Tonight, I cried writing this.

Sleeping

Calmly lying still
why does he sleep
while we commune

Rivers of rain fill the room,
blue droplets stream across every cheek

Sadness?
Happiness?

Why does it rain
while the sun shines?

It is Christmas
why does he sleep?

When will he venture
back from this trip
back from a still slumber?

Why does he sleep
while I love?

Why does he sleep
while the birds sing
and the family gathers?

Why does he sleep
while I dance on stage
and play my first recital?

Where has he gone
in what dream has he fallen into?

Why does he sleep

while I am here

Waiting

Time

Years go by
everyone grows up.

Life continues
smiles begin again
holidays bring joy and laughs.

Months go by
things become bearable again.

Life drags on
people forget
no one understands.

Weeks go by
the tears stop.

Life is halted
pictures cause pain
memories flood back
ripping open the heart.

Days go by
never wanting to leave
the serenity of the life once known.

Life has ended
no one can ease the pain
of waiting and waiting for the door to open.

Time covers the wounds
that will never heal.

Time covers the sorrow
no one can understand.

I wrote this pair of poems my freshman year of High School. Over the years they have been edited and changed, shortened and lengthened, but it has always been an important writing piece for me. During freshman year English I got an assignment to write a set of poems, one poem that represented an event that affected my life during childhood and one poem that represented how that event  affected my life now (in 9^th grade). The poems could be about any event; a happy event, a sad event, a funny event. It was my teachers’ way of learning about each of his students and learning our writing styles. The teacher gave each student the option to explain what the poems were about or to leave the poems to explain themselves.  

I thought a lot about this assignment; probably more that most students. I love writing and English is always my favorite class. It took a long time for me to come up with an event that really affected me, an event that I could relate a lot of who I am with. I wrote these two poems about losing my grandfather. In a way it was about losing both of them young. Losing a grandparent is a somewhat common thing, but even today I have tears in my eyes when I think about both of my grandfathers. 

My grampy was the first person to die when I was old enough to somewhat understand what was going on. I was still young though and I did not cry at his funeral and I did not understand the real implications of what was happening. I saw it as a day to get out of school and a family get-together. I knew what death was but I did not really understand that he was not coming back. 

My other grandfather died when I was twelve. That hit me harder, I fell apart. I was not grieving for one grandfather I was grieving for two. Some might say I really lost both of them around the time I was 7/8. My grandfather had an accident and was in nursing home for almost five years, he never recovered. I got to know my grandfathers by the perspective of a 7 year old, which I could say is pretty glorified and for that I am happy. I see the times my grampy caught me at the end of the water slide and the times he sat me on his lap at the thanksgiving table. I remember the times my grandfather brought me to toys R Us and the times he let me help paint the house (but I was 6 and did not really do anything). I remember the happy and the great because in the eyes of a 7 year old, grandparents do no wrong. Maybe that is why it still hurts. Maybe I blame myself for not getting the extra years, but till this day I can never think about both my grandfathers without losing my mind. I have pictures of them with me, but I can never put them up because I still cannot handle it. It still hurts.  

  

The first poem shows the pain of not understanding a death of someone I wish I did not have to live without. The second poem expresses the amount of work it takes to learn to be okay with it. Both of my grandfathers may not have been perfect, but to a seven year who thinks her grandfather is coming back, it hurts to realize the next Christmas he will never be there again. To a barely 8 year old girl watching your grandfather fall down the stairs can be horrifying especially if that is the last time he spoke to you. My grandfathers have influenced my life for a long time, and I will never forget them, however glorified that image may be, they were perfect. The pain does not go away and the second poem is not quite true yet because I still lose it. 

I never handed these poems in that day. I did publish them in a project my senior year that really no was going to read. It is still are hard topic and it is hard to write this. Those poems were hard to write and even harder to hand in. 

But I will be okay, because time mends all wounds and every tear in our heart is an important scar that shapes who we are.

