Guess what day it is? It is Friday, which means it is VlogDay Friday! Woot Woot.
I procrastinated the hell out of this video this week, and I promise myself it won't happen again, because it kept me up beyond lade and woke me up earlier than need be today.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to meet the lovely, and very talented, Shoshanna! For all of you who know who she is, she was everything I dreamed of and move. ;)
This week I refelct, and rant, on Zombies and what vampires used to be.
Here it is, enjoy!
And BRRRRAAAIIIINNNNSSS!
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
My Two Cents About Your Two Cents
Sometimes I just want to complain.
Sometimes I want to vent, to get things off my chest.
To clear my mind.
What happened to good old fashioned listening?
I spend a lot of my time hearing people out, listening, sympathizing, empathizing. And yet, where is the reverse of that. Where are my listeners? Where are the people who don't jump to conclusions for me?
I don't want my problems fixed. I want someone to nod their head, hum and haw a little bit, and say, "I'm sure you'll figure it out, Tyson."
Because I always do. No one fixes it for me. I've been fixing things since before I went through puberty.
I've had people tell me time and again that if I ever want to talk I can come to them. And the irony is, I can't. Every time I swallow my stupid pride, grab hold of my nuts and take the plunge, I get slapped in the face. And people love to 'know-just-what-you're-talking-about'. They love to have a similar story. Or a sadder story. They want their shady past to be darker than yours.
Sometimes I find it hilarious. And sometimes I laugh so I don't cry.
They nudge. They plead. They demand to know about me. They assume. They judge. They cock their heads to the side and try to figure me out. But they can't. And do you want to know why they can't. Because, I'm not a puzzle for others to put together.
And when I start talking, I just want someone to listen.
I don't want a solution. I don't want a plan of attack. I don't want to know how my situation aligns with their situation. Or how everything will get better.
And then I realize, it's better to keep it to myself. And next time, I'll just swallow my words. And screw 'talking things out' because when I try I end up disappointed. I end up drained, emotionally and physically. And it does no good. It never has.
Why do I do this to myself?
Sometimes I wonder if people really know what it's like to be a good friend.
It only takes one thing, concern for a person's well being. Concern for how someone is. And to execute that, sometimes you have to shut the fuck up and just listen.
Why does it feel like that's what the world is lacking?
Sometimes I want to vent, to get things off my chest.
To clear my mind.
What happened to good old fashioned listening?
I spend a lot of my time hearing people out, listening, sympathizing, empathizing. And yet, where is the reverse of that. Where are my listeners? Where are the people who don't jump to conclusions for me?
I don't want my problems fixed. I want someone to nod their head, hum and haw a little bit, and say, "I'm sure you'll figure it out, Tyson."
Because I always do. No one fixes it for me. I've been fixing things since before I went through puberty.
I've had people tell me time and again that if I ever want to talk I can come to them. And the irony is, I can't. Every time I swallow my stupid pride, grab hold of my nuts and take the plunge, I get slapped in the face. And people love to 'know-just-what-you're-talking-about'. They love to have a similar story. Or a sadder story. They want their shady past to be darker than yours.
Sometimes I find it hilarious. And sometimes I laugh so I don't cry.
They nudge. They plead. They demand to know about me. They assume. They judge. They cock their heads to the side and try to figure me out. But they can't. And do you want to know why they can't. Because, I'm not a puzzle for others to put together.
And when I start talking, I just want someone to listen.
I don't want a solution. I don't want a plan of attack. I don't want to know how my situation aligns with their situation. Or how everything will get better.
And then I realize, it's better to keep it to myself. And next time, I'll just swallow my words. And screw 'talking things out' because when I try I end up disappointed. I end up drained, emotionally and physically. And it does no good. It never has.
Why do I do this to myself?
Sometimes I wonder if people really know what it's like to be a good friend.
It only takes one thing, concern for a person's well being. Concern for how someone is. And to execute that, sometimes you have to shut the fuck up and just listen.
Why does it feel like that's what the world is lacking?
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Adults Only
There are times when I get grumpy from the lack of sleep. I get crotchety because I wake up at four in the morning to go to a job that stunts my creative growth, and which detracts from my writing. Sometimes, my back hurts, my head hurts, my soul hurts. And the realization that, yes, I am getting old sinks in.
