You cannot be trusted with resources if you put in a pedestal sink in a bathroom where there's room for something functional.
Unless it's just a guest WC in a multi-bath mansion, you are stupid & your judgment is for SHIT.
Apparently I’m less of a bitch when I’m walking a sweet dog.
When I arrived at my mom’s to spend some chemo time with her while my sister and her family were across the country, I was SURPRISED to be greeted by … their dog. I had not anticipated being there. With her fur that I’m allergic to all over the bed and pillowcase.
I get a lot out of that Daily Stoic Ryan Holiday guy and his mentor, Robert Greene but OMG ... have you ever seen more humorless fucks than these? Do they EVER laugh?
I'm glad they're not the only philosophical bitches around -- so depressing if binge-watching.
I wish they'd be given even 10% of the doses of "SMILE!!!!" that female bitches receive as commands when just walking down the street, though, let alone as "influencers".
Not tonight, honey.
I HAVE A HEADACHE!!!!!
What kinds of medications do you associate with "bitches"?
Okay, I get it with all of the resource-hoarding and stuff. A lot, if not most, landlords ARE exploitative bastards.
But at a certain point I get sick of reading that stuff when a lot, if not MOST renters are ALSO "bastards". Do you know how people treat rental cars? Okay, that's how a lot of renters treat rental homes.
I might feel especially sensitive about it right now when my mom has cancer, and she did, for a time, rent out her house while she was taking care of my sick and dying dad / living with him (her EX husband). She rented out her house that she put so much love and work into, and GUESS WHAT? She was WAY too nice to her renters, who constantly skipped out on rent AND did shitty things to her house (the house I grew up in).
She wasn't trying to rip them off or make a profit, she was just trying to be able to make her refi mortgage payment while she helped out my dad. Instead she wound up really taking care of her renters ... all while they shat on her home. They took advantage of her, and ultimately cost more than they were worth.
People have so many excellent reasons to bitch about landlords, to push for regulations and laws that that protect tenants, etc. But I'm not listening to anyone anymore who calls all of them bastards and paints every renter like some fucking angelic victim of landlords and capitalism and whatever the fuck. Because a lot of renters are really fucking trash, and it's heartbreaking how many regular people who are NOT rich take a chance on strangers living in their homes only to have them do tons of damage to their property and not even pay their fucking rent.
If you can't acknowledge that a lot of renters are bastards, then go fuck yourself. You're undermining any helpful progress you could make by being so ridiculously one-sided.
Maybe JUST MAYBE part of why it is SO HARD to get approved to rent a place is partly because so many renters have track records as a group of being unreliable destructive untrustworthy shitholes. If you have no empathy for people who in some cases entrust their life savings -- the only thing they have of value (my mom had no savings no retirement NONE OF THAT) -- to some lazy-ass cocksuckers, you are biased beyond rational usefulness.
I'm turning fifty years old tomorrow. And the only thing I'm clear on is that I don't want to be (such) a bitch.
I guess that is not as clear as it should be.
They say indecisiveness is a sign of insecurity. I think that is true. And I think being a bitch is a sign of insecurity, too.
I'm attached to being a bitch, and afraid to let it go. It is protection. Fortification. A shield to keep people away.
I'm reluctant (afraid) to clearly commit to not wanting to be a bitch anymore.
So. I'll turn fifty years old tomorrow chronologically, but I still have a lot of maturing to do. And clarifying what I really want. Isn't that the very definition of a bitch? Complaining and complaining and complaining and never having anything positive to say or hope for or want or steer towards.
The first part of the solution is figuring out what I want: what I want more than bitchery.
Affordable housing is in short supply where we live. There are only a few home rentals listed at any given time, and almost never any apartments. The few homes for rent are often really expensive, and often are only for the coldest parts of the year (fairly short-term, like three to six months). Or there is an eccentric retired landlord who lives on site and wants to communally garden and be up your ass invading your privacy constantly.
But what I'm here to bitch about now is how many of these very few rentals are only offered FURNISHED. So you can pay to live there, but your furniture cannot. Instead, you have to live with whatever ugly decor some old snowbirds cherish and want you to pay extra to "enjoy" while they're wintering in Arizona or New Mexico or whatever. Ugly couches. Ugly art. Ugly ugly ugly. Or even not really ugly, but very much one kind of person's aesthetic but another kind of person's yuck.
I can see how the furnished & "artfully decorated" home rentals might be nice for someone who just wants to live here part time while they look for a new house to buy and leave all their furnishings behind in their own home, or someone who just wants to go on a one or two season adventure, but it really sucks for people who really want to live (and often work) in their own home, with their own big huge functional desk, their own comfortable bed, etc.
I just got off the phone with my mom. And got into a bit of a confrontational argument with her about who much time she spends criticizing other people when we could easily spend that time more productively by criticizing ourselves. You know? Like, I don't want us to be judging other people like they're so fucked up and ohhhhh, I know the solution IT'S SO EASY for their character defects or whatever. When we have got plenty of shit that we need to work on. Plenty of places where we are nowhere near fucking perfect.
It honestly makes me grateful for some bible verses a lot of us grew up with. Like,
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." (Matthew 7:1-2)
"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye." (Matthew 7:3-5)
"Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister." (Romans 14:13)
Bottom line: we should focus on correcting our own faults. And being reminded whenever we open our bitch-ass mouths how far we still have to go. That we are NOT perfect. That other people's challenges are not fewer or easier to overcome than our own. That all that steam we use bitching about other people is energy we'd be better applying to bettering our own damn selves.
I think one of the foundational reasons why I have this conflict with my mom (and within myself) when I'm talking to her (or, trying to listen to her) is that I don't "social" the way she does. Like ... I do not want to talk about our social dealings with other people. I do not want to bitch about other people. Though of course ... I *do*. I just do not want to hear her bitch about other people. Maybe partly because it is an unpleasant mirror for how I do the same things and it is so ugly and crazy and stupid. So that circles me right back to being a hypocrite. And this blog, which is not just an outlet for bitching PERIOD, but a reflective safe space to do it and then look at it and figure out WHAT NEXT? What can I do about it? How important is it? Who do I want to be? Just someone who complains?
I don't want to be a crazy dumbass bitch hypocrite who ignores the plank in my own eye while pointing out other people's specks.
The fucker in the parking lot with his stupid fucking Jeep engine running, blowing exhaust while he sat there ... and ate. How lucky for you, that you can just BLOW MONEY like that!
I don't care if you get carbon monoxide poisoning, but do you have to inflict it on the rest of us so unnecessarily? Yes, it's winter, but here in temperate western Washington that is NOT a good excuse.
Also? The city and the people who want to regulate every fucking little aesthetic or inconsequential harmless detail, from neon lights and signage and paint colors, to adults doing sex work, to "junk" cars harmlessly parked on people's private property ... why don't you fucking do something useful, like ticket fuckers with car alarms and spewing poison fossil fuel exhaust air?
Joan Rivers. And her flash cards.
ThisIsHowILook. And "slut". Your mama's a slut. This microphone is a slut.
Bitch. Slut. Whatever.
Use your tools. Memorize your talking points. Play with words. Try them on for size and dress all of God's creatures up in the same one to see how truly absurd it all is.
So it turns out the reason _The 48 Laws of Power_ is such a dark and depressing book is because Robert Greene was at peak bitch mode in his life when he wrote it.
Maybe now that I know a little more of where he was coming from and how he has become less of a bitch since then, I will give it another try. I had audible credits when I purchased it without knowing anything much about the book except the blurb (and I knew *nothing* of the author) and just wasn't prepared for how unhappy it would make me feel, even though parts of it made me laugh out loud.
