It’s Friday, we should break up – Being myself
Aug 20th
Yeah, I’m done with that.
Instead, I think I’ll be Katie Holmes. I mean, she’s got that whole “I married a crazy scientologist and now my life is everyday news for the tabloids” thing going on, right? Plus, she was in Dawson’s Creek and yes, I watched every season of that show. Twice. I was young! I was stupid! I was in love! With Joshua Jackson. I couldn’t help myself.
Oh wait…she’s got kids and stuff. I don’t need any of those. And Tom Cruise actually kind of freaks me out.
Moving on.
Paris Hilton? She’s got all the money and stuff. But those old lady hands really don’t do anything for me. Plus, you know, I can’t stand anything about her.
I’ve got it. No, but really. Cameron Diaz. I think we’re a lot alike anyway, except that she’s really tall and really skinny and her mouth looks like it could eat me whole. I love that woman more than I can explain and I always have. When HuffPo started reporting that she was saying things like, “Yeah, I’ll travel for cock” (a phrase, I’m sad to say, some rather un-evolved people still take to mean she’s some kind of slutbag) and “Love rarely lasts forever,” I have to admit, it only made me love her more.
If you’re wondering why we’re having this conversation, it’s because I have a date tonight. What I would have said to you two days ago is this: I have no idea how to BEHAVE on a date any more. Like, what does one DO?
But I’ve now said this to several people and every single one of them (with the exception of one, and I told her not to say it) said the EXACT same thing: Be yourself.
Well…
NO SHIT.
Who else am I going to be? Really. Be myself. What sage advise to someone who has an extremely strong sense of self and can’t even stretch the truth about herself to get a JOB. Yes, thank you, I think I will be myself.
Now I’m not faulting these people. I have no idea what the answers are, so maybe it’s just that no one does. My fault is with offering up a lame platitude. In what universe is the advice “Be yourself” going to be helpful to me? Is it helpful to anyone? If you’re not capable of it, you’re not going to suddenly become capable of it because someone told you to. If you’re me, you’re going to do it whether you want to or not (and lord help the poor dude who’s also on the date, right?). And if you are the sort of person who pretends to be someone else, you’re probably just going to keep down that road. It’s not like this is some novel concept.
OH! Be MYSELF! Well, this changes everything. Guess I’ll give that the ol’ college try, eh?
So wish me luck. Also, you might as well wish him luck, as he may very well be reading this. Yeah…he reads my blog. And I swear, if even one of you leaves a comment that says, “Well, he reads your blog and he still likes you! That’s good!” my head will explode. First, that’s mildly insulting. Second, it’s not really about that and it just makes everything all lopsided. Plus, don’t you think it’s probably better to tell someone much later than a first date about that time you pooped yourself at work? Yeah, I kind of do. Oh well.
The one where I skip turning into my mother and turn into my grandmother instead. But with a better sense of direction.
Aug 19th
This weekend, I finally cleaned my apartment (I took pictures, but SOME people made fun of me for it, so I’m not posting them). It’s possibly more organized now than it’s been since I’ve lived there.
I collected nine trash bags of clothes for Goodwill (getting them TO Goodwill is a completely separate issue). NINE. Just think about that. I had nine trash bags worth of clothes in my closet that I didn’t even want. Moreover, I gave away half my clothes when I moved into this apartment, so this was mostly stuff I had collected in the last year and a half.
This led me to create a new rule. The shopping rule: I will not purchase new things (other than large, necessary purchases) without getting rid of something of approximately equal value. Except books. (I mean, let’s be realistic.)
I also have a bag of shoes to donate. The shoe rule is this: If the shoes do not fit on the shelves where the shoes live (except boots, which don’t fit because they’re too tall), I must get rid of some shoes.
Clearly I haven’t been following the shoe rule very closely. Mostly because there were just shoes everywhere.
So now my apartment has been clean since Saturday(ish). There hasn’t been a dish in my sink or a misplaced item of clothing since then. I have gotten up early every morning. I have made my bed every morning. Yes, you read that correctly. I have MADE MY BED. I’m a firm believer that there is absolutely no point in making your bed, and yet…I feel better when it’s made. It’s like a magic fairy has come and made my room slightly more like a hotel. Except that my bed broke in the last move, so all I have is a mattress on the floor (and also I am the magic fairy).
