Well, this is a mess of words and thoughts.

I was driving home the other day and thinking about a musician I had met recently. I’ve been following her music for nearly a decade and will always take the opportunity to gush about how great I think she is. Having this moment to finally meet her meant I might not be able to look and listen to her music the same way as before. The curtain would be lifted and whether or not I liked what I saw could change a very significant and emotional part of my life and memories.

After her concert, I saw a little crowd form near the exit. I immediately stopped walking and realized she was out there greeting friends and fans. I’ve seen her a couple of times before and had never got the chance to meet her, so naturally, I began sweating and getting hives and preparing my awe-inspiring speech I would yell in her direction while making too intense eye contact. I recall another time I was meeting a “hero” of mine and of this caliber, so I was excited and worried.

A Side Note: A topic I’ve always written notes about but haven’t formed into a full essay or post is that I think it’s crap how we’re constantly told to wear our passions on our sleeves and be supportive of one another, but when we actually do that, it’s almost off-putting. If I like something you’re doing, whether it be your music, art, poetry, or comedy, I will not hesitate to share it everywhere and talk about it with you or with someone who I think will like it too. For this, I get the feeling that I give off an intrusive energy. Why do I get self-conscious if I “Like” all your posts on your Facebook wall?  Who gives a fuck, you’re funny or you have great music, what does a “Like” constitute in reality? If I like your band but I don’t know you too well, I’m still going to share the shit out of your music. Maybe it’s not even a reflection of me but more so the creator of the work has both and unconscious fear of success and an unconscious fear of failure. I know that I have both, the second someone compliments me I revert to imposter syndrome. Yet, if I do well,  then I start self-sabotaging saying well, “if I succeed at this, will I be able to follow-up with something even better or will I be a one-hit wonder?” Combined with my online presence, I get the feeling my audience (mostly friends and acquaintances) have a hard time separating my jokes and written personality from the real me. Those jokes are certainly an extension of me, as a very heightened version of myself, but for god’s sake if you think I can eat as many burritos as I say I do and as often, then I would’ve been dead 4 months ago. I digress.

Back to being excited and worried about meeting a living-hero of mine. The advice “don’t meet your heroes” is meant to capture and maintain a spark and sense of wonderment about something or someone you care for. Maintaining that thrill and mystery. But I’m starting to think that’s shitty. When you meet someone you admire and they turn out to suck, doesn’t that make you think “well, this shitty person made something that is great…maybe a good person like me can make something just as great or even better.” Same thing works for if your hero turns out to be everything you wished and more. Now you get to see this human with your naked eye and shake their real-life hand and demystify the fact that they might be different from you. You are then inspired by their ambition and perseverance to create something, perhaps even to honor them. Those are all pretty good scenarios either way.

So I met her. I got to tell her about the first time I saw her music and it’s importance to me. Someone might say it’s cliché but that person clearly did not read the paragraph about me seen above. She was different from the image I had held of her and I appreciate that I know that’s not a bad thing. It was sobering to see she was someone who gave all of herself over to composing and performing. She didn’t have laser beam eyes nor have a light emanating off her body with a 4 ft range.  I immediately started separating her from me again, as if we didn’t live on the same planet at the same time, with the same opportunities. It was refreshing to have to remind myself that everything I admire and appreciate in one form of another is attainable. Also, that if it weren’t for the family, friends, and fans who speak up and express what they like openly then we wouldn’t have all these nice things and people that we do. Tehe.

What a jumble of rants here, eh?

Tell me all your thoughts please, thanks bye.

 

The End (but not really)

Hey Lint-lickers!

I DID IT. I FINALLY DID IT.  (Obligatory sex joke.)

Day 31. The final question of the Blog Challenge that I’ve managed to drag on since May. Whoops.

The Question: Why do you blog?

As I mention in every waking breath, in every medium, to every person I’ve met, I love comedy AND I love talking about things that other people feel uncomfortable talking about. Not controversial stuff (I mean, if you want!) but having conversations about emotional things that people stuff down inside them. Not necessarily a therapy session, but I appreciate talking passionately, whether about that goofy music you loved when you were 10 or that time your uncle died. Most people, when getting to know me, throw a “you’re weird” out there. But hey, I’m not going to pretend I’m a placid movie character. I over-share and reveal personal information about myself.  Just because you may not understand me, doesn’t mean you won’t, and doesn’t mean I don’t understand you.  I realized my “weird” is what a lot of people connect to on a deeper level. Several of my friendships have evolved from conversations that started with a “you’re weird” but closed with “I feel like I can be myself around you.” I don’t think I could dream up a more touching compliment.