But then there are things that make me feel as though I will never grow up and become an ancient cougar. And one of those things is the tea I drink at work every day. Everytime I read the package, I get a little thrill. I have a wee giggle. And the days don't seem as bleak or monotonous.
Here is a picture of what gives me a bit of amusement every, single day.
Hey look! It's Uncle Lee's Tea Bag...
KEEP your mouth closed & plug your nose.
:-/
But then there are things that make me feel as though I will never grow up and become an ancient cougar. And one of those things is the tea I drink at work every day. Everytime I read the package, I get a little thrill. I have a wee giggle. And the days don't seem as bleak or monotonous.
Here is a picture of what gives me a bit of amusement every, single day.
Hey look! It's Uncle Lee's Tea Bag...
KEEP your mouth closed & plug your nose.
:-/
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
And From The Darkness...
We pull our collars up, hunch our shoulders to the unforgiving nature, and tread lightly. Tip-toeing around the truth, we brace ourselves for the inevitable. And even when the sun scorches down on us, the grey clouds cover the city and the downpour of disappointment soaks through to our bones, setting a chill deep in our souls. Standing on the corner, the wind rustling our hair, we turn back and see the long road we've walked.
How did we make it so far? What with all these odds stacked against us.
With tired legs, with a weary heart, we trudge on.
The mirror reflects the people we never thought we'd become. Alone, but still rubbing elbows with a faceless crowd, we come to terms with all we've compromised. We realize all we've lost. Hanging our heads, we mutter words only we can hear. We never thought it would come to this. We don't know how to escape, the route isn't clearly marked, and it seems there is only one exit.
We barely recognize the person forcing the smile to our lips. Tell us, how did we get here? Because we don't know.
With shaking hands and trembling lips, we shy away from our own selves and keep in line with the procession.
Desperate, we search inside ourselves for who we used to be. Frantically clawing at the surface, we search for the wound-less child we once possessed, the child hiding in the closet, afraid of the monsters under their bed. Where is the potential we once had? If we scrape away this layer of bitter, jadedness, will our humanity come back. Peeling back the bleak and bloody, we find razor sharp cynicism buried so deep, embedded below the flesh and bone. The extraction process will take too long. Are we so lost we will never find ourselves again?
How can we pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off when we're too busy kicking ourselves in the ribs?
Empty handed, empty hearted-we travel on. Through the motions of living, we participate in a world we don't even like, we don't even belong. Our common sense leaks onto the floor and the waitress at the dive-diner mops it up without us noticing. And when the gloom takes over, spreading through our chests like wildfire, we raise our hands to the ominous sky and cry, why? The tears on our cheeks sting with a bitter sense of reality.
And a sigh escapes our parted lips.
Digging our dirty fingernails in, we cling to each other. Tasting each other's misery, we drink it down and lick it clean. We bathe our sorrows, trying to drown the blackness threatening to suffocate us. Our bodies meld together, and for a moment, we experience pure pleasure. As the ripples of desire leaves our bodies, we pull away and examine the mess we've made. We pull our hair and scream in silence.
What we wouldn't give to feel good again.
Oblivion is calling and we move towards it, curiosity burning our eyes. We reach out, grasping, stretching our fingers out, begging to brush against a fraction of hope. We graze nothingness and we pull back, flinching from the emptiness. The skin over our hearts' pucker, pink and raw, and the scar forms, telling the world we're damaged goods. Branding our disenchantment there.
And from the darkness...comes a light.
A hand reaches out for us, fingers stretching for ours. They brush our hair from our eyes and tell us everything will be okay. We look in their eyes and see the hope we've been pining for. They catch our tears on their tongue and press their lips to our foreheads. They run their fingers over our hurt and swipe away the pain threatening our lives. They are warm. They smell like heaven and taste like bliss. And they invite us in.
We sigh and say, we never thought you'd come along.
How did we make it so far? What with all these odds stacked against us.
With tired legs, with a weary heart, we trudge on.
The mirror reflects the people we never thought we'd become. Alone, but still rubbing elbows with a faceless crowd, we come to terms with all we've compromised. We realize all we've lost. Hanging our heads, we mutter words only we can hear. We never thought it would come to this. We don't know how to escape, the route isn't clearly marked, and it seems there is only one exit.