Morning Jog

Running through the lush
green grass that stretches
on for acres.
Feeling the crunch of the rocks
beneath
my worn out
mud stained sneakers.
Chasing man's best friend
over puddles, up hills
passing through the peaceful beauty of the world.
Over the bridge, past the spring,
through the mountains
listening to the birds sing
with the wind gently kissing
my rosy red cheeks.
Absorbing the fresh kind
smell of the pind
trees.
Listening to the iPod
called nature.

Dreams

He stared at the ground for almost fifteen minutes. His eyes were glazed over with tears he couldn’t bear to show. His heart was as heavy as a boulder, pounding with the force of a boxer smashing it with his fist. He could not even look up from the stained white carpet that his feet indented. He could barely utter the words that he had to say next. His mouth opened but the words could not pass the barrier of his mind. He just stood there wishing it was easier, waiting, hoping the longer he delayed the problem go away.

She knew something was wrong; she knew for a long time. She anticipated what would be coming. She knew what he had to say, but wished he would never be able to say it. For weeks, months even, she prayed it was her imagination. She justified every phone call, every time he did not look her in the eye when he came home late. She could not remember the last time he looked at her the way he used to, with the sincerity and the love that he had in the past, and told her she was everything he needed. She was sure she was ready for everything that was coming; but words began to spew without any control. Her words came spilling out of her mouth like the tears falling down her cheeks. She could not stop the words before they reached the air.

“Really, Really! NO! I do not deserve this. I deserve more than this you son a bitch! Two days; you wait two days before my wedding to do this! You wait until now, after everything I have gone through! I will not let you ruin my day, the day that was supposed to be ours… the freaking happiest day of our life! I will not let you make a fool out of me!”

She was angry at him but she did not blame him. At first the blame all fell on her. She knew something was coming but she did not want to admit it. She had a feeling when he asked her to marry him in August that he was doing it because it was expected, not because he sincerely wanted to get married. Maybe that is why she wanted to get married in December, not because it was winter or the joy of Christmas time, but so he could not back out.

The words started pouring out like the tears in his eyes, he could not hold back any longer. His words exploded into the air but his eyes still did not leave the safety of the dirty, white carpet.

“Please, it’s not you, I love you. I always have, I have for twelve years, I have ever since our parents introduced us in middle school.  I always will. Every time you laugh, every time you smile, it brightens my day, but the truth is I am not in love with you, I am not dying to get married tomorrow, and when I look at you I do not feel the same way as I did years ago. It is nothing compared to the way I feel when I look at him. There are so many uncertainties; there shouldn’t be. Maybe we need to try new things, maybe I need to try this, him. Maybe we need to see. If I get married tomorrow it would be ruining both our lives.”

“Look at me, look at my face you coward!” She was upset, angry. The anger towards herself turned to fire towards him. “How dare you imply this is for both of us, to save both of us. How dare you claim that by telling me you are not in love with me, you are in love with another man, you are helping both of us. I know what I want, I want to get married tomorrow, I want you by my side. I said yes, I committed to this relationship, you committed to this relationship! You are throwing me away like a smelly old sock that got a little too dirty. Do whatever the hell you want, but do not dare say that this is for us; this is for you, to make you feel better. This is to make you ‘happy’. There is nothing in this situation that is helping me. You may want to try new things, but I am fine the way I am, where we are. You had months to say something, you did not have to pledge to marry me, you did that out of your own free will and you are going to be the one that is sorry!”

His head slowly rose, fighting against the pain and the sadness that held it down. He looked straight into her eyes for the first time in months. He leaned forward and took her soft, moisturized hand and held it in between his, softly, carefully. He could not say anything, all he could do was stare into her tear filled eyes and painfully watch the innocence and the joy she had an hour ago slowly disappear like a shadow in the dark.

As their hands gently fused together, she thought about everything. The past 12 years, their life together, their friendship, their love. She thought about it all. The only thing in those 12 years that she always thought made since was she loved him and he loved her. Through all the crappy days and the fights that caused one of them to sleep on the couch, she always loved him. Even now, she could not hate him. She could barely stand to look at him, knowing he would soon be walking out of her life, but she could not hate him. She was angry, aggravated, and ready to punch him so hard he would forget what day it was, but she still loved him. He was her best friend; he was the one that made since. He was always the one that stood behind her and caught her when she fell. He was the only one that sat there when her eyes were all puffy and she was drowning in a sea of tissues after her father passed away. He was it.

