Wrong Way to Go About it, Really

So, I think the United Way totally sucks, for reasons I don’t have the patience to go into at the moment. (One of them is that I don’t think they focus enough on the end recipients of their funds, and the whole thing is just an upper-crust and CEO circle-jerk.) But I am totally dumbfounded at the promo picture being used to advertise their upcoming event.

Behold:

Nothing encourages me to donate like a lady in furs!

I just… I don’t even…

Really United Way? This is apparently Dave and Mary Steward, co-chairs of the committee for the event. This is the kind of separation of support from mission that turns me off the whole St. Louis non-profit scene. This is “charity” at its most nauseating. Blah. United Way, you suck. Can’t wait to get my yearly “demand” letter from my employer, attempting to press-gang me into giving them my money. And I can’t wait to refuse to do so.

On Ejecting Fuckwits

I really freaking adore Captain Awkward. Although I can’t strictly recommend reading this whole (tiresome in its length and wordiness) letter, just the reply, which is almost universally applicable. (Here is the link to the column of which I speak.)

The letter is interesting in that it is basically a long-winded and perfect example of the GenY/Millenial obsession with pathologizing and medicalizing every single thought/instinct they have or action they take. (“Demonphobia” indeed!) This is just a way of them saying “You can’t hold me accountable for anything I say and do, because it’s a condition!” And this letter is 100% that and makes me kind of hate the letter writer and want bad things to happen to her. But anyway the point is the advice this letter-writer is given, which is great fucking advice.

Give her an African Violet with a note that says “I find our friendship to be soulsucking and exhausting, so let’s call the whole thing off.  Good luck in your future endeavors.”  You’re going to tell me that it’s not that simple, but seriously, it can be that simple if you want it to be.  She has no power except the power you give her.

That pretty much covers it.  It is absolutely your choice to not be friends with her anymore. If you choose to keep interacting with her, you are choosing to live in her bizarre world and act in her little drama society.

In general I find that lots and lots of people are prepared to bend over backward being “nice” to hugely presumptuous dramatic assholes who make everyone’s life a misery. And it’s these one or two people in any group who cause all the drama and turmoil and make everyone else upset and unhappy, yet 95% of the group will strive constantly to “understand” and accept and tolerate their bad behavior. “You just have to understand that so and so can’t help being such an intolerable asshole and making everyone’s life a trial.” Whatever. This is bullshit. When people are rude and jerky and insensitive and make other people unhappy, when they won’t stop fucking and/or fucking with everyone, when they don’t pay their fair share or they’re competitive and combative and weird for no reason and when they they bizarrely demand everyone constantly accommodate them and their special inability to act like a human being, when they’re rude and/or mean and whatever else—you don’t have to hang out with them! And everyone will tell you that you need to be “nicer” and them telling you that is just compounding the original bullshit!

It is not our special assignment in life to make all our social circles acclimate to and accept the lowest common denominator of folk. In fact, if more groups ejected these fuckwits, maybe they’d go off and form their own 100% fuckwit circle, so people who learned the rules of how to act in say, kindergarten, can have a nice calm set of friends who act right.

I also really love how Captain Awkward addresses Geek Social Fallacies in other posts, talking about how anyone who feels in any way marginalized can have an extremely hard time ostracizing others, even if they really deserve it.

Anyway, dang, I just love me some Captain Awkward. That is all.

Related: “You Don’t Have to Make it Work Out“

Adventures in Electricity – Also, Old People’s Foibles

So, if you are not aware of it, it’s been officially hot as balls this week. Gross, can’t-stand-outside-for-two-minutes, swampy, disgusting, “smacked with a wet wool blanket fresh out the microwave,” hot.

Most days this week I’ve thought cheerfully to myself “Today’s a hell of a good day for staying inside!” and with my lifestyle of “Scurry to car, scurry to office, scurry to car, scurry to house, shut door firmly behind me.” This is totally doable. Monday, despite it being hot as balls, I had to get to the grocery store, since last weekend’s death plague had stopped me going anywhere for four days. So after work I headed to the store, stocked up on the foodz, and headed home. I get home and unload my groceries only to notice that my neighbor is standing outside with her phone in her hand. I try not to notice anything out of the ordinary that my neighbors do, in hopes that they will not notice when I stand out on my back porch in my sports bra and nightgown, begging my chihuahua to please, please pee for me? Please?

So I ignored her. But she called out “Power’s out.” Which… fuck. I mean, I was looking forward to cranking the AC down to like 42 degrees and laying on the couch in my underpants. The power being off was not part of this plan. After I chatted with her for a second, I got my food in and stuffed into the still-cold (but for how long!) fridge, and called the power company. They said midnight for restoration. That was too long to escape myself and leave the dogs behind, because the outside temperature was close to 100 degrees. My neighborhood friends were either not home from work yet, or have big dogs of their own which don’t mix well with my little dogs, or both, so that was out. No help for it but to trek out to my parents’ house in North County, in search of some cold.