I think it will be easier to appreciate and learn from now that I have an image of the human and his frame of mind when he wrote it (and the distance he's come since then) to soften the blows in the dark. I just watched part of an interview with him (and have seen other interviews with him recently) where he says he was in a very dark place at the time of writing it, and "now" (whenever the interview was / maybe a couple years ago) that he's older and says his brain is not as sharp (as he uses his right hand to move his left hand/fingers/arm around on the arm of a chair after losing control over that side of his body due to a stroke), he is not even able to talk about the book with complete expertise / understanding of what his younger self put together and was trying to get at.
I think this is a good example of how much bitches have to contribute and how right we often are at our most bitch-ass selves, and also how unsustainable it is to stay stuck in that mode for a lifetime. How important and healthy it is to lose some of those righteous sharp edges. How differently a bitch can appear on paper versus half=paralyzed and quieted decades later. The importance of not letting bitch become your lifetime brand.
There's more to it and him and the book than that, but I just wanted to make a quick note of these things, and, as always, apply the word/label "bitch" to things and people not customarily labelled that way, but really do qualify as bitchy AF.
Visiting my mom, reflecting on ways bitchiness was modeled for / taught to me.
Too exhausted by it to write more.
For a city with a reputation as being for the libs, or whatever, you'd think public transportation in Seattle wouldn't be such a fucking unreliable, nonsensical shitshow.
Of course, I am not surprised because, having lived in King County or King County-adjacent for the first almost-thirty years of my life, and very close (or in and out) the rest of it) *I* know Washington state and even the Seattle metro area and King County itself is not even CLOSE to being full of whatever the rest of the country imagines it is full of. Instead it is very full of people who, just like everywhere else, resist paying taxes just to maintain aging and/or overburdened transportation infrastructure (roads, bridges, you name it), and are not even close to being majorly gung ho on public transportation and mass transit the way we should be.
Today this mess is irritating me as I plan a carless multi-county trip to see my cancer-stricken mom in order to accompany her to chemo and, you know, spend time with her. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE IS NO PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION BETWEEN THE FERRY TERMINAL AND THE TRAIN STATION?!?
Oh. I know. Because BULLSHIT. Way more bullshit than I'll dive into tonight.
Fortunately I am able-bodied enough to do the minimum half-mile of walking (that anyone with mobility issues would have great difficulty doing, if able to at all) required to hop a bus for a portion of the trek, but I have to admit: the bad reputation Seattle is getting for being a sketchy and violent cesspool has gotten to be true enough to make me want to avoid that half-mile, and not even consider doing the whole walk on foot. It's not that I'm actually worried something violent will happen to me; normally I walk all around that area, but it is going to be a long enough trip that I don't want to start it out bright and early with piss and shit and schizophrenic screaming on Seattle's sidewalks.
So why don't I take a cab or uber or lyft? Because it's an awkward waste of money, and I would rather take my chances speed-walking by speed-freak street-shitters or putting up with them for two minutes on the bus than pay four times as much to be in a car with a stranger and their bubble of contagion, and all of that hurky jurky stop-and-going those drivers often do.
Traveling in this era where most everyone takes for granted being able to traverse great distances within short amounts of time (and expects everyone else to conform to this bizarre costly exhausting way of constantly GOING GOING GOING without every savoring really BEING anywhere) really is a matter of choosing your poison.
Of the three buses that do not go directly from the Seattle ferry terminal to the train station but can take you partways, I am selecting the one that IS NOT EVEN A KING COUNTY / SEATTLE BUS, but is a bus that goes to fucking PUYALLUP. That is the best option. Between two major transportation hubs (a ferry terminal and train station) that are basically both downtown-ish. It's ludicrous.
There is a local business-woman/owner I have a long-standing resentment against. Part of it is some shit she did to my wife. Another part of it is just jealousy over her owning the resources she has, and wishing *I* had them, believing I deserve them more (I don't). Maybe part of it is even that we've paid her money for her services. Man, I hate being resentful about paying people; that is not who I want to be, especially when I, at least, did get my money's worth. But at the time I was going way overboard in my own customer service / delivery, and she was an individual who did NOT do the right thing by my wife, so I thought it not only stingy bad business (I've got my money, you signed a contract, you'll continue to pay me), but also dangerous and dehumanizing. So on top of everything I have to continue to boycott her business even though I'd kind of like to patronize it again. RESENTMENTS!!! I have them.
Anyway.
Over the years, I continue to find myself feeling a touch of gleeful self-righteousness every time I hear another story about her being (and acting) bat-shit crazy. It's that feeling of confirmation that she is "the problem", and it is not in my imagination, but also perceiving it as justice being divinely meted out to her. That she won't get away with treating people like she does. Except the stories are of her treating other people poorly / crazily / abusively (literally throwing things at people), so ... she kind of does get away with it other than the stories being passed around of what a nightmare she is. And that she often makes an ass of herself very publicly, and that no doubt isolates her and limits the health of her relationships and her self.
It's a bad sign that I am comparing myself to other people to measure my own worth. I might be a bitch sometimes, but at least I'm not as bad as THAT crazy bitch! She's WAY worse!! I'm almost a cute totally-sane sweetie-pie compared to HER! Instead of having a standard of behavior and code of ethics I hold myself to, measuring myself by my own yardstick according to what is RIGHT and excellent to me, rather than what keeps me acceptably-average based on how shitty lots of other people are.
During pandemic I saw her at the grocery store a couple of times and she was acting certifiably insane. Like, talking to herself, and defending herself and waging a weird body-language war against invisible enemies. No mask, very intentional about getting in my space and others' in frozen foods ... very incapable of seeing anyone around her as human, but more like we were just shambling zombie-bodies acting as obstacles against her progress in a video game. Just looking all kinds of set-upon by mental demons.
The ugly truth is I've come pretty close to the same level of crazy behavior she was displaying that made me feel better about myself. Because she is just that little bit uglier and older and beyond able to help herself, it seems, than I am. She is a warning: there but for the grace of God go I. And just in the nick of time because I have been nipping at her heels on the scale of crazy behavior, truth be told. Thanks for the warning / I'm glad I'm not THAT bad (yet).
Why am I thinking about this now? Because I just saw a picture of her smiling and looking like a normal healthy good business-person. And I thought, "nobody who knows you will believe that healthy smile; the whole county knows you're a fucking crazy-ass bitch." But right after that I felt sad and wanted her to be alright, and for that image of calm, stable happiness to be true.
This blog has become a tool for me to do more than rant and vent. It is a place of reflection to get past the anger, fear, and resentment that often drives my bitching, and figure out solutions and get a better idea of who I really want to be. Not this bitch. Not that bitch. Somebody better.
It is a relief to feel some kind of human love and connection to that crazy bitch. It is a relief to recognize that she is suffering, and that DOESN'T actually make me feel good or better about myself. What makes me feel better is not wanting her to suffer. What makes me feel better is wanting the best for both of / all of us. What makes me feel better is recognizing I do not actually want to see her or her business fail; I want her to be relieved of whatever hell she goes through. Because it looks fucking painful, and I have more than a few personal insights into what it must be and feel like for her.
I've been told that when you have a resentment towards someone, the way to deal with that agonizing discomfort is to PRAY FOR THEM. Pray for them to have all of the very best.
I believe that is true. I have found it to be true, because I have done it, and it RELIEVES me. I find it easy for me to want happiness and joy and all of the best for people I've gotten stuck resenting, warring with them in my mind. So I am going to do it tonight for this lady/myself. I am praying for you, bitch. I want you to have peace, success, good health, and solutions to all of your problems. I want you to have limitless joy, and healing. I want you to be surrounded by love. I see the eager, vulnerable child in your face and I want that little lost scared person to be lifted up and hugged and protected and gently guided to all of the best things in life, and confidently go forth on a beautiful, fulfilling, awesome journey.
Until then I will still stay out of your way when you're trying to get to the Totino's, though.
I just partially watched a video explaining what CLASS is ... what characteristics and behaviors of people exemplify being CLASSY. In addition to not saying "classy" or "high clast", probably.
