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Today was a typical July day.  I was dicking around watching one of the people I'm subscribed to, Joe Santagato talking about books you had to read.  The books were all pretty weird books, something about lesbian equestrian stories or something like that, baby's first boob job was another odd one, then the book of, and I quote, "things you shouldn't masturbate to".  But by far the strangest of them all was, and I swear I'm not making this up, "Domald Tromp Pounded In The Butt By The Handsome Russian T-Rex Who Also Peed On His Butt And Then Blackmailed Him With The Videos Of His Butt Getting  Peed On".

Yes, this is the title of ONE book.  And this one book is written by Chuck Tingle...  Oh my fault, Dr. Chuck Tingle.

Oh Dr. Tingle...  Whatever shall we do with you?

So upon hearing this long ass title, I literally fell down laughing and had tears streaming from my eyes.  It took me awhile to get my life together, because Joe Santagato read a few more book titles and each one had me in tears dying.  But it goes far beyond "Living  Inside My Own Butt For Eight Years, Starting A Business And Turning A  Profit Through Common Sense Reinvestment And Strategic Targeted  Marketing" (again another real long ass title- also one that was mentioned by Santagato), there are other gems he didn't mention like, "Dinosaur Magicians Pinn And Tucker Make Their Wieners Disappear In My Butt", "Slammed In The Butt By The Prehistoric Megalodon Shark Amid Accusations Of Jumping Over Him", "Slammed By My Handsome Fidget Spinner", and lastly, "Slammed Up The Butt By My Hot Coffee Boss".

Okay the reason why I didn't post a link to the last one is because they had an excerpt and it is completely off the rails!



What is happening?!   I'm asking rather seriously, what the fuck is happening?!

Ok, I can see being tall, but for openers it's wearing a tie?  Where the fuck did a mug of sentient coffee go to buy a tie for itself?  Who was the store clerk behind this sale?!  Where and how did it get the money?!  And where did he find a tie that would fit it?!  Then how does the guy know the coffee is a guy?  "Sporting a large muscular handle"?  Is it because of the handle, because that doesn't really necessarily mean it's a male mug of coffee.  And isn't anyone concerned about third degree burns?  I mean it clearly says he is "a massive piping-hot cup of coffee".  What happens when the "passion" boils over, someone is going to get hurt and that someone would be the human.  And speaking of which, how does one have sexual relations with a six-and-a-half-foot cup of piping hot coffee?  I can't imagine how that could possibly work.  I would see the coffee being a serial killer than a sex partner.  I think that would make a more compelling story.

But yeah...  I may have to buy and read at least one of these deranged tales of either inner-species or inanimate object sexual relationships. But I think there's something profoundly wrong and weird about these stories, but since I'm half way down this insane rabbit hole, I may as well complete my terrifying decent.

So yeah, I'm going to piss off an entire generation of people in a bit, and again I'm not going to hide behind, "Oh it's my LJ I can say what I want" or "this is just my opinion" because that's a given. I'm saying this because I think it's important for the group of people who followed my tiny micro-generation to get a clearer picture than what they have currently. With that let the pissing off commence!

Let the hot mess begin!Collapse )
Oh my fucking God...! Wow!

Ok, where to begin on this subject?

Well, let's start with this... I'm not on of those people who run around blaming millennials for everything wrong in this country. Honestly, if they're a mess, it's because they were allowed to be that way by the adults who raised them.

They were repeatedly coddled/ over-protected both physically and mentally since birth. Overly padded play spaces, toys that if they caused a minor scratch was immediately taken off the market. And let us not forget the phenomenon of "everybody gets a trophy!", because we can't have children sad that they didn't get an award. We can't have children feeling left out or excluded. Then to add insult to injury they were handed all this technology and stripped of the ability to imagine.

They are a mess by design. The product of the "Me Generation" having spoiled, overindulged, and overly coddled, emotionally stunted children. So when those kids come of age is it any wonder they are grossly ill-prepared for the cruelties and disillusionment of adulthood?

Also, it doesn't help that their game is harder to play then the generations before them. Lack of viable and/ or stable employment. If you are fortunate enough to land a position, you don't have or have limited benefits, and in a lot of cases you don't earn a salary that can support an independent lifestyle. Add to this mix crushing student debt, and an inability to cope... It makes a recipe for disaster.

In a lot of ways I feel bad for the millennial generation. They get a lot of shit for stuff that's not necessarily their fault. And they don't get credit for coming up the all the creative ways they are inventing to stay productive and happy.

With all that being said, let's get into the flipside of this and dive deep into the whole "it's parents job to take care of their children for life". Short answer no, it's not.