For him too, she was always the one that made since. They did everything together. His father always expected him to marry a beautiful women, have kids settle down; marry her. Living alone, especially with another man, was out of the question. He wanted to please his father and his whole family. So why not marry his best friend, why not love his best friend? Ever since middle school his father told him, “she’s a nice girl, she’s what you want. She would be a good catch son. You should marry her some day, you would do well. You would be a lucky man.” His father would never accept anything else.

He spent his whole life doing what he wanted, except when it came to getting married. He never really wanted to get married, he thought kids would be nice but his whole life was not based around that. He never cared about pleasing his parents because in most cases they would always come back to him. But marriage was always the one thing that there was not option of blowing off or changing. He could not do it, he wanted to, he wanted to please his parents, he wanted to please her. He loved her, and he cared a great deal about her. It killed him to break her heart, but he just could not do it.

“There should not be a question, there should not be doubt. We should not do what makes since. It is what we have always done. It is all we know. But I cannot anymore. I look at him, and the world around me gets blurry, my knees get weak, all I want is for him to warp his perfectly chiseled arms around me. I am ready to do what does not make since.”

“You will lose everything. You will lose me; you will lose your family. Is he really worth it? Am I not? Do not do this just to change your life up. If your life is too boring go climb a tree, go sky diving, go base jumping for god sakes. If you leave and it is not what you expect or you change your mind, I will not be here to let you break my heat again.”

He looked at her one more time and softly laid his lips on her check and took a leap of faith. He walked out the door, leaving a blank check with his signature and a note.

“I wish it wasn’t this way, but I cannot lie to you or myself any longer. Not for my parents, not even to keep your heart from breaking, which is one of the most terrible things I have ever done. This check is for you, for the wedding, for everything you may need. I know you are hurt, and left without a best friend, but maybe it is for the best. It has been twelve years. You have been tied down to me and your families’ expectations. Runaway, climb Mount Everest, go skydiving, fall in love again, harder that you did with me.”

The note was covered with dry tears and the heart of a man she knew lover her but could not stay. She understood, but she could not forget, she could not stop feeling worthless. She could not let it go. Every day that passed, every minute that dragged by, she sat in her three bedroom house, made for a growing family, staring at the unopened wedding gifts and the surprise she would never get a chance to give him. She stared at the stick sitting in front of her that she had wrapped for him as his wedding gift, the stick that would start their perfect family.

 Maybe this was what he meant, do something different with her life. She was going to start a family, the adventure she always wanted. Maybe she did not need a man. It was not the way she expected, but nothing had been as expected lately.

For the first time in days she saw a future for herself again, for her baby, one that she did not expect or plan for but a future.

She painted one of the empty rooms in her large colonial cottage, bright orange for the baby she knew was going to be a girl. She just had an instinct and maybe it was too early to be getting ready but she could not wait. Once again she was getting ready for the happiest day of her life.

For weeks she spent hours every day putting together a cradle, a crib, even a baby changing station. She picked out a wall paper trim that was filled with teddy bears and clowns funny red noses. It was an enormous amount of work that always made her overly tired. Her hands got callused and cut, but to her it was all worth it.

Three and a half months she had been carrying, until one day, she stood balancing on the ladder in the almost finished room and felt a wed stream of what seemed to be a thick red paint dripping down to the bottom of her pants. But it was not paint.

The tears once again overwhelmed her and the anger she had could not be controlled. She tore the wall paper trim down off the walls, leaving a sticky white residue on the orange walls. She heaved a large hammer through the wall, making an extremely loud boom and plaster flew everywhere, raining down on the tarp covered room. She collapsed; she could not move.

For hours she sat in the dirty, now ruined, wrecked bedroom. She rocked side to die with tears dripping off her checked onto paint ridden jeans, painted her face bright red.

She was left, once again by the only thing she cared about, the only thing she thought she could call hers. She was left, along, staring at her past dreams that would not, that did not, come true. 

