Just replace all the romance with a purely platonic friend, and these songs pretty much say it all.
"How Do You Sleep" feat. Ludacris:
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
How do you sleep
Tried my best at movin' on
Have yet to find a girl like you
See things now I didn't before
Now wishin' I had more time with you
How do you stay awake
Knowin' all I do is think of you
All the things we thought about
Then, never will happen again
If I could just see you
If I had my way come and get you girl
In your favourite car with the missing top
Around my way where we used to park
And did all those things to steal your heart
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
How do you sleep
Baby all that I hear from my friends
Again again and again come and ask 'bout you
They say we saw your girl at the game
And damn we gotta say a big mistake by you
Not only did your body bang
But I miss the conversation too
Tell me that you're gettin' more sleep
Can't think can't eat till I come see you
If I had my way come and get you girl
In your favourite car with the missing top
Around my way where we used to park
And did all those things to steal your heart
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
How do you sleep
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
It's been about a year now
Ain't seen or heard from you
I been missin' you crazy
How do you how do you sleep
I found the letter you wrote me
It still smells just like you
Damn those sweet memories
How do you how do you sleep
How do you sleep
"Gives You Hell"
I wake up every evening
With a big smile on my face
And it never feels out of place.
And you're still probably working
At a 9 to 5 pace
I wonder how bad that tastes
When you see my face
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
When you walk my way
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
Now where's your picket fence love
And where's that shiny car
Did it ever get you far?
You never seem so tense, love
Never seen you fall so hard
Do you know where you are?
Truth be told I miss you
Truth be told I'm lying
When you see my face
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
When you walk my way
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
If you find a man thats worth the damn and treats you well
Then he's a fool you're just as well hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Tomorrow you'll be thinking to yourself
Where did it all go wrong?
But the list goes on and on
Truth be told I miss you
Truth be told I'm lying
When you see my face
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
When you walk my way
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
If you find a man that's worth the damn and treats you well
Then he's a fool you're just as well hope it gives you hell
Now you'll never see
What you've done to me
You can take back your memories
They're no good to me
And here's all your lies
If you look me in the eyes
With the sad, sad look
That you wear so well
When you see my face
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
When you walk my way
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell
If you find a man that's worth the damn and treats you well
Then he's a fool you're just as well hope it gives you hell
When you see my face
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell (hope it gives you hell)
When you walk my way
I hope it gives you hell, I hope it gives you hell (hope it gives you hell)
When you hear this song and you sing along well you'll never tell
And you're the fool I've just as well I hope it gives you hell
When you hear this song I hope that it will give you hell
You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
You Live, You Learn
It has already been a hell of a year for life experiences. I could go on and on about Thuy, but I'm tired of being in that place. She's gone, and I need to move on. The best I can do is make the most of my life without her.
What makes my heart so heavy today isn't even my tragedy, but it's so close to home that my heart is broken all the same. A couple of weeks ago, my sister's boyfriend went AWOL from the Navy, and we were all very confused and worried. Today, we found out that his body had just been found in a hotel. I don't know any more than that, but what I've been told is that they're calling it a suicide.
Having just a lost a friend myself, I know a little bit about how much it hurts. But Thuy isn't really dead, she's just... dead to me. I don't really want to go into it, but the short version is that I found out from a mutual friend (after seven months of not hearing from her) that she "just didn't want to be friend anymore." She never even said goodbye, and I never got an explanation.
That being said, it's almost beyond my imagination how much it really hurts when your loved one is really dead. I've known a couple people that died, but no one really close to me, just aquaintances and classmates. Except my grandpa, but that's very different... he was 82 and on life support, it was definitely his time and he was ready to go. But when someone goes before they get married, have kids, or even graduate... that's so much harder to deal with. You never stop wondering what could have been.
And at least for me, I can hardly wrap my brain around it. I didn't know him all that well, but he was very important to my sister, so that makes him at least indirectly important to me. I can still remember talking to him in person when he visiting us when he was on leave, very much alive and animated, with all sorts of plans for the future. I mean, it's impossible, he was just right there!! How can he possibly be dead??
The really, really weird thing is that just a few days ago, I had a dream about him. That's pretty extraordinary, cause like I said I hardly knew him. I dreamed I was at school, but my mom and sister were with me for some reason. I was getting something from my locker, and there was a post-it note on the locker that said "They have found my body. --Lee." And for some reason, we kept expecting him to walk around the corner. In the dream, it didn't make any sense, like how could he have written this note about himself if he was dead, and if that was the case, why did we expect him to show up? But as soon as I woke up, it was totally obvious... the note meant suicide. And, sure enough, it looks like that's what happened in real life.