It wasn’t an awesome way to spend my evening, but I had been owing them a visit, and I had a project I needed my Mom’s help with anyway, so away we went.

The most valuable part of spending time with my parents is a reminder of why, exactly, I started out in life so extremely fucked in the head. This visit was no exception, but two particular anecdotes stood out, on the same theme. My mom was telling me about being at the house of her (elderly) friends that week, and realizing that they had their heat on. She asked the wife of the couple about it, thinking it was a mistake and learned this:

This couple likes a cold house at night, so they turn their AC down to 64. They both sleep with electric blankets to stay warm. Then, since it’s so cold in the house in the morning, they turn the heat on to get the temperature back up to 74.

:-|

I don’t really know how to parse this in my noggin. Like, is this just the privilege of the uber-privileged? Is this annoying more in a financial, ecological or practical/logical way, or everything at once? I don’t know it boggled me.

So then we were working on our project (curtains for my kitchen, my mom has a way better sewing machine than I do.) and my mom needed to go downstairs to the laundry room to iron the hems. “I’m going downstairs to iron the hems…” she whispered at me. “OK” sez I, but why are you whispering? “I don’t want your dad to hear me. He hates when I iron when the AC is on, he says it heats up the house!”

A) What?

B) From the BASEMENT? The heat of the IRON? Serious?

C) Fuck what he thinks, now you have to SNEAK?

D) Tell him he’s a loony-fuck, and even if he wasn’t, you’re STILL gonna iron the fuck you want to iron because you’re a grown-ass woman! For fuck’s sake!

Bleh. I just truly cannot imagine living my life that way, constantly having to adjust my actions to the ravings of someone who cannot grasp what little effect running an iron would have on overall AC efficacy, when they have a damn dog they let in and out of the house 652 times per hour.

(Keep in mind that this is after I was trying to wash my hands at their kitchen sink and the water was sputtering sadly from the faucet and I was like – dudes you need a new faucet – and my dad said no, he’d installed a low-flow adapter on it, so it was meant to sputter. Which made you stay there twice as long hoping to rinse your hands, which I think…)

The saddest part is that it’s easier for her to sneak around to do what she wants to do, rather than just say she’s going to do whatever she wants to do. How awful. I do not enjoy arguing, but I’m also fucked if someone’s going to tell me not to do a thing I want to do, and then I will sneak and do it anyway just to avoid the argument. BLAH.

I say again BLAH.

People! Do not live your life that way! I’d rather eat cold soup under a bridge in the rain, from a rusty can, than live with someone who did not care for my happiness or made me miserable. Being around happy people who enjoy me and also want me to be happy, that’s all I really want out of life. And I was raised with the exact opposite of that. Unhappy people who hate each other, working to make each other more miserable. See, looking at it that way, I think I’ve done OK. Just not reliving that sad family pattern is progress, even when I do my own shit in a weird way. So, that’s why it’s good to visit my parents from time to time, I guess.

Anyway: moral of the story is that  the curtains got done, the power eventually came back on (and then went out again later, but only briefly) and I was reminded that the freedom to do what you want to do in your own space is a precious one. Living alone. It has its challenges, but dang, no one telling you when to iron or how to wash your god-damn hands. That’s a bonus.

Also, my curtains, they are amazing. :-)

This is the fabric, which the lovely and talented katatomiclabs found online for me, bless her heart.

Privilege Denying Dude

Ah, my sweet, sweet sons of white male privilege. (And to all the women you’ve conned into supporting you against their own interests, because they feel more powerful when they associate with men against other women.)

Now there is a meme ridiculing all the dumbass stuff you say and do! Feel free to get all butthurt, because, you know,  how dare someone make fun of a group you belong to! Why are people being so mean and not understanding YOU as an individual, and all the lovely, logical POINTS you are trying to make? Don’t they know you’re to be listened to for your wisdom, and not mocked? And also, you have feelings?! And just because lots of people in your group act that way and sometimes YOU act that way, it’s still not OK to make fun!? These jerks.

The only thing I know from looking at you is what you fucking look like.

If you think you understand things just by looking at them, you’re not only wrong, but you’re also an asshole.

One of the stupidest things you can do is assume that I share your retarded fucking worldview. That we inhabit a reality that we both perceive in the same way. That my brain thinks like yours. That my body works like yours. That I want the things you want, enjoy the things you enjoy. That you know anything, even just a tiny thing, about my experience in the world. Because very often you will be dead wrong.

We are mostly lazy, intellectual short-cut takers, I believe. It’s easy to assume and presume and guess things. It’s comforting to believe in the version of reality that most conforms to our instincts. It’s simple to believe that we can know and understand things by looking at them. That common knowledge is real knowledge. But that’s horse shit.

Here is the one thing I know: I have no idea what the world looks like or feels like to you. We inhabit neither the same brain nor the same body. And that changes everything. I would like to believe that I have some fucking humility as regards that fact. That most of my conversations with you will start out – “Have you found that…?” or “Do you think that…?” or “Have you ever…?” That I will take the time to establish a baseline for our communication, and that I will respect your differences once we’ve done that.

