My two Boos

Here they are.
In all their glory.
How adorable, huh?
Love them bunches!!!!

The Rest

I wonder who really knows what they want out of life. I honestly believe that I only know a handful who do, and they happen to be artists or musicians. Hell bent on being creative. Maybe I should have never chose to shy away from that when I was younger....should have kept writing...kept drawing and painting. To me it is so strange to look back and see how I used to be and place her along side who I am today. I am good at what I do....I strive to be great at everything I try. This has led to much success for me as a worker, professional...business "person"...but there is always that nagging pit it your stomach. That scream that bounces around in the back recesses of your brain that is saying "really? this is REALLY who you are? What you want? How you want to be remembered?"

That voice is frightened...scared and....unfortunately....brutally fucking honest.

Then you take a look at the opposite side of the fence at those people who seemed, up until recently, SET.....the people who have no idea how to survive once they have spent their life a certain way...and when that way begins to crumble, are lost.

At least I can say that I am resourceful. That I find a way regardless of if it is MY way.

One thing that i realize now that I am very good at, is converting jobs to MY way of working. Which is why I am now, relatively speaking, happy at my place of employment. I am outspoken, commanding, example driven, number-crunchingly correct...and I am lucky to work for a company who accepts and fosters those behaviors in me.

But still...
....that voice...
that shrill, bitter voice calling out when I am still for a few moments at work, or feel passionlessly routine driven.

Is this me?
Is this how I want to remember my life?
When I look back will I be satisfied? Will I feel like I accomplished something that reflects MY character? My soul?

My photography is amazing at keeping that peskily barking hound at bay.
But, as again I write (as most of my posts echo) I need to do something with it.

*sigh*
I love art, music, the written word (when done right)...
...I guess everyone would do it if it weren't for that ONE word that seems welded to its front...

...struggling.

Attention: SHARKS!

Quit biting.


QUIT.
BITING.

Who's chasing me in that SUV?

Some dumb rich bitch, that's who.
I am venting on this topic but ONCE.


I mean how? HOW? How is it humanly possible to be THAT retarded AND rich. The arrogance. No wonder most people have just given up. Screw supporting her movies. WHY? She just sells herself to gossip mags and photogs and will still make crazy money? Why would designers ever want her as their spokesperson? I just don't get it.

For years we have been entranced by these spectacles. For years, we have , as children, dreamed of stardom...personally, I would take anonymity and some money over stardom in its present form. There are precious few who can handle its lures and traps. Thank the lord they are there though, because it would barely stand to reason that the profession could survive if everyone was like HER.

I personally hope that people boycott her new movie. Stop the insanity and send her a message that will really hurt her into cleaning up.

WE DON'T CARE. YOU'VE PROVED YOURSELF UNWORTHY OF HELP. FIGURE OUT LIFE ON YOUR OWN, like the rest of us...JESUS!

Just Say No to Celebrities!

I am a Potterist

The book was amaing.
The series, phenomenal.

I am sad its over but
WOW, this ending (all 760 pages of it) was one wild ride!

To those about to read...I salute you
*salute*

WOW.

And the movie? HOLY !@#$%^&!!!!!!!!
Bless you JK.
Thanks...

...and I wondered why my tongue was bleeding...

It seems less important to show your true feelings than to be truthful
lately. So many people I know are happily headed for disaster and yet
here I sit...slowly making a hole...separating myself from the herd with
my internal monologues and my cynicism.

All I want to do is shout it from the rooftops...wake the fuck up.
I just want to be brutally honest
with my friends and tell them how I feel when they ask my opinion.
Lonely is the road of the person who takes the higher one. Yet empty is
the life who fills it with people who blindly agree without substance.
Solitude is no stranger to me. Quietly I watch. Silently I sit.
Doomed. Future foretold by endless songs and and sad poems.
Drinking...smoking....pushing away from everyone. Angry, false, sad.
Horribly ironic.

Its so fucking interesting to watch the people I know
meet, hookup and slowly take the form of new people. So interesting. I
will regret every minute of being quiet. I will sit and be angry the
whole time. I will sit and quietly take my medicine. Because ..... is
this the repercussion of being social? Of wanting people I know to enjoy
each others company?I mean, I guess this torture device is of my own
design...my own fabrication, my own version...the worst version. The
angry version...I will choke it down, the words and wants and the truth.


And I will be a good friend for just nodding; complicit in their
schemes...the quiet observer who sees the waterfall ahead but chooses to
hope that the others in the boat will see it eventually before I have
launch myself off the side to save my morality in a last minute
manuveur. Perhaps I place too much faith in others' ability to make good
decisions.

I seem to be gasping for air to breathe, but others poor judgement is clogging the atmosphere...its almost as if bad choices need
oxygen to survive...leaving me scrambling to swallow the air in gulps,
lest fate's faults get to it first.