(Cooper is far less cute while I’m trying to make the bed, since he spends his time being in my way and trying to unmake the bed. He’s a hooker-faced asshat sometimes.)
In other news, my bed really isn’t half bad. Having not seen it in six months or so, I had kind of forgotten. Also, my desk? That fucker is adorable. Who knew? It’s been covered in stuff for a while, even when everything else got picked up.
Every morning this week, I have woken up at 6:30 am or earlier, made myself some tea, and read the news while eating a banana. I have had time to get ready for work. My clothes match. My hair has been brushed. My face has been washed. I’ve done some writing. I’ve spent time with Cooper.
So why the change?
You know, I couldn’t really say, except that I think I’ve finally decided maybe it’s time to get my shit together. I’m 30, after all. I’ve trimmed some figurative fat from my life. The literal fat is still there, but I’m working on it, too.
I think maybe I was just finally pushed too far; mostly by people: people who lie, people who stop being there when you actually might need them, people who expect you to be something you’re not just to make their lives easier, people who live to stir up drama and make a big deal out of things that are not. I feel like it’s time to take control and be the person I know I can be, instead of just the awesome, funny, charming person I am. Right?
Here’s the deal, though. If, in a few weeks, you guys have noticed that the only things I ever talk about any more are calories and Jesus? You’ll know that I have, in fact, turned into my Grandmother. That would be the time to intervene, okay? I’ve seen this in action, and it’s not pretty.
I found a gold mine.
Aug 18th
So this morning, the lovely @DysFuncJunc posted a link on Twitter to a spectacular article.
I give you – What Women Want: The Push Pull Technique.
Today, for once, I’m going to leave aside the commentary on what this pathetic thing this says about the state of things between men and women. Let’s just focus on the funnies, shall we? (That picture is just…awesome.)
Here’s an example. Establish a physical contact, touch her, show your interest, then move away a bit, push her off.
See what they did there, men? They made you seem like a schizophrenic asshat.
Most women like to be persuaded. This means, when you suggest something, even if she would want to do this or to go there, she would not say “yes” immediately, she would wait until you try to persuade her. Don’t do this, if she does so, just say “no problem” and don’t insist. This would make her confused and understand, that you are not to play with.
And here all this time, I thought you guys WANTED us to play with you? No?
- Show your interest in her, but not all the time. Behave sometimes, as if you don’t care.
- Don’t be like other men.
- Don’t always give her, what she’s expecting from you.
- Be playful. Tease her.
- Be strong not only with muscles, dominate her in conversation.
- Be a challenge for her. A challenge increases woman’s interest in you.
Again, you’re just coming off as a schizophrenic asshat. But let’s note the completely random use of commas. I think my favorite rule of the day is: Be strong not only with muscles, dominate her in conversation. Yeah…DOMINATE HER.
It can also be compared to bodybuilding – you want to gain more muscle mass, as soon as you have reached a particular result, then, when you’ve done another step, you again want to “grow” further.
I’ll admit that I don’t know a whole lot about body building, but it would seem that consistency would be important? And I’m pretty sure that last bit is about an erection.
So, men, there you have it. More regurgitated Pick Up Artist schtick. This time with even worse grammar.
And now it’s time for a breakdown.
Aug 17th
Ah, En Vogue, you make me so happy. I will, indeed, free my mind.
Okay, so last week, I had a bit of a crisis. In which I almost shut my blog down. I’m not telling you this to get your attention or force you to compliment me. I’m just telling you because I’m telling you.
I feel like a different woman than the one who started this blog, in a lot of ways. The same, but different. Interestingly, when I started this blog, I was, for all intents and purposes, in a really bad place. A couple of months ago, I found myself in a really bad place again, for a slightly different (and various) reasons. There wasn’t a lot of funny in me for a while.
I’m not sure if the funny is back or not, but I find myself passionate about serious things. And I want to write about these serious things. The question is, do those passions really fit on this blog?
I never found a schtick. I never said, “This. THIS is what my blog will be about.” It was always just supposed to be my stories. My observations of daily life. My adventures while navigating my way through this fucked up thing.
There were to be curse words and inappropriate stories and rants and sarcasm. And I think those things are still here.