I agreed with the list. High quality clothes. Not being showy about money, but having and wearing things that are made of quality materials and constructed to last. And showing emotional restraint. Exercising self-discipline when it comes to shows of emotion. People with class do not have outbursts. They do not RANT. They do not idly bitch.
There are a lot of people with a lot of money who do not have any class. At least I can't be accused of that (since I do not have money).
Can you develop class? Or once you have demonstrated unclassy behavior, are you always tainted and can never rise above that? What is the difference between class and maturity?
I admire people with class, but I'm not sure it's for me. I am always going to like talking about bodily functions, for one thing, and I'm not sure I'm interested in consistently embodying class aesthetics. I like creating and consuming tawdry entertainment (sometimes).
Is class something you can demonstrate and design into your life and personality selectively, within certain boundaries and situations that call for it, and then become a filthy foul-mouthed cunt when in the privacy of your own walk-in-closet, say? Can one be known and spoken of with respect as a REAL CLASS (-ACT?) BITCH and it be accurate?
I think part of the emotional restraint of this kind of class is not having to throw your weight around. Not making shows of power or strength. Because you have so much of it, I guess, that you're next-level confident and secure in your power that you never feel the urge to fight about it or PROVE it or show it off. That is being a real ascended top-tier bitch. A bitch who never wastes time ranting. A bitch who either does something about it, or moves on to bigger and better things. That is the kind of bitch they call a cold bitch, though. So you have to warm it up with kindly social graces. It's not enough just to have soft skin, clean fingernails, erect posture and a calm demeanor untouched by daily nuisances. You also have to never flinch when someone sneaks up behind you to kiss your ass and tug the hem of your skirt pleading for your benevolent gracious attention. BARF.
I fucking hate "news" stories ripping exceptional, successful, hard-working, super-busy, extraordinary women apart for being "divas". It's always for super fucking dumb sexist resentful hateful reasons, too.
You know what kinds of people eat these stories up and drive the market for these teardowns of boss bitches? I'll tell you who they're written for; these kinds of exposés are written FOR WOMEN. They are written FOR WOMEN, who love to hate on other women. These stories are made for bonafide dark-hearted BITCHES.
These stories and the fearful misogynist hate that fuels them are designed to hold each other down, devalue women's work, and man ... I hate to say it, but protect and defend the (literally) motherfucking patriarchy.
The article I saw today that inspired this rant is
Like ... fuck off. It doesn't make you a "diva" if you don't want to look like shit on TV and wake up the next day to everyone talking about how old and ugly you look, and/or inexplicably different, spouting insane guesses at WHY you are so fucking grotesque, and list all the ways you are still a spoiled DIVA making far too many demands on the world in order to continue doing your 24/7 jobs and providing gossip rags and fan-stalkers access to you so THEY can make money destroying you.
WORDLE. It's a game. It's a SHORT game. Except for when it's not ...
How do I get so screechingly irritated and worked up over a little fucking word GAME?!? You've got like six fucking guesses - it's totally straightforward. So don't play it if you don't like it! Right?
Gaaaaaggghhhhh! Today was a tough one for me. It shouldn't have been. But it was (for me, but not for my wife or my two friends I bond with daily over WORDLE). And on top of PMS ... oooogh I just wanted it to be OVER! But I couldn't even think of words to get it over with!!!
Obviously games are not fun if they're consistently super easy and fast. You need days like this to keep it interesting. Keep it CHALLENGING. So you don't take your brain or the game for granted. But man ... there's been about a dozen or so times where I just wanted to give up. Just go ahead and put a big red X on today, Wordle!! I GIVE UP!!!! But it will not accept that. One cannot finalize a give-up. And without that officially-recognized loss on my record, I am unable to live with myself. Especially since I rely on my Wordle check-ins with my three people to have some kind of social consistency and accomplishment and connection within a manageable framework. And I know how disappointed I was (and continue to be!) when one of my other friends stopped playing it and checking it. And he was SO GUNG HO about it, but as soon as he broke his streak while he was vacation ... he just dropped it completely like a hot rock. He has a thing about maintaining streaks of 365 days / a whole year, so I guess when he had that setback it just completely lost its allure for him.
Eventually I was able to come up with the solution today. AND KICK MYSELF, just like my friend said I would. But man ... in the meantime I was twisting around like a hypersensitive toddler being tortured by a tight sock with the heel on the top if their foot and the toes all in the wrong place.
I didn't want to let my wife down, though. Not that it would, but I love so much how Wordle became part of her daily routine and morning ritual. I love being around that consistency, and I feel like I'd be devaluing it or not supporting it if I just didn't finish one day, or quit being into it (when I was the one who got her hooked on it in the first place). I feel like I would not be demonstrating an appreciation of her wins and show of brains as much if I do not play the same puzzle.
I think a lot of bitchy feelings are about perfectionism. Overinflating the importance of things. Being super scared of making mistakes or letting people down, like soooooo much is riding on whatever-it-is: some little fucking word game or whatever that is mostly inconsequential. But what of the things that we do really IS meaningful and truly big-deal consequential these days? Not a whole hell of a lot. So if I become apathetic about one thing like this, maybe THAT WILL BE IT. I'll have to question the meaning of everything and/or ALL OF IT will cease to be meaningful and I will have demonstrated that nothing is fucking important, and all of us will become very depressed in the face of this existential crisis and
oh my god I'm tired of writing this
Don't come into someone else's neighborhood and park your dumb-ass car in front of the fucking fire hydrant. And/or right in a blind corner. And/or drive so fucking unnecessarily fast where people's kitty cats, squirrel friends, hound dogs, and small children are doing their energetic young-minded best, totally prone to running out into the middle of the street.
Like slow the fuck down and/or learn to walk a few fucking feet you impatient self-centered inconsiderate fartknocking life-endangering motherfuckers.
You're not the ultra-capable omnipotent omniscient fucking GOD behind the wheel you think you are. How do I know? Look at that stupid fucking phone you're holding onto (oh wait I don't need to tell you to look at it YOU ALREADY ARE). You don't know how to drive, you're a menace, and where you're going is not nearly as fucking important and urgent as you seem to think it is.
I hope when Jesus takes your wheel you don't bring any other lives down with you. I don't know a single bushy-tailed rodent whose life I don't value more than yours, you self-important cocksucker.
Okay it's not a good title. But here are four things that signaled everything was going to a special kind of shit and continue to contribute to our decline:
I'm just going to list them for now:
I've got a rant bubbling up in me that's been on simmer for years now; it's about people, mostly women, taking their bitching about dick pics to an irrational, hypocritical and (I think) unhelpful level.
Stay tuned.
It's always one step forward, a dozen hysterical, rudderless, nonsensical steps in GOD ONLY KNOWS what fucking direction with these people WRONGLY speaking for everyone, and incorrectly painting every single "offender" with monstrous intent, refusing to acknowledge context which in some cases actually is relevant and warrants a bit more understanding. A lot of the time an eyeroll is warranted, but getting so far up in arms about something that is pretty small potatoes compared to other shit men do? I don't know. I think bitches take it waaaaaaaaaay too far a lot of the times.
Seriously, I've felt more uncomfortable seeing some people's big ass dog dicks and balls just walking around in plain sight, completely exposed. And there's this one lady on instagram who is always showing off her squirrels' wieners.
Civilization is a joke, folks. It's a fucking farce. A charade. A *fantasy* you all have to convince yourself humans are on a whole other level elevated about the rest of the animals. That shit is FALSE, and belief in it is a sure cause of much of our stupid human (ANIMAL) suffering.
I may have misrepresented Marcus Aurelius and his Meditations when I characterized him as "Bitch Emperor".
