So I stopped being a chicken and posted my songs in the Songwriters subreddit. I’ve only gotten two comments thus far and they were both nitpicky issues people had with one of my songs. As I read them, I realized if I’d seen their feedback a couple years back, even one year back, I would have been horribly anxious and embarrassed. For most of my music career I had lingering fears of “what if’s.” What if they don’t like my music, my voice, my lyrics, my arrangements or instrumentation? But today I realized I’m no longer fazed by things like that. So what if they don’t like it?
If you’re gonna survive in the music industry, you have to have some thick skin, and above all realize that there are always going to be people who can/will find issues with your work. Whether you’re Lady Gaga or some folk singer from a small mountain town in Colorado, people will criticize you. I guess I’m glad that I’ve grown confident enough as an artist to accept that fact.
Okay so I’m watching season one of Hannibal and in episode ten, they really start diving into Will’s psychological disorder (as well as that of the killer) and I just want to say how much I appreciate this show for how they discuss mental illness. They don’t try to portray it through rose-tinted lenses or sweep it under the rug. They state it like it fucking is:
"I realized how little is known about mental illness. All they know is it’s rarely about finding solutions. Just managing expectations."
So props to them for calling this society out on how poorly they manage mental illness.
There are a lot of misconceptions and ignorant views on bisexuality that I need to address. This is something that has bothered me since I came out six years ago so I will try to be as concise as possible.
I am not gay. I am not straight. Likewise, I do not suddenly become straight when dating a man and gay when dating a woman. That’s like saying because you really like the new album of a band, you suddenly hate all other music that’s ever been made. Which is absurd.
I do not exist to fulfill your fetish.As someone who is attracted to women, obviously I’m turned on by making out with another woman. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told a straight male that I’m bi and his reaction is “Oh awesome. That’s hot.” There is a difference between being supportive of how I identify, and supporting because you think it’s “hot.” The latter is very superficial and not remotely comforting.
Bi/Pansexuals often are rejected from the gay/straight communities. It’s true: we don’t really fit perfectly with either side. But when we are shunned or shut down by people in either category, it causes us to feel very isolated and alone.
Most people assume I identify as bi to get attention. This is horseshit. And I also don’t appreciate being asked “well have you ever been with a woman?” as if that’s some rite of passage, without which I could never be allowed to come out as bisexual.
Most people assume that sexuality and gender identification is a three-point multiple choice question. Some even think it’s a two point question: you’re either gay or straight. “Pick one.” The reality is that it’s a spectrum. Even trying to condense the spectrum into a four letter acronym is insufficient and disheartening to those who don’t feel they fit perfectly with one label.
I feel pressured to “act more gay” in order to have my sexuality be taken seriously. This relates to the issue of not fitting in with the gay or straight communities.
Bisexuals are not ‘greedy’ and they are not more likely to cheat in a relationship. This one drives me mad and I feel that it speaks for itself.
I, too, get ridiculed for my sexuality. For those who stubbornly believe that all people who identify as bisexual are attention whores, consider this: Throughout high school, I felt constant anxiety. There were several years where I didn’t feel safe going to school. I’ve been called a faggot and a dyke, and an indecisive or confused individual. I’ve been told that I’m ‘going to hell’ for being who I am. These comments destroy[ed] my comfort and my confidence, and prevented me from having pride in myself. Do you really think I would opt to feel that way if I could avoid it?
"You’re Bi? Oh, so you’ll fuck anything." It baffles me that some men use this one on me in hopes that I’ll agree to sleep with them. Just because I’ve been attracted to both men and women doesn’t mean that I’m some desperate unstoppable sex-machine. So don’t flatter yourself because if you’re saying this shit to me, you’ve a snowball’s chance in hell.
If you don’t understand something about bi/pansexuality, just ask. Seriously. No decent human is going to scoff at you for asking questions. In fact, they will most likely be extremely appreciative. This goes for just about any type of sexuality or gender identity. Just remember to be polite about it since it can be a very sensitive issue for a lot of people.
If you want another point of view, I highly recommend this article.
“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”—Maya Angelou (via aclockworkorange)
Now that I’ve released my anger in writing, I’m overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness.
It seems every time I’m reaching for the answer or “cure,” it slips away and I end up right back where I started. I’m a healthy person. I try to eat well, exercise, I avoid all the migraine triggers I can think of, and still I’m haunted by this monster. Worst of all, most people have no fucking idea. I can’t tell you how many professors I’ve had who get irritated with me for arriving late to their morning classes, or missing days, because of my migraines. “This is really getting to be a problem, Tana. I can respect a health issue but you really need to get it sorted out if you want to do well in this class.” It’s comments like these that send a fucking knife straight through my chest. I’ve had a good number of peers (who claim to be migraine sufferers as well) say to me on numerous occasions that whenever they just don’t “feel like” going to class, they’ll say they have migraines and it makes me want to fucking vomit. All I want to do is go to my classes and feel well and do well.