We barely recognize the person forcing the smile to our lips. Tell us, how did we get here? Because we don't know.
With shaking hands and trembling lips, we shy away from our own selves and keep in line with the procession.
Desperate, we search inside ourselves for who we used to be. Frantically clawing at the surface, we search for the wound-less child we once possessed, the child hiding in the closet, afraid of the monsters under their bed. Where is the potential we once had? If we scrape away this layer of bitter, jadedness, will our humanity come back. Peeling back the bleak and bloody, we find razor sharp cynicism buried so deep, embedded below the flesh and bone. The extraction process will take too long. Are we so lost we will never find ourselves again?
How can we pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off when we're too busy kicking ourselves in the ribs?
Empty handed, empty hearted-we travel on. Through the motions of living, we participate in a world we don't even like, we don't even belong. Our common sense leaks onto the floor and the waitress at the dive-diner mops it up without us noticing. And when the gloom takes over, spreading through our chests like wildfire, we raise our hands to the ominous sky and cry, why? The tears on our cheeks sting with a bitter sense of reality.
And a sigh escapes our parted lips.
Digging our dirty fingernails in, we cling to each other. Tasting each other's misery, we drink it down and lick it clean. We bathe our sorrows, trying to drown the blackness threatening to suffocate us. Our bodies meld together, and for a moment, we experience pure pleasure. As the ripples of desire leaves our bodies, we pull away and examine the mess we've made. We pull our hair and scream in silence.
What we wouldn't give to feel good again.
Oblivion is calling and we move towards it, curiosity burning our eyes. We reach out, grasping, stretching our fingers out, begging to brush against a fraction of hope. We graze nothingness and we pull back, flinching from the emptiness. The skin over our hearts' pucker, pink and raw, and the scar forms, telling the world we're damaged goods. Branding our disenchantment there.
And from the darkness...comes a light.
A hand reaches out for us, fingers stretching for ours. They brush our hair from our eyes and tell us everything will be okay. We look in their eyes and see the hope we've been pining for. They catch our tears on their tongue and press their lips to our foreheads. They run their fingers over our hurt and swipe away the pain threatening our lives. They are warm. They smell like heaven and taste like bliss. And they invite us in.
We sigh and say, we never thought you'd come along.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Vlog Day Is Here!
Out on the rain dampened streets, a hush runs through the crowds. People exchange glances. The masses wait with some sort of expectations. Is today the day? One person shrugs, another says, "Wot, 'ow am I supposed to know?" and from the back someone says, "Could we be mistaken?" A child appears on the cobblestone walk with a bell in his hand. He rings it twice and says, "It's here! It's here! Vlog Day has arrived!" And the people cheer. The men kiss the women, the women slap the men who kissed them, and sailors the world over rejoice. The crowd celebrates with wine and salmon and freshly baked scones.
Or something similar to that.
I never thought this day would arrive! Correction - I hoped this day would never arrive. Ah, kidding. I have posted my first Vlog! You can find it on YouTube under my awesome name ThatGirlTyson...or you can click the link below!
Or something similar to that.
I never thought this day would arrive! Correction - I hoped this day would never arrive. Ah, kidding. I have posted my first Vlog! You can find it on YouTube under my awesome name ThatGirlTyson...or you can click the link below!
Comments and subscriptions are not only welcome but expected! xo
P.S - Next Vlog will have less ummming and fidgeting, that's a promise. And when I make a promise, I deliver.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
WHAT AM I DOING? - PreVlog Jitters
A couple weeks ago, I got it into my head that I wanted to start Vlogging. After a few people said, "Yeah, Tee, you should totally do that." I grabbed my digital camera and took a few really cute pictures of my dog, but after that, I video-taped myself talking.
First, I have learned to never, under any circumstances, trust someone who uses the word 'totally'. Secondly, video-taped is such an outdated word, would video-recorded be the proper term to use? And thirdly, what in the world am I thinking?
It took about 14 minutes to record myself and then the process of editing was thrust before me. I sad down with a nice, hot cup of Earl Grey on my left, my dog snuggled at my feet, and my laptop precariously perched on the arm of my couch (no worries, this is where I always write-and yes, the animals have knocked it off in their fits and frenzies.) With Windows Movie Maker open, I transferred my 14 minute video over and pressed play!
