Amy Winehouse

Today, Amy Winehouse was found dead in her London home.

While her death is sad and disappointing to most, others find it to be no surprise. Although Police said that the cause of death is 'undetermined' it is assumed by most that she had overdosed.

The people who are making assumptions (whether they be crude, serious or otherwise) on her cause of death are being inappropriate not to mention disrespectful. Death isn't something to joke about even if it is extremely ironic.

On the other end of the spectrum we have the super saddened 'fans'. Many, many people from nobodies, all the way up to the A-Listers are commenting on her death as 'the loss of one of the best artists of our time'. I think every artist is a great artist in their own way. Just because she was 27 and semi-mainstream doesn't mean that it's a larger loss than an artist who never had the chance to record.

I did a little investigation of my own to find out exactly how many of the people who had posted about their great loss actually thought of her as one of their favorite artists before she deceased. I found about 25 posts on Facebook about her death (that weren't making a mockery of it). Of those 25 people who posted, only one of them had Amy Winehouse mentioned in their 'Info' page. Funny thing is, he had been to rehab before and bragged about it. I personally think he had her in there so people would associate him with her.

Of those 25 people, about 10 of them liked her page TODAY. They didn't think about her at all as their favorite musician until her death.

It's just perplexing to me how you can claim so much love for something once it's gone. In a few short weeks, her death will be something of the past and we won't think about it until this day comes next year.

I posted my favorite Amy Winehouse song, Back To Black on Facebook to celebrate her life. I don't want to mourn, nor do I feel obligated to because I never knew her personally. She was a great musician and visionary, and I respect that.

Dissatisfaction

Today I feel nearly completely dissatisfied.

I've actually felt this way for a little while.

For a period of time I mistook this for sadness. Now, it's not like I felt depressed (I'm not emo) but there was something missing. It's not that there's something missing though either. It's that there isn't enough to go around to fill the void. The void being my level of satisfaction.

When I looked in the mirror this morning I just sighed and stared. I moisturized my face after getting out of the shower and I smiled. I smiled at the slight improvement that took only seconds. Then I saw it, the recurring flaw. Teeth.

High School is now over and I've finally escaped the torment of my peers. My teeth, they torment everything in my life. I can't smile without being conscious of their astounding grotesqueness.

As I start every day, I have this reminder. So of course I'm thinking of ways to escape this and I can't. In order to do anything, I have to get ready.

What am I getting ready for? Ding! Ding! Ding! More dissatisfaction. I sit in the car for my 20-30 minute ride to the mall where I get to make a nickel for a dime's worth of work. I feel like I could be better elsewhere, not to mention, other people who are less deserving have the jobs and wages that I deserve. It's just so frustrating that I can't get something (that would be beneficial to both sides) without getting upset.

I spoke with Stacy last week and she said that she would talk to Becky and Veronica about how they've been dicking me around and using me. Well, that happened. They didn't even apologize for doing what they did, and Veronica was still really, really bitchy to me. They think they're all hot shit, counting money, and writing e-mails but they can't do what we (associates) do. They can't merchandise and fill out DERs, while ringing and folding down. They're just glorified couch potatoes.

I've been looking for a new job, but it has proven difficult.

My third level of dissatisfaction roots from money. Fucking money. FUCK money. I never have enough, it's inconsistent, and is the only way to get or do anything. I used to not mind looking rich but always being extremely broke, thinking "things will get better". Delusional... right? I'd rather look poor and feel rich than this. I can't enjoy a damn thing without it either.

On my way to school the other day, someone won a brand-new car. I didn't smile. I was jealous. I hated her. Good things don't come to those who wait OR those who go after them. Everything's just luck of the draw and you just have to hope that you won't end up dissatisfied.

The Rosary

As I put together my outfit this morning, Porcelain Black's song, This Is What Rock and Roll Looks Like was playing. I felt the need to embrace some of my past fashions. I wore all black with a studded belt. I had on a lot of jewelery and eye liner. To top off the look, I wore rosary beads that I bought when I went to Italy last year.

I went out the door like any other day. It really wasn't any different. I got a lot of compliments on how I looked, but that usually happens every day.