Opening up Meditations I see he actually starts out gratefully detailing what he learned from a bunch of people, like his grandaddy (who saddled him with the empire AND a debauched drunken "brother" who he sent out to the frontlines as a war leader where he ... did not do a good job of leading, from what I understand, while Marcus stayed home doing a super typical bitch thing of setting up yard sales ostensibly to solve the homefront problems of starvation and plague by selling royal tapestries, jewels, and the like, demonstrating how humble he was and how much he cared and wasn't a diva at all, hoarding all the inedible royal treasures; no, he made a big show right out there in front of his white palace with the big phallic columns -- don't quote me on that, I haven't fact-checked any of this I'm just imagining Marcus Aurelius acting like Cher in Clueless, and living in a Cali manse like hers, organizing a fundraiser to show off how selfless she was, donating useless shit like skis, bongs, etc.).
It takes some digging in that first book of Meditations to find what I'd heard about (Marcus the emperor's bitchiness towards other people); it unfolds in typical bitch-form: TOTALLY PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE. Like, "I'm so glad for so-and-so, because I learned from them not to be a fucking shithole, and instead to bulk up on my super-virtues but you won't even recognize this as trash-talking since I have taken great pains to laud the virtues of so many preceding this passive-aggressive rant."
Stand-out lesson learned in my Stoicism studies so far: Marcus Aurelius qualifies as a bitch. A bitch trying to do better, but a bitch nonetheless.
In his famous book Meditations (his journaling that he never intended anyone to see), he starts out like Dear Diary, people are fucking annoying!
I'm paraphrasing, of course.
Point is, bitching is timeless, and most of the insights and philosophy and life hacks that stand the test of time were written by bitchy motherfuckers like Nietzsche sitting alone scribbling their bitch-ass thoughts trying to become excellent or just fucking cope with being fish out of water and odd men out within cultures of craziness where their standards of goodness and/or excellence were not shared by others.
No. The REAL point is not to bitch just for bitching's sake, but to recognize something's challenging you or upsetting your peace of mind and thoughtfully wade through what it is and why it is to get closer to what you can do about it, if anything, and how to distinguish between what you can change and what you can't, and manage life when there are so many things you have no fucking control over.
There is a book for The Solitary Witch. But is there a guidebook for just practicing solitude as a lifestyle preference? Introversion as orientation? I'm sure if you've heard of it you'd recommend QUIET, but I'm not sure that's exactly what I'm wishing for...
I still have so many hang-ups that snag me and get in the way of comfortably guiltlessly un-self-consciously being alone and doing things alone. Not feeling like there is something wrong with me for being SUPER DUPER HAPPY in solitude. Not feeling like every minute I choose to enjoy by myself is a cruel rejection of my fellow human beings, friends, wife and family: a symptom of being a selfish sociopath.
Why? Maybe because I was punished for it as a child and young adult, and called a bitch BY MY FAMILY and a snob in school for no reason except I sought out time alone more than I wanted to share time with others. I saw my dad punished the same way. Though he was not called a bitch for it, I saw how other people in our family took my dad's reclusive ways very personally as an insulting offense to them. It was cruel nonsense, too, considering that my dad was the most openly, genuinely and inclusively kind and loving person AND the most generous in my whole family (and really of anyone I knew growing up).
So much of the B word is sexism and misogyny aimed at girls and women perceived as REJECTING people, especially boys and men. Of not being kind and loving. Of not being emotionally available and socially accessible. Pretty much every choice we make that does NOT appear to include or consider others is perceived as bitchy. Like being alone. Reading a book. Not answering the phone or responding to texts. Making plans to spend time alone and doing it.
This shit is so fucking exhausting, oppressive, tyrannical BULLSHIT.
This year, right here in January, a couple of themes have emerged for the upcoming twelve months: FANTASIES and STOICISM. I am giving myself permission to visualize, explore and even voice (within reason) ALL of my fantasies, not just the ones that are sexy, social or "sell".
As I approach my fiftieth birthday, that is my golden gift to myself: to dream and focus on a radiant life built on wishes that will sustain me as a mature human, and developing and exercising more of my natural strengths. Stoicism is a key and tried and true framework encouraging me to dispense with apologizing for it, or seeking to mitigate the discomfort other people feel when some of us practice being our best and better selves. Stoicism provides permission to stop engaging in the inefficient and counterproductive displays of emotion and co-dependent constantly-available enmeshment I was taught by immature people equaled connection, empathy, and other things you need to display and provide on-demand in order to qualify as not-a-bitch. It hasn't been working, and has made me MORE of an actual bonafide bitch, not less.
Happy New Year, motherfuckers. I'm sleeping alone tonight BECAUSE I LOVE IT, NOT as a rejection of my spouse. Everyone needs good rest and deep uninterrupted sleep. Some of us get that best in solitude, at least every so often.
I love this moonless rainy winter night, and wishing one another sweet dreams.
Watching YouTube today -- videos with tips about how foreigners should act in Japan -- I was reminded that a lot of my pet peeves have less to do with me being a hypersensitive bitch and more to do with the CULTURE where I grew up and continue to live (in the US).
I was reminded that there are whole entire countries where people take care not to be noisy in public EVEN WHEN THEY'RE DRUNK and they don't talk on their phones on the train, etc. Countries where people are aware of each other's personal space and do everything they can not to infringe on other people's bubbles. Countries where people DO NOT LITTER and it is absolutely NOT normal or acceptable to bring the filth and shit from your shoe soles into your own or other people's homes, schools, salons, spas, etc.
Just knowing this makes me feel more peaceful and less defensive. My standards, desires, and sensitivities are not that crazy or weird. They are just out of step with what this country is and is becoming more like.
The "bitch" part is how I react (freak out) and do (or don't) adapt in response to increasingly gross American standards of behavior, courtesy, etc. On the positive side, the "bitch" part is also super hungry for solutions; the anger and frustration come not just out of fear and confusion, but are hopeful fuel from a genuine desire to acknowledge and seek resolution to the contagious growing insanity of how entitled people are in this country to trespass on one another, incorrectly assess and regulate the risks of each other's behaviors, etc.
I'm not saying I'd fit in better in Singapore or Japan or something like that -- obviously I am very fucking American in a lot of ways (and also socially pretty inept and graceless -- "impolite" and weird and aggressive), and not all of that is bad. Nor do I think other more polite countries are ideal in all respects or without their own problems that would probably make me bitch and moan were I to live there. But listening to people from other countries -- Japan, in this case -- talk openly about irksome behaviors not being the norm, and actually being things you are encouraged to avoid doing there, makes it easier to feel hopeful that there are pockets -- and more can be created that some humans will be attracted to -- of decency and consideration where you won't get screamed at, spit on or shot for requesting someone wear a mask in crowded enclosed spaces, for example, or looked askance at just for wearing one yourself.
Between this and the Daily Stoic stuff I'm absorbing, I feel like I just got a bunch of invitations to design spaces and opportunities to relate to people in sanctuaries, and be a different self that is more in keeping with how I naturally behaved as a child and teenager (and more in keeping with courtesies that were more common in the 1970s and 80s here) and some of the better previous-century values I was raised with.
I love how this post makes me sound like pompous ass and geriatric scold on top of a raging bitch.
One positive thing in this country's favor brought to mind by watching these videos, though, is that we are doing better in many places in this country than a hell of a lot of other countries when it comes to openly littering. There are ways that shit has gotten visibly worse and nastier here in my lifetime, but also ways it has gotten better, but overall we're at least doing better than lots of places. Like most people seem to be aware that the Don and Betty Draper trash picnic is baaaaaad. We still have a long way to go and a lot of people still do a lot of pieces of that shit, but still ... far from the worst on the planet in terms of values (albeit still amongst shittiest in terms of impact due to our wealth and disposable superconsumption powers).
Well look at this, would you?!? A serious bitch rant from an HSP (highly sensitive person) regarding ODORS over on Introvert Dear:
What It Means to Be ‘Smangry’
You know that word hangry? It means someone is so hungry that they start to feel angry. We all get hangry sometimes. But I’m going to coin a new term for the fragrance-sensitive people out there. Fellow HSPs, we might be smangry!
