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Sike. (I’m bringing back the word “sike.” Certain parts of the nineties, like this word and the cabbage patch dance move did not, in my very humble opinion get enough credit).
In all seriousness, I’m noticing a troubling trend among women, and if you are reading this (thank you!) I know you’re guilty of the self-berating, awful treatment of yourself that I definitely practice from time to time. And if you aren’t, please vacate my blog- you are much too mentally stable for my yammerings. This is a place for fellow “what the fuck did I just do?” people. But anyway, I’m here to explain what I’ve learned in the past year and half or so of behaving like I flat out didn’t count. And it’s not true, so maybe I can help you if you’ve kind of fallen into that rut too.
First– believe that you are. Sincerely, honestly, know that you matter. Because you do, even if it’s just some random chick with a laptop and a free evening telling you that. Your opinions, your blabberings, your crying at stupid commercials or during that argument are valid, and important. But if you don’t buy into any of your beliefs/theories/platforms, nobody else will. Nor should they.
If you, like I did, don’t believe yet that you are important a pretty good activity for you then is to fake it til you make it. Tell yourself you are… Not in a creepy-homeless-person-who-talks-to-themselves-way, but in a silent, inside your own head way. If passers-by overhear you in the mall saying “I’m important!” not only will they not believe you, but they will alert authorities. And generally people in padded cells can agree on their delusions of importance… So avoid that, please. Anyway! When you catch yourself discounting your thoughts “Oh, that was stupid of me,” stop! Silently remind yourself that you are important. You are NOT stupid. (Unless you genuinely are, in which case I can’t help you).
Second– Place blame when need be. I’m not saying keep your index finger pointed in a permanent position facing outward at people near you… that’s creepy… but know when you are or not to blame. Women are quick to fall into the “totally my fault. I sooo apologize. Please forgive me” thing… Even if it’s NOT. If he cheats- you aren’t to blame. If your boss is a crackpot who yells at you all the time, chances are you didn’t fuck everything up. If you don’t deserve to take the fall for something, don’t. It doesn’t mean you have to fight tooth and nail to convince everyone of your innocence or superiority, but it does mean that you need to stick to your own truth. Sometimes other people just suck. Sometimes we are not so fabulous, and that’s perfectly okay. Humans are awesome like that.
Third– and this sort of goes with “second,” but have some standards. Yeesh. I am so guilty of going out with someone (last night?), and having a sort of okay time, but still staring menacingly at my phone wondering why the guy who was mehhh isn’t calling me incessantly declaring his love and reciting poetry (today?). Don’t settle for less-than, or you will become less-than. And who wants to be less-than?! It kind of sounds like someone who would be missing an arm or something… I like my limbs. Not that anyone thought I didn’t.
Fourth– People generally referred to as “important” are impressive. And maybe right now you have a not very impressive job. Doesn’t mean anything. Maybe you have some habits (cough, cocaine, cough) that are kind of scary… But there’s always time to find a direction that IS impressive. And more importantly, “impressive” is a relative term. I don’t find blue-grass singers to be impressive, but D does. D doesn’t find political figures impressive, and I swoon over them. (Fact: I almost cried when my favorite Congressman remembered my name). So just because everyone else doesn’t go “Ohmigod you’re so cool!” over attribute X about you, don’t worry about it. It is so good for you mentally and emotionally though, to believe in yourself enough to set a goal that you think is impressive. First, be proud of yourself for attempting said goal, and then, be proud of yourself for achieving it. It’s a fun game.
Fifth– If my extensive yoga experience has taught me anything (sike! I don’t do yoga, who are we kidding?), it’s that getting to know yourself is a good idea. Fuck that. It’s a brilliant idea. Spend some one on one time with yourself and just do what you have always wanted to do- even if it’s napping, or sewing or whatever. Know what you like, what you despise, what you are and are not capable of. This way, when other people (douchebags) are doing that “Let me tell you something about YOU” crap, you can either admit internally that “yeah, maybe I could work on that” or “you’re a crazy bastard and I don’t need your judgements”. Don’t rely on the two-bit opinions of people to form your own opinion of yourself. More often than not, other poeple are wrong. This kind of goes back to the “know when to accept blame thing.”
Another fun thing about this little part, getting to know yourself can normally result in liking yourself more. Finding some sort of acceptance of who you are, of your big ears (cough, me, cough), or the way you laugh, or whatever it is you pick on yourself for without ANY reason.
Sixth– Finally, take care of yourself. Be a priority in your own life. For a long time people talked about learning to love yourself and I really didn’t understand. I thought that meant tell people how much better you were than them… and guess what? That just makes people call you a “bitch.” Which was sort of true at the time.
What I think they actually meant (I admit, I’m still sort of working it out), is to treat yourself like you were your own daughter (son if you have a penis). This does not mean attempt to put your head up your vagina and give weird bizarre birth to yourself. It doesn’t mean that at all. But- think of it this way- if you had a daughter, would you stuff her full of shitty food and dress her like she was homeless? Would you tell her she was stupid or not to bother with school or her friends? No. You would value her, make her feel special, treat her as the special being she is. So, in a sort of creepy way, what I’m saying is to treat YOU like the special, unique, lovely being that you are.
And there you have it. I spent a year and a half hating myself, blaming myself, being angry at me and actually starving myself because I thought punishing my own person would somehow improve anything. Surprise! It made it worse. We all want to be told how important we are to other people, and while that’s normal and (duh) I do it too, it’s dangerous if “other people” start to supercede our own opinions. So… just next time you feel like you’re becoming a big grey ball of “ugh,” remember that it’s temporary and you are better than that… and you are important.