I feel so weird. It's not that I miss him personally, since I didn't really know him, but it's very unsettling. Suicide is an ugly thought, no matter how you look at it. Especially since I've had to make a few suicide prevention calls for my loved ones before. Ironically, for the very girl that's dead to me now. More than anything, I just hurt for my sister. I really believe they were soulmates, and I don't use that term lightly. He brought out some good things in her, and although I know she's a strong girl, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Losing the ones you love is everyone's worst nightmare, and it's already true for her... and she hasn't even graduated from high school yet. I can't fathom the pain she must be going though, and my heart just aches for here. I only hope she can find happiness in something or someone else someday, even though no one can ever take another person's place.
Rest in peace, Lee.
What makes my heart so heavy today isn't even my tragedy, but it's so close to home that my heart is broken all the same. A couple of weeks ago, my sister's boyfriend went AWOL from the Navy, and we were all very confused and worried. Today, we found out that his body had just been found in a hotel. I don't know any more than that, but what I've been told is that they're calling it a suicide.
Having just a lost a friend myself, I know a little bit about how much it hurts. But Thuy isn't really dead, she's just... dead to me. I don't really want to go into it, but the short version is that I found out from a mutual friend (after seven months of not hearing from her) that she "just didn't want to be friend anymore." She never even said goodbye, and I never got an explanation.
That being said, it's almost beyond my imagination how much it really hurts when your loved one is really dead. I've known a couple people that died, but no one really close to me, just aquaintances and classmates. Except my grandpa, but that's very different... he was 82 and on life support, it was definitely his time and he was ready to go. But when someone goes before they get married, have kids, or even graduate... that's so much harder to deal with. You never stop wondering what could have been.
And at least for me, I can hardly wrap my brain around it. I didn't know him all that well, but he was very important to my sister, so that makes him at least indirectly important to me. I can still remember talking to him in person when he visiting us when he was on leave, very much alive and animated, with all sorts of plans for the future. I mean, it's impossible, he was just right there!! How can he possibly be dead??
The really, really weird thing is that just a few days ago, I had a dream about him. That's pretty extraordinary, cause like I said I hardly knew him. I dreamed I was at school, but my mom and sister were with me for some reason. I was getting something from my locker, and there was a post-it note on the locker that said "They have found my body. --Lee." And for some reason, we kept expecting him to walk around the corner. In the dream, it didn't make any sense, like how could he have written this note about himself if he was dead, and if that was the case, why did we expect him to show up? But as soon as I woke up, it was totally obvious... the note meant suicide. And, sure enough, it looks like that's what happened in real life.
I feel so weird. It's not that I miss him personally, since I didn't really know him, but it's very unsettling. Suicide is an ugly thought, no matter how you look at it. Especially since I've had to make a few suicide prevention calls for my loved ones before. Ironically, for the very girl that's dead to me now. More than anything, I just hurt for my sister. I really believe they were soulmates, and I don't use that term lightly. He brought out some good things in her, and although I know she's a strong girl, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Losing the ones you love is everyone's worst nightmare, and it's already true for her... and she hasn't even graduated from high school yet. I can't fathom the pain she must be going though, and my heart just aches for here. I only hope she can find happiness in something or someone else someday, even though no one can ever take another person's place.
Rest in peace, Lee.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A nice example
...and a VERY pretty face. When signing out of MySpace, I came across this picture of a Maybelline model, and before I even looked to see what it was about, all I could think was WOW, she is beautiful. I saved the picture and edited out the advertisement portion... hahaha, I hope that's legal. Without further ado...
Gorgeous. At least I think so. You may be wondering, so what? Here's what... I was just having these conversations about how tan=healthy=beautiful in our culture, and that, because I'm naturally very pale, I look "sick" all the time... which I think is ridiculous. So I burn in the sun. I have an awesomely efficient immune system, I'm reasonably strong, and in pretty good shape. I am not sickly! I'm just Irish! But anyway, that was the second thing that struck me about this model. She's also very pale, probably about as pale as me. Granted her skin is much clearer than mine - and possibly photoshopped - but I don't think she looks sick at all. She looks glowing and healthy and beautiful. By comparison, here's a picture of yours truly, albeit with makeup, but still about my natural skin tone:
I don't look like I'm on the verge of death or anything, now do I?
It IS possible to be pale and pretty and not look like you're dying, I swear!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Seriously people.
I'm not anorexic. And that's a solid fact. Get used to it.
I consumed 1693 calories today, according to MyPyramid's calculations. Yeah, that's not quite marathon food, but it certainly isn't starvation. And there was plenty of fat in there, I promise.