Someone who is not highly sensitive may not even notice these smells, and here I am, barraged by the stink. I start to feel worn down, then stressed and overwhelmed, and finally, irritable and on-edge.
I definitely have this issue (but I'm relieved to say my nose may not be quite as exquisitely sensitive as "Heather Ream"'s: lord, what a great last name for a bitch ranter). I'm pretty sure I have a bunch of posts here about odors and poor air quality with labels like aromas, scents and air pollution.
I have a lot more thoughts about invasive gross overwhelming smells, but for now I'll just let Heather REAM flesh it out for you along with some helpful, sweet, and funny tips like this one to always carry a handkerchief with you:
I always have a clean handkerchief in my pocket, in case I have to share space with an unpleasant smell for a while. It helps if I unfold the handkerchief and breathe into it to filter out the bad scent. I would like to think I look like a grieving, beautiful ingénue out of a 1940s war movie who just waved goodbye to her lover leaving on a train. In reality, I probably look more like I’ve got a perpetual nosebleed. Either way, self-care trumps embarrassment and makes it worth it every time.
This reminds me that there's often something beautifully dramatic about sensitive bitches; if I can admire that about someone else ... maybe I can accept it better in myself.
Today's blood & splitting headache explain yesterday's tantrums: PMS.
HORRORMONES. Shifty terrifiers.
It turns out that throwing fingernail clippers at the floor in a pique of frustration is incredibly unsatisfying. Even the large size nippers.
Okay it's actually more than ten things:
For some reason today is the first time I noticed that everyone can see how often everybody else's tweets have been viewed:
TWITTER IS NOW SHOWING EVERYONE HOW MANY VIEWS YOUR TWEETS GET (@ The Verge)
:( :( :( :( :( :(
Honestly it's one of the smarter shitty things the Musk MElon has done. It's so embarrassing for everybody to be able to see how few people actually see my stupid fucking tweets that I can see it motivating people to drive more traffic to twitter, post more engaging content, etc. THAT is the rationale behind making this data visible to all, NOT to make anyone feel better about fewer people liking and/or replying the way he's suggesting.
I don't totally hate a more competitive aspect (for bitches like me/myself) being added into the mix on Twitter, though I'm sure it will make trolling and viral shitposting by assholes even more of a problem. It's definitely a good point that views have been visible for a long time on YouTube, etc. so {{{shrug}}} Of course, if you're doing it to emulate YouTube, then you should start paying popular creators for views like YouTube's monetization does. Or at least it does if you are not a stigmatized sexy pro or educator.
Just noticing this new "feature" today (WEEKS after it rolled out) gives me one thing to be proud of, anyway: I've not been compulsively scrolling or posting or even much just visiting twitter lately, so that is a great bitch-reducing, positive mental health step taken in my favor, right?
let’s not start the new year off by being a little bitch
— blaire erskine (@blaireerskine) January 1, 2023
It's too late for me (I have definitely bitched already in 2023, though not about David Byrne), but I am aiming more towards Lunar New Year to kick off most of my real official goals; this beginning of January is more of a practice and ramp-up.
How many people resolved to not be negative reactionary bitch-ass complainers in 2023? How is that going for you, if so?
I've tried a couple of different years resolving to not be an asshole for the year, but maybe that was too vague and/or completely unrealistic.
Honestly I feel grateful for this blog and how I've gotten into a better habit of turning to it more. The best part is how I almost always see my bitch with more clarity and don't want to just leave it at that. I almost always want to find something more empathetic, hopeful, forgiving, or fair to balance out my rant.
Overall last year I felt a pressing urge to change. To get to the root of my bitches and identify how to change for the better from there. Not because my rants are meritless, but because IT DOESN'T FEEL GOOD TO BE ANGRY SO OFTEN. It's painful. Not just for other people, but to live inside all of that fear and resentment, To always be on guard and ready to explode whenever I perceive my perimeter has been breached.
After posting about shitty air quality created by neighbors burning wood the other day (AND the way that pollution always seems to be overlooked), I was happy to see this as a headline in the Seattle Times:
"The use of some wood-burning stoves is temporarily banned in Snohomish and Pierce counties amid concerns about unhealthy air.
The Puget Sound Clean Air agency imposed a Stage 1 burn ban in Pierce County on Saturday and another in Snohomish County on Sunday, citing stagnant air and high levels of wood smoke that have created unhealthy air quality for sensitive groups.
'The purpose of a burn ban is to reduce the amount of pollution creating unhealthy air, usually due to excessive wood smoke,' the agency said in a statement.
Those are not counties where I live now (no such burn ban is in effect, or if it is, nobody knows about it or enforces it), but I grew up in King County (sandwiched between Snohomish and Pierce) so I know the culture of those places and the amount of diversity in the cities and towns within them. Maybe I just haven't been paying attention, but for all of the Seattle area's (King County's) reputation as being insufferably liberal and supposedly progressive ... NOT SO MUCH. Very few people give a fuck about clean air, very few people support mass transit, and fuckers in Seattle and the Eastside contribute at least as much waste, groundwater pollution, etc. if not more than other places, and do it without a morsel of guilt or jot of awareness of their hypocrisy (if they actually are hypocritical at all: for real most people just don't give a fuck and don't even really pretend to). So it's actually unusual in my lifetime to see this kind of attention paid to private individuals' contributions to air pollution and an actual attempt at regulation being communicated. In the county where I live our cars do not even have to pass an emissions test, which I am kind of fine with because of what a burden it puts on poor people like us living in a very out-of-the-way place requiring us to travel for jobs and a lot of services, like seeing medical specialists, etc.
Actually, now that I think of it, I vaguely recall my grandpa complaining about such burn bans. So maybe I just haven't been paying attention and/or forgot about this stuff. We rarely watch local news, too, so maybe I'm just missing it.
I should learn more about this "Puget Sound Clearn Air agency". And ... like ... why the fuck isn't King County included in the burn ban? Which counties are covered by this agency anyway (where I live is still on the Puget Sound, so, again ... why are we not included? Or are we and I just don't know about it?
It is not surprising that Darrington and Eatonville are not covered by the ban; it sucks for people living there who have to breathe it in BUT there truly are a lot of poor people in those areas who can most affordably access a relative abundance of wood to burn for heat, so ... yeah. Tough one.
I love this time of year in the wet (but not as wet as you probably think it is) northwest. I love BEING OUTSIDE in early November.
But of course just as soon as the huge forest fires stopped raging and went into smolder mode -- as soon as the air quality started to improve -- here we've got a couple of fucking neighbors who have now decided it is too cold for words and they MUST BURN WOOD! ALL DAY! ALL NIGHT!! STOKE THE HOME FIRES AND TRAP ALLLLLLLLLL OF US LIVING NEXT TO THEM IN THE SHITTIEST SMOKE-POLLUTED AIR QUALITY EVER!
It is hard to take people's take on air pollution seriously when they never say word number one about how absolutely shitty and PERSONAL it is to shit on your neighbors this way.
In the past few years as forest fires have become a yearly dark stinky cloud every fucking year for weeks and months on end (made worse by not having rain for weeks and months on end), I literally did not even notice how bad the smoke was the first time it laid a blanket of smoggy gloom over the Strait of Juan de Fuca here. You know why I didn't perceive the air quality as being significantly degraded? BECAUSE I HAVE GROWN UP SO USED TO INDIVIDUALS BURNING WOOD FOR SIX MONTHS OUT OF THE YEAR AND POLLUTING EVERYTHING AROUND THEM IN THE PROCESS.
My grandpa was one of these people. He did not care about my dad's asthma. Rather, he did not believe that his wholesome naturally man-make-FIRE in homemade FURNACE wood smoke could possibly cause another man to NOT BE ABLE TO BREATHE. My dad later wound up on oxygen for years and died of emphysema, and I believe living for years under my grandpa's smoky thumb contributed to it.
