball to reveal her to the world. Now, I get the point of the ball. It's wonderful that she found her long lost granddaughter after years of searching. And I suppose I understand the crown—it belonged to her mother and what not. But I don't get why they act like she's a princess. At one point, a man even tells Dimitri to bow and refer to her as “Your Highness.” What do they want her to do? Go back to the now communist Russia and take her place as royalty? Yeah, right. I mean, I'm sure they didn't really think about that as it's a kids movie. Kids don't know what really happened. They see Rasputin cursing them and what not. Not the real revolution. But it bothers me. And the reason I'm writing about this on my blog is because a ton of movies have inconsistencies like this. Do the creators of these movies just hope no one notices? Probably. But either way, I suppose it's entertaining if not annoying. What's your favorite movie inconsistency or error? Which one do you hate the most? The other night, while wearing makeup that made me look like a lion, I had a revelation. One day, when I have children and we pull out the old family albums (or log onto our Facebooks to go through this generation's version of family albums), they will see me dressed as a lion. I imagine it'll go a little like this.
“And here mommy's dressed up like a lioness.” “Was it Halloween, Mommy?” “No, I was just bored.” And my children will be embarrassed the same way all kids are at some point or another. Now, I know there are much worse things I could do to embarrass them, but this is currently relevant. Someday, when we all have children, we will have to be held accountable for the crazy things we did in our past. I'm not talking about how you dated Johnny but then decided Brian was cute blah blah blah. Or even how you sneaked out one night and got caught. No, I'm talking about showing the future just how incredibly stupid we were. To be honest, I'm talking about the people who think it's cool to go out and get drunk underage or high or what have you, take pictures of it and post it all over places like Facebook like “OH WE HAD LIKE SO MUCH FUNNNNN!” When I think about the people who do that, I feel like my kids seeing me dressed up like a lioness really isn't so bad. I'd much rather my children see me as a person who knew how to have fun out of boredom than out of doing something illegal and showing it off like it's the coolest thing since Harry Potter (and my kids will know about Harry Potter). I'm not trying to say that no one should go out and drink blah blah blah. No, I'm saying do you ever once think about how that picture could effect your future? It's like, you know your parents probably did something like that, but would you want to see them drunkenly making out with someone the barely know or something? No! You'd hate that! You'd think they were stupid for doing something like that. So why would you want to do the same to your kids? I'm not really sure if what I'm trying to say is really coming through. Basically, I'm saying that you should really be wary of doing something that your child can find and hold against you later. Does that sound right? Yeah, sure, whatever. Oh, and by the way, when I realized that one day my kids may see those pictures of me dressed a s a lioness? I took a special picture just for them. I realize I've already written a post today, but this is on my mind right now and I'm sure plenty of you readers can relate to this topic. If you're a writer or even an avid reader, you know what it's like to live in that fantasy world. An alternate reality more than a fantasy.
As a writer, I often find myself drifting into my character's head. I'm no longer Lindsey, I'm Philip (the narrator of my novel-in-progress). When I dwell on that, I realize how odd and scary it is. Here's this seemingly non-existent being with a mind of his own, thinking freely into my brain. Sometimes Philip likes to lock me out (I sound crazy, I know). It's always when I really want to write that he does this. In fact, I'm locked out right now. (And I wonder why I only have 14 completed pages?) So instead, I'll write this blog entry about a writer's relationship with his/her writing. Do you think writers make up what they write about? No, they're just relaying this message that came to them. It makes us sound crazy, but if we weren't crazy, every story would be a copy of something else. To an extent, many stories inevitably are a copy (most love stories turn out like Romeo and Juliet, etc.). But each story was given to the author on its own. I want to say it's almost like having imaginary friends. They come in, tell you about their life and you write it down. But really it's more like having a split personality. I don't talk to Philip, I become Philip. Philip and I met Calli (another character) when looking a photograph. Philip didn't even exist yet! But the way I felt when I found that photograph is exactly how Philip felt about seeing her for the first time: Intrigued, curious. Who is she? Why is she giving me that look? And now, we've met Calli and completely understand that and more. So to conclude my madness, I'll leave you with this. If you want to write, but you're sitting there thinking about how you have nothing worth writing and what not, stop. It's not about deciding what to write. It's about writing what reveals itself to you. One day, you'll find your Philip. The Narrator in Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club (I'm sure you've all noticed by now that this is one of my favorite novels by my favorite author) said he enjoyed attending support groups because “People listened instead of just waiting for their turn to speak.” It's a good feeling, knowing someone's listening to you. Not just hearing and throwing in some “yeah”s and “I understand”s in the appropriate places, but truly listening when someone wants an ear. Not waiting for their turn to talk. Something I take pride in is my ability to listen.
But one thing I've noticed lately is the lack of listening. I don't just mean someone waiting for an opportunity to tell their story. I mean the people would rather hear what they want to hear to validate their argument. And don't even try talking logically with them, they'll just ignore that, too. And then there's the people who would rather believe they're right despite any evidence to prove otherwise. For example, you go into the doctor's office with immense chest pain. They tell you it's just anxiety, despite the fact that you've gone through anxiety and know this is not how it feels. They don't care. They see you have a history with anxiety, so that's the answer. Well, they haven't been listening to your body (or to your words) and you have, so I'd say it's time to go to a new doctor. I got a bit off topic (though it's still the same general thought).Going back to my original point, though, people will pretend they want to listen, but really they're wondering when you're going to shut up so they can tell you about what an awesome time they had last night. If people would try to listen more, some people wouldn't need thousands of dollars to pay somebody to listen to them. Some people wouldn't have to keep all of their emotions bottled up deep inside because no one will listen. If everyone just took the time to stop and care about that other person in the conversation, imagine how much we could do. To try and counteract the thought of hate from yesterday, today I'm going to talk about love. More specifically, loving yourself. People have more negative things to say about their body than positive. This needs to change!
How many of you can honestly say you are completely happy with everything about you? Your hair's too short, you have a little extra flab on your belly. In your mind, these things make you ugly. But why is that? Because someone else looks differently than you? We are individual beings and should be treated as such. So what if you don't look like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt? If you were meant to look like them, you'd be them! But not looking like a movie star doesn't make you any less beautiful! Being who you are is what makes you beautiful. You are the only one with your smile. You are the only one with your eyes. You are the only one with your nose. You are the only one who can be you! Tyler Durden (from Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club, if you don't know) couldn't have said it any better. “I say, deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth!” Having clear skin and perfect teeth doesn't mean you're beautiful. If you're flawless, you are fake. Your flaws are what make you perfect. They're what make you beautiful. This post has been a short one, but it's not about reading my words. It's about believing you are beautiful. It's about accepting your flaws and flaunting them. It's abouat going against this ideal body shape and image and being yourself. I say, deliver me from fashion magazines. I say, deliver me from diet pills. I say, deliver me from ten pounds of makeup. I say, we should all vow to try to love ourselves more! I say, we should start a revolution. |
AuthorHello! 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. Archives
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