A friend of mine commented on the rosary beads which I wore around my neck. I had mentioned them because for some reason I held the beads in my hand often. I had thought about how it may be offensive and brought that up. She said that it was ignorant of me to wear rosary beads like a necklace as a fashion statement.

When I bought them, I thought of Madonna and how killer she looked when she wore them. It was a big deal when she wore them, but that was a million years ago. I didn't expect to get any reaction.

With this thought I was concerned. Was I being rude my wearing the beads?

I kept them on because I felt like there was no real reason to take them off. Through the rest of the day I was much more aware of their presence. While holding them in my French class I thought about what they represented. I believe in God, and that all of the stories in the Bible teach good morals. While I may question Jesus' existence, I don't think that his character (fictional or non-fictional) was poor in any way.

I remember when Mary was sick in the hospital and was dying. She had asked me to say the rosary every time I saw her. I was young at the time, and I did not want her to die. I would say the whole entire rosary every night for her. My faith was strong.

Although, I don't blame myself for her death, as my faith grew weaker when I got older, so did her health. When she passed, my faith was restored. All of that time I spent where I didn't acknowledge my faith was careless. I was living without purpose. I believe that death and birth come in pairs. With the death of her life came the birth of my stronger faith.

Wearing a rosary wasn't just a fashion statement. Faith isn't apparent at first glance. In wearing a rosary, I wore my faith close to my heart.

It's a shame, but I'm not wearing those rosary beads any time soon.

Anger

I've always known that I'm a generally aggressive person. I acknowledge the fact that I displace and suppress a lot of my anger, hate, and rage, in order to have better social interactions.

Today in Art Class, my teacher questioned me, "Why do you cuss so much?"

I was quick to excuse my crude vocabulary with, "If people didn't piss me off so much, I wouldn't have a reason to curse." I tend to think that I'm easily agitated. Now I'm sitting here thinking that maybe people are just stupid. Isn't that so disgustingly vain of me?

For the rest of the day after being questioned, I thought about who I'm usually mean towards and who I share my true sources of hate with. I'm mean to everyone, really. I'm mean to some of my coworkers, my friends at school, and the people I live with. The people who I'm NOT mean to though--those seem to be the far-and-few-between who don't piss me off.

If for some reason, there is a person who pisses me off and for one reason, or another and just can't help but piss me the fuck off, I just channel all that rage into something else. When this happens, I notice that I start to hate myself. It comes in many forms. It ranges anywhere from feeling fat or ugly, or even under-measuring my successes.

To branch out on another note--I noticed that although "people" piss me off, it's not their fault. A lot of the time I'm jealous, I want what they have.

So I guess "life's a bitch, and then you die."

It should be, "life's a bitch, and then you live miserable."

I was about to start a sentence with "Now I know that..." and then I realized that I have NO idea what I'm talking about. I sat and thought, "What the hell do I know?"

I just need realize that life isn't fair. I have to get the fuck over it and stop being so damn mean.

Cheating

While the word cheating may indicate many different things, I think it is very obvious that I am not talking about my last Pre-Calculus test.

A few days ago I found myself thinking about how I would feel if I were to be cheated on. I thought to myself that I wouldn't care if I never found out and I didn't get an STD. As you can see, my iron exterior is starting to convince my subconscious that my emotions are composed of iron also.

For a while now, Stevenson has been telling me about an internet friend of his. I guess he lives in the backwoods of some retarded conservative state that won't turn blue any time soon. They've been friends for a very long time, of course. His friend submitted photos to Ford Models out of a recommendation. After multiple trips to New York and whatnot he was informed that out of thousands who submitted, he was one of the very, very few selected. So this kid has to be pretty damn attractive, right?

Stevenson told me that his friend was moving to New York last week. He wanted to visit him before he got famous. He didn't want his friend thinking that he only wanted to become his friend once he got famous--if he gets famous.

He made plans with me for yesterday, Tuesday, and therefore wan't going to go. He also said that he didn't really have the money anyways.

On Saturday night, Stevenson informed me that his friend had found more affordable tickets for him to come to the city. Stevenson made it sound like a day trip, so I didn't really give a fuck. As it set in, I came up with that half-baked notion of how I would feel if I were cheated on.