So instead of taking a walk in my own neighborhood on this beautiful sunny Saturday or even just spending more than a fast moment passing through the backyard as quickly as possible trying to hold my breath, I AM INSIDE. BITCHING ABOUT THIS SAD STATE OF UNHEALTHY HELLISH AFFAIRS.
TRUTH: HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE.
I'd say I can make up for being stuck inside on a beautiful sunny day by instead going out on cloudy days when it's raining, but it's often EVEN WORSE when there is cloud cover trapping all of the smoke under a lid of grey.
People do not know or care how fucking poisonous they smell. Another reason why I hate hearing the word "toxic" used to describe politically incorrect behaviors or personalities or relationships. It's fucking ridiculous coming out of the mouths of people who never say (much less DO) anything about actually toxic air, water, etc.
Between Election Day and Veterans Day and Elon Musk's takeover of Twitter, rewatching Men in Black (one of my favorite super-entertaining comfort movies) feels appropriate, and a good time to quote Kay:
"A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it."
I should put this into more context and tie it into my bitchy alarm bells for what I call "The Tyranny of the Social", and how ~25 years after this movie came out dealing with how much truth people can handle and whether staying in denial is better, we are now living in an age of massive disinformation, viral propaganda, deep fakery and boy oh boy this week it sure is relevant but still, at its core, a tale as old as time.
One of the things I love about this quote is acknowledging WE ARE ANIMALS. I have a major bitch bone to pick with people who think being human makes us non-animals, or that referring to a person as an animal is some extra huge insult that means that person is less-than-human. HUMAN = ANIMAL. It is vital to craft all policy bearing this FACT in mind. We are animals. Count on people to BE the animals WE ALL ARE. No judgment, just acceptance.
*****
As humans, the only things that we can rely on as relatively-forever (permanent for our lifespans) are The Sun and The Mystery.
Okay, so we've established that I fucking HATE reading or hearing people say "YOU GOT THIS!". I'm also not a big fan of how people say "amazing!" these days, but I realize that's just a younger generation's "awesome!" which I *still* say with complete sincerity (most of the time I say it with completely sincerity, I mean ... maybe 10% of the time sarcastic. Or ... more than 10% of the time. Because sarcasm is AWESOME, riiiiiiiiight?!? I'm on the fence about "right?" at the end of sentences nowadays. It doesn't bring out the bitch in me but I'm not, like, a proponent (though it is sneaking into my speech now and again).
I want to balance all of that out with a ... what is it, like ... a catch phrase? that I actually DO like. Nay, LOVE:
"THAT was easy!"
Yeah, like that big red button you could put on your desk and slam your hand down on it when you finished something, and this robot speak 'n spell voice would diminish your accomplishment
In theory I should hate "that was easy!" Minimizing my efforts and such. But it really reduced anxiety and felt like an accomplishment. It felt like such a beautiful way to finish something ... ANYTHING ... and reward myself with a sense of mastery. See? That wasn't so bad after all! And now it's done! And I'm a red button right here waiting that you can pound any damn time you want and I won't argue with you or grade you ... there's just one congratulatory thing letting me know I am competent and/or I have actually finished something, even if it was just one small step in a long list of commandments.
I didn't have to smile at the red button or demure the compliment. It wasn't hyperbolic, but it *was* something I would not have awarded myself naturally. Because of this "growth mindset" thing I'm learning about that I don't have / need to work on. Because it wasn't a real person or actual social or professional interaction, you didn't have to take it too personally (yet the positive components of it ALWAYS sunk in for me, every time). I didn't have to replay the interaction over and over in my head to try to suss out some nuance or covert message in an actual human's inflection. The red button had no ulterior motives. There were no hidden feelings towards me or judgements about me inside the big red button. I never had to question it. I just DID it when I finished something ... and lit up inside.
The big red that was easy button was great, too, because it is so tactile. That shit is great for kinesthetic learners (even if that visual, auditory, kinesthetic learning model is out of vogue now) that need to move their bodies through space and slap something and jump around. The big red button encouraged that, and there was no hesitation ... it's right there on the desk where you've been working so UNkinesthetically.
I'm relatively easily stimulated and rewarded by sounds (it is part of why you could say I go through phases of addiction to video games and have been since I was in elementary school) so as a reward, the "that was easy" button functioned really well for me. For another reason, it was an EASY IMMEDIATE SYSTEM for rewarding myself by acknowledging I accomplished something. I've tried SO MANY SYSTEMS to reward myself like all of the books on ADHD and motivation tell you to do, but pretty much all of them are so time consuming and so much work to administer that they rarely worked, or if they did it was only under very specific circumstances. "That was easy" was one size fits all, and really worked so well at not requiring finishing the wrap-up complete fully-stuffed big beef end-of-quarter burrito of a whole entire PROJECT that it rewarded me WHEN I NEEDED IT (doing the painstaking SMALL STEPS of chiseling little tiny chunks, and separating big to-do's into smaller components, which, again, all of the books tell you to do but they never seem to really give you permission to micro micro micro task them into every single one of the genuinely small components -- they never give you enough lines in the workbook for that, instead it's like BREAK YOUR HUMONGOUS PROJECT DOWN INTO FIVE SUBTASKS OKAY GREAT SEE HOW EASY THAT IS?!?!? and I'm always like what? NO! Or ... oh, I must be REALLY stupid). The big red easy button never fucking told me I was stupid. It was like ... I'm here for you and I'm RED don't ignore me THAT was easy *I* am easy I am a button and you don't have to modulate your tone with me I am sturdy I can take it you can hit me whenever you want that touch of finality that's like okay you did that! And the unspoken thing that amounts to growth mindset is that I'm not minimizing your efforts, rather I am letting you know you have a level of mastery that gives me every confidence you can do more and more and more. One step at a time. One little slap of my red with white first aid text face. Like a boxing coach or a punching bag, holding up those red paws. Bap bap bap! Pff pff pff! Mgh mgh mgh!
Patience. Practice. Nothing grandiose. Private moments encouraging you to keep doing the small things. That shit works.
See? I am not a bitch about everything.
And I do think the whole "growth mindset" thing is a big key in overcoming a lot of the anxiety and judgment that bitchiness wells out of. If I remember correctly, one of the characteristics of people like myself who do NOT have a great growth mindset is that we perceive a lot of shit as being realllly reallllly haaarrrrrrrrrd. "That was easy!" didn't make me feel like my assessments were incorrect though. It didn't make me feel stupid or like my mindset sucked ass. It just recalibrated shit. The kind of shit that I didn't think of as hard on a conscious level most of the time. It really helped me put the small things into perspective. It was built to be hammered on OVER AND OVER AND OVER lots and lots and lots and lots of times. It wasn't like "you have to do EVERYTHING, all of the HARD things, to add up to one big gigantic haaaaard ass thing before you get one big reward like a platinum keychain or a car or a massage or whatever. It was like ... yeah, that little thing MATTERED and now it's done ... I'll bet you've got another one in you but I'm not going to psych you out with my robot voice. I don't even have eyes to see you struggling. All I know is when you tell me you did it, I tell you yeah! You're capable! And that is just way fucking better than some bitch with perfect makeup on instagram who doesn't even know me sneering "you got this!".
"You got this!"
No, dumb ass. You don't got this.
They don't got this. I don't got this. Stick your bullshit vote of super-confidence right up your fucking ass.
I hate this stupid fucking thing people say to each other and themselves now when any of us are having reasonable misgivings about our qualifications to accomplish whatever, assume a risk, etc. It's the dumbest fucking shit I've ever heard. Insert eye-rolling barforama animatronic emoji react.