And my exercise? I walked home from, back to, and back home from school, and then to and from the rec center, totalling about an hour, maybe a little less. And I had an hour long hip hop class, but we only did three eight-counts. Not like I was running for hours on a treadmill until I barfed or anything.
Ok, so I have some body images issues. I'm 20 and female. What 20-year-old girl doesn't? Honestly. So I want to be thin and beautiful. Something I've supposedly always been. I don't want to be 110 pounds or anything crazy.
Ok, that's a lie, I do. BUT, I also would rather be about 5'4", and at that height, 110 would give me about the same height to weight ratio that I have now. I'm not trying to be 110 and 5'7". But I can't lose height, so I'll settle for being something under 130. That's not so tragically thin, not considering I'm a 32A. Not much weight to bear up there.
My BMI is 20... just the light end of "normal." No calculation I've ever seen has said that I'm underweight. Maybe a little below average, but not unhealthily so.
THEREFORE, I am not anorexic. No two ways about it. Plus, some psych test I found online had this to say after I took it:
"Your eating attitudes are moderately unhealthy (in psychological terms, not necessarily nutritional). Somewhere along the line your body image has gone awry. Unfortunately, the ever-present media does not reflect reality in its depiction of the perfect body. It is of utmost importance to recognize this disparity and to learn to be critical of the images thrown at us by the media. The perfect body is a healthy body. Your perspective seems to have been affected by society's unfair messages that food is bad, eating is evil, and calories are the work of the devil. Take time to re-evaluate these internalizations and begin the essential journey to acceptance of your body as it is. Eat well, exercise, and stay healthy!"
Translation: I could use a shrink, but I'm not gonna drop to the ground from malnutrition any time soon.
Get real.
If I was so unhealthy, I'm pretty sure those cheer clinics would have knocked me on my ass, and I would have come home with an IV in my arm. Yeah, they made me sweat like a pig and breathe pretty damn hard, but it's called a workout. And I'm not in great cardio shape, thank you leaky heart valve.
Still alive. Still breathing on my own. Still standing. Not fainting.
Hello.
I consumed 1693 calories today, according to MyPyramid's calculations. Yeah, that's not quite marathon food, but it certainly isn't starvation. And there was plenty of fat in there, I promise.
And my exercise? I walked home from, back to, and back home from school, and then to and from the rec center, totalling about an hour, maybe a little less. And I had an hour long hip hop class, but we only did three eight-counts. Not like I was running for hours on a treadmill until I barfed or anything.
Ok, so I have some body images issues. I'm 20 and female. What 20-year-old girl doesn't? Honestly. So I want to be thin and beautiful. Something I've supposedly always been. I don't want to be 110 pounds or anything crazy.
Ok, that's a lie, I do. BUT, I also would rather be about 5'4", and at that height, 110 would give me about the same height to weight ratio that I have now. I'm not trying to be 110 and 5'7". But I can't lose height, so I'll settle for being something under 130. That's not so tragically thin, not considering I'm a 32A. Not much weight to bear up there.
My BMI is 20... just the light end of "normal." No calculation I've ever seen has said that I'm underweight. Maybe a little below average, but not unhealthily so.
THEREFORE, I am not anorexic. No two ways about it. Plus, some psych test I found online had this to say after I took it:
"Your eating attitudes are moderately unhealthy (in psychological terms, not necessarily nutritional). Somewhere along the line your body image has gone awry. Unfortunately, the ever-present media does not reflect reality in its depiction of the perfect body. It is of utmost importance to recognize this disparity and to learn to be critical of the images thrown at us by the media. The perfect body is a healthy body. Your perspective seems to have been affected by society's unfair messages that food is bad, eating is evil, and calories are the work of the devil. Take time to re-evaluate these internalizations and begin the essential journey to acceptance of your body as it is. Eat well, exercise, and stay healthy!"
Translation: I could use a shrink, but I'm not gonna drop to the ground from malnutrition any time soon.
Get real.
If I was so unhealthy, I'm pretty sure those cheer clinics would have knocked me on my ass, and I would have come home with an IV in my arm. Yeah, they made me sweat like a pig and breathe pretty damn hard, but it's called a workout. And I'm not in great cardio shape, thank you leaky heart valve.
Still alive. Still breathing on my own. Still standing. Not fainting.
Hello.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Disillusionment
This started as a bulletin on MySpace... but it got very long and I spent quite some time on it, so I felt like it warranted a more permanent home... So without further ado, here is my crushed and somewhat angry rant about professional cheerleading and the hopelessness of my place in it.
So I had my first cheer clinic today, although it was really just dance. And a hell of a workout. I sweat through every fiber of my sports bra and drenched the waistband of my sweatpants, pretty much sweat like a pig in general. Learned a new prep for pirouettes that's easier, so that's good, seeing as I still can't land a solid double and need to be able to do so in four weeks.
