eyelinersmudge

The scent of drying paint and black coffee soothed Stuart Goddard to sleep on the cold floor of an English kitchen. He huddled deeper into his sleeping bag, shielding his naked body from the temperature of the room. The night was a miserable one, littered with the noises of destruction and rowdy punks slamming in and out of the front door. Still, he savoured every moment of rest he gains, finally drifting into a heavy slumber in the early hours. He had no time to dream, no, everything was big black cloud erupted by morning like a punch in the face.

He jerked his head back and snapped his eyes open. The life of a musician was a hard one, especially when it wasn’t morning that had forced him to rouse. No. Staring down at him was the beady black eyes of John Simon Ritchie (AKA Sid Vicious), troublemaker of the Sex Pistols.

“You been talkin’ ‘bout me.” Ritchie sneered before dealing Goddard another blow to the face. Goddard attempted to struggle free as the Sex Pistol continued to assault him. A kick in the stomach, a stomp in the neck. The attack was merciless. When at last Goddard managed to free the snag in his zipper Ritchie decided to take off, running wherever his feet would take him.

Goddard staggered to his feet, swearing to kill the facsimile bass player. His weapon of choice? A hammer from the kitchen counter. He stormed out, fast on the heels of John Simon Ritchie. An arm landed around Goddard’s waist. A concerned friend held him back and urged him to rethink—or at least put on some clothes. Goddard listened, calming down and dressing. But that wasn’t the end of it.

Goddard caught up with Ritchie, this time with the hammer tucked up his sleeve. He removed the hammer, backing Ritchie against the wall and holding him there with one hand. With the other he lifted the hammer, swinging it high into the air and landing it repeatedly beside the Sex Pistol’s head.

“Next time,” Goddard began in an even tone, “I won’t miss.”

When most uninformed listeners hear the name “Adam Ant” they roll their eyes. Who does this bloke in pirate chic think he is? Johnny Depp? And what’s with this Dandy business, eh? Who is going to take him seriously?

How about Sid Vicious?

Adam Ant, born Stuart Leslie Goddard wasn’t just a New Waver in fancy clothes. He was a crown jewel that out lasted the Punk movement of ’77. Having grown up in a distinctive Romanichal family Goddard was used to being the minority—the outsider—making him the perfect candidate for the Punk scene. He held his own with the likes of John Ellis and Billy Idol, he even became an early Bass player for Bazooka Joe, the band who opened for The Sex Pistols first gig. Unfortunately, struggles with his mental health forced Goddard to leave the band and focus on a domestic life. To many it seemed he was down and out, but this wasn’t to be his last taste of punk music. After leaving Bazooka Joe, Goddard (who now went by the name Adam Ant) attended a Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees gig which lit a fire beneath him. Immediately he formed Adam and the Ants.

The Ants didn’t find immediate public appeal due to the fetish imagery of their music, but the media had taken notice. So much so that Adam was able to approach Malcolm McLaren (former Sex Pistols manager) to manage the band. In usual McLaren style, he stole the band out from under Adam (using the Ants later as the band Bow Wow Wow.) Despite it all, he was resilient, reformed the band and later started an iconic solo career.

Audiences of the 1980’s were intrigued by Adam Ant’s looks. Dressing like a cross between a Dandy and a pirate Adam Ant stood out from the rest of the post-punk scene who still wore ripped t-shirts and studded leather jackets. The sound he offered the masses was just as glamourous, playful and sexually suggestive as the refreshing aesthetics he offered the media. Though drenched in rock ‘n roll guitars, Adam Ant’s music had a classy edge through classical pop instrumentalization. Every backing track was perfectly polished—a true work of New Wave art. If the music weren’t enough to make listeners take notice, the lyrics were. Playing up taboos such as sex and the 1980’s lust of money took Adam Ant exactly where he needed to go.

Songs such as “Strip” were banned on the spot, where as mild tracks like “Goody Two Shoes” hit the top of the charts. Ultimately, the censorship of Adam Ant’s music didn’t hurt his career. In fact, it bumped his record sales. Musicians like Phil Collins were desperate to work with the avant garde punk veteran. The man had received the respect and honour due to him. Tragically the days of living on top came to a chosen end. Following the release of his hard rock album Vive Le Rock Adam Ant decided to step away from the music industry.

Most recently, Adam Ant released his autobiography Stand and Deliver, which quickly became a best seller. Rumour has it he’s releasing new material, and has expressed interest in working with the Kaiser Chiefs. For the sake of cleansing the pop charts, lets hope it’s true.

Tracks:

"Goody Two Shoes"

"Strip"

"Desperate But not Serious"

"Prince Charming"

        Before the days of hiring Paramore to record a pop song to make a movie the next big thing, film score captured the imaginations of audiences. It took the perfect combination of musical talent and inner aesthetic for a composer to arrest the mood of the film, a task that was easy in comparison to representing the movie’s actions through sound. Most great composers fell short. Sure, the score caused goose bumps and reminded the listener of the main character’s struggle, but could that same theme bring to life in the minds eye say, a gunfight?

            This is where Ennio Morricone surpasses other great composers. Having trained in music since he was a small child Morricone not only was a musical phenomenon, he was innovative. Both were traits sought after by infamous Spaghetti Western director Sergio Leone. Having heard Morricone’s work for television, film and pop music Leone has complete confidence when approaching Morricone for a series of scores for his latest works with Clint Eastwood.

          Morricone’s originality was the perfect match to Leone’s creativity and, more importantly, the filming budget. Unable to afford a full orchestra Morricone found himself having to improvise. Rather than using a field of oboes or blasting euphoniums he turned to the unusual sounds of whistling, chanting, whips, gunfire and dramatic pauses. Not only did the curious themes enchant the ears of moviegoers, it meshed perfectly with Leone’s filming techniques. In fact, the music was the breath that brought the movies to life, so much so that Leone would draw out his pacing just so Morricone’s music wouldn’t end.

          Sergio Leone’s films had taken Ennio Morricone from being just another Italian composer and turned him into a silver screen legend. Directors from across the globe (John Carpenter, Oliver Stone and Brian De Palma to name a few) approached Morricone to compose for their films, cementing him as the legend he is today. Every generation has come to enjoy his work, including Gen Y due to Morricone’s music in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill and Inglorious Basterds.

           While it seems the art of film scores is lost Ennio Morricone stands as the great pinnacle of film composers. His style, emotion and impressive ability to sum up a story with the simple blaring of a trumpet is second to none. Morricone set the bar so high, no other film composer can grab it. Perhaps, that’s why directors are hiring pop stars these days?

Tracks:

PER QUALCHE DOLLARO IN PIUA  AKA Few Dollars More (Theme)

Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo AKA The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (Theme)

The Mission (Theme)

Rabbia E Tarantella

For a Taste of How His Music Meshes with Film:

"Il triello" Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo AKA "The Trio" from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly 

  Ok, first off, let me get my weirieness out of the way and say anyone else ever noticed how, hmm, how does one put this?  Easy on the eyes?  Peter Cook was in Bedazzled.   Because, (I know, never start a thought with the word because,) he was.  I mean, really.  He was.   Take a look for your self.

Have you ever seen such a handsome woman?   Wait... you mean that's a man in that habit?  Perhaps, not the best way to prove me point, is it?  Instead let's try this:

Or maybe this?

Especially that.    I know, I know, I'm on odd duck.   BUT, if Peter Cook had really been George Spiggott AKA The Devil, I'd in trouble.  It's the whole Mod thing, I suppose.  I always knew Satan was a modernist.     If I were still in High school I'd be doing scenes fro mthis movie with what ever poor bastard I roped into being my partner.  Probably Laura. Gosh, those were good times.    I miss acting terribly.   I'm fifty miles from one of the top acting colleges in North America but I'm an absolute fool if I drop my wonderful job to go act.   The thing is, while I love my job and my client is probably the only friend my age I have around here and I'm fantastically good at what I do (I'm not bragging, I just do my job to the best of my ablity) I feel like I'm wasting my best years.   I want to act.  I want to act in real productions.  I want to see what I write be acted out by someone other than Laura and myself for open mic night.  The theatre bug sunk her teeth in me at birth.   But being an actress, being a full time writer, being a photographer, going back to school for something other than nursing is irresponsible.   Yet I can't bare to think of living life with any regrets.  

To mention Pet Shop Boys, Neil sang "Every actor needs an audience" and it's true.   I'd be so much happier if I were on stage again.   Certainly I could get grants or something that would help me pay my bills?   It's not me I'm worried about letting down.  I could find some way to work and go to school again, maybe see if they could cut my hours at work so I could go to school and have some cover the nights I had rehearsal and performance, but my sisters are counting on me.  I'm another income.   I just want to study and bask in something I love so badly.   But Kanah is our full time artist.  And she should be.  I mean the girls are fifteen years my senior.  And yet part of me says why should I waste my youth?  Am I really doing what I want to?   No. 

True, I hate math.  I NEVER studied a day in my life.  I like to ditch class.   I don't enjoy getting up in the morning.  Oh, and all the stupid requirments, like having to do three social activities?   I hate them.  Oh, oh, oh, oh, and the money.   I already owe the college my tution (which I keep attempting to pay off) from the last time I flaked out but, they'll take me back.  I'm supposed to be in college right now.  So why am I not doing it?   Technically, I'm disabled.  My back has taken away over fifteen percent of my R.O.M.   I come frome divorced parents.  I'm the first one in my family to go to college.   AAAH!H!SDFFHSDFNJKSD!  I JUST FOUND OUT THERE ARE VEGAN SCHOLARSHIPS!   And ones for being tall.  You guys, I can do this.   I can do this and still survive.     I'd even move on campus if I can make myself eligable for ASC's full boat grants.

The only thing that sucks is I have to use my parents taxes until I'm twenty-three.  That's what foulled me up last time.  The mine was still in full function so my dad was making good money when taxes were filed.   What was given wasn't a true protrait of my family's finances.   With the way the economy is though, I could be in the proper bracket.   I've wanted to go back to school since I left.  True, a year ago this time time I was pretty fucked in the head.  I'd been kicked out of the nest early.  I went to school full time and I worked full time at a nursing home in the evenings.   I was still a kid.  More of a kid than I am now.  Fresh, plump, mourning the loss of a dear friend, suddenly thrown into an adult world that I couldn't handle.  I'm wiser now.  I take care of myself.   I want independence so badly.  I want to be my own person, and this is how I'm going to do it. 