Lurking in the Closet

Every day you haunt me.

Every time I look up, there you are, right in front of my face, taunting me. All 30 inches of you will not go away! I have tried to make it work, but we are just not compatible. I know my family wishes I would bring you home with me one day. I just cannot do it. You are clingy, and short; you make me feel uncomfortable. You always seem to attract attention; I hate it. With you, I never feel comfortable in my own skin. You are perfect for so many women, even for a man if he so chooses. Any person would be lucky to have you. Unfortunately you and I do not work. Anytime we are together I feel exposed, vulnerable, judged, questioned. You are frilly, flowery, and colorful; you stand out. I tried, we tried, but only for special occasions can we be together. You are beautiful, just not beautiful with me. We are too different. I am a plain tee-shirt, button down, occasional bowtie, jeans kind of person. You lurk and lurk in the closet and I am forced to stare at what the world wants me to be, what is considered normal; but if you are normal- acceptable- then I am not. I lock my closet until it is time to take you out. I like you but right now we do not work. Maybe one day I will open my closet and let you out, but until then please obey my wishes and stop taunting me with what the world wants me to be, showing me everything I am not but have tried so desperately to be. I have slowly accepted and understood that it is okay to be exactly who I am, but I still look at you and see what is normal and attempt to play the façade every once and while. I am not ashamed, but every time I open my closet I see you there waiting for me. We are not compatible and I am not sure we will ever be, not matter how much the world wants us to be.  

Let's Build a Boat!

I could not think of what to write about, so naturally I turned to Google. I searched: Blog Topics, seems pretty simple, yes? Wrong. It brought me to a website with 81 blog ideas that consisted of- write a blog about 40. becoming a wine connoisseur, 34. building a boat and crossing the Pacific in it- just to name a few.

Why would anyone write a blog about building a boat, especially someone who has no boat building experience? My blog on how to build a boat would consist of what I learned from Tom Hanks in Cast Away when I was 10. Sharpen a large rock and in some kind of miracle use that to cut down a few trees. Then cut the stalks of the trees into five identical length stumps, with that same sharpened rock and somehow magically tie them together with the leaves of a palm tree. As wonderful as that movie was, I am almost positive that this will not actually work seeing as I can barely cut through a tree stump with a real sharpened saw and no leaf of a tree, palm or not, is strong enough to tie up a tree that is going to be placed into the water and hold it together with a 100+ human floating on top of it. You mine as well jump in the pacific with one of those floating noodles and hope for the best, you would probably have better luck. Now you may be able to find a fallen tree and place the stump in the water and straddle it like a floating device. However, somehow I am pretty sure I am not qualified to tell people how to build a boat that will keep them alive while floating in the Pacific. Anyone who learns how to build a boat on a blog I would also question, and I would think twice about boarding that boat. 

Now, again, I have no special wine abilities either. The only thing I know about wine is the fact that it comes it red and white. I cannot taste the difference between a $2 wine and a $200 bottle of wine. The extent of my connoisseur abilities consist of telling you go for the $2 bottle of wine, you can get drunk quicker and will not be crying all night after you are drunk about the money you have just spent of this god awful bottle of wine. Now, maybe I am a cheap date (which is one hundred percent true) but again, this is not a sufficient or appropriate blog topic idea. What kind of people does this website think they are targeting. Any boat building wine aficionado looking for blog topics on Google is probably not a boat building wine aficionado. 

You can say that yes I have written a blog on two topics that were on this list, however I do not think that the person who came up with these ideas had this in mind when they said write a blog about building a boat or write a blog about becoming a wine connoisseur. Anyone who has that much time on their hands to research for their blog by building a boat or being a specialty wine connoisseur should probably stop writing a blog and get a real job because they must have some skills that could be put to use in an actual paid job. 

Just a few other blog “ideas” that you may enjoy from this website; how anyone came up with these ideas is beyond me. Now if anyone ever actually wrote blogs on these topics I applaud you!

 

Eco-tourism
The end of the world and the Maya prophecies for December 21st, 2012
The world of virtual conferences
QR codes.
Inspire Bootstrappers (A blog to inspire bootstrappers by posting real bootstrapper success stories.)