Four weeks. Tryouts are in four weeks and I am no closer to landing a spot on the squad than I am to passing the bar exam. The clinic today only affirmed for me that, no, I cannot dance. Apparently I can "move my body like a cyclone," but picking up choreography in a hurry... well let's just say I'm doing better with my first math class in two years. It was downright embarrassing how many times I tripped over my two (or was it three??) left feet or blanked a count or two altogether. All in all, I looked like a total idiot out there among all these experienced dancers with their tight little butts, pretty faces and perfect blonde hair... not to mention their ability to spot turns and kick themselves in the face with their backs straight.
But here's the really sad part, aside from me being a miserably awful dancer with rapidly vanishing hope of ever achieving my dream. The beauty focus for that team - the Sea Gals - is absolutely ridiculous. The coach told me, flat out, that if I made the team (which I obviously won't - I don't think I'm even going to try out for this squad anymore, stay tuned as to why) that I would have to get a spray tan, at least for every photoshoot, and presumably every performance.
Uhm, it's SEATTLE. Get with the program, lady. We're not exactly sunshine capital of the fucking world, and not everybody even looks good with a tan.
But that's not all. The team has to wear fake eyelashes for every performance, have their nails professionally done at all times in case they have to sign autographs, and sign an agreement stating that they will remain within three pounds of their agreed "ideal" weight at all times. If they get out of that range the first time, it's two weeks probation, i.e. they must still go to all practices, but are not allowed to perform. The second time it happens, they get kicked off the squad.
One third of what you are judged on at tryouts is how pretty you are.
IT'S A FUCKING SPORT!
Yeah, cheerleaders "should" be pretty, but fuckin' A. And people wonder why eating disorders and self-esteem issues are so rampant in our country. I pretty much wanted to throw up and buy a tan airbrush after I left the clinic... well, and then kill myself, because my chances of making the team dead or alive are about the same. So much for my dream.
But this is what I think is so sad. To get on the team at all, you have to be a kick-ass dancer. Something I'm clearly not. But for the girls that do make the team, that's not what is even emphasized. The big thing, in the coach's exact words, is to "look amazing all the time." It's like it's a beauty pageant or something! Honestly! No one looks amazing all the time! I bet even Kate Moss has her days when she wakes up, looks at herself in the mirror, and thinks, "Whoa, what the....? EW." Everyone has those days. Everyone gets the flu once in a while and looks god-awful for a couple of days. That's part of the human existence.
But wait, what was that about being a kick-ass dancer? OH! I forgot! It doesn't seem to matter much once you're on the team. You had to be a great dancer to get there, but once you're there, all that really matters in that you look smokin' hot all the time. And with all the fake tans and eyelashes and booty shorts, what do you think your average shmoe in the stands in going to notice about you? Your spot-on triple pirouette and your awesome high kick, or your pretty face, your nice ass, and the impressive surface area of skin you're baring while barely avoiding indecent exposure? That's all that's really going to get noticed, unless said average shmoe happened to drag his classically trained dancing daughter to the football game. I hope those rare ones in the audience give the average shmoes a kick in the boner now and then.
This whole glamorous ideal really takes away from the appreciation of cheerleading as a sport. IT'S NOT EASY. If all it took was a pretty face, a hot body, and enough strength to pick up and wave around a pom pom, there wouldn't even BE tryouts, and I wouldn't be slaving over double pirouettes in my dining room, trying not to crash into tables, or doing toe-touches inside the house, scraping my knuckles on the ceiling until they bleed. Literally. I have so many bandages on my right hand that it's virtually useless. Typing is a pain in the ass. And I wouldn't be practicing my routine in the parking lot at midnight, using my shadow from the streetlights behind me as a mirror to see if my technique needs any work, all the while hoping that no creepy rapist is waiting in the bushes for me to bend over after my set of pique turns. And I wouldn't be teaching myself ballet from YouTube for lack of a real teacher, pausing and rewinding over and over until I'm sure I know what the real steps are. Even with all this, I'm still a lousy dancer, and I guess it doesn't matter, because even if I was and I could land a perfect double pirouette, if I was the most flexible and spirited girl at tryouts, I wouldn't be pretty enough for them. I'm too white, my skin is hideous, and imagine they don't think I have that elusive pretty face either.
So, there's an inside look into professional "cheerleading." Not a pretty picture, I think. More like a big, flashy poster for barbie dolls and bulimia.