I had to get out there and get my mind together.  Take better care of my body.  Gain confidence.  Here I am.  I'm not going to be boring anymore.  Just because the rest of my family hopped from home life to work doesn't mean I don't have to.   My dad was a thread away from being a big shot comedian in the 80's.   He choked up and Rosanne Barr got picked up that night by a producer instead of him.   He'd the chance to M.C. a line of big clubs in Texas but his wife at the time wouldn't hear of it.  My dad made his own way.  Don't tell me that with the right training and connections I couldn't.   Unlike my dad I write scenes.   I craft my own camera work.   He could dance, something I can't do, but I can write.  I could direct.   I don't plan on being on the silver screen.  I've a soft round face at a time when angles are in.    I won't be in the gossip mags.   I don't aspire to Hollywood.  But, I do want to see where art gets me.  I just have to give myself a chance. 

Funny that two hours of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore would spawn this to come all spewing out again. 

I'm always afraid to talk about this stuff.  This burning desire is something I talk about with my mom in brief moments but abandon because no one says "I think you should do it."  It's always "You know you won't like the other course work."  "You know it's going to be expensive."  "It's going to be just like last time.  You're going to hate it."   No it's not.   I have my CNA stuff to fall back on.  Plan B completed.   I'm going to go and get the training and sharpen the skills I need to share the spark that makes me uniquely me with the world.   I don't want to be an old woman sitting in a rocking chair thinking "I never even tried." 

Go to college.  Move to the UK.  See where it goes from there. 

That's my agenda. 

This depressed little valley is beautiful, but it isn't big enough for me.   I haven't been the same since Septemeober.  The  Pet Shop Boys show gave me a taste of the world I'd tried to blind myself to.  Chicago air in my lungs.  Role models on the stage.  The moment I saw Neil it all just snapped.  They played "New York City Boy" and "Being Boring" and it was like, I dunno, it was directed at me.   I was never more miserable going home.   I cried silently when we pulled away from Down Town Chicago.  I didn't want to go back to being valley me.  Disconent filled me.  And then Manics came along and that show?  I felt like I was a part of it.  I had contact with men who will never know how much they meant to me over the years.   I was part of a scene.  Part of a movement.   My freaking eyebrows got a shout out.   And I thought again "I don't ever wanna go back."   There's somethign about this valley that numbs the mind.   I can't let that happen. 

You know what's going to happen to me if I don't change my path?  I'm going to be Annie Mary.  Who am I kidding?  I AM Annie-Mary.  I'm just so afraid if I stay here I'll die alone.  I mean, falling in love and getting married was never part of the plan. but there's something wrong with staying in the same region fifty years and in the end still being the lonely cat lady.   Or, four years are gonna run up and Max and I will elope.  And hormones will go crazy and there I'll be, married with a gaggle of kids, running around wearing no shoes, waiting for my husbandto get home from work.  I don't want that.  I don't think I even want him.  Physically, I'm not even attracted to him.  He just has this brilliant mind and something about his body chemistry makes my brain go all haywire and I'm like "I love you.  I love you.  I love you.   I want you.  I lvoe you.  Kiss me?  Please?"  And we get all gross and mooshy.   It's pathetic.  I don;t have time for that.  

So in short, Pete Cook was a handsome devil in Bedazzled (Get the joke I made there?) I miss acting.  I really don't want to commit to my sort of boyfriend.  and  December 1st, I'm apply for school again.

Sorry,  I had to.  soon Enou

   I want to thank everyone for the sympathy expressed over the passing of Princess.  It means the world to me.  It really does.  :^)  I love you all.  I just don't say it enough.

      Max IMed me trying to perk me up.   He's been depressed too, so it's an uphill battle.  He says he'd feel better if I moved out to SLC to be with him.   But, you know me.   I love my job too much.  Plus when I leave this sad little place I'm Chicago bound, or I'm going to the UK.   I'd rather have the latter.  My sisters and I had a plan to do it and now they're starting to renig.  It's killing me.  My sister's ex-boyfriend joked he would just take me and drop me off somewhere in Wales.   And you know, I don't think I'd object.   This of course spawned jokes about me standing in the middle of a field of sheep in a pink feathered boa and my beatup harness boots. 

    A former friend asked me if I'd be upset to go over seas without my family or Max.   And you know what?  I wouldn't.   I have this belief I can make it anywhere.   I'm scrappy, you lot.   I could hold my own anywhere.  Plus it helps that my height makes me intimdating as Hell.  Really, I think that's why it was so easy to walk up to Nicky.  Everyone else at the show that night kept saying how his height had made them nervous to talk to him at first.   I don't think I thought twice.  Until the man turned to me, then I was dumbstruck.   But I gather my wits quickly.  Poor man, probably thought I was mad as a hatter with those stupid Kabuki eyebrows on.  ~_~

    Speaking of which, I've put several leopard pink coats my mum could get me for Christmas on her EBay list.   Which one she gets me will be the surprise.  Actually, there's one I really want because it's identical to the one Nicky wore in the Rapido interview.  And yeah, I want it.  Especially because the owner says it's super warm, which I need.   My wool coat that I wore through high school is in tatters, not to mention it's too big now.  It's a mens' 42 and I'm a 32.   Too big. WAAAY too big.  I could camp in it.  Same thing with the FOB hoodie I'm wearing.    I'm really getting a handle on my weight.

     My sister cried tonight because I didn't eat dinner.  Then she didn't wat hers until she thought I was asleep in the other room.  I think she was trying to pressure me to eat.   She gets it from her grandmother my mom says.  Her Grandmother was always cooking.  It was the only way she knew how to help, take care of people and show she cared.  I just really wasn't hungry though.   I've naturally cut myself down to around 1200 calories a day.  It wasn't deliberate.  It just sort of happened, so now I'm monitoring it to make sure I stay there.   I'm not trying to maintain where I'm at.  I'm still trying to loose.   I want a flat stomach and the smooth hips my genetics entitle me to.   I tried to tell her I'm not eating unless my body tells me I'm hungry but she didn't listen.   She cried.   Can you believe it?   It was so weird.  I mean, I didn't pull a Chris and throw the plate of food all over her or anything.  I just wasn't hungry.   It's like when I tell them I'm not eating junk food because I'm watching what I eat and they say that I'm making them feel bad.   They're both a size FOUR.   A SIZE FOUR!   I'm not near that.   (But wouldn't I look scary if I were a size four?) 

      They know how I am about eating though.  I hardly eat.  It doesn't interest me anymore.   On days like today when I havea touch of depression I just can't help myself.  If I eat I know it will open a door and I'll jsut sit and eat and eat and eat and eat trying to fill the void.   I believe that's how I gained a fuckton of weight in '08, yes?  I wanna be skinny.   I wasted so much time being heavy.   Now is my time to be who I've always wanted to, but first I have to have the body I want.

      Which reminds me Max is hitting the gym.   He said "I want to be buff for you."  And I think I laughed my ass off for like four minutes.  I didn't give him a yay or nay on it.  Long as he's happy with himself is what matters.  I'm not stickign around forever.   Besides, I like that lanky thin look on my men.   One of my sisters teases me about it.   Every time she says "That man looks like he needs to eat a few cheeseburgers" you know it's a guy I'm interested in.  Tall and lanky.  That's how I like 'em.  Max is neither and yet I love the man.  Funny isn't it?  I'm too young to settle though.   I've this new self confidence that encourages me to go out and meet new people, try new things.   Max and I met when I was first going vegan.  He was into me because of  the books I read and the music I listened to, and you know, compliments when you have a wrecked self esteem really gasses a person up.  So I went with him.  Now we're back again.  Why?  5'6" with a round face and a head of crazy curls isn't exactly my scene.    But, he is an amazing conversationalist.   That is when he's not being a typical teenage boy.  Really, that's the big turn off for me.  I'm like Dusty Springfield.  I don't want to be lusted after.   Not really.

Do you see this man?

Yes, that man.  That man is Neil Tennant, and that man has made me realize a few things about myself tonight.

I started on anothet blog where my own hatred of my face came up.  I mean, I really can't stand my  face.  Especially my profile.  When I turn my head to the side I think I look stupid.  As in, mentally there's something dull about me.  I get upset when I realize that is how I look all the time.   I wonder why the limited boyfriends and girlfriends I've had in the past wanted me.  I want to put on heavy make-up, big sunglasses, wrap my hair about my face and hide behind a hoodie when I leave the house. 

I posed for some pictures for an art project and I was digusted when I saw myself.  I've never felt more unattractive in my life than I do when I think about those pictures.  I feel fat, ugly and everything but beautiful.   My looks have been itching at me since The Nightlife Girls outing.  I was terribly camera shy that day and with good reason.  I hate the side of my face and so much that we do are side shots or the rare one of me smiling where my teeth are visible.  (I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, HATE my teeth.  I had bad orthodontics done.  My mouth makes me look like a total simp.)  I don't liek the way I look on film.  I can't stand having my picture taken, especially if I'm not turned just right. 

I don't do myself anygood by picking at these things, but I can't help it.  I'll never like myself.  I'll never be thin enough.  I'll never be pretty enough.  I have times where I feel I'm so ugly that no one should look at me.  Prom my junior year I had to be coaxed out of my bedroom because I felt so nasty.   And even at that I went home early to cry and try to hide until my dad pushed me out the door again.  And while I know it's wrong, I've secreatly clung to my diease a good year or so now because I feel like the moment I say "I look ok."  is when I'm in denial and going to get fat and homely again.

I'm not the most talented person I know.  All I have to offer is my body.  So, my looks have become the one thing I'm always measuring myself on.  I am nothing if I am not attractive.  No one wanted to listen to me if I am not pretty.  No one gives a damn about me if I am not one of the beautiful women in the room.  Right now I'm down with the H1N1 virus and all I can think about is how fat Iam and how stupid my hair looks and how nasty my skin is.  People tell me not to feel this way, that I'm just fine.   But they just don't get it.  It's a nasty circle.  I'll never be happy with myself.  Doctor gives me pills to help it.  Pills cause me to retain weight.  I feel worse about myself than before.  I relapse.

Unless I look perfect I am worthless.  That's the bottomline.  And this is where Neil comes into play.

I say he's a reasonably attractive man, and in my opinion he is, but he's not exactly praised for his good looks. On the commentary for Pop Art there's a moment when he says "ew" at seeing his profile. He continues on to say that he has to always be shot straight on, that that is his only good angle. I beg sharply to differ. But it does show there there is some insecurity there. The man who I admire intensely, doesn't like the way he looks. Yet, he means so much to so many people.