Legally parental obligations end at 18 years of age (or once someone graduates from high school). Having children isn't a lifelong binding contract to care for that child until death. I mean unless that child has some form of serious disability and they need someone else to care for their needs because they are physically incapable of doing it themselves. But, if you are an adult capable of caring for yourself, then again short answer is no.

But instead of just saying no, here's the reason why the short answer is no. Your parents are going to die someday, may not be soon, but it will happen. If you can't get your shit together enough to be somewhat independent, you're not going to survive long once they do go.

Here's the thing a lot of people don't get about being a parent. Your parents are supposed to prepare you for adulthood. They are supposed to give you all the tools you need to survive without them, in the event that you'll have to do that sooner or later. It's been that way for a long time, batons get passed down and people keep it moving.

However, this weird idea that, "it's your fault I exist so you should take care of me until you die" is fucking ridiculous! I lived at home until I was 33. I worked, paid for my own cellphone, internet, clothes, entertainment, food, and transpass (I didn't drive in those days). Oh I also would cook, clean, do my own laundry, and occasionally shoveled the driveway for my parents. I didn't pay rent because I did a lot of stuff on my own and I didn't cause them vexation. I also contributed to the running of my parents house in little ways. I didn't work, spend my money on myself and expect them to do all that other stuff for me.

It's not your parents duty to be your cooking and cleaning service until they die. If you are going to live with them the very least you can do is be respectful of their home, the home you grew up in. I'm fairly certain they didn't expect you would be living with them until you were in your 40's. They probably expected you to be out by at least 30 or so. Imagine how they are feeling or the awkward position they are in and stop thinking about yourself and how boo-fucking-hoo, I was born, grew up, and now I have to be responsible, but I wasn't asked, or consulted, or even consented to becoming a responsible adult! Oh the fucking indignity of it all!

That kind of selfish scapegoating thinking pisses me off so much. You only care about yourself and lord forbid you actually took responsibility for your actions (or lack thereof) and failures. Yes the job market is nearly impossible, yes your game is fixed, yes the amount of debt you're in is staggering, but you shouldn't be making your parents shoulder all the blame for it! They're doing the best they can with the raw deal (the raw deal being these ungrateful twats) they were given. The least you can do if you're still living at home is not annoy your parents with selfish entitled bullshit like this!

Also think of the millions of 18 year olds who, either on their 18th birthday or the day they graduated from high school were immediately given the boot by their parents. They had to forge their own way with no financial or moral support, but the ones who live at home and get testy about having to fork over money or help out around the house whine, complain, and carry on like the petulant assholes they are. Give me a fucking break!

You wanna live like a slob then get your own place. If you can't afford it, find a communal space you can rent so you can live by your own rules. Yeah your parents had you and yeah you didn't ask to exist, but your bitch ass is here now, and at some point, like it or not you have to be responsible for your own shit!

I hate nightmares...

I'm sure no one likes having a nightmare, really. Although there probably is some screwball out there who loves having nightmares and wakes up refreshed after having one, but that's not me. Especially considering my nightmares are freakish.

So this particular bad dream was a zombie one. For those of you who really know me, know that I love horror games, but for all my affection for the genre, zombies freak me out something terrible. As a matter of fact, those are usually the most frightening kind of nightmares and at the end (or the point when I wake up in a panic) usually happens when I die in the dream. This nightmare was no exception to that rule either.
The only interesting twist about this bad dream was I was the zombie this time; well, sorta, but let me explain.

I don't remember the beginning of the dream, just towards the end. It took place in a post-apocalyptic world. Most (if not all) people on the surface of the earth were zombies. We ate animals, animals that were seriously deformed, but they were animals, we didn't eat people. The earth was extremely polluted but being undead we could survive the pollution and pretty much we were happy.

However, we find out that the "real" humans lived underground in massive underground cities and were using the zombie people as food. It turns out that the surface people weren't undead zombies, but cattle for the underground humans and the "zombie people" were either genetically manipulated or some kind of way made to believe we were undead monsters so we would be accepting of our fate to be used as cattle. There was also something about our ability to argue or fight was removed so we would just passively accept being food. At the very end I was next to be eaten by the underground humans and true to form, I just accepted being eaten alive. Mercifully, I wasn't eaten alive but put in a machine and everything went dark before I was eaten and that was when I woke up.

What an appalling dream! An appalling dream that I want to try to break down.