I would hope that I do not make very many definitive statements regarding you, and how your world works, and how your mind perceives things and the way your body functions. I hope that I ask more questions and listen to your answers.

What I am really working for, what I want for myself is to more often say “I don’t know. It’s not my body, it’s not my life,  it’s not my choice, I don’t know. Explain it to me, and help me understand.” I want to know how your world works, and I want to know how it feels, but I want you to tell me. Teach me something, show me something, let me understand. But don’t ever fucking presume you know jack shit about MY world, unless I’ve taken the time to share it with you. Because I am going to end up thinking you’re a limp-brained, bigoted, mouthy jackass and I will have the empirical evidence to back that assumption the fuck up.

Here’s What I’m Gonna Need

I have been exposed to a lot of dark things lately. It’s starting to feel like everything is dark, and everyone’s all rotten and crafty and scheming on the inside. Like no one is trustworthy. And that can’t be true. I don’t believe that can actually be true. So why does it FEEL that way? As I was pondering this, it occurred to me that the people I know who are leading quiet, honest lives don’t necessarily go around telling stories about their everyday goodness and morality. They don’t have gripping tales of the lack of awful shit they got up to at the weekend. But the other people – they do tell stories. A lot of stories. And those other stories are so loud and jarring that there doesn’t seem to be anything else going on out there.

So here’s what I am going to need from you. If any of the following statements apply to you, I am going to need you to randomly, periodically remind me that they do. Just feel free to throw these out there, so I am not perpetually lost in a sea of the other kind of thing.

Here’s what I’d like to hear, if you can claim it:

• Today, I did not cheat on my significant other
• Today, I did not help someone else cheat other their significant other, and then claim that was not my problem
• Today, I didn’t lie to someone to make my life easier
• Today, I didn’t betray someone who loves me
• Today, I didn’t betray someone and then claim to love them
• Today, I did not betray myself
• Today, I broke no one’s trust
• Today, I made it harder on myself, because I knew it would be easier on you
• Today, I didn’t fuck up anyone’s dreams
• Today, I didn’t screw over a friend who trusted me
• Today, I stopped myself doing what felt good, and did what was actually good
• Today, I didn’t have sex with someone who wasn’t free to have sex with me
• Today, I didn’t have sex with someone who was unwilling to have sex with me
• Today, I didn’t rob anyone at gunpoint
• Today, I did not rationalize my bad behavior toward someone else by claiming I could not help myself
• Today, I did not hurt anyone’s feelings on purpose
• Today, I stopped myself from saying that thing, and said the other thing
• Today, I was not needlessly cruel
• Today, I tried harder

Because honestly, my people, I love you—but you’re withering up the last little sliver of heart I have left. There are some things in this world that I would like to have faith in. And if I am going to be able to manage that, I am going to need you to do better than this.

If you do not want to live in a world populated by lying, selfish jerks, try not being a lying, selfish jerk. You might like how it feels.

Friday Five – Who Don’t You Want to Deal With?

Like all registered introverted misanthropes, I have a certain amount of dread and natural dislike for dealing with various types of people. Many times, the way I dread dealing with them impacts what actions I am willing to force myself to take in the world. For instance, my dread at the thought of dealing with repair people means that I have a bucket to catch the water that leaks in from my roof, instead of a roof that does not leak. My dread of having to deal with doctors means that I have to be pretty close to dying before I will go to one, etc. I was wondering what types/groups of people other people don’t want to deal with. I opened it up to “types of people” because I figure not everyone’s like me, and many people might not have a dread of dealing with professionals who are offering them services. Anyway, results below:

Time for #fridayfive! What five groups of people (or professions) do you most dislike dealing with? In order, most dislike to less dislike.

superbadgirl – Doctors, the overtly religious, law enforcement, advertising sales reps, repair persons. #fridayfive

cbellers – @superbadgirl Salespeople, religious people, political wingnuts (both sides) too-fucking-hip people, lawyers. #fridayfive

cbellers – @superbadgirl and by too-fucking-hip I mean the assholes who are actively cooler than you, not the kids with horrible sunglasses, dumb hats.

ieincognito – @superbadgirl The willfully ignorant, the overly bubbly, the duplicitous, the incompetent, those with disingenuous affectations #fridayfive

cvbarnhart – @superbadgirl Aggressive Interrupters, Mushmouths, The Self-Important, The Faithful, Anti-Intellectuals. #fridayfive

El_Dickman – @superbadgirl Fundies (any of them), customer support, “global resources” (outsourced personnel), piss-poor drivers, spare changers

billstreeter – @superbadgirl sales reps, bureaucrats, religious nuts, Libertarians (could be lumped in with religious nuts), idiots of any sort

superbadgirl – For everyone inquiring, yes, @p_tea can be his own category for today’s #fridayfive

p_tea – @superbadgirl Close-minded people of all persuations x5 #Fridayfive

_bunny_ – @superbadgirl My family, lawyers (ptew!), police, teenagers, Libertarians. #fridayfive