       When he stepped out on that Chicago stage he commanded the room. We'd've followed the man to our graves if only he'd asked. Neil Tennant doesn't make People Magazine's most beautiful list, yet he's fabulous in the very sense of the world. He's stunning not for that Wallace and Gromit face of his (which I'm rather fond of, I might add) but for his mind and a voice like a warm steel.

      He makes me swoon whenever I press play.  I value his thoughts on everything.  Every interview I've seen of the man he leaves me hanging on each word he says.  If ever I were to call someone a role model with would Neil Tennant.  Yet, he picks at his looks, rips himself down and struggled to gain confidence.  And, reading those early interviews, it breaks my heart.  On some level  though, it also inspires me.   Neil iksn't a man of conventional looks, but he's vivid and admirable.  The masses enjoy his art.  Eventually he gained confidence and saw himself as the worthwhile creature he is. 

And I ask myself, if it was good enough for Neil why isn't good enough for me? 

Why do I put so much on appearance when people are contstantly proving that looks mean nothing?  I think no one will want me, no one will care to read my writing and no one will give a damn unless I'm beautiful.   Yet, my own icon proves otherwise. 

There's no need to stop improving myself, but there is need to change the way I see things. Beauty is meaningless. It pains me to write it. 

I'm not beautiful.  It is a gift reserved for the few.   I am a valuable person.  And whether or not I have a dumb looking face won't hinder that.  The only thing that dulls my future is the restricts I put on myself.

1.  "Haven't shaved for days. Keeps the appearance of delay." - All is Vanity,  Manic Street Preachers
2. "If you go looking for hot water, don't act shocked when you get burned a little bit." - Catch Hell Blues, White Stripes
3. "So my Baby's on the road, doing business, selling loads, charming everyone there with the sweetest smile." - Home and Dry, Pet Shop Boys
   
4. "This might just be a waste of time, but there's no one I'd rather waste my time with than all my best friends."   - The World's not Waiting (for Five Tired Boys in a Broken Down Van) aka Fellowship of the Nerd aka Hand of God, Fall Out Boy
5. "You live upon a stage and everyone's agreed, you're the brightest hope by far that anyone can see."
6. "Ah, look at all the lonely people." - Eleanor Rigby,  The Beatles
7. "See a nation in its knees and it's heritage dead." - Kick,  Adam and the Ants
8. "For sale: dumb cunts same dumb questions." - Yes, Manic Street Preachers
9. "Help!  I need somebody!"  - Help,  The Beatles
10. "My heart is is empty.  Your eyes are dull."
11. "Oh, here I go again, falling in love all over."
12. "Is it Ok if I don't make it?  Is it OK if I don't come around?"
13. "Got to use her.  Everytime I feel fascination."
14. "Your coat and hat are gone.  I really can't look at your little empty shell."
15. "Life has been unfaithful and it all promises so much." - La Tristesse Durera,  Manic Street Preachers
16. "You make me dizzy Miss Lizzy the way you rock 'n roll."
17. "Beauty finds refuge in herself.  Lovers wrapped inside each others lies." - She is Suffering,  Manic Street Preachers
18. "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you."
19. "There's nothing for me here, I'm starting to get old and time just ticks on." - The Happy Ending, Phantom Planet
20. "Armed with wealth and the, the best of health, in the future when all is well, I will lie down and be counted."
21. "Keep moving moving moving, though they're disapproving.  Keep them doggies moving."
22. "In this age of grand illusion you walked into my life and out of my dreams.  I don't need another change, still you forced your way into my scheme of things."  - Word on a Wing,  David Bowie
23. "I can almost remember their funny faces that time you told me that you were going to be marrying soon."
24. "Oh, hear this Robert Zimmerman!  I wrote a song for you."
25. "Put on your red shoes and dance the blues to the song they're playing on the radio."
26. "Small man, big world, lost beyond the pale."
27. "May God bless and keep you always.  May your wishes all come true." - Forver Young,  Bob Dylan
28. "Bona sera, senorina, Bona sera."
29. "In days of old the ships were bold just like the men who sailed them.  And if they showed us disrespect we'd tie them up and flail them." - Jolly Roger,  Adam and the Ants
30. "There's a girl that's been on my mind, all the time."
31. "My bedroom wall recalls what's in my head."
32. "Say my name and his in the same breath, I dare you to say they taste the same." -  I Don't Care,  Fall Out Boy
33. "Don't wanna hear the news, what's goin' on, what's comin' through.  I don't wanna know.  Don't wanna know."
34. "I'm preacher sweating in the pews for the salvation I'm bringing you." - Fame < Infamy,  Fall Out Boy
35. "Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?" - 867-5309, Tommy Tutone
36. "He left no time to regret, kept his dick wet with his same old safe bet."
37. "At last I am born.  Historians note I am finally born."
38. "Pistol shots ring out in the bar room night.  Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall."
39. "Is it still me who makes you sweat?  Am I still who you think about in bed?" - Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, Panic! at the Disco
40. "Think again, remember what we said , promises how we both forget.  Even now I see it in your eyes, when and why?  And where was paradise?"  - Was That What it Was?,  Pet Shop Boys

HERES WHAT TO DO: Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.Step 2: Post the first line from the first 40 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing. Step 3: Strike through the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Step 4: For those who are guessing -- looking the lyrics up on a search engine is CHEATING! Step 5: If you like the game post your own

[Pet Shop Boys are Chris Lowe (Left) and Neil Tennant (Right)]

     Hey Emo Kid, tired of crying yourself to sleep listening to the downward crooning of Dashboard Confessional? Looking for a new scene? Wanna be completely rebellious? Choose happiness. Take the disco drug the good folks of England have been taking for decades! Try a little PSB!

Pet Shop Boys (or “Pets” as they call themselves collectively) formed in 1982 after a chance meeting in an electronics shop. What started as an after work project became a full-fledged career after then music journalist Neil Tennant had lunch with NYC record producer Bobby ‘O.’ While the Pets time spent with the legendary producer was ill fated it did bring light to the electric keyboard stylings of Chris Lowe and the stainless voice of Neil Tennant to the dance hall masses of Europe. Under new management the band had a long awaited hit with the infamous track “West End Girls.”

         Americans, Europeans, Australians, Japanese, the collective of South America and even Dusty Springfield hopped onto the Pet Shop Boys bandwagon. Or at least they had until the dark love ballads of the Hair Metal era blocked out the sunlight of dance. Those who stayed to the Boys knew why. Pet Shop Boys were more than just “West End Girls” and “Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots Of Money.)”

        They were a symbol of happiness and passive satire. Tracks such as “Happiness is an Option” speak this truth for it’s self. With it’s chorus of “Don’t give up now/Happiness is an option” it proves that unlike their frowning peers Pet Shop Boys encourage their fans to dream and be more than just the record buying masses. Having started late in their lives as pop stars (Lowe was in his late-twenties and Tennant in his early thirties) Pet Shop Boys attempt to relay not only a message of hope but one of humanity. Though perhaps not the most cheerful video, “Red Letter Day” serves as a prime example of Pet Shop Boys relatable nature.

         Aside from walking out on stage in cubic-get-up there is nothing anti-human about Pet Shop Boys. They aren’t afraid to put into music topics that most would shun. Pain plays out to 122.7 BPM in “Hit and Miss,” a danceable ballad about an untrue lover. The story of a ‘kept woman’ is sang in “Rent.” A sexual encounter with an Emeniem-esce rapper is the basis of “The Night I Fell in Love,” and most dangerous of all, the reality of a cruel woman causing a man to embrace closeted homosexuality is implied in “Can You Forgive Her?”

           Behind every track, no matter how “shallow” there is a heartbeat. That’s the way of true disco. To up lift, get the heart racing and force the body to dance without the crash of depression. And that is why it’s such a crime to be a Pet Shop Boys fan.

        In this era of modern music based on break-ups and over doses topping the charts it is a sin to listen to someone with a positive or humorous message. So, Mister and Missus Scenester, you wanna be a rebel? Pick up a Pet Shop Boys album.

Tracks:

"West End Girls"

"Opportuniries (Let's Make Lots of Money) US"

"It's a Sin"

"What Have I Done to Deserve This?"

"Paninaro '95"

"Don't Know What You Want, But I can't Give it Anymore"

"You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk"

"Did You See Me Coming?"

"Go West"

I'm home.

Tucker bounded to see and whined while I put my bags down.  He wasn't content until I'd have him a hug and said I missed him.   I'd been sure I missed him for than he missed me, but that wasn't the case at all.  I won't lie, I miss Chicago.   I miss the friends we made.  I miss the party.  But I also missed my dog.

It's going to take a while to adjust back to life home.   Scientific studies blamed Disco Biscuits for the suicide rate amongst club kids, but the Twins and I see that's not the case.  It's the manic high of the dance party scene.  I mean, I'd never experienced it before.  I can't get enough.  All senses are explored.  The brain is multi-tasked to the maxium point.  All I could do was dance and get swept up with the good vibes of the crowd and the building disco heart beat of the music.  And yes, we all were sober.

That was the great thing about Pet Shop Boys fans.  There was no passing of any substances other than booze.  It was all natural.  We mingled with everyone, made a ton of friends and there was never any "Hey man, try this."  Which is more than I can say for other shows I've been to. 

The Twins and I are going to be Friday night club scenesters.   That's the only medium we can find.  We've become electric addicts.  We always knew it.  Disco raises the pulse, that's why a set builds then settles.  DJ are very systematic about what they choose.  It's all a physical and emotional experience.  And we need more.

I'm gonna be a DJ, someday, you guys.

I'll do a concert blog, I PROMISE! Right now, though I should try and sleep.   Again, everyone, thank you for your comments!  I'll start being more active soon!

Stay Beautiful,

Madison

THE SHOW WAS AMAZING!  :^D

It was the greatest night of my life.  Every concert I've been to has been subpar in comparision.  Seriously.

I'll be doing a full-on blog about it a little later.  I need to hope in the shower and drive to T.H. to have lunch with Patrick, get Ash something from Headstones and then come back to Indy to get mommy and say good-bye to Bretta and the kiddos.

Thanks everyone for reading.  It's really made my trip twice as magical.

-Bises-

The day is almost at an end.  I had a nice dinner in the back yard with the fam.  Back home it's too windy and chilly to do it, so it was a nice change.   I attempted a pogo stick.  Failed at life.  Then I fell four times using Moon shoes.  It was fun.   Sort of made me forget how awkward I feel for a half hour.  It was nice.  Now that things have settled though, I'm getting home sick.  I know it's early for it.