The next day I found out that it wasn't a day trip. It was an overnight trip. Stevenson was going to go on Monday evening. I figured he was going to be home on Tuesday night. I still wasn't worried because I still had myself convinced that what I didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

This morning I found out that the trip was taking course over three days. He had stayed over for two nights. I felt like there was so much that I wasn't filled in on. I know that Stevenson is a little dense but why wouldn't he tell me how long the trip was. He was vague about the whole thing.

Today at school, I had a lot of quiet time to think to myself and I don't feel convinced that I have security anymore. Now I know that we've only been together since May 7th, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't be peeved. Being in a relationship means that you're exclusive.

I got to thinking about why people cheat. I could only come up with the idea that people get bored of their sexual relationship. I had other ideas but I don't think that I have the right to question the mental sanity of others.

Am I a bad kisser? Am I bad in bed?

I couldn't see how this could be possible because whenever we're alone the only thing he wants to do is fuck and shit. The only time we seem to ever talk is when we're with other people. He's politically retarded and stubborn so he just talks crazy sometimes. It's like when we're having sex is the only time that I feel like he's enjoying my company.

So do I think that the last-minute, shady trip to New York City to see a long-term friend that he's never met, who's becoming a model was a booty call?

Why wouldn't I?!

I'm not going to say anything, or act different. I only have my suspicions.

It's not a judgement on my character. As long as I'm a good, honest person, I can live with myself. I don't have skeletons in my closet.

Different Kind Of Fame

As I sat in the assembly I heard name after name being called. People with great academic performances and selfless resumes walked before me. I was so glad that someone could fulfill the cookie cutter mold that was created for them. Unfortunately I was too small in their eyes to fill this mold.

I remember a day when I wanted to be that person. I wanted the recognition and the fame of sorts. On the other hand, I wanted something to show for my work that was tangible. Unlike the other people, I was self supported, wealthy for my age, had a killer wardrobe, and a life. I wanted people to see what I put my time into when they didn't even know my name. I didn't want one day of all the glory that I receive during the year.

It may seem foolish, and it occasionally sounds foolish to me too. I gave up academic greatness and the societal future that I could have had for material possessions. I just hope that the route that I chose will come with the same prosperities, if not more.

She announced their accomplishments as each individual walked across the stage. I thought to myself... I have no accomplishments. Then I really thought hard about it and I do have an equal number of accomplishments if not more. Mine are also of equal or greater stature.

I realized that my accomplishments aren't ideal. Yes, people admired and respected them but they weren't about to give me a scholarship for it or a title.

With a puss on my face, I sat in silence as the National Honor Society inductees got what they worked for.

I used to get chills as the qualities were announced. I used to be impressed. This assembly was my fourth. It had gotten old. I had heard the same speeches reiterated year-after-year. I heard the flaws in their speaking and saw the weakness in their eyes.

What does it take to be one of them?

It takes being the student council president that smokes weed. It takes being the horny jock that sends out dick pictures. It takes being the president of the class of 2011 who talks about people behind their back. It takes being the wallflower who has no social life and lives for school and volunteer work. It takes being the student of the month that pops pills in school. It takes being the ex-fat kid who got a girl to hook up with him in exchange for driving her home.

My fame may be based off of some shameful facts accompanied by achievement that shadow them, but it most certainly NOT based off of lies and deception.

I realized that I'm more recognized on a daily basis. I'd rather have my details splashed across page 6 frequently than have my face on the front page for one day.

I've never really been a cover girl but I have been a hot topic these years passed.

I'm Miss. Bad Media Karma, another day, another drama.

Decision

This is the part where I have to make a choice.

There's so much competition in my head.

I just don't know why I can't hear the voice.

I have no idea which way I'm being led.

My life continues to be unclear.

But I still have to budget my time.

My final decision is coming near.

And I just don't know if I'll do fine.

Here's the part where I stand on edge.

I'm looking east and west.

But it's north and south that have me wedged.

Going this way, I'll do my best.

The circumstances have me in quite the bind.

Nothing can restrict me or make me fade.

Something great is what I hope to find.

Time is up; my decision is made.