Joule – @superbadgirl Aggressively judgmental “authoritarians”, bureaucrats, plastic people, collection agents, the sensory offensive #fridayfive

ieincognito – @superbadgirl Can’t believe I forgot folks with a misplaced sense of entitlement. I may be amending all day to limit to #fridayfive

CDCyr – @superbadgirl Swingers who cant keep their swinging to themselves, partisans, believers, racists, panhandlers #fridayfive

jamesblackwood – @superbadgirl My doctor, Todd my goiter, my thyroid, members of my endocrine system, Curly Sue.

jamietoonart – @superbadgirl Political know-it-alls, Corporate customer “service”, self rightous carnivores, Price shoppers/cheapskates (at work), drivers.

cassiland – mean people, corrections officers, my employers, people that dislike kids/dogs, people with unbending convictions @superbadgirl #fridayfive

thatcesareguy – @superbadgirl interupters, self-dubbed experts, the overly political, open-mouth chewers, people who speak in meme #fridayfive

VforVero @superbadgirl racists, close minded people, self centered people, bad drivers & girls named Magan #fridayfive

ZSB3 – @superbadgirl Salespeople, the student DJ’s on 89.1FM, Tom Shane, racists, over-zealous religious people.

Grave_Danger – @superbadgirl Religious hypocrites, doctors office receptionists, liars, apathetic complainers, the terminally negative

trmink – @superbadgirl alumni association, auto dealers, tech support, “patriots”, librarians, local news team

What it’s Like to Notice Things

I notice things. I notice lots of things. I would presume that you, also, notice things. Sometimes we will notice the same things, but lots of times, we will not.

I happen to believe that noticing things is a positive trait. It’s protective. If I notice things, I can then process what I’ve noticed, and react to it as I find appropriate. I have come to believe that my noticeometer is set a fuck of a lot slightly higher than most people’s. Whether that’s because I am a Highly Sensitive Person or have an Insecure Attachment Style, I do not know. Nor do I really give a shit, because even though it can be uncomfortable, I have come to accept that this is the way that I am, and I do not find fault with it.*

I notice individual bits of data, and I notice patterns. I am much more observational than participatory, by a factor of about six hundred billion. So when you see me out and about, I am much more likely to be observing/noticing/contemplating than I am to be instigating/participating. In contrast, some of you are more likely to be making shit happen than watching shit happen. That’s cool. Takes all kinds. If you didn’t make shit happen, there’d be little for me to notice, really.

Once I notice things, I have a tendency to think about them, point them out, come to conclusions about them and (sometimes!) even want to discuss them. And to me that’s a natural progression of my way of being.

“Say!” I might say. “Have you observed that X is happening rather more frequently than it used to? What might that mean? Shall we discuss it at some length?” And sometimes people will reply “Why yes! I have noticed that very thing! Let’s discuss it at length, with booze!” And sometimes people will say “Why no! I had not noticed that! But it’s interesting that you did! Let’s discuss it at length and then spend some significant time making out, as I find your heightened powers of observation excruciatingly sexy and would now like to touch your bosoms!”

But sometimes when I point out a thing, whether it is personal or global in nature (or personal with a universal resonance, perhaps) people will reply: “No! I had not noticed that! And how dare YOU notice it? Much less ponder it at length and then point it out! What is WRONG with you? Who notices a thing like that? That’s a thing it’s better to ignore! I feel very uncomfortable now! I prefer you quit noticing it, actually! If you cannot not-notice it, you had damn well better shut up about it! And also, be quiet overall! Your noticing/pointing things out is being perceived by me as whiny and judgmental!”

I must admit, this attitude confounds me.**

I do not see the benefit in not noticing things. Ignoring things does not make sense. Whether or not you act upon a thing is a personal choice, and I won’t ever prescribe/proscribe another person’s actions. But noticing and pondering and discussing, these are not in themselves harmful acts. There is no crime in noticing a thing. There is usually no significant harm in pointing a thing out. “Look, here’s a thing!” is not some kind of subversive hate-speech. You’re free to disagree about the existence of the thing, or the nature of the thing. You’re free to offer evidence that my perception of the thing is inaccurate. And I will almost always be willing to spend time talking about the thing with you. But I resent being told to just plain not notice, and to not speak about what I’ve seen.***

Don’t tell me not to see. Don’t tell me to pretend I don’t see what I have seen. Don’t tell me to not talk about the things I have seen. Noticing and pondering and reacting to things is what I DO. It’s who I AM. It’s my primary trait. And you know what? It’s super-beneficial! For instance: It makes me the person people want to talk to when they have a thing they want to talk about! Because I like to listen! It gives me more things to notice and ponder! I can usually give them some data they had not previously had access to! I can offer alternative ways to think about things! It’s super-fantastic!