My OCD has made this trip really hard.  Pet Shop Boys or not, I was going to back out.  Yet, I went anyway and felt sick until we got across the state line.  And being stuck someplace like this hasn't soothed me.  It's my own problem.   I don't feel good enough.  I have the holiday blues.   Last night as we were falling asleep my mother thanked me for staying with her in Indy.   I guess I'd been invited to stay in Terre Haute with the twins.  I had no idea.  ~_~  It's good that I did this.  I mean, my sister's family gave me thirty bucks for my birthday AND I bought silver nail polish.  :^D 

Tomorrow night the twins will be here and I can't wait.  Tomorrow night I will decend into electric bliss.   Tomorrow night will be fantastic.

Tonight Bretta, Brett and my mum are dragging me to see Star Trek at IMAX.   Having enjoyed the original series I didn't want to see it, but it is at an IMAX.  PLUS, the movie theatre had the time listing wrong in the paper so they're giving us free tickets to see it at 22:30 tonight!   Yay for free movies!  Even if it sucks, at least it was free, yeah?  

Someone had to be traditional in our family.   Bretta was the one.  The Twins and I weren't.  We were the artists,   We didn't get married and we don't have children.  The big fancy house and the Jag in the drive aren't our aspirations.  All I want is a place in the UK and my books published.  

In a way, how I feel now should be fuelling my writing.  One character is ritzy and tried to move away from his roots to a more traditional life.   His younger brother is a hooker.   The younger brother has to stay in his older brother's London flat.   So far he's been fine with it, but I'm sure, now that I think of it, he has feelings of inferiority.

Tomorrow I'll be in Chicago.  Tomorrow I'll be in the theatre with dance icons. 

I probably won't update until Tuesday, so if you're on Facebook watch my status updates.  :^)  I like to post the random things I experience.

I'm in Indy!  The other branch of the family is here.   Brett, my oldest nephew, is here with his girlfriend Melissa.   My thirteen-year-old niece is...my thirteen-year-old niece.  She made fun of me for not knowing the difference between Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez.  And now we're lecturing her on why she should do well in school so she can get a scholarship and not end up going to a vocational school like I did. 

It's all very strange.   I mean, these people and I aren't alike.   It's not like the twins.   We're weirdies.  We work well together.   Everyone here is clean, polished, material and so suburbian.  I feel like ths neon sheep in the fold.   I seem to be getting a long with the dog nicely.   And my brother-in-law said he was amazed at how much taller and thinner I look.   Yay!  

My niece can't wrap her mind aroun d our lifestlye.   How can we live 200 miles from a mall?!  How can we live an hour from a big store?!  How can I not eat anything from an animal?!  Does that mean I can't eat a chicken sandwhiche?!   I mean, I understand that she's lived in Indiana suburbs all her life but there's like no understanding there.  She's also gullible.  Which I'm having fun with.   Soooo much fun.    She has a six-year-old brother (AKA my nephew) that I'm so not used to.   At all.   Always running about and talking and being loud.   I'll adjust.

 There's a five-year-old at work who isn't like this at all.  He's calm and quiet.  Like a tiny adult.   I miss my job.  And my dog.   I'm having total culture shock. 

Today we're going shopping I think.   Then tomorrow I'm in Chicago seeing Pet Shop Boys.   I can't wait.  It  also can't wait to be reunited with the twins.  I guess I'm like my niece.  I just can't understand.   People live like this?  It's so city.   Where is the art?  Where is the randomness?  Why are the neighbors so close to the house?  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I'll survive.

Thanks everyone for you comments!   Buzznet on a friday is always magical and I missed it! 

Currently, I'm outside Kansas City on the Missouri side.   I've been going since 5:30 and it's 00:13 now Coloardo time.  My hair still looks good.   By mid-morning we'll be in Indy.  I really feel that come that point I'll be in suspension.  I mean, yeah, I get to see my other sister an all but I feel like I'll be the neon sheep in the fold.  Saturday and Sunday the twins will be in the Terrible Hut and seeing their dad.  So it's just going to be Mom and me and Bretta and the grandkids.  Or, with the way it's always gone in the past, Mom and Bretta do things and I get stuck with the kids.  :^/    I iz adult nao! 

Monday, though, I'll be seeing the lovely Gents above.

HOPEFULLY, I'll find something decent to take photos of during the trip.  Nothing awe-inspiring yet, save for a liscene plate that said "IPB4IGO."

Monday I see these gentlemen (Pet Shop Boys) live in Chicago.  

I'm leaving in about eight hours, so I just wanted to give a brief update.   I'll be in and out, maybe even posting a few photos of my trip back to the mid-west.   I'll miss each and every one of you.   I've really been enjoying Buzznet lately, even though I've been really quiet.   My friends, your talent continues to grow and I feel blessed that you allow me to witness it! 

Have a fantastic weekend everyone!

Bises,

Madison

           I need to drift away from the present for a few moments so I'm bring back a classic.  I'm puttting my Zune on Shuffle and listing one memory associated with each song.  Not cheating.  I'm just letting it play on through.

1.  "We Can Work It Out"  - The Beatles -   When I was in middle school the little neighbor boy from nextdoor used to come over and pester me all the time.   I was really starting to enjoy music at the time and The Beatles were my favorite band.  Trying to bring him into my interests I made him a mixed tape of Beatles tracks and this was the trigger cut.  

2. "If I Needed Someone"  - The Beatles -  A good Geroge Harrison Beatles track.   I used to listen to "Rubber Soul" all the time when I hung out in Mike's old bedroom when my parents split out.   This song was a mark of optimism in those cold blue days.  My only solace that maybe love did exsist but life sometimes gets in the way. 

3.  "Play that Funky Music"  - Wild Cherry -  During my many years as a band geek we played this song for Pep band.  We were assigned this song for ASC's parade.  The teacher assigned that we had to wear white short sleeved buttone down shirts, black slacks, shoes and sun glasses.  A group of my friends and I all bought aviators and ran around pretending we were in Top Gun.  We even sang "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" to the kids on the ASC student council float.  And the GSA had this rad jeep.  This girl yelled "Hey Red!" to get my attention.  Turned out she was a waitress we regularly had at Pizza Hut who appearantly liked me, and this promted me to give the entire GSA of ASC high fives.

4.  "Thriller"  - Fall Out Boy  - Getting ready for Displace Me with John.    Sewing up the arm bands with red embrodery thread to be exact.  I miss those days more than anything else.  Everything was so pure.

5.  "The Sodom and Gamorrah Show"  - Pet Shop Boys -  Talking about putting on a drag show with my sisters.  I had this eleborate number planned with this song while we set up.  And for the most part they dug it.   Plus, buying this track for me was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.  I know, it's an $0.89 download, but it meant a lot when I came home and Aaryn told me her and Kanah had bought it because I'd mentioned it.

6.  "Holiday"  - Green Day -  I admit, I'm a bit embarrassed to have this on my Zune BUT, it reminds me of driving down the streets of Amirillo, Texas in Sally (my red convertible) with the top down while this song and tracks from Rocky Horror blasted.  Laura pretended to be Anne Rice and it was the funniest thing ever.  I felt warm and young.   It was a first.

7.   "No Future  (God Save the Queen)"  - Sex Pistols -  So, this one time I was rushing to leave the house so I didn't have a chance to change my shoes.   I went to work in my Sex Pistols Dravens and my boss had noticed.  We were standing in the bathroom and she said she wanted to ask me about my shoes and I'm like "Oh no.  I'm screwed."  My boss turns to me and says "Are those Sex Pistols shoes?   I love the Sex Pistols!   I had "Never Mind the Bollocks" on LP when I was your age!   Are you a Vicious or Lydon girl?"  It was ace. 

8.  "Goody Two Shoes"  - Adam Ant -  As most of you I recently discovered Adam Ant and it was one Hell of an experience.  I like, shook for hours, but that's not the memory I'm sharing.  I was working nights at the time and I deicided I pretty much wanted to spend the night listening to Adam Ant.  So, I slid my Zune in my scrubs pocket and taped the wires of my head phones inside my scrubs.  Then I eleborated styled my hair so that my earbuds couldn't be seen.  I got away with it for weeks until I stopped doing it of my own vocation.   It made work easier.  I'll telel you that much.

9.  "There Must Be an Angel (Playing With My heart)"  - Eurythmics - When I was in fifth grade my mom's car was in the shop so we had to ride around in the Family Truckerster.  AKA a Lincoln Limo.  My friends and I used to put up the divider and listen to the Eurythmics at night as we drove around A-Town.  I think Annie Lennox was my first girl crush.    It makes sense as to why I love elctro so much now that I'm older.

10.  "It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)"  - Louie Armstrong -  Yeah, I listen to Jazz.  Say what you will, but never interupt me when I'm in the middle of a jazz trance.  It's like waking a sleepwalker. When I was trying to get into Jazz band I had to audition.  One of the kids doing my audition was this super white bread tuba player with crooked teeth who was crazy about this song.  He wouldn't let me finish my audition without playing this song by memory.  And I did.   Anymore, I can't remember the first note.

11.  "Me And Mr. Jones" - Amy Winehouse -  It reminds me of a mix I'd made of my favorite songs over the summer that I gave to a friend of mine spur of the moment.  "Here's a mix of some songs I've really been jamming to lately."  I told him.  And he said "Shouldn't you have made a mix of songs I like?"   And I was like "No."

12. "Rudie Can't Fail"  - The Clash -  When I bought "London Calling" the cashier had a hard time ringing it up because the disc had been at the store for ten years at least so the computer didn't recognize it.  It was a pain in the butt.  Then when it was finished he looked to me and said "So what sort of music is this?  Is it classical?"   And the man next to me when on a rant about The Clash and how he used to be a real punk back in the day when it was still an artistic movement, not a bunch of dumb kids with safety pins through their cheeks.

13.  "Hide Your Love Away"  - The Beatles - Watching "HELP!" in Middle school with my friends.  One girl saw John Lennon's teeth and was like "Ooooh, perfect teeth."  And I was like "You're joking right?  They bow out!"  Then we had a pretend fight because Paul was her Beatle Boyfriend and John was mine. 

14.  "Her Majesty"  - The Beatles -  On the way up to see Ringo Starr in concert one of the radio stations in New Mexico played "Abbey Road" in full.  It was beautiful.