(Bootstrapping: A procedure used to calculate the zero-coupon yield curve from market figures.)

Champagne

People are hidden behind walls, both figurative and real. We hide in our houses from people and things in the real world when we do not want to or cannot deal with them. We hide in our minds what we do not want the world to see or hear. We choose what we want people to know. Some let it all out and some keep it all in.  

I talk a lot. I talk maybe too much.

The problem is I do not say anything meaningful. Sometimes I am crazy or just outright ridiculous. Sometimes I am a comedian and sometimes I am a comforting friend. Sometimes I am overly political and sometimes I am stubborn and opinionated.

I share the funny details. I share the weird things. I share the enjoyable and the stupid. I share the crazy.

I share about my family when it puts them in good light. I share when my aunt tells me she sleeps naked. I share when my dad and I have an interesting argument about politics and women. I share when my mom makes an interesting joke. I share some stories with a laugh even though in reality it hurt me deep inside.

I share the good because it is too hard to share what hurts me the most. If I do not say it than maybe it is not true. These are people I love, people I will go to the ends of the earth to protect. These are people that I care so much about. It is easier to pretend they did nothing than to say they hurt me. It is easier to tell the story with the funny details than to add the end where I was ripped apart. It easier to make a story funny than to say I cannot accept it. It easier to end in a smile than to tell someone they are close minded. It is easier to pretend to accept someone’s belief than to tell them you believe they truly are wrong. It is easier to laugh at something I cannot believe or understand than to tell someone what they said affected me.

In therapy and my journal I never say anyone’s name because I do not want anyone thinking anything negative about people I care about because of me. I do not want that to be the impression that anyone gets of someone I care deeply for but just may have been hurt by.

I do not confront people for fear they might not care. I do not want an excuse after being made to feel like I do not matter or I am disposable. When that is all I get it hurts me more than walking away and keeping the pain to myself.  So I say nothing. I cannot even write about my feelings further than what I am writing right now. My journal, my blogs, even talking to a therapist, I never say who hurt me, or how, or why, I always keep it general and on the surface, because the further I dig the more I get hurt.

Is it better to hold it all in or let it all out? Truthfully as hard as I try I am closed by fear and hurt.

Do I matter, am I anyone’s first choice sometimes or on anyone’s list of ‘I cannot live without’? I never want to test the boundaries or ask those questions because I fear I may know the answer, and I may not be able to handle it.

So for now my journal stays nameless and my stories stay funny and crazy, until I am I ready to pop the cork on the champagne and let everything out.  

Knitting, Scrapbooking and So Much More

As I grew up I did everything. When I say everything one might think I am exaggerating but truly I did almost everything. I was not a kid that could ever sit still. I would say maybe I still cannot sit still. Even watching television I never just sit there; I get up and dance, do handstands, get tea, listen to music (yes I know that defeats the purpose of television), cook food, etc. I am a fidgety person and I like to be doing something somewhat productive even if it is just typing nonsense on the computer while watching television. 

That said, I signed up for anything I could when I was a kid. Until I was ten I played baseball, until they sent me to softball and I did not want to play softball, I only liked baseball because my brother did it and the ball for softball was too big. When I was four I started doing ballet and jazz, along with soccer on the weekends. In second grade, when I was seven, I wanted to do acrobatics and tap as well but my mom told me if I did that I had to quit something else. So I gave up soccer because one of the girls on my team bullied me and I just was plain bad at soccer. I started violin that year as well, in school, pretty much the one thing I stuck with all through my youth. When I was ten I was doing tap, ballet, jazz, acrobatics and the violin but figured I had one afternoon free a week so I convinced my mom to sign me up for gymnastics. Then in middle school we were offered the choice to play a band instrument. I went from playing flute to clarinet, to both the clarinet and bass clarinet and trying the saxophone because I thought I could be the next BB King but never got into it. I then decided to sign up for guitar lessons, but once again my mother gave me an ultimatum, guitar or clarinet so I quit clarinet and started the guitar. 