It also informs my writing. I like to write about the stuff I have noticed! I make an amalgam of things I have observed, and then I write it down in narrative form! And guess what? It resonates with people because it’s got some truth up in it!

It informs my professional work! I use what I have seen to construct persuasive materials to meet people’s unknown needs! From doing this, I have money to use to pay my mortgage and buy booze so that I can get drunk and stop noticing shit for awhile! This is quite nice!

But mostly— this is who I am. And as such, it’s really frustrating to be told to stop it. I am sorry that I saw something you wished I didn’t see. I am sorry that makes you uncomfortable. My noticing what is happening might make you feel vulnerable, but it’s not a hostile act. In telling me not to notice what’s going on around me, not to think about it and ponder it and wonder about it and talk to you about it, you cannot imagine what it is, exactly, that you’re trying to take from me.

I will not stop seeing things, and making connections between them and thinking about them. And if you tell me to stop and I get angry and tell you to cut it out with the telling me to stop… well, fair warning.

————————————————————————————————–

* You may also observe that sometimes I am so busy noticing one set of things I do not notice anything else at all, and miss a whole slew of stuff happening around me as I am lost in thought. But that’s really only something you’re going to notice if you’re really into noticing things, and if you are, then I assume you know what I am talking about.

**Sometimes I have to admit that I am baffled about the way in which other people do not know a thing. A big, obvious thing that everyone should know, if they’re paying attention. And then I realize, again, that they’re not paying attention in that specific way. And that’s OK. Really. It’s OK. I am not all alone out here in a sea of overwhelming data. Not. It’s fine. Anyway. I am finejustfine do not trouble yourself on my account. It’s cool,  you slack-jawed, unobservant jerk-faced assholes. Oh wait, did that sound judgmental? :-/

***I can agree that there are some things that I will notice that it’s better to keep to myself, and I will assume we all do the same. People’s bad haircuts, or recent spates of binge-drinking, their suddenly ill-fitting pants, or the couple who no longer touches each other with affection but are both suddenly looking a lot at other people—those are things I might notice and yet not publicly remark upon. So much of social lubrication is based in ignoring these things, which have the potential to cause discomfort when pointed out. And I would not knowingly point out a thing that would make someone uncomfortable. Sometimes I do this on accident and once I realize it it makes me want to lay down and die, basically, as I tend to feel other people’s discomfort right on top of my own, and a double layer of someone else being uncomfortable around me because of something I did while I am right in the middle of being uncomfortable around them is pretty much the worst thing I can personally experience. I don’t even like to be in the same room as people who are uncomfortable with each other, much less feel as if I am the cause of someone else’s unease. I feel uncomfortable thinking about the possibility of people feeling uncomfortable at some imaginary future point, actually, and I think I have to go lay down for awhile.

Now listen to this song, it’s nice.

On Being Loud and Angry and Unapologetic

I’ve been thinking lately about how often I use conciliatory/calming modifying language when I speak to people about things that I assume will make them uncomfortable. I do it too much, I know that. I have long-since broken myself of the habit of saying things like “Well, I am probably wrong but…” or “This may not be relevant, but…” or “You know, I really don’t know too much about this, but I think that maybe….” because I have read a whole heck of a lot of gender related communications research and I recognize that these are conversational tactics that females develop in response to being in male-dominated environments (it usually starts in classrooms) and that while they’re a natural response to having your voice drowned out over and over and over, they’re damaging and they allow people to discount what you’re saying before you even start. And so I do not do that anymore. If I am going to open my mouth what I say is going to be worth you listening to, goddammit, and it’s going to be relevant, goddammit, and if you don’t think so you’re free to argue that point with me, but I am not going to preempt my own damn statements by assuming that other people won’t find them important. And I see other women doing that shit, especially in work meetings, and aside from wasting time it infuriates me so that I want to punch them in the head. Own your space, own your words, don’t apologize for existing and having thoughts. Don’t do it!

It would perhaps behoove me to have more patience, as not everyone has studied the issue like I have, and many women probably do not realize that they are doing it. But you know what? I am not all that well known for my patience with ignorance and women who fuck shit up for themselves and other women and make themselves seem ineffectual and weak.

So I’ve stopped that preemptive “please disregard what I am about to say” bullshit. But what I have not been able to stop is this damn conciliatory nonsense-speak. Like: “Look, all I am saying is…” and “…is my only point.” and “OK not to be rude here but…” and “…if you can see what I am saying…” all that bullshit, hand-stroking “Please listen to me although my words might just make you outraged and FSM knows we can’t have anyone being outraged with my words! Oh noes!” crap.

Because FSM forbid that I just own my own truth and tell it to you straight out and damn the consequences. We can’t have that. People might get MAD! Or offended! Or think I am a jerk! And I should be NICE! Really nice! All the time! I shouldn’t get angry at all these angry-making things! I should not be outraged! It’s bitter and weird! I am all nonsensical! Why can’t I calm down and be civil?

