I'm a 23 year old gay, white, liberal, vegetarian, tree-hugger, non-religious, smoker, drinker, audio/sound engineer/technician, photographer, graphic designer, hipster, male who likes to cook, do arts and crafts, go to bars, sit at home by myself, that lives by the internet born in pittsburgh, raised in birmingham, got schooled in phoenix, relocated to chicago who hates loud eaters, inconsiderate people, nose blowing, and aimless whistling
Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Let Gaga Be Great
1. Denial- This isn’t happening. She’s not real. “Just Dance” has to be a forgery. She has to be sampling. Oh, I know, this is a cover. No? It’s all her? She writes her own songs? Plays the piano? Actually sings? I refuse to believe this. Believing this would mean believing some girl in her early twenties isn’t your run-of-the-mill Piano Princess, and understands the dynamics of pop music well enough to compose an iconic first hit. Denial is the only option at this phase.
2. Bargaining - In addition to “Just Dance,” I’m just going to like “Papparazzi,” but that’s it! I refuse to be a predictable consumer of pop music. I refuse to like all of her radio singles. There’s no denying the girl is good, but she’s not that good. Wait. Her part in Wale’s “Chillin” is pretty decent. “Poker Face” is growing on me. Okay, pop music puppeteers, I’ll like “Chillin” in exchange for liking “Poker Face,” but I refuse to submit to the rest of Gaga. Never.
3. Contempt - I’m beginning to think this bitch killed Michael Jackson…and look at her…standing up for civil rights, and stuff, who does she think she is? How uppity. Does she think she’s, like, important? Well, she’s not. She’s still just a Pop Princess. She still makes soulless pop music that will mean nothing in a couple of years. She’s not great.
4. Acceptance - Lady Gaga is alright. Not a fan or a hater, just an observer- an observer that’s very doubtful of whether she’ll ever produce anything better, or as good as her debut.
5. Obsession - FAME MONSTER leaks. Holy shit. I think the Universe’s water just broke. Birth of a motherfucking icon. I love this woman. I want to be this woman. I want to go to war for this woman. I want to buy her merchandise, and wait up at odd hours of the night to see her live. There is nothing holy in this world, or as sacred as Gaga. Oh hey, shrine. So I have a shrine in my closet of Lady Gaga? This woman is amazing. I’m going to liveblog my reactions to everything she ever does. I want to meet her. I wonder if she has a secret tumblr I don’t know about.
bwahah! i’m between stages 4 and 5!
I’m glad I’m not the only person who went through these 5 stages. Who else is sitting happily in stage 5
in front of their shrines?
bandwagonpete: p> why ya gotta play with my heart?
gurrrrrrrrrrrrrl we be trippin
Morning local shopping. Item three- finally got the tretorn rubber snow/rain boots I wanted last year.
Sleep stripes.
i don’t even know what to think right now……………..lolwtf, srsly?
i can’t even……..
I hope that I’m one of the few people that can pull off the Whole Foods apron cus I wear this thing too damn much!!!
“
Everyone with a tattoo has their bullshit reasons behind it; You always want to live by a religious philosophy you briefly learned about in your eastern cultures class, you want to honor that guy you spent a fateful spring break with, you want everyone to know you’re hard to touch, hence the barbed wire on your bicep.
While none of us want to admit it, most of the mental preparation done before getting a tattoo is figuring out what you’re going to say when people ask you what your ink symbolizes. You want to be deep. You want to be profound. You spend months crafting the beautiful soliloquy that will give insight to your masterful epidermal tapestry.
But most of us are dumb and only profound in the way that a Zach Braff movie is profound. Every tattoo explanation I’ve ever heard (including my own) comes off as a cover story for the real reason we get tattoos: they are awesome. You can philosophize all you want, but deep down we know that the reason we brave ridicule from our friends, lectures from our parents, and potential inker’s remorse is so we can look cool in a tank top.
But few people will admit this is the case. Most stand proudly by their tattoos and their vague, cryptic, undertones.
The trickiest part of this whole equation is that we’re all getting older, and that one day we’re going to have grandkids asking about the muddy purple spots on our forearms and lower backs.
Just take a second and imagine your own grandmother, just finishing setting the table for a delicious Thanksgiving feast, saying that she got Death tattooed on her shoulder blade because she always wants to remember that the Reaper’s on her back, man. Now imagine your grandfather, sporting Bermuda shorts and an oxygen tank, saying he got this piece done on his chest because Fall Out Boy is “fucking awesome.”
Hilarious right? Gaze into your future, American youth.
” — Johnny Highland