My schedule was always filled, and when I had free time my hobbies seemed to change weekly along with all my extracurricular activities. I got into knitting and even joined my middle school knitting club after school (yeah I am that cool), I signed up for after an school cooking class in elementary school, I still have 6 scrapbooks from my scrap booking days, I ripped up old clothes and sewed new ones (including a pathetic tie skirt) until my sewing machine broke, I briefly got into bracelet making, bead jewelry making, I even tried pottery. 

My parents never pressured me to do any activities, if anything they had to cut me off because I tried to do so much. I enjoyed everything I did even though I was never very good at many of the things I did. I was not good at gymnastics, hence all the injuries, but I enjoyed it and made a lot of friends within my team, so I stuck with it. I was okay at violin but never amazing; again it was something to do. My scrapbooks were never anything spectacular but they gave me something to do with my free time, my fidgety hands, and all my old family photos. The only thing I created at knitting club was a strangely shaped scarf, but it gave me something to do afterschool from 4-6 when my parents were still at work. 

For a long time I resented my parents for not pushing me into one thing. As I got older I realized I was never great at any one thing and it upset me. By the time I was around tenth and eleventh grade I always yelled at my parents for not making me choose one thing. I never really learned guitar; even though I have about 2 years’ experience, I could only play about three songs. I did so much that everything I did turned into a hobby, not something I could say I was great at or be the best at.

As time goes on though, I realize I probably would never have become a professional gymnast whether my parents pushed me into it or not. I can cook, I may not be a professional chef but I can cook a meal when I want to. I did so much, but it would not have been me if I had only chosen one thing to do. I would have gotten board with it. No matter how much I wish I had an amazing talent, not matter what my parents did, I probably would have been just as angry if they had made me stick to one thing, than just let me do my thing. 

I always remember the episode of Sister, Sister when Ray, the father, doesn’t want to pay for Tamera’s softball uniform because she always quits things, and never sticks with one thing for long. I always thought maybe if my parents made me do one thing, and not ten things at once and quit to do something else maybe I would have been better off, actually been spectacular or special at something. Just like Tamera, it was not me to do one thing all the time.

It has taken a long time to realize that it does not matter if I am spectacular or special at something. I may not be a professional athlete or super artsy, but I always enjoyed what I did whether I was good at it or not.

Whenever anyone told me I was not good at something, I never really cared, until I got older and thought maybe if did it longer or tried harder I could have been incredible. I am not an artist no matter how hard I try or how many drawing pads I get. That is okay. It does not mean I cannot just draw because I want to.

It is only important that you enjoy doing what you are doing, whether it is one thing or ten. Hobbies can change, stay the say, even become a career, but they don’t always. That is something that I have begun to learn. I did so much because I enjoyed doing it, and it kept me occupied. If I only did gymnastics I would have resented my parents for making me choose one thing because it just was not me. 

Although this is a cliché, I am special in my own way. I may not be great at only one thing, but I enjoy what I do, and that makes me who I am.  

Abstinence Only, are will still teaching that?

I have never been one not to abide by the parental discretion advisories or the movie rating at the theater. I waited till I was thirteen to go to a PG-13 movie and I never snuck into an R rated movie before I was seventeen. I never had the need to and I never cared that much. When I was twelve I wanted to buy a Snoop Dogg CD (I was twelve do not judge me), but there was a parental advisory sticker on it and the store would not sell me the CD. I put the CD back and walked away. I thank the store because I saved myself 13 dollars on a CD I was mostly buying because it was the ‘cool thing’ to do.

Last night I was listening to the songs from the Zac Brown Band’s new album Uncaged, along with a few Stevie Nicks songs, and Chely Wright’s fairly new album from 2010, Lifted of the Ground. I have always a country music fan, maybe because my parents always listed to country radio in the car or because I like the line dancing rhythm of a lot of the songs. It is very rare to find a country song that is listed as explicit on iTunes. Country music is usually about love, loss, drinking, or death, but it usually is not vulgar enough to be considered explicit or get a parental advisory tag.