And you know what? Blah. I am tired of being nice in response to not-niceness. The world is not very nice, I don’t know why I am expected to be all nice back at it. When I am talking about things that might offend other people, it’s usually because those things are harsh and ugly and offensive, and *I* am offended, and it’s really pretty damn Jem-level truly outrageous shit. So I can probably stop with that “Hey women have it tough, is all I am saying! Please don’t be mad that I made a point right here in front of you! Don’t be all incensed that I had a strong feeling, if you please, I really didn’t mean it… except for the part I did! Unless it made you mad. <<sadface.>>

And that’s how I have been feeling lately. Mad at myself for making nice, when I don’t even really know if it’s necessary. I mean, most times I am conversing, I am dealing with adults who I esteem on some level or I wouldn’t be bothering to deal with them. And so I owe them the respect of offering them an authentic conversation with the actual me, and the actual opinions that I hold, not a watered-down version that I have judged will be acceptable to their palate. And yes, some people will get all mad that I use the strong, direct words at them—but that’s more their problem than mine.

So, in the way of how things go on the Internetz, I recently read this post over at Fugitivus, and it really spoke to that.

If you are unable to critically examine my statements and arguments because I use swears, that’s a problem with your ability to listen, not my ability to speak. If you can’t listen to an argument unless I smooth back your hair, whisper delicately in your ear, and assure you that really I am not very angry and here I will hold your hand and sing gently while I say such difficult things, you’re not actually looking to listen to anybody. You’re looking to have your ego stroked, you’re looking to be fawned over, and you’re looking to control the conversation. Not in my space. Assholes get called assholes here, and if that’s too rough and tumble, then admit that you can’t rough and tumble.

So my personal project for the next little while is to break myself of the habit of following up my own valid points with “…is all I am saying.” and other conciliatory/calming modifiers. Which doesn’t mean I can’t make my points politely. It just means that I don’t have to build into my points an apology for having made a point in the first place. So if you’re interacting with me and I do that shit, you are free to punch me in the head. Or just point it out.

and which flavor of sad are you?

Almost everyone I know makes me just a little bit sad.

Actually, every single person I know makes me a little bit sad.

One day, when I find the person who doesn’t ever make me sad, not even a little itty bitty bit sad, I am going to lasso them and haul them home with me and keep them forever in my closet or basement or somewhere else handy.

But that may make them sad.

Which would make me sad.

God damn it.

Here is an awesome new pair of boots that I have ordered.

They do not make me sad. So far.

For now, I am neutral about these boots. Fairly anticipatory, even, but prepared for disappointment.

Mo’ NoCo Mo’ Problems

Yeah so yesterday was my Mom’s birthday. I am a bad person, generally, and a bad daughter, specifically, so I was not too excited to go out there to celebrate it. But I did, because that’s what you do, right? Naturally the whole thing was convoluted and awkward, with my Sunday phone call to my mom starting out like this:

Me: What are we doing for your birthday tomorrow?

Her: We don’t have to do anything, anything at all. Or we can wait and do it another day, because we’re adults and we know that sometimes people are not available on the actual day of your birthday to do things.

Me: I am available though, and planning on doing something with you, on the day of your birthday. What would you like to do?

Her: We can always put it off until later in the week if you want.

Me: What do you want to do tomorrow?

Her: It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, I don’t want you to drive in the rain.

Me: I am going to drive in the rain today, for fun. People do it all the time. What do you want to do tomorrow? How about I come out and take you to dinner?

Her: Well, if you want to, that would be wonderful. Just wonderful. I will call your brother. But if it starts raining and you don’t want to come, I will understand. (Note, my parents live 20 minutes from me, I do not know what kind of torrential downpour would necessitate my canceling a 20 minute drive. Also note: it did not rain.)

So now I am kind of screwed. I picked up a card for her (in fact I accidentally shoplifted it, not realizing that it was stuck down the side of my cart at the grocery store until I was unloading the cart into the car. Oops.) and I planned on taking her to dinner, but she’d made noises that she wanted to stay in and order pizza, so that meant she’d never let me pay. So now I had to get a gift. After work yesterday I stopped by the book store and got her a book that was pretty cool – at least it was one I’d like to have, historic photos of St. Louis. So, shoplifted card and legally acquired book in hand, I was ready to face the specter of a NoCo family dinner.

When I arrived my mother promptly whooshed me into a back bedroom to show me the present that I’d had bought her. Wait, what? Yeah. My mom bought her own present, and wanted me to give it to her, so that “you know who” didn’t know she’d bought it herself. Oh wait, it was also supposed to be from my brother. Nevermind that “you know who” had just seen me walk into the house carrying an entirely different present, now I was supposed to act like this one was from me. *sigh*

Also, my mom was dressed to go out. I was dressed to hang at their house, not that I have anyone in NoCo to impress, by any stretch, but I might have made some kind of effort if I’d known we were going out. “Why are you dressed to go out?” I asked “I thought we were staying in.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if we were staying in or going out. I was going to see what you wanted to do.”