GAH!
Is that what I sound like? More importantly, is that what I look like? Why do I talk so funny? What's with all my facial expressions? Why am I gesticulating like a madwoman? What am I saying? Does this make sense? What did I mean by that? Do I really talk that fast? And, above everything else, why did I decide to do this?
I would bow out, I would tuck my tail between my legs and scamper off, pretending I never even thought up my Vlog, but after three weeks of promoting it, talking about it, tweeting about it, smearing it all over the Internet, I realize, skulking off isn't an option. I'm no coward! And I hate to let people down...And so, I commenced editing...
After the first round of cuts, I'd managed to whittle the video down from 14 minutes to 12. Yep. 12. Not much of a difference, but to be fair, that two minutes were all my Ummms and Ahhhhhs. Since when have I ummmmmed and ahhhhhed so much? Must be a new thing I've picked up on the mean streets.
The second round of cuts managed to weed out all my swears.
By the time I finished, I'd managed to zip it down to about six minutes, then went into a panic over whether that's an appropriate length for a Vlog. Is it too long? Who would watch me for that long? I can barely watch myself for that long!
The truth of the matter is, I am really nutty. When I was growing up, my mother used to tell people I was a bit odd. And then when I grew up, she told me she thought I was going through a phase, but it was evident it wasn't a phase. That oddness, the oddities that make me up, comprise me as a person, are going to be blasted all over the virtual world. It could conceivably get a bunch of hits, and, though I don't expect to be catapulted into the Vlogging Hall of Fame, strangers, who don't know a lick about me, will be able to look at my face and say, "Wow, this girl is so kooky."
The beauty of this project? People will now be able to turn to their own mothers and say, "Yeah, Mum, I might be a bit odd, but look at this daft bird. She's off her rocker."
First, I have learned to never, under any circumstances, trust someone who uses the word 'totally'. Secondly, video-taped is such an outdated word, would video-recorded be the proper term to use? And thirdly, what in the world am I thinking?
It took about 14 minutes to record myself and then the process of editing was thrust before me. I sad down with a nice, hot cup of Earl Grey on my left, my dog snuggled at my feet, and my laptop precariously perched on the arm of my couch (no worries, this is where I always write-and yes, the animals have knocked it off in their fits and frenzies.) With Windows Movie Maker open, I transferred my 14 minute video over and pressed play!
GAH!
Is that what I sound like? More importantly, is that what I look like? Why do I talk so funny? What's with all my facial expressions? Why am I gesticulating like a madwoman? What am I saying? Does this make sense? What did I mean by that? Do I really talk that fast? And, above everything else, why did I decide to do this?
I would bow out, I would tuck my tail between my legs and scamper off, pretending I never even thought up my Vlog, but after three weeks of promoting it, talking about it, tweeting about it, smearing it all over the Internet, I realize, skulking off isn't an option. I'm no coward! And I hate to let people down...And so, I commenced editing...
After the first round of cuts, I'd managed to whittle the video down from 14 minutes to 12. Yep. 12. Not much of a difference, but to be fair, that two minutes were all my Ummms and Ahhhhhs. Since when have I ummmmmed and ahhhhhed so much? Must be a new thing I've picked up on the mean streets.
The second round of cuts managed to weed out all my swears.
By the time I finished, I'd managed to zip it down to about six minutes, then went into a panic over whether that's an appropriate length for a Vlog. Is it too long? Who would watch me for that long? I can barely watch myself for that long!
The truth of the matter is, I am really nutty. When I was growing up, my mother used to tell people I was a bit odd. And then when I grew up, she told me she thought I was going through a phase, but it was evident it wasn't a phase. That oddness, the oddities that make me up, comprise me as a person, are going to be blasted all over the virtual world. It could conceivably get a bunch of hits, and, though I don't expect to be catapulted into the Vlogging Hall of Fame, strangers, who don't know a lick about me, will be able to look at my face and say, "Wow, this girl is so kooky."
The beauty of this project? People will now be able to turn to their own mothers and say, "Yeah, Mum, I might be a bit odd, but look at this daft bird. She's off her rocker."
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