That's NOT what cheer is supposed to be about. It's supposed to be about spirit, pride, and, of course, dance ability. But it's not Miss USA. It shouldn't be, anyway, but that's what it is, at least on this team. Fuck the NFL. It's stereotypical and sexist. Big, sweaty men that beat the shit out each other and sideline eye candy that has to be perfect and hot all the time, and are required to have all this talent and well-spokenness... that no one will ever notice, because they're too busy staring at the tits and ass.
I don't think I want to even buy into that. True, that's just the Sea Gals, and the UW tryouts are a totally different matter. It's the UW squad I really want to be on anyway. But aside from the disillusioning revelation of how sick NFL cheerleading is, I still got a slap in the face today, as I was reminded by the dance, that really wasn't all that difficult, that I am, and likely always will be, a terrible dancer.
Cheerleaders are GOOD dancers. I might as well dig the bondage pants out of the bottom of my closet, because this dream is as good as dead.
So I had my first cheer clinic today, although it was really just dance. And a hell of a workout. I sweat through every fiber of my sports bra and drenched the waistband of my sweatpants, pretty much sweat like a pig in general. Learned a new prep for pirouettes that's easier, so that's good, seeing as I still can't land a solid double and need to be able to do so in four weeks.
Four weeks. Tryouts are in four weeks and I am no closer to landing a spot on the squad than I am to passing the bar exam. The clinic today only affirmed for me that, no, I cannot dance. Apparently I can "move my body like a cyclone," but picking up choreography in a hurry... well let's just say I'm doing better with my first math class in two years. It was downright embarrassing how many times I tripped over my two (or was it three??) left feet or blanked a count or two altogether. All in all, I looked like a total idiot out there among all these experienced dancers with their tight little butts, pretty faces and perfect blonde hair... not to mention their ability to spot turns and kick themselves in the face with their backs straight.
But here's the really sad part, aside from me being a miserably awful dancer with rapidly vanishing hope of ever achieving my dream. The beauty focus for that team - the Sea Gals - is absolutely ridiculous. The coach told me, flat out, that if I made the team (which I obviously won't - I don't think I'm even going to try out for this squad anymore, stay tuned as to why) that I would have to get a spray tan, at least for every photoshoot, and presumably every performance.
Uhm, it's SEATTLE. Get with the program, lady. We're not exactly sunshine capital of the fucking world, and not everybody even looks good with a tan.
But that's not all. The team has to wear fake eyelashes for every performance, have their nails professionally done at all times in case they have to sign autographs, and sign an agreement stating that they will remain within three pounds of their agreed "ideal" weight at all times. If they get out of that range the first time, it's two weeks probation, i.e. they must still go to all practices, but are not allowed to perform. The second time it happens, they get kicked off the squad.
One third of what you are judged on at tryouts is how pretty you are.
IT'S A FUCKING SPORT!
Yeah, cheerleaders "should" be pretty, but fuckin' A. And people wonder why eating disorders and self-esteem issues are so rampant in our country. I pretty much wanted to throw up and buy a tan airbrush after I left the clinic... well, and then kill myself, because my chances of making the team dead or alive are about the same. So much for my dream.
But this is what I think is so sad. To get on the team at all, you have to be a kick-ass dancer. Something I'm clearly not. But for the girls that do make the team, that's not what is even emphasized. The big thing, in the coach's exact words, is to "look amazing all the time." It's like it's a beauty pageant or something! Honestly! No one looks amazing all the time! I bet even Kate Moss has her days when she wakes up, looks at herself in the mirror, and thinks, "Whoa, what the....? EW." Everyone has those days. Everyone gets the flu once in a while and looks god-awful for a couple of days. That's part of the human existence.
But wait, what was that about being a kick-ass dancer? OH! I forgot! It doesn't seem to matter much once you're on the team. You had to be a great dancer to get there, but once you're there, all that really matters in that you look smokin' hot all the time. And with all the fake tans and eyelashes and booty shorts, what do you think your average shmoe in the stands in going to notice about you? Your spot-on triple pirouette and your awesome high kick, or your pretty face, your nice ass, and the impressive surface area of skin you're baring while barely avoiding indecent exposure? That's all that's really going to get noticed, unless said average shmoe happened to drag his classically trained dancing daughter to the football game. I hope those rare ones in the audience give the average shmoes a kick in the boner now and then.