15.  "Lover Her Madly"  - The Doors - Riding home on the Forensics bus with the Doors on repeat and Arenee301's brother turned to me and asked what I was listening to.   Then he had a conversation with me about how I needed more Doors albums and if I thought it was right of him to be doing a deep voice for his piece because he was reading Jim Morrison poetry and all.

16.  "Emily"  -  Manic Street Preachers -  When I lived in my studio apartment I had a bad habit of walking two miles to the college in the early evening then walking home at around ten pm by myself in the dark of the city with a four hundred dollar laptop at my hip.  I remember hanging out on the top floor of Nielsen at ASC looking through the music books and leaving encourging notes for who ever may find them when I listen to "Life Blood"  and then I think of walking home never feeling afraid, but always feeling so warm and happy when I got back to my Murphy Bed with the pictures of Richey Edwards on the walls.

17.  "Starman"  - Seu Jorge - In high school I wanted to prove I was just as Indie as the Posse, but I was more so because I didn't need a fancy group of friends and classes to be so.    I got a ton of Seu Jorge tracks, especially the Bowie covers, and listened to them at school functions all the time.   It impressed no one.  

18. "It Must Be Obvious"  - Pet Shop Boys - Driving in the dark after leaving work early hearing this song for the first time and audibly giggling wondering if Neil was singing about Chris, but knowing better.

19. "Last Christmas"  - WHAM! - Mom driving Laura and I to school one December and the 80's station I loved played this track.  I thought it was awesome.   Then Laura, Kat and I went to the Bank together during our lunch/free period and listened to this song on repeat.  It made life wonderful.   This song definately makes me feel Christmasy.   I love George Michael.   He's never offically declared himself gay you know.  In between lines of coke he wonders "Why haven't I deidicated a song to that Madison girl yet?" 

20.  "Everything Must Go" - Manic Street Preachers - I actually think of the first time I consumed a large ammount of booze when I hear this.  I was at a party and another girl and I were the only ones not drinking.   They shoved half a bottle of Jack in my hand and gave me some orange juice and I drank the whole thing and it didn't really affect me.   We all passed out at around 3:00 AM except for me who was instantly sobered by the sounds of the girl hosting the party using sexual devices on her girlfriend at the time.  She kicked us out promptly at 6:00 AM and it was bitter cold.  Luckily her girlfriend drove me back to my apartment where I played this song over and over again waiting for a hang-over that never came.

21.  "Shot in the Back (The Platypus)"  - Head Automatica -  It makes me think of John and Jesse's relationship faillign while mine was just starting.   Bad times. 

22.  "Born to Be Wild"  - Steppenwolf -  I was crazy about "Easy Rider" one summer to the point of buying Peter Fonda boots.  Considering this was the headlining song from the film, I suggested my band do a cover of it.  Everyone found it to a quite awesome idea.  I wonder what made me think we could do it.

23.  "Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is"  - Jet -  Forensics, Kat was listening to my copy of "Shine On" (because I run out and buy JET as soon as an album comes out.)  And then some one stole it.  She felt terrible and offered to buy me a new one.  It turns out, it was in her suitcase to her relief and she gave it to me in class the next day.

24.  "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight"  - Bob Dylan -  I'm not a big Zimmy fan, but I bought "The Essential Bob Dylan" and put it on a cassette tape for a trip to the Springs.  John slept the whole way like he was drugged only to wake up and say "Who is this?  That was a good song."

25.  "Imagine"  - John Lennon -  I have too many memories to put it down to just one around this song.   "Imagine" sums up middle school, freshman year and happenings that made me who I am.   Yet, despite the pain I felt, I hear this song and everything seems ok.   I feel it now more than ever.   John and Yoko had their problems, but thsi was purity.  This is what the world needs again.

             It’s 1973 and the kids of England are caught in the Glam rock faction. America, still stuck in the dark ages of Led Zeppelin and the Peace and Love movement seeks to cash in on the new bi-sexual revolution. Enter in a kid from Philadelphia who proclaims himself “The True Fairy of Rock ‘N Roll” and a record producer who manages to wrangle $500,000 from Elektra to promote the boy and you have Jobriath, the first pop star to become a flash-in-the-pan cash-cow for the American music industry.

           Jobriath,(AKA Bruce Wayne Campbell) came from a theatrically rich background. Classically trained and having gained notoriety from the musical “Hair” Jobriath had all it took to become a superstar. After a short, and ill-fated, stint with a band called Pigeon he was ready to stretch his wings and try a solo career. His fashion sense and homosexually aggressive lyrics were highly appealing to night club owner Jerry Brandt who managed to gain the largest record deal of the day for the young singer. Immediately a giant billboard with the soon-to-be star half naked was put up in New York. Rolling Stone printed positive reviews of the glam rocker’s debut album before it hit shelves. Elektra wanted to assure the masses of one thing: Jobriath was going to be the greatest pop star of the century!

               Records hit shelves and finally America met the man they were supposed to love. He was not the doe-eyed crooner or leather clad rouge the generation had come to expect. Instead they discovered an openly-gay theatre boy posing as an alien. His voice, soft as a nightingale’s, was not greeted with the warm rejoice expected.  His musical style, a cross between David Bowie and Neil Diamond, just didn't appeal to his audience.  Jobriath was considered a flop before his time had come. He released one more album before he was given the cold shoulder by his record company.

            Having signed into a ten year contract with Brant Jobriath was forced to live a life as a cabaret singer unable to record his own music. By the time the contract had ended Jobriath, who had now changed his name to Cole Berlin, had no light at the end of the tunnel. AIDs was claiming him and finally collected its due in fall of 1983. It seemed that world had lost it greatest star that never was, but someone out there was listening.

               Come the early 1980’s a slew of famous (or soon to be) musicians had Jobriath Fever. Morrissey, Neil Tennant, Gary Numan, Siouxsie Sioux and Ann Magnuson were caught up in the broadways meets rock style of the glam star’s voice. Director and screen writer Todd Haynes even got in on the action in the 1998 film Velvet Goldmine. Celebrity influences and glam re-birth alike lead listeners back to Jobriath causing the 2004 compilation Lonely Planet Boy to fly off shelves. As time mills on the name Jobriath has become less of a joke or oddity and more of a mark of genius. He was more than just a trendy scheme to make money gone awry, he was a musician ahead of his time.

Tracks:

Ecubyan

Ooh La La

Rock of Ages

Gone Tomorrow

     I'm a bad person becuase I have tattoos.   I want to go out and smash in the windscreens of cars.  I'll spray paint "Maddy wuz here" on city owned buildings.  I spend my weekends in a drunken haze. I steal motorcyles.   I peddle drugs to my friends.  I steal money from the offering plate.   I have no respect for anyone.  The whole world knows it.  Why?   I have tattoos.

     This is old-fashioned thinking that has me a little bit pissed (and not in the British sense) at the moment.  One of my good friends parents won't let her hang out with me because I'm a "bad influence."  Why?  They've never met me, but they know their daughter talks to me all the time and seems to enjoy the time we spend.  They figure I have to be someone seedy because I don't come over to her house (or at least not while they're there!)   So now, before they'll let her do a damn thing with me (which has wrecked our weekend plans) I have to come over and have dinner with the family.   The family who tell their daughter there's something wrong with me when she tells them I don't eat meat or animal by-products.    And if the fact that I'm paranoid about getting sick isn't enough my friend has begged me to wear a long sleeved shirt.  Why?  Her family are strict Mormans and constantly rant about tattoos being evil and how only people in prison get them.   Quoi?!

       Her parents genuinely believe tattooed people are bad people.  They banned her from seeing an already established friend because she had a tattoo.   What will they think if they know I have two?  I don't care what they think.    Yeah, I'm a bad person.  That's why I don't fund the meat industry.  That's why I took care of the eldery.  I'm a bad person, that's why I take care of a disabled girl every night while my friends are partying.   I'm evil, so I gave my sisters a house.  I'm wicked, that's why I'm a Sunday school teacher at my church.   I'm a horrible person, which is why I support knowledge of the war in Uganda.    I mehttp://eyelinersmudge.buzznet.com/user/journal.edit/an, I have to be the sum of all the is wrong with the world because I have tattoos!  

       Now to contridict, I want to punch someone in the face when I think about it.   How dare anyone make judgements of a person's morals based on what is on their skin.    I'm not saying it's like racism, but it is judging a person by their skin.   I can tell you this much, her parents are going to love me.  Parents always do.  They're going to think that I'm a nice, sweet kid, with a good head on her shoulders.   Then, down the line when they learn I have tattoos, I hope they feel absolutely ashamed of themselves. 

       I mean, yeah, their daughter has been hanging out with the skank kids, which gives them every reason to be concerned.  But the skank kids have come over to their house.  Those drunken, doped up scenester idiots go over.  I don't.  Why?  I work.  I have legitimate job that isn't peddling hamburgers to people in motorized vehicles!   The skank kids are a mess.   All they care about is posing for MySpace photos and getting a thrill off whatever substance they can.  Why my friend hangs out with them, I don't know.  I keep telling her they're losers and always have been.  I went to school with the kids and they haven't grown up since then AT ALL. 

       There's no substance in their lifestyle.  You know what happens when a decent person goes to on of their parties?  Your ripped from uneasy sleep at four AM because someone is horrendously ill and you know "all that medical shit" so you've been elected to sit in the bathroom holding some kids hair back while she vomits her guts out.  I broke from that circle a long time ago.   And I suggest she do the same.  I've seen those bastards ruin two other nice girls, both of which were best friends of mine. I'm not going to see that happen again.   You see, no one thinks it will happen.  They're happy just being their nice moral selves.  Then they get hooked up with a skank kid.   Both were abstinate, non-drinking, non-drugging, vegetarian Morman girls.    Now it's a miracle neither of them are knocked up, they party like the rest, have become major pot heads, eat meat andd disowned their spiritual side.   One doesn't even go by her own name anymore.  She's "Wish."   WISH?!   I'd at least have gone with something cool like "Nikola Suicide."  And people would be like "Who is that drunk chick?"   "Oh, her, that's Nikola Suicide."     Going back to seriousism, I do feel bad that I didn't do anything to stop it.   Both came to me to talk.  And you know what lameass apathetic advice I gave them?   "Well, it's your life.  You have to make your own choices."  When what I should have said was "If these people are really your friends and really love you, they won't pressure you to be someone you're not."