I know zombie dreams occur when I'm at the height of anxious and stressed out. They usually are tied to some nonsense happening at work, but since I'm not working that automatically rules that out.
They can happen when my home life is sketchy too. Jose has been gone for almost a week (which included the weekend); he comes back tomorrow night. School ends Friday and that always brings a certain amount of stress because William will be spending his summer loafing around the house doing absolutely nothing but eating and that drives me crazy. I swear I wish he show just a drop of ambition. His proclivity towards indolence really pisses me off.

Another thing that probably set this nightmare in motion is I may be nervous about going to the opera institute next month. I don't know what to expect and it could be screwing with my head. Tgen to add to all of this, the music program I want to attend next year (the one in Austria) is intensive as hell. I read the calendar of events for that program and it is 6 weeks of singing daily, weekly recitals, performances almost every day, attending classes, and being not just evaluated, but scrutinized intensely... And all while being far away from home.

I would be lying to myself if I said all if that sounds fun. But I worry about it, I worry about it a lot (as evidenced by that horrible nightmare). I know I would probably be fine, but I have become a lot more anxious and fretful since moving to Florida. The old me would never be this wound up several months before I even made an initial inquiry about it! Besides, there is no guarantee they'll ever accept me into the program, I still have to audition. Then figure out where I'm going to get roughly $9000 dollars from... Oh God, talk about putting the cart before the horse. I need to slow my roll and get through this summer before ratcheting up my anxiety to 1000 about next summer.

But I think this is where this nightmare sprung from and my fears and anxieties coming home to roost. There was a lot to unpack in that dream and some of it too seemed like anxiety about forced conformity and maybe being too passive about easily accepting poor treatment, either with myself or others. I don't know. Either way you slice it that dream really sucked and I needed a good night's sleep, but thanks to that shitty nightmare that didn't happen.

Operatic Redo Remix

So here we are at age 40 and I have finally made a major life choice and that is i want to start seriously pursue a career in opera.

So a few things happened. I realized that I can still make a go of it, even at my age. Mr. Leopold, my music teacher, says there may be some roadblocks because of my age, but more or less it's not a dream that's dead in the water. Plus he tells me all the time that i have a very good voice and if most of the competitions didn't have age restrictions, he would make me compete in them. He also said because I don't look or sound my age, that may be sn advantage, but I won't rely on that too much.

With all this being said, in a little under a month from now, I will be participating in the Summer Opera Institute in Orlando. I'm hoping to get a better handle on my pretty debilitating stage fright and learn how to audition better; two things I'm severely lacking right now.

My goal is to make some good contacts, audition and get in with one of the local opera companies, and finally, get into one of the major European summer opera programs next summer. I'm sure that would be quite the resume booster.

There are three programs I'm interested in; this one, which Mr. Leopold says has an excellent reputation and the people who have performed in this summer program have gone on to do amazing things. Then there is this one, which is also in Italy, but I don't know much about it. And this one in Austria which they have classes which would be super beneficial for me. The last two don't have age limits, I'm not sure about the first program.

Either way, I'm pretty excited and confident that going to Orlando is the right stepping stone for a career as an opera singer.

This is appalling!

There is an Atlantic article from an ER doctor, explaining the "catastrophic damage" done by an AR-15 semi automatic rifle; this is something everyone needs to read and be aware of as we continue our discussion as to why these should be allowed in the hands of untrained civilians.

Prepare to be appalled.

A quick early morning PSA

Attacking children who just survived a mass shooting doesn't make you a conservative hero, it makes you a bully and a fucking asshole!

All these kids want to do is, oh I don't know, live in a country where they have a hope in hell of growing up to become adults and not be senslessly slaughtered by a maniac with a semi-automatically military grade weapon. And I don't know if you've noticed, but the growing up option was violently taken from 14 children.

Anyone who speaks out against these kids, fucking kids who just survived a terrible, horrifying, and deeply traumatic event, is showing how deeply afraid they are of them you truly are. By the way, many of them will be voting age soon and hopefully they will reward your cowardice by helping you to loose your next election bid.

Sorry for such an early morning rant, but I saw this article and it sent me railing over the edge!

P.S. To all of you who are speaking out against children while getting "donations"... Let's be real and call it bribe money (or if it helps to cushion the sting of calling a spade a spade, subornment funds) from anyone in the gun industry, you have ZERO right trying to take the "moral" high-ground. You lost that right when you whored yourself, your ethics, your constituents, and your soul out to those people.

Our Abnormal Normal

I wrote this a few days ago and I sat on the fence about posting it, because it is ultra critical of the current state of affairs regarding guns in the United States, however, I wanted to make it public because it's too honest not to share with the world at large, the only way change can happen is if all voices are heard.  However, because this entry is so blunt and brutal, I'm going to place it under an LJ cut and if you want to read it you can, if not you can bypass it, it's completely up to you.