This whole glamorous ideal really takes away from the appreciation of cheerleading as a sport. IT'S NOT EASY. If all it took was a pretty face, a hot body, and enough strength to pick up and wave around a pom pom, there wouldn't even BE tryouts, and I wouldn't be slaving over double pirouettes in my dining room, trying not to crash into tables, or doing toe-touches inside the house, scraping my knuckles on the ceiling until they bleed. Literally. I have so many bandages on my right hand that it's virtually useless. Typing is a pain in the ass. And I wouldn't be practicing my routine in the parking lot at midnight, using my shadow from the streetlights behind me as a mirror to see if my technique needs any work, all the while hoping that no creepy rapist is waiting in the bushes for me to bend over after my set of pique turns. And I wouldn't be teaching myself ballet from YouTube for lack of a real teacher, pausing and rewinding over and over until I'm sure I know what the real steps are. Even with all this, I'm still a lousy dancer, and I guess it doesn't matter, because even if I was and I could land a perfect double pirouette, if I was the most flexible and spirited girl at tryouts, I wouldn't be pretty enough for them. I'm too white, my skin is hideous, and imagine they don't think I have that elusive pretty face either.
So, there's an inside look into professional "cheerleading." Not a pretty picture, I think. More like a big, flashy poster for barbie dolls and bulimia.
That's NOT what cheer is supposed to be about. It's supposed to be about spirit, pride, and, of course, dance ability. But it's not Miss USA. It shouldn't be, anyway, but that's what it is, at least on this team. Fuck the NFL. It's stereotypical and sexist. Big, sweaty men that beat the shit out each other and sideline eye candy that has to be perfect and hot all the time, and are required to have all this talent and well-spokenness... that no one will ever notice, because they're too busy staring at the tits and ass.
I don't think I want to even buy into that. True, that's just the Sea Gals, and the UW tryouts are a totally different matter. It's the UW squad I really want to be on anyway. But aside from the disillusioning revelation of how sick NFL cheerleading is, I still got a slap in the face today, as I was reminded by the dance, that really wasn't all that difficult, that I am, and likely always will be, a terrible dancer.
Cheerleaders are GOOD dancers. I might as well dig the bondage pants out of the bottom of my closet, because this dream is as good as dead.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Angrizzle and the Dreaded M-Word
Now, I doubt anyone's actually going to read this, but just in case anyone does, don't take anything personally... I am just being a cranky bitch and I obviously have some issues to work out.
That disclaimer out of the way...
I fucking hate it when my friends have boyfriends.
Yeah, I know. That makes me a horrible person. I know I should be happy for my friends, especially as said friends have awesome boyfriends that I actually like. Only trouble is, remember that bit about how I'm a Scorpio? Yeah. That makes me extremely jealous and possessive, unfortunately by nature.
Not jealous of my friends for the fact that they have a boyfriend... matter of fact, I don't mind being single all that much. Sure, there are times when I get lonely, times when I'm horny, whatever. Yeah, I suppose it would be cool to have a boyfriend, but really, it's not something my happiness and sanity rests upon. I'm pretty fucking independent... and by that, well, I really mean I hate trying to operate as a unit. Functioning as a couple and trying to always think about the other person - i.e. not drooling over whoever in my chem class or whatnot - feels distressingly restrictive to me, and I don't work well that way. I may be a great friend, but I'm a terrible girlfriend, and I know it. I never let any of my boyfriends get past a peck on the lips - two if lucky - and I am well aware that that is nowhere near enough to satisfy the libido of any adolescent male. And I have this horrible tendency to freak out, feel like my boyfriend is way more into me than I am into them, and what do you know, we break up. Must be like a fear of commitment or something. Anyway, point is, at least in my experience so far, being in a relationship is a nice novelty for a while, but soon I get scared and it ceases to be enjoyable for me. Awesome, huh?
So, no, that is not why I am jealous. I am jealous of the boyfriends. They take over my friends lives, minds, and words, and pretty soon several things happen. I get pushed to the sidelines, I get kicked off the phone the second the boy calls, and my friends cease to be interested in me. Best friends? So what? The boyfriend is the priority, so kbai. And, due to my jealous, possessive (and emotionally insecure/low self-esteemed) nature, I soon get beyond envious and I feel cast aside. I realize that's pretty black and white thinking, but it's how I feel. Friend gets boyfriend, I become immediately second place, unimportant, the easy sacrifice. So my reaction? I get angry. Passive-aggressive angry, of course, because I know throwing a fit about how "how come you like him more than me?" would be incredibly childish, not to mention I don't have the balls to be that forward. So I glower, ignore, and come up with dumb excuses to snub. Two can play at this fucking game. I don't want to hang out with you anyway. You obviously don't care about me, so why should I give up my time of day to spend time with you when ALL YOU EVER FUCKING DO IS TALK ABOUT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND???
(Because you have nothing better to do, Lauren? Because you're lonely as hell? And you have this whole spring break, sitting around doing jack shit? And doing it alone?)
Yeah, whatever. I guess being alone is better than being in the room with someone who has clearly demoted me to not-as-worth-my-time-as-my-precious-boyfriend status. At least for now, until I get over myself...