      And maybe they were just looking for someone to put a foot down and say "No!  Are you crazy?!"  I'm not going to let my friend fall into that trap.   For some reason, the Skank kids don't pressure me to be who I'm not.   I know they talk shit about me.  Never to my face though.   I think I intimidate them.  Why?  I don't know.  I'm harmless.  The again, they know I'll tell them NO.  Which is what I'm stressing my friend needs to do.  Say "no." 

      I just gotta show here there is more to the world than those kids.  That's why she's seeing Manics with me.  She says "I've never been to a concert where you dressed up before!"  And I was like "really?!"  So I'm hoping it will be a taste that you can dress up and look glamourous and rebel without having to be an idiot like the skank kids.  Ours is a less guttet slut rebellion.  Our's is one of style and politics.

         Court when well this morning.  I go back in two weeks with my driving record in hand, pay my fine, take a class, then I'm on prohbation for six months.  Which is nothing, considering some of the gents ahead of me were told three years.  Woot!  Six months is nothing.  All I have to do is drive the speed limit and stop at stop signs for six months.  AND, not listen to my MP3 palyer while driving....that's the hard one.  Then again, headphones while driving are a zero point deduction.   So it wouldn't matter, really.  But no, I shall be a model citizen.  It won't be hard.  Or so I tell myself.

      It's a lot of hoops to jump through and it's still nearly a two hundred dollar fine, but it savces me the pain of having to write letters to the state every time I renew my CNA license for the next decade.  I wasn't the one braking the law.  There was a car on my arse that passed me like I was parked, but the cop went after me because I drive a shitty subcompact that was easy to catch.  I think he was hoping we were a drug car.  Seriously, the guy was a prick.  He contested my insurance and wrote me a four point ticket when it should have been two.   I have authority issues.  I really do.  Libertarian is just a less threatenign word for anarchist.  Then again, I also have some socialist beliefs.  MAybe because I feel the government should work for me.  Hey, man, I pay taxes.  I should be given extra liberties for paying fat government salaries and paving the roads and helping people on welfare buy plasma screen TVs.  BUT,  I won't get started on any of this.

       One of the twins and I are closer than ever now.  The other is still being an ice queen despite my earnest attempts at making peace.  Why, hello there Grandma Dorthy!  I'm giving them a house.  A house that only has $10,000 left to be paid on it.  That's less than my sister's unemployment is going to pay out!  I'm not gloating about it, but I am pointing out, I've done a good thing for them.  Home owners for practically nothing!  Then I'm out.  That means the master bedroom is free.  And my stinky dog won't bother anyone again.  Ok, he's a doxie, so he doesn't get stinky, but still.  She should be happy.

     The only reason I can pinpoint that she's still freezing me out is because she bitched to our mom about how she didn't think I'd pay the morgage (which I had paid already at the time.) and I called her on it.  I said "If you're concerned I'm not going to pay something, come and tell me.  Don't go behind my back to Mom."  And she said "Well, that's just not how I do things."  And I said "How you do things doesn't build trust."  Which is true.  I got rid of friends in highschoo lfor doing the same thing.  I still have a friend who I'll only discuss basic topics with because she talked about me behind my back.  It really hurts me when people do that.  It's the worst thing a person could do.  I don't talk about her behind her back.  I'd like the same respect.   Yet, when I express that maybe, just maybe, I've been made upset suddenly she's pissed at me and makes herself the victim.  And if I accidently hurt her feelings?  Oh, I never hear the end of it and I'm made out to be some horrible inconsiderate monster.

       I mentioned one day how I didn't like Subarus because people plated them with bumperstickers and it made the drives look like assholes.   And her and her twin got so hurt by it they were almost to the point of tears.  What the fuck?  One doesn't drive, the other doesn't drive and never has driven and wasn't even looking in buying a Subaru.  Yet, I still get guilted over that.   On the same note they can rip on my political views and I'm expected to sit there and take it with out getting my feelings hurt or a little bit pissed?

      I think the world has gone insane.  I was like Marwood...  "Thirteen million Londoners have to cope with this, and baked beans and All-bran and rape? And I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't cope with Withnail. I must be out of my mind. I must go home at once and discuss his problems in depth."  So I move on to something better and I'm hated for it.  She probably thinks I'm moving across the street because she's a failure.  Those are her words.  I've always supported her.  I always said my sisters would be something great.   But if we suggest she do something other than art to generate money we get the "You think I'm a failure" speech.  No matter what I do it lands back to her insecurities.  Some way to make it about her.

     This move was about me being under a hill of debt and living with unreasonable stress.   I mean, I'm stressed to the point of ahving anxiety dreams.  They know I don't have a thresh hold for it.  I've melted down once since they moved in and I was headed for a new one.  Mom thinks of my stress.  I appreciate it.  But my sister doesn't think about the stress that work places on her twin or I.  We're expected to clean the house and get up early to drive her to do a fifteen minute errand an hour away.  I was expected to get up during the middle of the night to take the dogs outside, even though I had work the next day.   My sleep cycle is still jacked from it.  I couldn't live with that.  I love them both, but I was a third wheel.  A frazzled third wheel.

     Like I said, Mom thinks about my stress.   She doesn't baby me but lets me sleep in if I want to.  She'll do nice things like wash me work clothes and have dinner ready before I go.  i need that.  I know it's silly, but I need it.  Yes, I took care of myself and did these things on my own, but when it was jsut Tucker and I didn't have to deal with other personalities in the house.  It was tranquil.  This wasn't about my sister.  This was about me needing peace.  Between bills, roommates, not enough space, cats, my ex-girlfriend and my close friend trying to get with me, I was becomign a basket case.

      I'm back to dreaming about Sid Vicious.  Which is normally what happens when I'm overwrought.  Last night we were lying half naked on the floor in someone's flat, smoking cigarettes and cursing like sailors over who was going to get up and flip the record.   Considering Sid is where my subconscious turns whenever I'm on the brink, it makes one wonder about past lives.  I mean, energy can't be created or destoryed soooo, yeah.  How do I know that part of my energy wasn't some pathetic Sex Pistols fan girl?   Nancy Spungen?    I think not.  Though it would explain my love of bleaching my hair, and my paranoia that someone is goign to stab me in the middle of the night.    I'll always believe Sid was innocent on that one.   Yeah, he was a bastard, but he didn't stab Nancy.  She'd screwed over a lot of people and drugs were travelling in and out of the flat like mad.  Who knows who was there or what happened for sure.  Bottom line:  If my significant other murders me, I'm kicking hsi ass in the after life.

    Someday, I'm totally goign to be that gross with someone, you guys.

         This of course is after I get my solitude out.     I'm all alone right now  save for Lexi and Tucker.   I'm listening to "God Save the Queen (No Future)."  The house is silent.   I'm blogging.  I am how I should be.  I could totally be a pop culture monk.   I'm starving, though.  One thing I'll miss abotu roommates is the "me too!" rule.  IF some one was in the kitchen making something and one of us yelled "ME TOO!"  The other had to make something for the other person to eat.  I just botched that sentance.  I'm tired, give me a break.   Of course, I'll eat less now.  Which is good with Manics coming up.  I'm going with a girl who is heavier than me, so I'm trying hard not to make my weight a big deal, But I want to be thin for the show, desperately.  My sister already joked that we're going to look like the number ten.  I'm tall, she's short.  And given body types... yeah.  ~_~  She's right though, we will.  It's gonan rock though.  I get to tart her up.  And I think she'll be able to wear my old clothes.   So woot!  I have a leopard print shirt with her name on it.   She'll love it.   And I will too.  Oh, man.  I wonder if my old leather jacket will fit her?  Whenever I wear it to shows fantastic things happen.   Patrick Stump not only patted me on the back while I was wearign that, he rubbed in a circle against it twice.   That crazy stoned kid hugged me in it.  I ended up against the rail for Puddle of Mudd in it.  When I wore it to see Skapegoat one of the opening acts singled us out and the lead singer, who looked like a metal pirate, came and danced on our table.  I love that jacket.

         I always said "When I'm seveenteen I will own a leather jacket and motorcycle boots."  Without realizing it I started my senior year with both.  I even had a dog collar.  Now the dog colalr actually belongs to the dog.  the jacket is too big and the boots are practically worn out.  Still, I completed a childhood goal.   The sad thing is I need new boots and a jacket but I have to wait for a second hand deal.   No Vegan should wear leather, I know, but if it's second hand then my money doesn't go to the murder industry.   I go through trainers too fast and hate shoe laces.   And for the jacket?   Leather is all seasons and goes with anything.  Not to mention you look great in motorcycle boots, jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket no matter what.  No guessing games.   For thirty bucks I could have boots like the ones I trashed when I fell in the Rio Grande.  But I'm broke.   And for Seventy I could have vintage Brando stlye jacket.   Why must the basics be so unethical?!

    I need to recharge my entire wardrobe.  Everything hangs off of me anymore.  Right now I'm wearing a history fair t-shirt I bought when I went to state the first time. That was back in 2003.  I was tweleve and half.   The shirt is huge on me.   Back then it was fitted!  Right now I weigh what I did in fifth grade!  I weigh as much as I did when I was ten, you guys!  :^D  And I still have another thirty-to forty pounds I want to loose.  I never realized what a chunky kid I was.  ~_~ I'm glad I made the choice to change it, even if it cost me my closet.  So many beautiful clothes....now to become cash on eBay.  Five words "Size-Sizteen-Marilyn-Monroe-Dress."   It'll fly.  especially if I throw in the heels.   Mom's been selling her skirts and drag queen have been buying them.  No lie.   Just wait until they see mine.   I own things with sequins!  :^D

    I need to sleep.  I have to do something with my life tomorrow other than work.  I also just found a cheap vegan leather jacket!  But it's a size 44 and I'm a 36. 

   Happiness isn't an option, it's elusive.   Misery is the only returning emotion that is constantly under lying.    I hate to be that freak, that whining freak, the pessimist but here I am.   I'm listening to Morrissey, trying to sort myself out.   I announced last night I'm going to move out of my house and back in with my parents.   While I'm being gracious and stepping down after paying for a place in my name for almost a year and letting my sister's have it instead of booting them out or some other bastard thing, I was and still am mildly being treated like I announced I had killed a basket of kittens.  It was bad.  All I wanted was to havea discussion and make sure every party knew that I'm doing this because I want to get my college stuff paid off and I can't live in this house anymore.  It's tiiny and it's full of painful memories.  I thought I'd get over them.  I really did.  I thought I would gain the upper hand, but I didn't.   Months go by and I feel worse having to live here especially after the name of the woman who lived here prior is mentioned.  I wanted to explain this.   I kept calm, I announced it after dinner, I was very adult about it.  Then my sisters walked out on me mid-discussion.

