if you give mom some time alone...

nothing provokes me to want to write more than reading a good pice of work. while over on natalie jean's blog i found an essay written by madonna. the first half of the article felt like i wrote it (the latter half i haven't experienced quite yet). the oddball outcast dying to leave her stinky little town. leaving, then dying to survive situations that would break spirits and worry the shit out of those that love you. then feeling really awesome because you survived. you accomplished what you set out to do. only to realize that just because you succeeded in one area doesn't mean you're successful. life is full of obstacles and road blocks but you've got to see, no you've got to believe that what you want is worth the work. as long as you have ambition you will have obstacles.

damn it, right in the middle of writing this i had an 'if you give a pig a pancake' moment, mommy style. lol. if you give mom some alone time to write, she will sit on the floor with her computer while watching 'a league of their own'. while she is sitting on the floor she will notice a trail of ants coming from behind the t.v. stand. if she notices a trail of ants she will think there are crumbs that drew the ants back there. if there are crumbs and ants then she will need a broom and ant spray. when she goes to get the broom and ant spray she will notice how dirty the kitchen is. if she notices how the dirty the kitchen is she will have to go on a cleaning spree, rambo style. if she goes on a cleaning rampage she will forget she was writing and sweep the whole house including behind the t.v. stand. when she sweeps behind the t.v. stand she will see the ants. then she will need the ant spray. after she attacks the ants she will see the computer. once she sees the computer she will remember she was writing. lol

so yeah that just happened. lol. because this is the internet and not in real time you have no idea that 20 minutes just passed. but it did.

anyways back to madonna. and me. 

i've slightly lost my train of thought but here are the parts that i really felt:

...It's a fun game to play if you're in the mood to take risks, and usually I am. However, you have to play with a clever group of people. Otherwise you'll find yourself French-kissing everyone in the room or giving blow jobs to Evian bottles!
People usually choose "truth" when it's their turn because you can tell a lie about yourself and no one will be the wiser, but when you are dared to do something, you have to actually do it. And doing something daring is a rather scary proposition for most people."

"... growing up in a suburb in the Midwest was all I needed to understand that the world was divided into two categories: people who followed the status quo and played it safe, and people who threw convention out the window and danced to the beat of a different drum. I hurled myself into the second category...When you're 15, this can feel a little uncomfortable. Teenagers want to fit in on one hand and be rebellious on the other. Drinking beer and smoking weed in the parking lot of my high school was not my idea of being rebellious, because that's what everybody did. And I never wanted to do what everybody did. I thought it was cooler to not shave my legs or under my arms. I mean, why did God give us hair there anyways? Why didn't guys have to shave there? Why was it accepted in Europe but not in America?... I did the opposite of what all the other girls were doing... I dared people to like me and my nonconformity."
"New York wasn't everything I thought it would be. It did not welcome me with open arms. The first year, I [...] had my apartment broken into three times. I don't know why; I had nothing of value after they took my radio the first time. The tall buildings and the massive scale of New York took my breath away. The sizzling-hot sidewalks and the noise of the traffic and the electricity of the people rushing by me on the streets was a shock to my neurotransmitters. I felt like I had plugged into another universe. I felt like a warrior plunging my way through the crowds to survive. Blood pumping through my veins, I was poised for survival. I felt alive....But it was hard and it was lonely, and I had to dare myself every day to keep going. Sometimes I would play the victim and cry in my shoe box of a bedroom with a window that faced a wall, watching the pigeons shit on my windowsill. And I wondered if it was all worth it, but then I would pull myself together and look at a postcard of Frida Kahlo taped to my wall, and the sight of her mustache consoled me. Because she was an artist who didn't care what people thought. I admired her. She was daring. People gave her a hard time. Life gave her a hard time. If she could do it, then so could I."
a little lengthy. yea? but it's good. the madonna essay was goood! find humor in my ant tirade. im sure you can use the laugh. 


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