Just keep swimming...in circles?

Most of the time I try to display a postive attitude, especially in my blogging. No one likes a whiner. But it's not always Tony the Tiger Grrrrrreeeeaat in Lindsay Land. Sometimes it's just Grrr. So hopefully you will forgive me for the following rant. I'm going to write it exactly as it's coming out of my brain, no filter. Maybe at least then you will find humor in my frustration. Thank God I do.

I got my hair cut bright and early in Pacific Beach. Every time I drive there it's like the Ghost of Lindsay-Past is riding shotgun in my honda. I'm half-terrified of running into my ex-husband but also half-wishing he will emerge out of the CVS by my bank so we can share in the heartfelt forgiveness festival I so desperately crave. I imagine the reunion in my head until I finally run the red light at Ingraham & Grand and snap out of it. Never gonna happen Lindsay.

Alright so haircut came and went without incident. I went full on lesbian with a cute little bob. Saturday morning is always my work-on-the-business-side-of-music time. I high-tail it out of PB (still terrified) and into Bird Rock. My efforts to support mom-n-pop at Bird Rock Cafe are thwarted by overpopulation so I end up in an iceberg called Starbucks across the street.

Commence frustration.

I update my one-sheet to include new promo pics and new press (like next month's feature in Curve Magazine...yea bitches!). Then I initiate the terrible game of musical prostitution, I mean promotion. What music supervisors will actually give me a listen? Google, google, google. How do I find their contact info? Google, google, google. What do I say that will make them even remotely interested in listening to my music? How bout- heyyyyyy, I'm super gay! Please put my music in your super gay tv show or movie so people can stop associating lesbians with terrible music. Do I really need to learn all this legal bullshit...why do I have to have my own publishing company? I need an assistant. Or manager. Or assistant manager. Aaughhghgh how is it 3pm all of a sudden? Why does the guy next to me want to sit so close to me when there are plenty of other places to sit in Starbucks? What mother let that pre-teen leave the house in shorts that short? My thighs would demolish those shorts. I should work out.

Ok focus Lindsay. Let's try a different direction for now. How can I generate some reviews/articles/interviews for the album? Google, google, google. Who do I contact? Google google google. What can I say to make myself sound interesting? How bout- check out my music I am an awesome songwriter. I write the best fucking lyrics if you would just listen to them for one goddamn second. Probably not the best approach.

Then I do the worst. I resort to name-dropping my own girlfriend out of this wicked insecurity that people think I'm completely untalented and insignificant without her. I know it's not true but it's all about other people's perception in this biz. Does San Diego see me as Lindsay White or Veronica May's girlfriend? I'm proud to be both but I work so fucking hard by myself for myself. Bueller? Wah, wah, self-pity.

Whew. Ok it actually felt pretty good to get that out. At this exact moment Joy Ride by The Killers came on my iTunes and made everything better. Hopefully my music does that for somebody out there. That's what it's all about after all. Everything else I just whined about doesn't even matter. I just turned my own frown upside down by blogging. Now I'm wondering if I should even post this. Eh, why not?

There's another 11 year old trying to slut it up. For the love of God, San Diego mothers, get it together.

where your daughter will end up in shorts like that.