      I came back home to finish it, got the cold shoulder from one and nonesense from the other.  By not living here I'm saying I don't love them and being disloyal.  All of this.  And I took it, tried to explain my stance, but finally I found myself shaking.  I knew I was going to blow up so I took my laptop and my dog and went back to my parents house.  I ranted and raved to my mom until one of my sister's came over.  Well, she was willing to settle it but things didn't go smoothly.  She bawlled the whole time, I ended up dropping several F-bombs and when she asked if she could hug me and I said "No" my parents told me not to be hateful and I blurted out that I couldn't help it because I hated her.   Which then I had to velhelmtly insist I didn't mean.  And after we cried and yelled at each other we felt better and are closer than ever.  Though I keep getting asked if I meant it when I said I hated her, which I didn't mean. Or at least, I shouldn't have.

     The other sister is still treating me like I'm Hitler.  She refused to go when we were settling things.  So I've felt like shit all day and all night and I can't sleep over it.   Which is bullshit.  I don't get what the big deal is.  I'm leaving my own house.  I offered to let them do reduced payments.  I was the adult during this.   Part of me doesn't care if we ever mend things.   If someone is going to be petty enough to give me the cold shoulder because I'm trying to get my life back on track in economic hardships and giving them a house that's 10,000 dolalrs from being paid off then maybe that person really isn't family.    You know?  The past nine years I really haven't had siblings and I've done fine.   I wasn't born into there being two of me.  I was supposed to be a twin but I ate it or killed it or something like that.  I've a life of soliditude that started in the womb.   I don't need a clsoe sibling.  I confide in my writing.   I take care of myself.  I'm just not like anyone else in my family.  I have traits, but no one else is me.

      No one else had the music gene.  No one else went into acting.  No one else jumped into life like this.   No one else has that ablity to keep a stiff upper lip instead of bawllign at the drop of a hat.  Everyone else does things with reason, I do them because I can.  No one else has the same chronic meloncholia.   And it kills me that my family shuns that characteristic in me.  That's who I am.  Like hamlet, but not so crazy. 

      I'm saying, I'm always the odd man out.   I am the third wheel around here.  It's driving everyone mad.  I have proof it is.   I find myself craving my solitude again.  Back home I would lock myself in my room all day and night and it wasn't an issue.  I could be alone without someone thinking I was mad.  I miss it terribly.   I think about putting my back against the cold cement wall of my old bedroom while I read stacks of books and listen to music on my beat up stereo, and this is my image of paradise.  It was like that when it was jsut me in this house.   Call it madness, but I savor solitude.  There is no one to pressure me, nag me or make me feel like shit after I go out for a night with my friends.  I'm not living in a situation suited to me. 

      I know it's a problem with me, but I just don't like being in cramped spaces with other people.   I need my space, something I desperately tried to explain when I was being told "Well, I don't think there's too many of us.  I don't mind."   Well, I DO.   A friend of mine said "Do you miss being with someone, like in a relationship?  Your life seems really lonely, but you seem fine with it."  And I am.  I'm not lonely.  I'm just a single creature.   That's me. 

     Speaking of which, I was keyed up prior to this.  My ex and I met at the carnival.  She knows we're over, but it's meaningless to her.    We had a good time together though thigns could have been better.  The kid who is dire for me was there too and getting horrendously jealous even though nothing went on between my ex and I until after she left.  But, my ex had been overly affectionate and I'd been trying to ignore it.  I mean, she fucking serenaded me in front of God and everyone at one point and I wanted to die.   I wanted to go home, but the girl I was with ran off with our friend to ride more rides (I was too sick too.)  So, I ended up chilling with my ex and our friend's boyfriend.  I was sick as a dog and not thinking straight, so I laid my head on her and kissed her bare shoulder.  It was a compulsion.  I couldn't stop myself before I'd done it.   She'd been planting little kisses on me all night (as much as I faught and tried to get away) and this was a go signal for her.  I'm a puppet with the strings dropped and she puts my chin in her hands and kisses me.  I return it and don't say anything.  It happened a few more times, and I'm wanting the girl I came with to get her butt back there so the two of us can buy sprite and go home.   Finally she does.   My ex tried to bum a ride and I tell her "No go, I have a two seater"  which isn't a lie.  There was only room for me and my friend.  So what does she do?  I tell my friend "Ok, we're rolling"  my friend starts walking and I do as well, but my ex catches my shoulder.  I pause, and before I know it bam, she's back on me biting my lips trying to jam her cigarette drenched tongue in my mouth.  Barf.    My friend sees I've lagged to "make-out" and she runs up going "hELLO HAND!"  A joke fromthe first time my ex and I dated.  And I'm able to get free and go home.   

      Now I havea problem on my hands and mind.  She won't leave me alone.  She's all stupidly in love with me and won't leave me alone.  So now I have to tell her "Listen, I didn't feel well.  I was being stupid."   Drama.  I need to act my age and get over it.  

     Right now I'm just drenching myself in Morrissey and waiting until Manics tickets go on sale.

  Srsly u guise, Moz's muzik gits m3, lyke kno 1 els3.

         All my life, I've wanted to race cars.   I don't know why.  Maybe it's because I like to drive fast, be one of the boys and have a tough edge.   I can't really say, but I know ever since I was little I wanted to race.   After eighteen-years I finally got to get behind the wheel of a stock car!  

        My dad came up to the announcers booth after his race.  We were watching the modifieds run and I walked up to him and hollared in his ear "Can I take the car out after the race."    My dad got this look on his face like his heart was going to bust with pride and said "Yes."  So, soon as my work was done and I'd told the owners of the track I was done in the announcers booth and handed back what was left of the prizes I ran to the pits.   When I got there I put my purse and chips in the truck.   I was ready to go, but my dad told me to take off my jacket.  So I did, which made me a bit nervous because I didn't want my arms getting scratched up.   Then I had to try on helmets to make sure I could fit it over my pig tails.  :^P  Anyroad, I took of the helmet, my dad pulled the steering wheel and I, in Vans, skinny jeans and a t-shirt slipped into the stock car.

       For those of you who have never been in a stock car I'll give you the best description of how it is I can.   You sit there in a metal seat with a foam pad that does no good under your rear.  In front of you are rebarb bars where the windscreen goes, with qaure chicken wire sort of fencing over it.  There's no glass windows and no passenger seat.  Just a giant roll cage and your controls.    A red wrapped emergancy break, ignition switch and starter button, glowing odometers, the shifter and your floor peddles.  You where a five point seat belt that connects very intricately, but with the yank of a strap comes undone and it's the only thing that keeps you from flinging into the steering wheel while driving.  As it is, you can't see behind you (or at least I can't because of my fusion.)  With a helmet on the view becomes more limited.  Also, the helmet pushes your head away from the seat rest.  Not the most comfortable position.  You're in raw metal, with no air bags.  No cushioning, and a mesh window that buckles into place.  It's terrifying feeling that can only be likened to being locked into the hammerhead or zipper rides at a carnival.  You become filled with that exact feeling of fearful anticipation.  The one that makes you want to scream "LET ME OUT!  LET ME OUT!"  even though you know there is a load of fun on the way.

       I silently faught through my jitters while my dad guided me backwards.   He told me he'd go watch me from the grand stands.  There I was, all alone, trying to figure out what route took me to the track.   The whole time I was a bit shakey.  I kept telling myself "It's OK.  I can do this.   I've always wanted to do this!  I am just are nervous.  I'll love this!"   One of the staff guys stopepd me, thinking I was dad.  Secretly I was hoping he'd say "track is closing early tonight."  No luck.  He told me to go have fun.   So off I went.    I hesitated pulling on the track but I did it.   The realization hit me as I rolled onto the dirt (which isn't as smooth as it looks after a race) that I was actually on a race track.   And so, I went thirty-five miles an hour saying "I can do this.  I can do this."   I went around the corner, and kept doddling, still a little nerved up.

     Out of nowhere one of the Hobby Stocks came around and passed me.   That's when it hit me again I was on a race track.   While it wasn't competetion that surged in me, something broke and I lost my fear.   I pressed the pedal and went for it.   I hit the third and fouth corner yelling at my self "ACELLERATE ON THE CURVES!"   And "I'M NOT GONNA HIT THE WALL!"  Then when I'd get on the straights I'd relax.   Soon as a turn would come up again though there I was frequently yelling "ACCELLERATE!"  and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"   or the occasional "WOOOO!"  

       A moment came when the hobby-stock and I hit the first turn at the same time.  He slid out in front of me and I thought I might hit him, but I couldn't break I could only keep accellerating.  I yelled "AAAAHHHH!  DON'T STOP!"  then kept going.  We didn't hit, but I felt moist dirt hit me and a cloud of dust come my way.   It reminded me, I still had my visor up because earlier it had been fogging.  Immediately I clicked it down then drove.  Every lap I did I told myself "Ok, last one,"  but like Lays potato chips, I wanted another.  So I went round and round, gainign speed and confidence everytime.  When I finally exited I felt great.  I pulled the car next to the trailor, shut it off and removed the steering wheel on  on my own.   I got out without any difficulty, which was hug surprise for me.  In the past I'd had trouble entering and exitign the car when my dad had told me to try.  I think it comes from weightloss which has lead to a lost feeling of awkwardness.  I mean, I slid in and out of the stock car, like I'd done it a million times before.

       When I got out my dad was talking to another racer and one of my best friends, Laura was sitting on the traillor waiting for me.  I walked up to her and showed her my hands.   I was shaking like a leaf, if you pardon the cliche.   Thinking about it right now I'm shaking.  It was a major adreniline rush.  I  grabbed my mom from the beer pit (she's the beer baroness at the track) and had her come watch Dad's laps as well.   I showed her how I was shaking and she asked me what it was like.   I told her it's like being in a metal coffin on wheels, then I came up with the carnival ride simily.   I saw my co-announcer who had come to watch my dad lap.  And of course I had to show him my jitters. 