Chely Wright’s album Lifted off the Ground has 12 songs, that are all listed as explicit. I read the warning for why a song or album would acquire an explicit parental advisory warning. The letter concerning Music Rating in Music on iTunes states this:

“The Parental Advisory is a notice to consumers that recording identified by this logo may contain strong language or depiction of violence,  sex or substance abuse. Parental discretion is advised”

I understand why these criteria would make a song listed as explicit. However, I am baffled as to why they would list the whole album Lifted off the Ground as explicit. Two songs in the album use profanity, so it would be more understandable that these two songs have explicit ratings on them. The song Damn Liar uses the word f***ing at the end of the song once, and whether or not one considers damn a swear that could also factor in on the rating of the song. The song Object of Your Rejection uses the word s**t saying "you cannot always get away with treating people like s**t" and the song Snow Globe hints at drug use, making that an appropriate candidate for an explicit rating.

Through the songs of this album, the topics of suicide, heart break, hiding in the closet, love, love of another woman are all brought up. These topics are more adult, so I would understand that these would be listed as explicit attached to each other, when buy the whole album. However, on iTunes one can buy songs separately. Each one of the songs on this album is explicit parental advisory meaning not appropriate for children.

The song Young, Wild & Free by Wiz Khalifa, is not listed as explicit on iTunes. This song starts off with the words 

“so what we get drunk, so what we smoke weed, we’re just having fun, we don’t care who sees”. Later is says “and if I skip for the day I’m with you b***h smoking grade A”.

This song is not listed as explicit which peeves me. It is not that this song is not listed as explicit that upsets me, it is the fact that Chely Wright’s album hints to sexuality and suicide which are real issues going on in the world today that are important for everyone to understand and realize that they are real and no one is alone. Young, Wild, & Free very blatantly talks about smoking weed [“substance abuse”], and uses the word b***h [“strong language”].  Why is the word b***h allowed to be said in a song once, but a lesbian country singer cannot say the word s**t without the song being labeled as explicit.

The music rating warning also states:

“Lyrics are often susceptible to varying interpretations. Words can have different meanings. Also, words cannot be viewed in isolations from the music that accompanies them. Lyrics when accompanied by loud and raucous music can be perceived differently than the same lyrics when accompanied by soft and soothing music… Context, frequency, and emphasis are obviously important; isolated or unintelligible references to certain material might be insufficient to warrant application of the Label.”

There is not alternate interpretation of the song Young, Wild and Free. The songs on Chely Wright’s album are intelligent, heartfelt and speak to the problems a lot of people face in their lives. Chely Wright is one of the first woman country singers to come out of the closet and speak out for gay rights. Her song like me is pretty obviously about the love she had for another woman. The only reason I can plausibly see that her whole album is listed explicit, when the song Young, Wild and Free is not, is the hint at sexuality or homosexuality.

The song by Brad Paisley called Ticks is very blatantly talking about sex, however that is not rated explicit. What other interpretation can be made by the lyrics:

“your jeans are playing peekaboo, I would like to see the other half of your butterfly tattoo….I’d like to see you, out in the moonlight, I’d like to kiss you way back in the sticks, I’d like to walk you through a field of wild flowers, and I’d like to check you for ticks”.

These songs are fine, I like Brad Paisley and I am not saying that his song should be listed explicit. What I am saying is there absolutely is a disjunction between the music rating’s criteria and why they really listed Chely Wright’s CD as explicit.

Now it technically does not affect me because I am 19, but if I was sixteen and wanted to get this CD I would have stayed away because I am a boring rule follower. Some parents might not let their child buy this CD. This CD is not offensive, rather opens peoples eyes to the real world. If it is offensive then it is only because of this world’s bigotry and out right homophobia.  Putting this CD as explicit is like teaching abstinence only sex education; closing teenagers eyes to the real world and hoping for the best (which hint-hint, usually doesn’t work).

Gay Republicans, they Exist?

What makes someone a republican or a democrat? What would classify someone as liberal, moderate or conservative? These questions are not easily answered, because to everyone the answer is different. Politics gets very tricky very fast; especially when two opinionated friends disagree on their political viewpoints. When it comes to different political party affiliation between friend’s, politics becomes a tricky topic. 