*Also, points to me for managing to use SIKE twice in one post.*
I blame my lack of control over my life and my inability to “plan ahead” on my hair. Mostly because I don’t like to wash it, and once I do wash it I am paralyzed by the oh-so-heavy decision, do I curl it or leave it straight? And, God forbid I manage to decide and opt for a curl, I find myself glaring at my variety of curling irons… What kind of curl do I want? (Side note: I think they all end up looking the same, but to justify the amount of money spent on my vibrator-look-alike hair tools, I tend to worry anyway).
The reason this matters is because I am meeting up with this guy tonight for what I guess is (don’t judge me!) a… blind date? And the picture he saw of me has straight hair, so even though I prefer my hair curled, should I just stick with his expectations so I don’t throw him through a loop? Furthermore (who says furthermore in a blog? That just seemed weird), it’s raining and since it never rains in California, I own precisely zero jackets and one pair of sneakers that are suede anyway so they can’t be relied upon to shelter my feet from puddles. So I’m in heels. 4.5 inch heels. In the rain. Oh God, I’m gonna fall down. I shouldn’t even go. What if I sprain an ankle? The fear/anxiety I have right now is soooo not worth meeting the cute guy my friend has been raving about for months.
Unless… it is. Which is why I washed/blew dry/straightened my hair today. Because, women- I know you feel me on this: you never freaking know.
The romantic at heart in me, lives by the “you never know” mantra. And it is her fault that I even let my friend set me up. It was her that drug my ass out of bed this morning and it was her that convinced me yes, shaving my legs would probably be a good idea. Worst case scenario: homeboy tonight is the man of my dreams (doubtful), but since I couldn’t be bothered to brush my hair he was uninterested in the girl who looked like a homeless version of Amy Winehouse. So I brushed my hair. Shaved my legs. And, as mentioned before, it is the rain’s fault that I am wearing heels.
As a final note, I should have written about this yesterday. Because I don’t really know blind-date etiquette… Do we hug? I generally give a hug/kiss combo when greeting, but that’s way too much, right? Can’t I just give him my resume and pretend like we’ve always known eachother? Is drinking allowed or does that send the she-is-a-lush red flag up? Clearly, I’m in need of some guidance here.
Then again, as soon as I get really caught up in the “ohmigod, what if…?” thoughts, the normal girl inside me bitch-slaps the romantic girl and says, “fuck that, it’s free food.” And I breathe easy again.
A while back, after a rather impressive evening of putting together my steamer (don’t have one? get one! it will change your life, swear), I wrote a lovely list of reasons I am getting old.
So although I haven’t been blogging for a whole month (but have random post-its strewn about my life with things that I promised myself I would mention when I do find myself staring down a computer screen with some free time), the one thought that has been lodged front and center in my strange little head is that I am ooooollld. But I’m not. So I guess I’m tired? Or maybe I’ve been kind of sick all month? I don’t know. But I feel like I’m 40 and I really just want to nap, but I never have time because the check engine light is on in my car, and I keep losing things (and consequently chasing them down), and my friends won’t stop getting knocked up or having people offer them diamonds (and consequently making me attend tea-partyesque events in their honor), and I keep saying “of course!” when people ask me if I’d like to help them volunteer with this, or participate in that. I am productive. Productive and slightly strung out because my calendar is booked weeks in advance.
I forget where I was going with this. I bet it was somewhere good though.
I haven’t blogged in over a month. Nothing really life-changing has happened, which has been good. It’s a nice place for my heart to rest while everything falls into place (or falls closer to where it should be… I’m making no sense, I know). This little blurb is a half-assed award to myself for not doing any damage to my life or person in over 30 days (new personal best?).
I’m hungover. Yet another way I’m not quite as young as I look. Two beers and two shots last night and I was blacked out yelling at some poor guy about physics (I don’t know)…. Even though 4 drinks is far below my normal average, I am still feeling gross over 24 hours, three bad movies, a breakfast burrito and a glass of champagne later. Like I said, old.
I’m dating. I was dating last month too, so that’s not news. Some lackluster, some really entertaining, some so dull and socially awkward I thought about telling him I was lesbian just to liven up the discussion. But I didn’t. Because I was hungry, and if I said I was into girls he might make me pay for my overpriced pasta or just abandon me in the restaurant. I seriously considered it though.
Do you want to give me money? I won’t do anything to deserve it, and I might forget to write you a thank you note later, but I need a couple hundred dollars for this political thing I’m doing. And I maybe forgot about the fundraising requirement, so I’ve got 2 weeks to get $1,000 from my unassuming friends and family. Please help me. Stress makes me look sad, and I look much better when I’m happy. Do it for my complexion.
Remember the President? He fumbled through an apology a few weeks ago, although I’m still not sure for what. It was nice of him to be sorry, though I guess? Maybe he felt guilty? Did I get drunk and do something retarded? Wouldn’t be the first time, but hey, I really didn’t know what to say as he blurted out his “I’m sorry….” schpiel and didn’t want to discount it, so I just nodded and thanked him for being so sincere. Eh.
I was recently asked by a darling but retarded man if I wanted to go to the party in his bed. Note to men: that’s not a good pick up line. Another fellow called me his “little meatball” which is even worse than an invitation to a mattress-party. Something about me being italian, he said. I took it more like, you are round like a meatball. Fatty.
Everything is just chugging along. I’m trying to ditch that feeling I always get when things are going okay… know the one I’m talking about? That nagging thing in your head that tells you to brace yourself, things are going okay… things are too okay. You are not lucky like this… something bad is coming. Only— maybe it’s not luck. Maybe I just took control and that simple step put things right again, and I’m not frantically trying to chase fate around. Or something like that.
I decimated whatever purpose I had in writing this. But I miss blogging. It’s a really great outlet, and although I was pretty sucky at it this year I’m hoping I can use my new-ish perspective to write something worthwhile.
But again, if you want to give me money, feel free. I’m serious.