I think, though, that there’s a disconnect between the way I’m expressing myself, and the way people perceive that expression. That will probably always be true, but I used to pride myself on being a good communicator, if nothing else. Now, I’m not so sure.
It seems that all I’m communicating lately is that I’m angry. And I’m actually not angry (I mean, sure, I’m angry about some things…aren’t you? But I’m not an angry person). I can tell you that I’m more than a little sad, I’m very tired (mostly of people), and well…the last few months have done nothing for my cynicism.
There will always be people who think that anyone (and particularly any woman) who has an opinion and expresses it passionately is angry. I can accept that. It’s just a problem when people who are supposed to be my friends, people who are supposed to know me and care about me, simply see anger and negativity because I don’t subscribe to the same bullshit fake happy that they do, or because I am passionate about certain issues.
One of my friends told me recently(ish) during a conversation about men and relationships, “Yeah, I don’t ever want to be the way you are about this stuff.”
Ouch? Nah. Don’t be like me. The sad thing is, I don’t even think she knows what “like me” is. Because I tell her to be careful and be cautious with someone who has broken her heart over and over, I am negative and a “man-hater.”
The truth is? I’m actually much less negative about men than my happy, sunshine, rainbow counterparts. Yes, I’ve had bad experiences, but I’ve had good ones, too. I choose to approach new people and new relationships with a certain amount of caution, because frankly, I’m not stupid. Does that mean that I won’t give someone a chance? I think if you read the archives of this blog, you will find that I do, in fact, give plenty of people a chance. But there are certain things I simply will no longer abide (face licking and maternal fellatio being two of them). If that makes me a negative man-hater, so be it.
(Wait. Oh dear, “maternal fellatio” isn’t…well, fuck it. You either know what I’m talking about or you don’t.)
Moreover, if the fact that I choose to be careful with my heart and not give everything to people who may not deserve it makes me those things, I’m okay with that. I’m picky. I’m picky because in the past, I wasn’t so picky. That never turned out well.
I am a feminist, but that doesn’t mean that I dismiss the opinions of men just because they’re men (this is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately). I don’t really listen to opinions that I find to be irrational or unintelligent, and it doesn’t matter who has those opinions.
My way isn’t the only way. Neither is yours. Understand that this is a BLOG and sometimes it’s easier and/or more entertaining to rant about something or exaggerate a little for effect. I’m not writing the news, here. Hell, I’m pretty sure no one is writing the news any more.
I guess all of that is to say that I decided not to shut down my blog. But I think I am going to add a separate page for the more serious topics. That way you can have a choice in whether or not you read them.
Femme Writes is something that is really important to me, and I don’t want the perception of me as someone who is angry and negative to affect people’s perception of the project as a whole. I think we’re doing something good. I think, at the very least, we’re starting a conversation. And while these first topics might seem daunting or you may not want to write about them, I think that we’re providing an excellent platform for those who want to to be able to share their stories and experiences. I expect and hope, like anything else, Femme Writes will grow and evolve through time.
Once I get the new page set up (I actually set up the subdomain ages ago, but I haven’t done anything with the page itself), I’ll let you guys know. If you want to take a look at it from time to time, feel free. I’m setting up a Twitter account to tweet about posts and such. Follow @seriouslyshiny if you’d like updates.
That being said, I’ll try to keep the posts on the regular page more light-hearted. Get back to my roots, maybe. But there will still be serious things that I think are deserving of being on Shine Out Loud.
/sadface
How to throw away underwear.
Aug 16th
I feel like I might have talked about this before. If I have, I’m mildly apologetic that I’m doing it again. A search for “underwear” in my archives brought up more posts than I was expecting and I didn’t feel like sorting through them.
So I have this problem. I can’t seem to get rid of old underwear.
You’re probably thinking this is completely ridiculous right about now, but it’s not.
Okay, maybe it is. But my Grandmother has the same problem. And you can shut your whore mouth before you make fun of my Grandmother.
The problem is this: I don’t want to throw out dirty underwear (because ew), but if I wash it, I usually just put it away without thinking and then I end up wearing it again. Rinse and repeat. Ad nauseum.
It’s a vicious cycle and I’m tired of it.
I need a new plan, people. How do you get rid of your old underwear?
You should probably understand that I have more underwear than a sultan has concubines. And no, I’m never ever getting rid of my knee socks.