“It’s your birthday, you decide.”

My mom walked to the living room where my brother and dad were discussing sports. Here’s their general conversation. It does not matter who said what, it’s equally annoying any way you read it.

“Do you want to go out, or stay in?” “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” “We could stay in.” “We could go out.” “What do you prefer?” “I don’t know, I could do either.” “It’s up to you.” “I don’t really care either way.” “Let’s stay in then.” “We could go out.” “Do you want to go out?” “I don’t mind, either way.” “We could call ahead, the food would be ready when we got there.” “We could. Or we could have it delivered. Either way.” “Well which do you want?” “Really, either is fine with me.” “Then let’s stay in.” “OK, but we could also go out.” “DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT?” “No, we can stay in, I will go order the food.”

*sigh*

So we get to present opening time. My mom cries at the card I got her (It was totally passive-aggressive on my part, all about how I needed her just like I did when I was little, I thought it was a nice touch after the whole hospital debacle, but I knew she would not see that. I told you, I am not a nice person.) and then opened the book, by which she was extremely underwhelmed. She flipped to a section about the Cardinals and then read something out loud. My brother said the information was incorrect. She looked at me for confirmation. What? I hate sports, and anyway I didn’t write the fucking book. My dad opined on whether the information was correct or not. My brother insisted it was wrong. My Mom looked at me again. I suggested she write a complaining letter to the publisher if she had an issue. Maybe we could open the other gifts now? She opened her present from me and my brother, to herself. She acted surprised. My Dad noted that it was exactly like the thing she’d bought herself last week. She angrily asked how he knew what she bought herself last week, and he explained that she left it in a bag next to him at the mall while she shopped for other things. She noted that he had a lot of nerve, looking through her shopping bags. He noted that she had a lot of nerve, acting as if she hadn’t bought her own present when he knew she did. I wondered why the fuck everything had to be so motherfucking convoluted, and how much longer I was going to have to stay. Honestly. Was there any reason she couldn’t buy herself a gift and say “I bought myself this, I am a grown ass woman and I have plenty of money and it’s my goddamn birthday?”

After that I went and sorted out my Dad’s computer, the magical porn bots had re-infested it, he has no idea how that happened, of course. We ate pizza, we ate cake, both were kind of un-tasty, but that might have been my mood. I was sent home with: new garden gloves, new potholders, a new pair of sandals, a spindle of blank CDs, a box of tampons that my mom mail-ordered for me (?!) and leftover pizza.

I went home and watched Spartacus and contemplated my own, sometimes overwhelming, need for simplicity and honesty in my life, and I did not wonder from where that might have originated.

On Why I Wouldn’t Make a Successful Junkie, Or Maybe Then Again I Would

The nice part about narcotics is that they make you not care about stuff. I like to not care about stuff. Not caring about stuff is highly underrated.  I am constantly caring about things that don’t need to be cared about. This takes the edge off that. But then it also takes the edge off of remembering what day it is, or what time of day, and if you’ve eaten breakfast or lunch, or which nap this is. It takes the edge off of a few too many things, maybe. So thumbs up for not caring, thumbs down for forgetting you’re supposed to care. I tried to cut down on the pain meds today, and guess what? I have legitimate pain. I forgot about that. That pain gets stabby without these narcotics. That’s no fun. Maybe what I really need is to be very wealthy and have a steady stream of narcotics and a minder. Someone to remind me what day it is, and where to sign for more meds. But then again that seems like it’s going to end in my laying in pile of my own waste while my minder does coke off a hooker’s ass in front of my kick-ass entertainment system. I doubt I’d have a conscientious minder. I don’t think conscientious people go into the minding business.

All I know is that I haven’t been going out there, and it’s nice to forget there’s a there that I have to eventually go back out to. There’s no “what’s going on fun out there” since I am not going out there, no matter what fun is to be had. That’s a big relief, actually. I am not missing anything, because I am missing everything. And that’s fine with me. Go away, world, I find you to be unnecessary. I am pretty sure you will still be around when this wears off.

The People Conundrum

I am continuing to struggle with dealing with people – groups of people and individuals. I have leveled out on my disgust with all the concepts that I see, at least for this week, but the people are still kind of making me nuts. Not that it’s their fault, or mine, I think it’s just the way in which I think about them—I make it harder on myself than it might have to be if I was a stupider or more thoughtless person.

Over and over I learn that my moral and logic centers are considerably out of plumb with those of the people I know. Even the people I really like. Learning to accept people in a holistic way and appreciate their place in my life while disagreeing with their beliefs and sometimes their actions is just fucking hard, and doesn’t promise to get easier with practice. It’s the constant reanalysis that wears on me. It looks like this:

OK, you’re doing this –> I like you –> you doing/thinking this must be OK… wait, it’s actually not OK. Do I still like you? –> Yes. OK then how can I incorporate this action into my view of you, and the world? How can I separate who you are to me from what you are doing?