Our abnormal normal...Collapse )

Oh get wit me!

So, yesterday there was a news expose on the high school that William attends (Wharton) and how there were something in the neighborhood of 30+ fights this year and being in the suburbs, parents where I live are up in arms about it.  Yeah, I have an entire school of thought on this and my views are probably more jaded than anyone here, because I went to the worst high school in Philadelphia.  So let me begin with the sordid tale of my 4 years at Martin Luther King High School.

So I went to MLK from 1992 to 1996.  My first year was pretty eye opening, because even the worst students in my middle school (all of which I shared my 6th grade class with) weren't as hardcore as the toughest students at King.  In fact, one of them was happy that she had gotten transferred to Boone (which was quite literally the step before going to juvie) and would be attending school there, because it was a better learning environment for her.  Well damn!  That's pretty telling...  However, my first year...  Ooh it was a hot mess and quite the gear shift.  There were pretty much fights daily, people smoking blunts in the stairwell, and daily metal detector searches (once they found a girl had razor blades tucked into her French roll, crafty)...  Pretty much that was the norm and after awhile you get use to it.  The next year, there were two riots between the Jamaicans and the other kids. 

Full disclosure, I missed the first riot because I hookied that day.  I think I spent the entire day with my boyfriend at the time, who was Alex...  I think that was how I spent that day?!  But the second riot, I was there for, but left before things got really bad.  I mean, the security guards were telling students around 10 AM or so, if you wanted to leave for the day, it was ok, so I took that option and got out of dodge before the crap really hit the fan.  And from what I was told it got really bad by lunch time.  There were multiple fights in multiple lunchrooms.  Something about someone was on the 2nd floor balcony with a shotgun (which I don't really believe in hindsight, but who knows).  But pretty much I think the police were called in and for about a week or two there was a heavy police presence at our school.

In 11th grade a teacher was raped in a classroom, I think either before or after school and yet again there was a heavy police presence at the school.  I kinda don't remember how long they were there.  Plus we also had a lot of media around school too, which was weird.

My 12th grade year, it was pretty quiet.  Yeah there were fights, but it seemed like they calmed down a lot.  Either that or I just stopped paying attention to them one of the two.  The most thing that was going on was in in-house fight with the teachers and school administrators, because they vehemently opposed the choice for Principal.  Something about he hid in his office and only wanted to job so he could get a higher position at the school board.  I agree, the Vice Principal (the one who tried to make me sing for the school talent show) was the one who was really involved with the school and it's staff and students.  But I'm sure there were fights, I probably didn't pay them any mind.  I mean 4 years of that nonsense, of course you'll phase it out after awhile.

So this brings me to nearly 22 years later and Wharton High School.  Well, hell, I know I should be concerned for my step kids safety, but I'm not.  Wharton is not near lawless wasteland my high school was and pretty much with all these Zero-tolerance policies schools have, I'm not in the least concerned about him and fights.  I'm not even concerned about how they affect him.  I probably should be, but I'm really not.  School is an anomaly, his home life isn't.  And honestly, I used my awful high school experience as motivation to not be there with those people any longer than I had to (Oh they used to tell us all the time, "Y'all on the 5 year plan." or "Y'all on the 6 year plan".  I swear, candidates for a Ted Talk, really...).  I also used that as a reason why I decided that I would NEVER have a child of mine in public school.

However, I suppose school should be a safe place for students, but I think that's kinda a pipe dream.  People tend to forget that being a teenager is super weird.  If you are having problems of any sort, you most likely don't know how to deal with it in any constructive manner, and you will lash out at any and everyone around or do stupid self-destructive crap, be it drugs, alcohol, or sex.  Kids have a lot of stuff going on.  Some have family issues, some have mental health issues, most have problems with social media feeding into and play on anxieties (something I'm grateful I didn't have to deal with when I was a kid), and then throw in general run of the mill peer pressure!  Plus add teenage rampant hormones into the mix, forget it, it's a powder keg waiting to both implode and explode. 

I've always said, you couldn't pay me to go back to high school and man, is that never more true than now.  

So we made it...

Well nearly. 2017 has been another awful year and tomorrow I have to look back at it in-depth which I'm super not looking forward to.

Sigh... I hate to say this, but for the first time, I think ever (and if not ever, then in a super long time), I'm not looking forward to the new year. I guess in my mind if I'm not optimistic about the new year, I won't be disappointed or appalled if/ or when it all goes sideways.

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