In regards to blogging, I can reach people who might think the way I do, or who maybe are unconsciously searching for someone they can kick their shoes off with. We can toss around a few dick jokes too (because, y’know, comedy).

That being said, there are so many mediums available to throw your comedy onto. Naturally, I’m on all of them, but each outlet has it’s own crowd and it’s own set of strengths and weaknesses. Twitter is great for quick jokes, but blogging is a great place for rich storytelling. AND I GOT STORIES, KIDS.

It’s also a place I like to go to when I remember I went to college for writing and need to fill the void by writing reflective essays about myself.

Well. There it is. All done.

Thank you all who have kept tabs on ZE BLERG SHULERNGE. I think I lost the challenge in regards to the “31 Days” thing, but I answered all the questions, so there.

Until next time, my shining stars!

Post of Me Talking about Oreos, Stuff Gets Sad at One Point, but Then it Gets Better

I’m going to power through these last few blog challenge questions, as I’ve neglected them the past few weeks due to my busy schedule.*

(*Eating Oreos).

SEW. A difficult time in my life?

Buzzkill Belinda here will tell you ALL about it.

One of the more difficult times in my life was the 6 month span when both my grandmother and my dad died.

WAIT DON’T X-OUT YET!

Sure, it’s sad, but the whole experience has propelled me forward into a new person. Kind of like Freaky Friday but with myself. (Sounds hot, right?)

I was living life like a robot would in robot world doing robot things with my robot  brain and my robot  heart.

I never really thought for myself, or did anything that interested me. I didn’t speak up for myself and I didn’t pursue my own interests.

Even when it came time to apply to college, I thought surely I would die before having to make any major life choices! Because what do I matter?

Cue me sobbing in my bathrobe the day before Common Apps were due. I hadn’t looked at colleges. I had no idea what I was even interested in for a major.

I ended up at a college that was close to home so I could flee away from it on weekends and sob in my mother’s arms. I kept saying I would transfer once I found a college that would nurture the path I wanted to take.

That path didn’t come into focus until about 2 after I graduated. It’s still blurry, but at least my iPhone compass seems to be pointing me in a direction that isn’t straight to Hell.

I moved home and stayed there with my cats and my parents and my bed and my XBox and my bathroom with a doorlock.

The following year Nana and Dad died. After little sleep, living in hospitals, and eating all the food out of the hospice  kitchen, everything stops and you have to go back to reality. You’re left with the feeling of “now what?”

Me and Oprah did some soul searching,  and like a phoenix I flew around and brushed my feathers, threw glitter in people’s eyes, and made some rock music. Well, not really. I just decided I needed to pursue comedy because it’s been the only thing I’ve constantly gone back to whether for pleasure or for healing pain.

Without all that crud going on, I wouldn’t be the spaceship shoe-wearing, X-File loving, Nutcracker puppeteer you’ve come to sort-of like today! If you noticed my tattoo in the pictures I’ve posted in the past, I have a yellow rose on my wrist-my Nana’s favorite flower :B

Anyhoodles, until next time my little squeegee boards!

Blog Shell-Hands: DAY FOUR

Fourth day of the blog challenge.

I went to go see the B52’s and GoGo’s last night. 

I’ll write all about that when I have more time.

BUT Day Four: What are you afraid of?

On the surface I would say I’m afraid of sinkholes. Those pop up wherever the fuck they want. Could be right under your toilet.

I’m also afraid of not being able to save my cats. I have dreams that I’m trying to run away with them from something menacing like coyotes or tornadoes. 

One of my more deeper fears is not succeeding how I want to. I have ENORMOUS goals career wise, so when I lay in bed at night, in my Barbie pajamas, I wind up thinking about all the things I should be doing instead of sleeping.

What are you afraid of? Spiders? Monkeys? Spider Monkeys?

Until next time, my little bamboo shoots.