I know. I'm fucking insecure, childish, self-obsessed, self-centered, and plenty of other negative adjectives that would look fantastic on my resume. I know that. And that's part of why I'm so upset. I'm mad at myself for being such a fucking baby, not to mention a lousy friend... I should be happy for you, after all. But I'm just sad for me, jealous of Mr. Right and his use of your dear time.
And some of you have even been throwing around that M-word.
M-m-m---marriage.
EEEK. HOLY WHOA!! WAIT A MINUTE!! None of us are even fucking 21?!?!? What the hell is that word doing in first-person sentences?
I haven't even lost my goddamn virginity yet... not that I'm in any hurry to. I'm pretty sure if I just went out and got laid I'd scar myself for life.
Not the point. The point is, I don't want to be left behind... you people are getting married, even having kids, and here I am, have never even made out with anyone. But, more importantly, I don't want to grow up that fast just so I can be on that same plane with you. So, I don't want you guys getting married and leaving me!!! STOP IT.
I have one friend who is already married and has a son... and yes, I really am truly happy for her. I know she has been through hell and back a number of times, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves wedded bliss and a beautiful baby more than her. But, regardless, getting married vastly changes the dynamic of our friendship, like it or not. That whole thing about operating as a unit? She has to do that in a very big way... I don't just get her anymore, I get the whole family.
Not that I don't love the family. Her husband is a very cool person, and perfect for her, and her baby... well he's an angel. It's just that it's so very different than it was, and I don’t adapt to change very well, unless I initiated it. I have to plan "us" time around three people now. And, of course, I'm no longer the first line of communication, the one to be there for her. That's her husband now. On the one hand, I guess it's nice not to have that responsibility, but it's kind of distanced us. I hardly know what's going on in her life anymore, and as the baby gets older and more demanding, I'm sure that will only intensify.
And what about my other friends, the ones with boyfriends-but-not-husbands... yet? Will you marry yourselves away and leave me behind to access you through your families and the barrier of knowing I'm not the first one you call when you're crying, or the person that means the most in your life?
I know that's selfish, but I need people to need me. If they don't, that makes me useless. Purposeless. Superfluous and, well, why don't I just go away? Yeah, it's not quite that simple; I know it's not that people get married and don't need their friends anymore. But I will cease to be needed on the level that I've come to know, and that it very unsettling to me.
I'm the fucking perfectionist from hell, and feeling like a second-rate companion simply will not do. I know I can't be everyone's best friend, and that's fine, but the people that I do call my best friends and vice versa... well it really hurts to feel as if this boy, who you've known a fraction of the time you've known me, has taken my place. Hurts like hell, and I can't help but want to retaliate in defense... how making you feel unneeded will make me feel any better, I don't know. I guess I'm just a control freak. I like having at least some shred of control over an outcome... if I have none, I feel helpless and small... invisible and disposable.
Friends, if you read this absurdly long rant... way to go, I guess you have a shitload of time on your hands. I love you. I really do. I'm just a mess and I'm feeling abandoned and unwanted. I honestly feel like no one likes me sometimes, and I have to feel accepted to accept myself... I have a long way to go to get there, and I suppose that's why I'm hurting so bad.
You don't have to change anything. It's your life, and I can't and won't stop you. Choose what you will. I'll be here.
That disclaimer out of the way...
I fucking hate it when my friends have boyfriends.
Yeah, I know. That makes me a horrible person. I know I should be happy for my friends, especially as said friends have awesome boyfriends that I actually like. Only trouble is, remember that bit about how I'm a Scorpio? Yeah. That makes me extremely jealous and possessive, unfortunately by nature.
Not jealous of my friends for the fact that they have a boyfriend... matter of fact, I don't mind being single all that much. Sure, there are times when I get lonely, times when I'm horny, whatever. Yeah, I suppose it would be cool to have a boyfriend, but really, it's not something my happiness and sanity rests upon. I'm pretty fucking independent... and by that, well, I really mean I hate trying to operate as a unit. Functioning as a couple and trying to always think about the other person - i.e. not drooling over whoever in my chem class or whatnot - feels distressingly restrictive to me, and I don't work well that way. I may be a great friend, but I'm a terrible girlfriend, and I know it. I never let any of my boyfriends get past a peck on the lips - two if lucky - and I am well aware that that is nowhere near enough to satisfy the libido of any adolescent male. And I have this horrible tendency to freak out, feel like my boyfriend is way more into me than I am into them, and what do you know, we break up. Must be like a fear of commitment or something. Anyway, point is, at least in my experience so far, being in a relationship is a nice novelty for a while, but soon I get scared and it ceases to be enjoyable for me. Awesome, huh?