      Being so shakey wasn't a bad feeling.  It was fantastic really.   I can't wait until next year when I'm in a car of my own.  I am going to blow the doors off people.  I love being behind the wheel of a race car and it's going to be better with other people.   Even if I tremble afterwards.  I keep telling my dad "I'm going to give you a run for your money."  And he says "I don't doubt it."  Of course if I beat him, it won't make him less of a track favorite.  We asked the kids their favorite race car driver and many of them answered "Krazy Kelly."   It was so cute and it made me really proud.   Like, everytime my dad races in the main soon as he's back in the pits I run up to him and give him a big hug.  It doesn't matter if he wins or not.  I'm just really proud to see him out there, and I want him to know that.  I'm about to cry writing about it.    Outside of the girl I work with, he's the only person who has made me so proud I want to cry.   I don't let myself annoucne during the Gen-X because of it.   I know I'll show favoritism.  

       There was a moment tonight where he was trying to pull past the girl who had pole position and I got so wrapped up that my hand came up and hit the paper tray holding my fritos and mustard packets and knocked them to the floor.  I was jsut that excited.   He took second place.  The gal with pole position becomes a bit of a road hog to keep her place.  The only way he could have passed her was to bump her, which doesn't look good in such a small group.   So he didn't, even though I've watched her bump him dozen of times.  He's better than I am.  I would have gunned it an done it.  Going all over the road and holding a slow speed so no one can go around is called impeeding traffic, Love.  :^P    Then again, I'm not crazy about the girl.  She has a bad attitudde whether she wins of looses.  If she wins she brags about how she's the best, even when she wins by default.   If she looses she walks around brooding.   The girl doesn't even work on her own car.  It's her dad out there trying to fix it.  She changes from a skimpy outfit to her race suit then walks around neckign with her boyfriend.    Also, she got really sour when my dad refused to sell her my race car when she thought her engine had gone out.    I'm sorry, Honey, but that Mustang was bought for my mom and I to race.  Considering my mom doesn't want to race anymore, it's now the car that was bought for me to race.  And guess what?  I do my own autowork.   I don't bring my significant other to the track to smooch.   If I did bring some one it would be to support me or help me with my car.   Whether I win or loose, I'm always going to be upbeat because, hey!  I got to race that night! Woo!  Attitude is everything.

     The two of us have a mutual friend.  While I adore our friend to pieces, it doesn't mean I want to be this girl's friend.   My dad doesn't seem to see that, considering he sent the two of them up to the box to see me.    Her attitude turns me off horribly.    If she wins she loves my family.  If she looses she has her parents go and trash talk to my parents about how people aren't racing fair because Gen-X is supposed to be a beginners course.  Well, it's not.  It's a fantastic entry course, yes.  BUT, this girl raced go-carts since she was ten and she's been racing mini-stocks two years, going on three.   This is my dad's first season.  So, if this is a "beginners" course and she has six  years experience racing, technically, shouldn't she be advancing to Hobby Stocks?  Jsut a thought.     Anyroad, her attitude kills any chance of friendship we could have had.  We go to the track to race and have fun.  Not to be sore winners and bad losers while making kissey faces with her boyfriend.   Other than frequenting the race track and sharing a friend she  and I have NOTHING in common.   Now, if you sent up a girl to box to get to know me who didn't have her hair chemically straightened and faux fingernails and a tiny skirt then we'd be talking.   If you sent me an average girl, with grease under her nails and a sincere attitude then I'd want to be friends.  And I think I may have to explain thsi to my dad before he tries to pair us up again.  I'd like to give her a chance, but she just makes me feel icky.  Like, I know she's looking down on me in some manner.   Besides she's sixteen (doesn't have a drivers license I might add) and I'm eighteen, nearly nineteen.  I am too old to hang out with her.   I've moved past the "OMG! BOYS AND DRAMA!"  high school mind set.   I have a hard time finding  common ground with some one who thinks that way. 

    Not to mention she makes me nervous.  I don't want to have her parents trash talking to me or her speaking badly of me to our friend because maybe next year when we race together I'll beat her some night.  I'm not bragging, but I drive several hundred miles a week in my usual car, so I'm VERY confident behind a wheel.  She drives Pinto, I'll be in a Mustang.   Even with the roll bar and door shields I'll be lighter and more arrow dynamic.   So yes, definate competetion.  My dad says my car will out preform his car.   He and her drive the same car, save for my dad's is heavier.    I just really don't want to have snide things pointed at me if I do well.   At least the "well she's just a teenage girl!" card won't be able to be played by her parents next year.   :^P 

    I can't wait for next face day to do mroe laps.  Unfortunately, the next race isn't until the 8th!  :^(  I need the practice, that was when I'm in my own car I'll knwo the track.  Then I'll be assured of myself in competetion.  Soon as they open up the track next spring for practices, I want to do some laps with my dad.   And I don't want him to go easy on me.  I need to know what it's like to be bumped, cut off and spin out.   That way I don't freak out.   That's one thing the girl does, she bumps trying to make people loose speed then she looses control of her car.  I need to be prepared for theat.   Or say she bumps me and I loose control?  I need to know how to rebound. 

    nighty-night world!  With anyluck I'm gettign a new laptop in the morning before church!

    In the end, it turns out my girlfriend was pursuing her ex-boyfriend and everyone knew but me.  Everyone knew she was throwing her self at him and making advances, but me.  Do you know how that feels?  First I wanted to cry, then I wanted to hurt her jsut as bad and following I went numb.    The relationship was short lived for the best.   I ended it yesterday, though she's running around telling people that "things will resolve themselves and I'll come to my senses."   What the?   I could slap her for running her mouth liek that to everyone.   I didn't do anything wrong. 

     I told her that I felt like I didn't have her heart.  She said "Well, it's torn, but I'm trying to move away from the person I can't have."  So I said, "I'm not going to be a hanger on."  And she was like "I love you."  And I said "I don't think we were ready for a relationship."  So she's like "Well, I am, I don't know about you."   I responded "I think it's for the best if we end it."  Then she goes on all fine and dandy like nothing ever happened.  Like she didn't do something completely unspeakable to my busted heart.  I was stupid to give her a second chance.  She'll never have a third, despite what she's saying.   I'll jump into moving traffic before I'll go back with her.  

       I knew days before what she was doing.  I was conflicted on how to respond.   A chunk of me wanted to go out an have someone on the side just so she could know how shitty she'd made me feel.   That would have been childish, though.  So I laid it out.    Now she plays innocent and people actually side with her.  What a mad world I live in, where you can make sexual advances and lament about an ex while in a relationship with an idoit who is abosultely mad for you and it's OK because the advances were towards a man not a woman.  Cheating is cheating on a any level no matter what the gender. 

     I know it's not right, but right now I hate her.  Everytime she talks to me my brain shuts off and I hear  the course of "Stay Beautiful."    I'll admit it, you guys, this break up has tossed me back on a Manics bender.  My mom always hates it.  She thinks Manic Street Preachers are the root of all my problems, but they're not.  They're a comfort.  I need some Richey Edwards cynicism every now and again, especially right now. I'l lreturn to electronic music in due time.  Maybe even mix my play lists.  That would be fun, now wouldn't it?

      You know, she didn't even apologize.   How can she think that what she did was alright?   She'll get it ten fold.  Until then, I'll continue to wonder what I did in my life that warranted having my insides extracted in such a cold manner.   But this sort or makes me forget all the pain for a moment,

      Oh, Nicky.   Thank you for your maddening Welsh looks.   have I mentioned I love Manic Street Preachers?  beause I do?  I'm listening to "Sleepflower" for the first time in ages and it's better than I remembered.  I could go elephants right now.    My family doesn't get it.  There's always bit of shunning, because it's not understood.    Take for instance when my dad saw the album cover for "Generation Terrorists" and pointed out that I had the same tattoo.   My mother gave me this horrendous look, like I'd done something blasphemous.   Had my dad not cracked a joke, sparks would have flown.  It's been suggested that I should consider having a  cover-up done and she even got my sisters in on mentioning it.  It's been a sore spot since I wrecked my car last Decemeber  (because according to my mom the influence of the people behind the music made me do it.   Yes, that's why I drove into a wooden median divider and left myself stranded two hundred miles away from home, how did you know?   Snow coverage on the road had nothing to do with it.  Just those silly Manics and Sex Pistols.)  So I've spent quite some time cringing whenever people point out the tattoo on my arm and ask about it.   

     My ex-girlfriend looked at it and called it "cute."  I have Broken Generation tattooed on my arm in Latin, and it's cute?  Then she told me I'll regret having it later.  When I told her I did, she suggested I have it removed, which realeases a qaunity of unknown toxins into the body.   It was a major insult.   Any time my family had tried to convince me into getting a cover up I felt ashamed but eqaully indignant.   One of my sister has an ex-girlfriend's name tattooed on her arm, but there's no pressure to have that one hacked out.   I, personally, like having the rose on my arm.   It says this is who Madison was at this point, and where she is going.  I'll always agree with the sentiments of Cassus Ingenero.   Always.   It's all the pressure to disown the ghost of myself.   A year ago I was fat and in a depression that medication couldn't shake me out of, then I got forced into my own place and flung into a stressful full-time job while trying to balance being a full time student.  I was a puppet of everyone but myself.   When I sat down in that chair and felt the outline of Richey's tattoo breaking my skin I thought "I'm doing this for me.  I always wanted to do this and no one is stopping me."    It wasn't original artwork, but it was a mark of breaking away nonetheless.  

     I had no control over anything at that point.  My own life, my course of study in school, my employment, the only think I had was my body.  So, I cut off my hair, got a tattoo and tried to break my weight by eating two eggs once every four days.     In my defense, I dropped ten pounds that I gained back with in a month, but I did drop weight even though I was doing it wrong.   From there was sort of a leaping point for me.    I quit my job, bought a house and quit school.   I went vegan and deicided I was wasting time being on pills.   I was freest then.

     There's still that box closing on me.  My family expects me to be someone else.  My sisters get frustrated with how I live, and more often than not I keep my mouth shut instead of complaining when they do or say things that upset or hurt me.   Yet I know I won't cave back to that worm.   I could walk away if the chance presented itself.  And I will.  I can't wait to.  I hate this house.   I bought it with the intentions of having my own little place and that's gone.  I want to bash the walls in.   Someday I'll have the chance.  I live here because it's cheap and because when I want to leave I'm told "You can't survive."  So I stay.    Then I get to hear about how fucking borind I am for an eighteen-year-old.   Yet, when I do something lively for once, I get bitched out for not calling or stying out or not inviting them along even though they're in their thirties and my friends are 16-22.  But i'm ranting.

    What i'm saying is, I'm single again, I like Manic Strreet Preachers, I need to escape my family and I need another tattoo.