You hear this everywhere nowadays. It's spectacularly stupid. Some glowing POSITIVE VIBES ONLY way to shut down someone's second-guessing or insecurities with a crazed scientologist Tom Cruise blazing white toothy grin. It's a line out of the handbook for The Tyranny of The Social. Pretending everybody's equally qualified whenever they SENSIBLY consider that maybe they're not up for whatever the fuck. Pretending somebody's not going to get burned while you push them into the fire naked with that extroverted smile when those bitches know perfectly fucking well you're going to bomb and it's going to fucking hurt and you're going to cry. They don't give a fuck about that, and they won't be there with an effective salve or appropriate facial expression when that happens. Because half the time they know you are a loser and an outcast and an incompetent hypersensitive fuck-up, so they just say YOU GOT THIS to act like they support you when really all they mean is YOUR FEARS AND WORRIES AND GRIEF ABOUT WHO YOU REALLY ARE are a fucking GROSS WASTE OF TIME TO THEM and they WILL NOT BE DRAWN INto your pathetic reality or let you drag them down in your morass of mediocrity or substandard unsuitability for coolness, whether it's a burlesque performance or hitting up someone totally out of your league for a date or running for president or going cliff-diving or VAN LIFE or whatever the fuck.
I feel badly for saying it since I definitely know a lot of people a lot of times have their hearts in the right spot when they say it, and have genuinely enthusiastically supportive intentions but OMG I've never seen a bigger advertisement for anyone being totally unqualified for whatever undertaking they're about to embark on. I would rather someone say, well ... even if things go poorly you're not going to die from it, and will learn something from it. Unless of course PEOPLE COULD ACTUALLY DIE because you decided to fly a small plane at night in bad weather like JFK Jr when you were grossly underprepared, or drive a UHaul that's too big for you and you are already a shit driver.
You don't got this, fuckers. Every so often just please let's recognize. YOU DON'T FUCKING GOT THIS.
Maybe I just so totally don't got shit that I cannot even conceive of someone's confidence being bolstered by these dumb fucking words and the manner in which they are delivered and the type of people who say them. Do you know a single person who appreciated hearing this? Does this shit really work for some people? For as many people as it's said to? My god I do not fucking get it.
I am more comfortable with a lot of risk than most (women) I know, and have taken A LOT OF RISKS. All different kinds. So it is not that I'm a big fraidy-cat. But that is not the mentality or words of non-wisdom that get me to take a leap or feel good doing it. IDK. I don't fucking get it. It's just offensively fucking stupid to me. Maybe part of it is that I am comfortable taking risks and NOT feeling good or confident about it. I will still do a lot of shit. Maybe that is because I do not feel good or confident about anything in life most of the time? Who knows. All I know is this is probably a big part / example of my bitch makeup.
Oh my lord when are they going to stop making these ginormous extra-super-bulky toilet paper rolls? They say “guaranteed to fit”, but where? On one of those giant spools in a car wash?
I picked up a pack of these ridiculous “LONGER-LASTING ROLLS” and I guess good news because I can only get between one and three squares of toilet paper off of them because the roll WILL NOT SPIN; it is TOO BIG for our normal-ass toilet paper dispenser / roll-hanger thingy (what are these actually called? You know what I mean anyway…).
Yes, they’ve had the super big rolls before 2022, but they seem to have scaled it up even more because these ones are HUGE. The others before this were big, true, but Charmin has taken it to a whole new level.
Maybe it’s good. Maybe they actually will last longer (because we cannot freely ROLL the toilet paper off so, like I said, can only get a couple hard-won squares at a time). The extra-big ones before this iteration made me feel so ABUNDANT, so toilet-paper RICH, that I found myself using EXTRA while each roll was fresh. Or maybe I just wanted to reduce the uncomfortably-decadent size of the roll as fast as possible to try to just get back to some semblance of normalcy.
God forbid you take a bath with these super-sized rolls; I soaked in our small bathroom without a fan on to enjoy the steamy humidity during too many months with no rain and the toilet paper swelled up so much it almost popped itself off the hinges. We had to unmount it in order to use the paper as originally designed.
I am short. I have short arms. But the sweatshirts and hoodies I wear have normal-length, non-petite sleeves. And even longer sometimes, because my gut and tits are large while my arms are short, and I believe in catering to the extended size of my core and chest before my meat-deficient arms.
Having too-long shirt-sleeves is often pleasant, but also often annoying. The MOST annoying thing about having too-long sleeves, though, is after taking a messy shit.
When the elastic cuffs are sprung and the sleeve won't stay pushed up over elbow or even hug the forearm at a decent sanitary height. And I'm wiping this whole messy area ... and the sleeve slides down, brushing against my backside that may have stray fecal matter ... and the cloth comes down like foreskin over the limpening cockhead of my hand's palm and knuckles: entirely too close for comfort to the whole unsanitary area, putting the cloth at risk of retaining shit you don't want coming into contact with the edge of a a plate or ... anything ... at lunch or whatever.
I detest the exaggerated C shape I have to make with my arm trying to keep it the cloth of my sleeve out of the way, posing like a malformed coffee mug over a soft-boiled-egg cup posing as a saucer that is really a toilet and I'm just trying to describe this so you can picture it if you've never had this problem.
By the time you realize the sleeve is going DOWN mid-wipe like a baby elephant's trunk snooping around for a little brown peanut candy, it's almost impossible to catch it with the other hand in time. Sometimes I succeed, but that unpleasant sudden jolt of adrenaline to avoid sleeve-contamination really detracts from what should be a relaxing experience attending to yourself in private and makes me feel quite bitchy.
Now that I think of it, even if my sleeves weren't too long this would still create a problem owing to the whole posture and depth/length of the asscrack.
So many things to bitch about when it comes to the era of pandemic masking. But just for today, all I have to say is how awkward and gimpy and frustrated and bitchy I feel when trying to pull one mask loop off my ear ... and my glasses get pulled off my face with it.
The fumbling. The blindness. The vulnerability. The impatient inability to perform this action gracefully ... smoothly: with efficient commanding ease.
The desire to feel and swallow and gulp all the fresh air immediately upon exiting the store, and finding yourself holding up traffic fumbling to catch your glasses while your hands are full with heavy ungainly grocery bags and a purse strap your stupid fucking long hair is caught under and being pulled by before they all fall on the asphalt.
The horrible comedic unglamorous juggling of my middle-aged ugliness. The near-blindness adding to the sensation of being genetically inferior. And I hate my hair and I hate going to lady salons and even though there is a new thing people who are supposedly like me are talking about -- "quiet appointments" -- I haven't gone inside one of these places since pre-pandemic and I so desperately do not want to that even the thought of it makes my eyes burn with hot don't-make-me saltwater. Please I am begging "you" -- the world of you -- somehow I need to find a way to be less ugly but also not attractive because the last thing I want is for people to like me enough to think they want more of me: to know more, to talk more, to be around more, to "everybody has to eat" more with each other why not let's be friends. Some kind of a face and haircut and unbudgeable unsmudgeable spectacles and uniform that say "there is something strikingly enjoyable to observe about this weirdo with their set of extreme limitations that makes them unapproachable but admirable from a distance, and lovely to interact with as a stranger under very specific unusual structures and time constraints; I would count myself lucky to exchange nonverbal greetings or rhythmic multisyllabic nonsense salutations and knowing facial grimaces with them someday but for now we shall give minimal nods acknowledging one another's strange presence on this physical plane at this moment wherein we both feel connected to shared memories of paths crossed and spaces traversed in other worlds and dreamlike dimensions. Hello human; isn't this charade we're engaged with tiresome yet hilariously absurd and even charming when we wink at one another and pretend to play along while we mark time waiting for the band to start playing the music we instinctively know to dance wildly to or get knocked into sedated delirium? God it's so fucking exhausting but I see you too have the ingredients for root beer floats and hot nachos. We will enjoy these gross foodstuffs within the privacy of our own respective hidey-holes."
