why I do what I do

I'm a people pleaser. I don't care how shitty I feel, if I was in a desert with one water bottle, with five other people, I'd let them go first. Because that's just what I do. I fix other people's problems for them. I bring the band aids, hold purses, and give the relationship advice. And when that advice fails, I buy water proof mascara and bad magazines. I patch up the holes and the broken hearts with duct tape and barbie band aids. I can't stand to have the people around me unhappy. I hate it. I'd rather have them be happy, and me be miserable. That's why I like make up. 'cause it patches up all the red marks and zits, and it makes you look pretty when you feel like crap. It's like a mask, nice and snug and warm. A protective shell, like a hermit crab. I like when I put on a lot of lipgloss, and it gets all thick and gooey. It's like armor for your lips. It makes me feel safe. Right now I feel wierd. Like I want to start crying and I don't know what else. I feel raw and exposed, and everything aches. I feel like I'm going explode and like i'm in handcuffs and i'm clawing and writhing around and searching for the key. I never write when I'm like this. I don't want to force my shit upon the random people of the internet. I'm private when it comes to feeling crappy. I'm like a dog, i think of showing pain as a sign of weakness. And why the hell am I writing this? I don't want pity. All I used to get when I was little was pity. Why am I upset. I'm crying right now, ruining mascara that I slaved over. I should stop. Shut up and stop. But I don't want to. When I feel sick, like while I'm in school. I never go home. I just wait until the end of the day, and then when I'm alone i collapse and burn. 'Cause that's how I am.
Sometimes I think that I try to fix other people's problems so I don't have to deal with my own. I love helping people, and distractions. I need distractions to function. Why am I like this? Is it me trying to run away from my problems? Sometimes I'm too focused on other people to look at moi, and then I get like this and it's eleven at night and i should be sleeping but I'm not and I want to crawl into a sleeping bag and zip it all the way up. But my whole premise of helping people is "do what you wanted people to do for you".
So basically I give all the love that I have, and some guts and a kidney. But most of the time, I get nothing back. and sometimes it's fine, most of the time i expect absolutely nothing. But then it's eleven at night and i need a sleeping bag.

My asthetic/ L.G's human! who woudda thunk?

read this puhlease! It's an amazing articale that I just read about mama Monster...it was hilarious. The journalist who wrote it, went out and got absolutely SMASHED with her. I now have a new goal in life...get smashed, with Lady Gaga. Am I effed up or what? But on a more somber note, Mumsy Monster might have lupus. The articale talks about it, and she said she got tested for it. You'll seriously have to read the thing, I can't explain it. It's kinda wierd ya know? 'Cause I always kinda viewed Lady Gaga as this unstoppable, almost unhuman presence. Nothing could faze her. When my dog died, she was still flouncing around in panties and stilettos, and she did an entire dance on the stairs...stairs freaking kill me. I don't do stairs...stairs don't get me cast in shows. I have to claw my way up stairs, and lack of railings cause me to faceplant..off them. I can't go down stairs with one foot on one stair. I have to take it one at a time, get the picture? And Lady gaga can gyrate on them, in heels.
when I read the thing about the lupus, I kinda lost my shit. Almost like when Micheal Jackson died, except wierder. The first thing I thought was "wow, she's as fucked up as the rest of us...she's fucked up, just like you..."
This week's been a gaga week for me. I've been reading a book about her, and in it, she talks about her asthetic, why she makes art, her niche. My asthetic is all the stuff that your parent's, don't want you to know. I write to shock and make people think, esspecially to thank the gays and the lovely transvestites of the world. I write to make people collapse on their beds, and squeal 'cause that make out scene they just read was so hot and so sexy that they can't take it. I write to expose people, to drugs and gay culture and theatre. I write for everyone.
What about y'all?

Lipstick Liberation

I've taken a sudden interest in make up. In my eyes, make up is about helping you love yourself, and deal with your imperfections. I don't care how much you spend on cosmetic surgery, no matter what you do, your stuck with the face god gave you. So, you might as well try to celebrate it. The thing I love about make up is, personally, it makes me a more confident person. It can help you see the beauty in your own face. It's one thing for a friend or parent to call you beautiful, but when you think it yourself, that's going somewhere. Makeup can help you do that. Some people view make up as shallow and vapid. When really, it's anything but. Make up is about celebrating femininty, and caring enough about yourslef put some effort into how you look.