I have learned to keep the political discussion down to a minimum, or light hearted, when it comes to certain friends. One of my close friends and soon to be roommate is a black Jamaican, gay man. Only knowing these few facts about him may make my next statement shock most people. He is a conservative republican.

If I told you he is a small business owner, pre-med, and somewhat well off with a mother who also owns her own business in New York, there would most likely be less shock to the fact that he is a conservative republican. 

There are many parts to every person, and only knowing a few things about someone it is hard to make an accurate portrayal of who someone is. I will be honest and say when I found out the fact that he is a conservative republican I was shocked. I might even go as far and say I did not even believe it. At first I saw it as somewhat self-hating, because I did not really understand it, it was different. I always heard the conservatives and right wing politicians putting down “gay lifestyles” and gay marriage. It is a common assumption that all republicans are rich white religious men. 

My small minded view was obviously wrong and superficial. Once I paid attention to his views on welfare, taxes, the economy, healthcare, and specifically Occupy Wall Street, it was obvious to recognize he is a staunch conservative. We did not agree on MANY topics. 

On social issues he might be considered more liberal; for example when talking about gay marriage and gay adoption.  Economically he falls almost all the way right wing republican.

What it took me a long time to recognize is that being gay or in a minority it does not make you an automatic crazy liberal democrat (like myself). It is like saying every lesbian has short hair, or every gay man is flamboyant. 

The fact that my friend is gay does not have anything to do with his political affiliation. The fact that he is for gay marriage could make his views somewhat more liberal. However, just saying he is gay does not make him liberal or democratic in any sense. There are many gay men and women who do not believe in gay marriage for what every reason they want, and there are many gay men and women who believe in republican ideals but just happen to be gay.It took me a while to understand why someone who falls into so many minorities would have a republican mindset. However, he owns a small business, his mother is a republican and he grew up with republican values. 

I read a New York Times article the other day that commented on the republican hopeful for congress in Massachusetts, Richard Tisei. Tisei is a republican who happens to be gay. The Times article was about his democratic opponent, John F. Tierney. The times mentions Tisei to show the competition between the two opponents in Massachusetts and to comment on the reality that Massachusetts is a democratic state that usually votes democratic or liberal.The Times stated, “Mr. Tierney’s opponent is Richard R. Tisei, a former State Senate minority leader who as a gay supporter of abortion rights embodies the “Massachusetts moderate” label that helped Scott P. Brown to his Senate victory in 2010,”which may help Tisei as well. 

The reality of the politician Mr. Tisei really is, he is not moderate. He almost never talks about gay rights, and is also a only a supporter of abortion “under the right circumstances”. His economic and federalviews are mostly very conservative. Although some of his social views may be more liberal it does not make him a moderate in any sense of the word. I do not know of any time he commented on anything related to gay rights. I am not saying he does not believe in gay marriage or gay rights. I am just saying, him being gay does not make him a liberal. If the times had said a supporter of gay marriage and abortion that would make somewhat more sense in helping put the moderate label on him.  

The reason Scott Brown can be seen as a “Massachusetts moderate” is because he is commonly known for compromising with democrats or working with democrats within the senate and congress to pass legislation they both agree with. Brown has been known to vote democratic occasionally. Tisei is not known for compromising or voting democratic. His views on abortion may bemore liberal than most conservative republicans, but by no mean does it make him a moderate. The fact that he is gay does not make him liberal; being for gay marriage would be different, but you do not have to be gay to support gay marriage.

No one is perfect (not even the New York Times) and it is probably assumed what the Times meant, however, it is important to recognize that being gay does not make anyone anything but gay. Gay marriage is a liberal idea, but gay just means erotically and emotionally you love someone of the same sex. 

It took me little while to wrap my head around the fact that my friend was a republican- I was being small minded. We very much disagree on many political topics, and that is okay. It keeps our conversations…interesting.

No one can fall one hundred percent into one category of republican or democrat. Being gay may give someone a more liberal view on the world because it is different and not widely accepted by certain people, but it does not make one a democrat. I learned this, and now apparently the New York Times needs to learn this as well.