I’m switching to WordPress for my actual blog entries. I’m keeping my Tumblr for looking at pictures of kitties, food and weird porn GIFs that people share. If you’re actually interested in things I have to say, follow me. :)
Is that Marilyn Manson and Courtney Love?
This sums up my thoughts on ‘Gangnam Style’. Perfectly.
There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.
It’s been two days since the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting and my heart still hangs heavy for the victims of this tragedy. I’m normally not affected by news stories that aren’t going on in my area, I normally don’t particularly care for humanity in the first place.
When Virginia Tech happened, all I thought was “Wow, that sucks.” When we were discussing Columbine in school, I was thinking “Those kids (the shooters) were just whiny little bitches that needed to get over the fact they were being teased, and that was the wrong way to go about it.”
When I was at lunch the day this happened, the TV at the restaurant I was at was on mute. I saw the scrolling breaking news report on the bottom and at first, all I caught was ‘school shooting’. Again, I thought “another whiny teenager?”
Then, when it scrolled past again, I caught ‘elementary school’ and my heart sank, which surprised me, considering I’m normally emotionally detached from everything. Then, I saw ‘18 confirmed dead, so far.’
This school shooting is sticking with me. Primarily, because it’s an elementary school. What kind of human being, disturbed as he may be, would do something like that to children?
I’m aware that this incident would make it very easy to discuss politics and legality involving guns, however, I don’t want to get into that. I’ve attached this link (just click the title of this entry to go to it), because it explained what I felt we should be talking about, as opposed to what we are. It’s a very interesting read.
Posted on 12/11/2012, events occurred on 12/6/2012
My anxiety’s been itching at me the last couple of days, I believe I was drugged at a local bar a few days ago, which prompted my panic attacks. I had been sitting at the bar, having a couple beers, when I asked the bartender (who I know and trust) to watch my drink while I stepped outside for a smoke.
Little did I know at the time that I had gone outside right at the shift change. So when I came back inside, there was a different bartender working. I thought nothing of it at the time. So I sat back down to my Budweiser and knocked it back down and proceeded to order another drink. Midway through my next beer, I started nodding out at the bar, just staring at the television. Something definitely didn’t feel right, so I stood up and grabbed my hat and coat, ready to just walk home.
As I stepped outside, a friend of mine who I asked to come up to the bar pulled up in her car. I had forgotten about asking her to come up there, which didn’t even occur to me until the next day. I walked up to her and said “Can you just take me home?”
“Sure, man,” she said without hesitation, not even mentioning that I had invited her to drive all the way up there to hang out and just wind up asking her to take me home. I must have looked rough. So I got in her car and she drove me home. I don’t remember the drive or walking inside. The last thing I remember was sitting up in my bed, zoned out, staring at the television and fighting sleep (due to it being unwanted), just as I had been doing at the bar. I looked at the clock and to my surprise, it was only 10:20pm. That’s the last thing I remember before I slipped into a coma.
I woke up a few hours later, at about 1:45am (which is unnatural in itself, seeing as how extremely tired I was feeling) with the most anxious, panicky feeling. I have no idea why, but I NEEDED to know where my father was right then. I reached over and grabbed my cell phone off of the nightstand and dialed his number. No answer. I can’t explain how I felt; I guess the best way to describe it would be the feeling of a five year old, who just turned around and realized they lost their parents in the middle of the store.
I get out of bed and I walk out into the living room, where I see him in the arm chair, watching television. I thought that knowing where he was would make me feel better, but it didn’t. The feelings of anxiety just increased and the thoughts of the apocalypse and my family dying flooded my mind.
Now, mind you, I don’t believe in the ‘2012 Doomsday’, however that night I did, for whatever reason. It was well past 4 o’ clock in the morning before I could finally muster some real sleep.
I know that there are a lot of regulars in that bar that are the type of people who would drug unsuspecting people for the sake of ‘payback’, however, I can’t think of a single person there who would want to drug me. So the only logical explanation I can think of is that someone slipped something into my drink, thinking it was someone else’s; the bar was pretty crowded that night.
Needless to say, that place is definitely on my blacklist from now on.
This website is really cool. A friend of mine recommended it to me to brush up on my Spanish. They also have French, German and Portuguese. Check it out, it’s pretty legit! If you make an account to learn another language, you can follow me! My account name is dannydecember.
The significance of a man is not in what he attains but in what he longs to attain.
I don’t want to be stuck in the same situation that the rest of my family is in. I can’t take much more of this situation, as it is, let alone get stranded in it for the rest of my life. I need to go to school and I need to get the hell out of here.
I need to set goals for myself. I need to have more willpower.
My only problem is that I have no idea where to start. I’m too buried in trying to find a ‘steady job’ and a place to live without having a shred of education under my belt. I want a better life for myself than either of my parents have.
I’ve always been told that I’m ‘the good child,’ and I’m going to set out to prove that statement true, goddamn it. I need to be better than my brothers. I need to be better than my dad. Hell, I need to be better than my mother.
I’ll never forget the moment two years ago when I met people my age who were from better areas. With families that financially supported them. Kids who never had to struggle for anything. It was at that moment, that I realized I come from a trash family.
Be that as it may, I can take solace in the fact that I have a personality and character because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
But I digress, I’m getting pretty off-topic right now (different stories, different days).
I feel much better after typing this all out and getting it out of my head. I really should utilize this blog thing more often.
Does this bug you? Heh, puns. (Taken with Instagram)
Hey, I know it’s been awhile since I posted on here (ya know, excluding things that are linked to this page, lol). I’ve been writing a lot OFF the internet. I’ll go through my stuff soon and pick things to post on here.
One of my grandma’s paintings. She didn’t start painting until she had a stroke, and it seemed to unlock some kind of weird, hidden talent. Oh, she also has to paint with her one hand that isn’t paralyzed. (Taken with instagram)