-or-

You’re doing this –> I like you –> This is not OK –> This action/belief system is so morally unacceptable to me that I no longer can accept you as part of my world. –> Now you need to go away (Sometimes with a footnote of –> Oh wait, you’re still here? –> Everyone else thinks your actions are acceptable? –> Reevaluate –> No, you still suck. –> Grudging tolerance.)

And you know what? That’s fucking hard, and that’s fucking tiresome, and I am sick of it. But it’s constant, whenever you’re in relationship with people and you don’t wish to be consumed or subjugated by their belief systems and completely lose who you are. I would prefer that people be good and be simple, and do good, simple things that are easy to live with and understand and not bring up all these sticky problems for me to analyze. But that’s not the way of it. People I like do bad things*. To themselves, to each other, to me. They do them on purpose to be hurtful, or they do them on purpose because they do not believe them to be wrong, or they do them accidentally because they don’t understand what they’re doing and what the consequences might be. And each of those things requires some level of thought for me, some reshuffling of the facts in my mind file for them.

And I feel as if I am the only person in the universe who thinks about people in this way, or has these particular ethical quandaries. I do not see others struggling to understand people quite this hard. Maybe because the concept of being in relationship with people – any people, at all – is one that is negotiable for me. Maybe other people don’t think this way because the idea of not doing people is one they can’t conceive of, so it’s pointless to ponder whether they can do these particular people, or those particular people. There are going to be some people, and people are bound to be all variable and hard to understand, so what’s the point in thinking about it? I get that. Or maybe they don’t think about it, or care about it – maybe the social neediness of primates just overcomes all and they shut down critical analysis. I don’t know. I mean – people ARE compelling. Being in a group IS enjoyable, otherwise no one would do it. Social feedback is satisfying, and people are whimsical, charming, entertaining creatures. I adore many of them, and find them very necessary to my happiness. I just also happen to find them challenging, draining and baffling too.

The one thing I know is this—the only way I can function successfully without going insane is to let my core beliefs be what they are, and not change them based on the beliefs of the people I am around, even if I care deeply for them. Everyone I know may think that something is fine, and if I don’t think it’s fine, that’s my right. It’s my right to feel it, it’s my right to express that I feel it, it’s my right to live my life in the way that I believe to be correct. And it’s my right to eject people from my personal world when the incompatibilities are too great. When trying to stretch my brain far enough to make their actions somehow acceptable is too painful or disturbing for me.

And in the end it’s not for anyone else to understand, or appreciate or approve. It’s only for me to live inside. And that seems so simple, doesn’t it? You can’t please everyone, so just please yourself? There’s even a song. But social pressure is a powerful thing, no matter how grounded you try to remain.

So the question is exactly the same tiresome, unanswerable one it’s been for years. How can I be with you and not lose myself?

Stay tuned – one of these days I may figure it out.

*Yes, I do realize that I am most probably doing bad things to other people without knowing it. I realize people don’t necessarily approve of  my value system and life choices, or my opinions. But they can get their own fucking blog and bitch about it there.

Oh Shoot

So I have accomplished exactly zero of my three vacation goals. Goal one was to lay out the print version of The Grand Conspiracy. Meh, I never felt inspired, that felt too much like actual work-work. Goal two was to clean out the horrible (used to be) walk-in closet in my office. It’s so crammed full of random purses and shoes and craft supplies that I can’t actually walk into it any more. I really never felt inspired to do that either, because that sounds like I might get sweaty and/or dirty and/or injured. Maybe in January. Goal three was… ummm… wait. I am sure there was a goal three? OK, that’s sad. I unaccomplished it so hard that I forgot it entirely. Or wait – maybe I accomplished it and then forgot what it was because I was done? We can go with that.

So anyway, two weeks off, and no official goals accomplished, which should have me feeling aggravated with myself, but it doesn’t. I had a great vacation, lazed around, drank too much, hung out with my friends and cuddled my chihuahuas. And that’s enough for me.

The other thing I have done with my vacation is learn to shoot stuff. Which I like surprisingly much. I’ve always kind of been interested in having a gun, but didn’t have anyone to show me safety stuff, and how they work, and advise me on what might be the right type of gun for me. As such, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to just go randomly buying a gun and try to figure out on my own how to use it, nor did I have any idea how to do so even if it had been a good idea. Luckily a friend of mine’s husband is a giant gun geek, and leapt at the opportunity to  have a new victim avid trainee. He’s taken me out shooting several times, and it’s really very fun. I was intimidated at the prospect of shooting a gun, sure it would blow up in my hand or knock me down, or both. But before we ever went out shooting, Pete had me over to handle his guns (not a euphemism) so that I would be familiar with what we would be shooting. The amount of firepower he had laid out on his kitchen table made me feel vaguely as if I was attending a militia meeting, or doing something of a covert, anti-government nature. And then he showed me pictures of people with their thumbs blown off, to emphasize we’d actually be doing dangerous things, in case I had not realized. Continue reading »

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