So, no, that is not why I am jealous. I am jealous of the boyfriends. They take over my friends lives, minds, and words, and pretty soon several things happen. I get pushed to the sidelines, I get kicked off the phone the second the boy calls, and my friends cease to be interested in me. Best friends? So what? The boyfriend is the priority, so kbai. And, due to my jealous, possessive (and emotionally insecure/low self-esteemed) nature, I soon get beyond envious and I feel cast aside. I realize that's pretty black and white thinking, but it's how I feel. Friend gets boyfriend, I become immediately second place, unimportant, the easy sacrifice. So my reaction? I get angry. Passive-aggressive angry, of course, because I know throwing a fit about how "how come you like him more than me?" would be incredibly childish, not to mention I don't have the balls to be that forward. So I glower, ignore, and come up with dumb excuses to snub. Two can play at this fucking game. I don't want to hang out with you anyway. You obviously don't care about me, so why should I give up my time of day to spend time with you when ALL YOU EVER FUCKING DO IS TALK ABOUT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND???
(Because you have nothing better to do, Lauren? Because you're lonely as hell? And you have this whole spring break, sitting around doing jack shit? And doing it alone?)
Yeah, whatever. I guess being alone is better than being in the room with someone who has clearly demoted me to not-as-worth-my-time-as-my-precious-boyfriend status. At least for now, until I get over myself...
I know. I'm fucking insecure, childish, self-obsessed, self-centered, and plenty of other negative adjectives that would look fantastic on my resume. I know that. And that's part of why I'm so upset. I'm mad at myself for being such a fucking baby, not to mention a lousy friend... I should be happy for you, after all. But I'm just sad for me, jealous of Mr. Right and his use of your dear time.
And some of you have even been throwing around that M-word.
M-m-m---marriage.
EEEK. HOLY WHOA!! WAIT A MINUTE!! None of us are even fucking 21?!?!? What the hell is that word doing in first-person sentences?
I haven't even lost my goddamn virginity yet... not that I'm in any hurry to. I'm pretty sure if I just went out and got laid I'd scar myself for life.
Not the point. The point is, I don't want to be left behind... you people are getting married, even having kids, and here I am, have never even made out with anyone. But, more importantly, I don't want to grow up that fast just so I can be on that same plane with you. So, I don't want you guys getting married and leaving me!!! STOP IT.
I have one friend who is already married and has a son... and yes, I really am truly happy for her. I know she has been through hell and back a number of times, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves wedded bliss and a beautiful baby more than her. But, regardless, getting married vastly changes the dynamic of our friendship, like it or not. That whole thing about operating as a unit? She has to do that in a very big way... I don't just get her anymore, I get the whole family.
Not that I don't love the family. Her husband is a very cool person, and perfect for her, and her baby... well he's an angel. It's just that it's so very different than it was, and I don’t adapt to change very well, unless I initiated it. I have to plan "us" time around three people now. And, of course, I'm no longer the first line of communication, the one to be there for her. That's her husband now. On the one hand, I guess it's nice not to have that responsibility, but it's kind of distanced us. I hardly know what's going on in her life anymore, and as the baby gets older and more demanding, I'm sure that will only intensify.
And what about my other friends, the ones with boyfriends-but-not-husbands... yet? Will you marry yourselves away and leave me behind to access you through your families and the barrier of knowing I'm not the first one you call when you're crying, or the person that means the most in your life?
I know that's selfish, but I need people to need me. If they don't, that makes me useless. Purposeless. Superfluous and, well, why don't I just go away? Yeah, it's not quite that simple; I know it's not that people get married and don't need their friends anymore. But I will cease to be needed on the level that I've come to know, and that it very unsettling to me.
I'm the fucking perfectionist from hell, and feeling like a second-rate companion simply will not do. I know I can't be everyone's best friend, and that's fine, but the people that I do call my best friends and vice versa... well it really hurts to feel as if this boy, who you've known a fraction of the time you've known me, has taken my place. Hurts like hell, and I can't help but want to retaliate in defense... how making you feel unneeded will make me feel any better, I don't know. I guess I'm just a control freak. I like having at least some shred of control over an outcome... if I have none, I feel helpless and small... invisible and disposable.
Friends, if you read this absurdly long rant... way to go, I guess you have a shitload of time on your hands. I love you. I really do. I'm just a mess and I'm feeling abandoned and unwanted. I honestly feel like no one likes me sometimes, and I have to feel accepted to accept myself... I have a long way to go to get there, and I suppose that's why I'm hurting so bad.
You don't have to change anything. It's your life, and I can't and won't stop you. Choose what you will. I'll be here.
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