Someday, you'll be in the car flipping through radio channels when you hear a voice that says, "and now for some oldies", and a song you remember will come on. You'll remember every word. You'll remember sitting in your bedroom as a teenager watching the music video for the first time on the day it came out. Then you'll remember fangirling every second of everyday over those 5 boys. You'll remember how they made you laugh, and how you used to dream about marrying them. You'll remember all the jokes and the laughs. You'll remember the first one of their concerts you went to. And maybe even the first time you got their autograph. Your daughter in the passengers seat will be thinking you're crazy while a tear streams down your face, but what she won't know is how much they meant to you and how they changed your life...
I haven’t been that many concerts in my lifetime, but from August to October I went 3 (4 if you count the Today Show) concerts that moved me in a different way each time. This gaping hole from October to January with only 2 small, hometown gigs was killing me! The 2 small shows helped me feel better, but they were nothing compared to a full blown concert of a band/ artist I really love. Concerts are like a drug to me. The loud music and the positivity of not only the performer, but also the crowd, help me let go of anything that it bothering me. Having a concert to look forward to calms me, and gets me through the day.
Last night I saw Matt Nathanson, and his wonderful band in Allentown, PA. It was spectacular. Not only was the entire band talented, and engaging, but Matt was hilarious! They played almost a 2 hour set, and mixed in a few covers as well as many of their own songs. At the end of the night, Matt gave a little “speech” about being yourself, and not buying into society’s crap, and expectations. Although he probably never even saw me, I felt like he was staring right into me while saying all of this. Every word he said made me want to raise my hypothetical glass and say “amen, brother!”, but I didn’t want to be ‘that girl interupting the speech’. It was as if the Universe needed me to be there, and needed me to be listening to Matt’s words. It’s true. My mind is so cluttered with the stresses of living up to certain expectations that I needed to hear “We can’t live to be anybody but ourselves; our weird, fucked up selves.” So, thank you Matt; you have deeply inspired me.
I definitely plan to see Matt Nathanson again very soon, and I suggest anyone who is reading this should do the same :)
When I tell people my age that I don’t drink, they just think I’m scared of getting caught. They just think I’m a chicken. They think that I am missing out on the fun. They think that they are more mature than mebecause they deal with their problems by getting drunk, and doing stupid shit. HA!
No. I’m not afraid of getting caught. I’m not afraid of anything other than becoming a drunken baffoon. I’m not missing out on any fun because I know that I have more fun without alcohol. I have seen first hand the effects that alcohol can have on a person’s children, marriage, friends, family, reputation, and overall life. For people to think that I am immature to not drink, obviously shows a great deal of ignorance. It obviously shows that they have never met my step-dad.
I’ve written about him before, but I’m getting to the end of my rope. I can no longer deal with his 'drunk before 8pm' crap. It’s ridiculous. It’s terrifying. It’s embarrasing. It’s disgusting. Not only is my mom in a whirlwind of confusion, but my little brother is encouraging her to “break up with daddy, or your life will be miserable”. My sister cries when he comes home drunk. Meanwhile, I sit in silence. I have nothing to say to him. Most times, I just shake my head and laugh in disgust. I have nothing left to say to him that I haven’t in the past. He doesn’t listen any way. He doesn’t give a single shit. On multiple occasions, my younger siblings (age 8 and 9) have woken up the next morning and told Rodney that he was drunk the night before. They have told him that they hate it when he drinks Amstel. They have told him that beer makes him crazy. What does he do? Gets mad at them, and does the same thing the following night.
Look, I have not over looked the fact that he probably has stresses and problems. But he denies that he has a drinking problem. He blames it all on my mom. He says that if she didn’t make a big deal about his drinking, none of us would. Umm, excuse me?! This has been bothering me since I was 7. Remember that night I told I didn’t want to play with you because you were drunk, and because you were drunk you would play too rough with me? I do. I was 7, and I recognized your problem.You have a problem, and way to get help, but you refuse to accept it. You refuse to open up about whatever it is that is biting at you. You deny that you have a problem. Even though you can’t remember most nights, you always deny that you were drunk. That doesn’t even make sense! You lie. You destroy things. You are ruining your family, too. STOP.
I have gone on pretending that your drunken behaviors don’t bother me for long enough. THEY DO. When I was young, I swore to myself that I would never get drunk. People change and times change, but this is something I have stuck to. I am not denying that I have ever had a few sips of something, but I have never become impaired by alcohol. Now, I have a new promise to myself. No alcohol. None at all. Maybe when I’m older, but honestly, I don’t even care. It’s my way of trying to make a point to you. A point that you don’t even notice. Remeber that time you were really drunk, and tried to force that glass of champagne on me? Yeah, I didn’t think so. So I guess you don’t remember the part where I said a firm “NO” over and over. You don’t remember the way I shook my head, and rolled my eyes at you as you chugged it down.
It hurts. I try not to let you get to me, but it hurts. You cause stress in my mom, and when she is stressed out, forget about it. The whole damn house is ventilated with negativity, and all I want is out. I wish you would just go to Ohio for your stupid business trip, and never come back. You anger me, and frustrate me. You have noticed that I don’t say hi to you when you walk in the room. Have you noticed that when you walk in, I walk out? Have you noticed that I go from laughing to a frown when you walk in the room? I don’t even mean to turn so negative around you, but that’s the effect you have on me. It’s embarassing, and disgraceful to call you a step-DAD. You are in no way a fatherly figure to me.
It feels good to get this all out. It feels good to release. Unfortunately, until he changes his ways, this stress will live inside of me like a monster. Unfortunately, until I am able to express this pain inside to the ones who need to hear it, I will continue to hold it inside until I burst. That’s my problem. I’m too much of a push over. I don’t speak up. I never say what’s really on my mind until it’s too late, and it all comes out as an explosion of anger.
Sigh. I just wish he would stop getting so drunk, so often. He’s a bad role model for my brother and sister. He’s an embarrassment to me. He’s a jerk to my mom.