Why is that so hard for everyone to understand? Because you'd be surprised how often that does actually happen. Or probably I just imagine it does. I guess. Because see I don't believe that. I know that it happens and it is real, so OF COURSE I DID NOT FIND EVERYTHING OKAY TODAY. That is to be expected. There was not a rainbow with a pot of gold and lobster at the seafood aisle end of it today, but I wasn't actually expecting it. I can't say that I had it on my list so maybe I wasn't looking for it in the way you meant (and lobster isn't the actual epitome of luxury to me, it's just a stand-in for whatever and because it is not actually my favorite would make it more like a surPRIZE since it's not something I'd ever actually put on my list and look for but caviar on the other hand) ... though I did keep myself open to being surprised by something like that) but again, if I wanted help finding something AT THE REGISTER is the last place I would ever go to try to get that help, and if I did approach the cash register as a last resort in trying to find something, I would not have placed my basket on the shelf that is too small for the baskets, and I would have said oh excuse me actually I'm looking for _____ before I check out ... could someone help me?"
I wish there were handicapped stalls close to the grocery store doors not for parking, but like large phone booths with curtains and cots; a place to hide and gather yourself for a moment when the sounds of car alarms and closeness of strangers and terrible questions like "how are you today?" and "did you find everything okay?" get to be too much and figuring out what to buy to eat when you're so hungry you could eat what you came here for without cooking it but when they're OUT of that thing you counted on and you have to come up with another plan but you can't think because you keep saying excuse me when someone else wants to look at the shelves of so many things that are not the right things and you can't process the things and you're trying to stand there and figure out but you can't figure it out and nobody else says excuse me and you just try to go to another aisle but there are people there, too, talking on their phones and not saying excuse me or even noticing anyone else while you're noticing everything but not able to filter out anything and actually process the overwhelming data and you need to buy something to eat but you can't make sense out of anything or breathe right and you just need a time out but you can't go home without food so just a little quiet dark room and little door nobody else notices except for people like us with headphones and a cot but with arms like a dentist's chair and lead-lined weighted blankets encased in hypoallergenic sanitizable coatings and it's okay if you go in there and lose your shit and cry hysterically for three minutes after which an understanding hunchback in a pistachio lab coat emerges from behind a shadowed curtain to extend a very grown-up lollipop to you filled with lickable unsalty lithium, valium, and/or CBD flavors and a paper cup you can refill over and over again with a effervescent restorative beverage dispensed from one of those big upside-down jugs and it always makes a satisfying plunky burp-bubble sound every time you hit it without ever seeming to actually be depleted of its thick blue translucent-walled store of hydration.
What I'm really upset about is actually the way the post office laughs at you for wanting to look at the stamps and pick out special ones and needing a receipt for $1.68 after they already mocked you after you stood in line and listened to much stupider extensive useless personal asinine chatter, and you did it all for your mom (but also wanted to look at the stamps and pick out good ones for yourself, too, it seems like a small understandable thing to ask for just a moment of sticker sweetness via government-issued tiny unframed wavy-bordered art) but your mom was texting you while you were being mocked and hurrying to get home in time for your phone call that you planned for at the same time as every time but still double-checked and confirmed FIVE TIMES with her saying can we make it 5:15 instead and you didn't see it until you already rushed home robbed of stamp joy and fully made fun of all for her (but for yourself a little too, let's be honest) and had to find a way to kindly say NO I CANNOT DO THAT TODAY. I have to stay on track, especially now that I will have to waste time crying and everything is thrown off and I feel badly for not being flexible but also mad and misunderstood.
And that's why I have this blog. To prevent misunderstandings and hope nobody ever reads it. My hair is so long and ugly it gets sucked up into the metal when the seat belt retracts and almost strangles me and I have to cry for the raccoons and squirrels to come and puzzle and chew me out of there. I just want to get nailed one weekend a month by some big-dicked simpleton who is endlessly intoxicated by big tits and has virtually no refractory period in a clean-ish dark apartment with no pets or kids or laborious poly complications who just wants to feed and fuck me and act like every hour with me like that is Christmas morning with Daddy Warbucks and we have nothing to do with each others bills or routines or the dailiness of life outside of that. I don't want to hear another dog fight or guilt trip or cat fight or dumb fucking phone conversation or coded etiquette question where they ask you something you're supposed to understand they don't really want the answer to ever the fuck again. I am going to make a store full of simple magical things where weirdos can come in and look at things quietly for fifteen minutes by themselves if they want and it doesn't matter how old or young they are and if they can buy the magical things they will still fit them forever even if they gain or lose a ton of weight and I have the stuff that gets everyone wet in any color they want and it will make you live and not die at least for another day or night and I won't judge you for using cheap paper and I would give it to you for free if I can.
But if I can't have any of that, cocaine and valium will do. And you know I am crazy because everything I said before that sounds more attainable than those two specific things.
I got a subscription to the paper archives and my family names and forefathers and foremothers and side-aunts are in them going back back back back back back back back in jail bars and river cars when boys were named after summer months and bridges galloped and fell into the giant octopus depths where one of them took the pictures for the Mad Men company but not the famous pictures ... the ones on the other side. Wars and wars and lumber mills and deputized recordings. Songs and pictures and stories with voices and chin dimples I didn't know were on both sides.
At first I was a little annoyed by the just-barely-bigger-than-a-bonafide-baby in a stroller parked at the edge of their table in the restaurant, under the corner. The parents didn’t even look at it when it screamed; placid, they just kept eating.
I was proud of myself for not being MORE irritated than I was. It wasn’t even close to ruining the pricey summer lunch meal my wife and I were sharing; the first time she finally got to eat in this place I told her was pretty great. I was so happy we got my favorite table in the corner even though they were very busy: not totally slammed, but close.
Other than the big stroller baby and the scorched lentils on top of my vegan lasagna that was way prettier and saucier the other two times I got it, everything was pretty much perfect. There was the perfect amount of noise/conversation, and like I said, my favorite table in the BEST corner with me tucked as deep into untouchableness as anyone could get in the joint had me pretty blissed out.
While I ate and the big baby screeched like a parrot hitting puberty every other minute, I realized I wasn’t irritated with the big baby at all. I was irritated at the parents who were in the opposite of a staring contest with each other; “who can act completely deaf / ignore the big baby’s demands with the most chill while completely avoiding eye contact with anybody in the room, each other, and, of course, big baby below table level?”
Then I realized I wasn’t irritated at the parents on behalf of myself as a diner. I was irritated on behalf of the big baby; it has to fucking suck to WANT to eat, to be SURROUNDED by people eating … but be at the mercy of those big assholes hoarding all the food, waiting for them to fucking feed you. Like … if you don’t screech, they’re not giving you another fucking spoonful. And since you don’t have words you can’t specify WHAT you want. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier and more resentful, not having any way to keep a steady flow of food coming, having to make these awful noises for anyone to even notice I am under the table and would like to eat too. I chewed it! I swallowed it!! I’m WAITING, bitches!! It’s not fair, you getting five bites to my ONE :( :( :( >:( >:(>:( Like, FINE, you don’t have to change your expression to acknowledge me as a human at this table — I fucking prefer it that way — but KEEP THE FOOD COMING, CUNTHOLES.
The parents’ expressionless silence was preferable to listening to them trying to reason with the big baby to be quiet or addressing it in cute voices (or worse, talking to each other or on their phones OVER the sound of the big baby), but it allowed for the big baby’s frustration to really take center stage and maybe forced me to have more empathy and really HEAR and UNDERSTAND what the big baby was trying to communicate more than I otherwise might have.
This quotation I read today is what reminded me of my sympathy for the big baby at our meal out last week-ish:
"I understand keenly why babies are such inconsolable and miserable bastards sometimes." - Jarred McGinnis, “I’m a father in a wheelchair” - The Guardian
It sucks to not be able to do basic shit for yourself.