People don’t understand how many pages I’ve had ripped out of my life. They don’t know how many times I’ve made plans and had to call the morning of to report I won’t be able to get out of bed. There are countless people I wanted to see, events I wanted desperately to attend, classes I should have been able to go to, and opportunities that slipped away. And it makes me want to cry and scream, but I can’t even do that for fear of worsening the migraine. This is not meant as a “woe is me” cry for attention, nor an attempt at self-pity. I guess I don’t even know what it is. Maybe just a rant to say I’m tired. I’m tired of this invisible evil that seeks to crush every ounce of patience and joy from my life. I’m tired of doctors who don’t seem to give a flying shit. I’m tired of people who don’t care to understand.
Generally speaking, I’ve been blessed with good health. Sure, I’ve had my moments and I almost died when I got sepsis in 2010, but other than that, my record is pretty clear. There is one ailment, however, from which I’ve suffered almost my entire life and that’s migraines. [Common misconception for the fortunate individual who has never experienced a migraine: it is not a headache. Is it pain, often most severely affecting the head, yes, but it is so so much more. When I get a migraine, I shut down. It starts off as a headache and I’ll take meds and hope for it to get better. When it doesn’t, I know I’ve got a migraine. It causes me to crumble; all I can do is lie in fetal position in bed with a blindfold, praying for absolute silence for hours on end. Now, although migraines can differ significantly from person to person, for me I am extremely light and sound sensitive. Every tiny noise, from the cat jumping to the windowsill, to the washing machine in the other room, causes a crippling, throbbing pain. Every trace of light is like pressing a hot iron into my eyes.]
Shoutout to my girl friends from LaFoCo. I miss you all so much. Some of you are having a rough time and it makes me want to scoop you up and bring you to CO where I can feed you and hug you and give you good wine and beer.
Andrew, the man who helped me rescue the cat this afternoon, called me. He said he got him to the vet; they neutered, washed, and given antibiotics. He wasn’t anyone’s pet, just a stray. He’ll be rehoused to be a barn cat.
Today my mom and I were driving my brother to the airport. I looked out the window at the ugly concrete median that sat between the highway and something caught my eye. A small orange tabby cat was curled up against the wall. I immediately called out to my mom and said, “Holy shit, there was a cat back there.” We exchanged sad looks and continued driving.
After we said a tough goodbye to Ryan and drove away, I found myself looking out the window again worrying about that cat on the highway. I couldn’t remember where it was or what exit it was near. Any chance of finding it, assuming it was still there, seemed slim. But I couldn’t get her off my mind. I remembered that the median in that part of the road was much taller than everywhere else and, as we drove home, I recognized it again. I told mom to exit and turn around. Sure enough the cat was still there, huddled up against the wall. I grabbed a sweater and climbed out of the car in my sweatpants and bare feet. When she noticed I was approaching, she instantly panicked, trying madly to climb the wall. I had to chase her down the highway for a while and managed to get close when I blocked her off from crawling down a drainage pipe.
For a moment she stopped running and sat a few feet in front of me. I could tell she’d been on the street a long time, for she was completely exhausted. I also noticed she’d been bleeding from the mouth. I held my hand out to her in hopes that she would let me approach but she started hissing. She tried again to squeeze down the drain pipe and I grabbed her scruff and she sliced my wrist pretty badly. Around this time, as drivers stared at me with bewildered looks, a man in a trucked rolled down his window and shouted “Hey! Good for you!”
When the cat ran down the highway again, I started losing hope I’d ever catch her. Then I noticed two other people had pulled over down the road and were standing at the ready with towels in their arms. The cat scurried up the wall again and fell into their arms. They managed to pin her against the wall, covered in a towel. When I got there the woman and man asked if I’d called anyone. I said no and the man said “I’m married to a vet tech so I can take her. We’ll get her help.” They wrapped the towel around the frightened kitty and got her in his car. The other woman and I gave our numbers to him in hopes of updates on its wellbeing.
As I walked to my car again, the woman turned and hugged me and said, “Thank you so much for stopping. I never would have seen her if you hadn’t.” She started talking about how her day had already been so emotional as she was moving to a new house that day and her crappy ex boyfriend had her kids or something. She started to choke up and hugged me again. I told her to hang in there and best of luck.
So there you have it. That’s my story for the day on how I helped rescue a cat.
I really hope than man sends me a message and lets me know how the cat is doing. And I hope that woman’s day gets better.
So toward the end of The Lion King, there’s the scene where Mufasa busts outa the clouds and does his whole REMEMBERRRR WHO YOU ARREEE. I was always surprised he never said a damn thing about Scar. Like “You are the one true king, Simba. Return to Pride Rock. Oh and also, tell Scar he’s a dick.”
Mike accidentally made up the word “Heavily dutily” when trying to just call something ‘heavy duty.’ Now I’m already like a 6 year old when it comes to my humor but “heavily dutily” is one of the funniest fucking things I’ve heard all week.