Author Archives: effthatsblog

Sep 19 2020
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Ruminations

What if it doesn’t get better?

“It’ll get better.” It’s the first thing anyone tells you when you’re depressed, angry, grieving, or just stuck in a rut. A nice little phase to remind you to stay hopeful. Unfortunately, it’s only comforting for so long. At some point, things actually have to improve for that phrase to hold any power. Personally, I think I’ve reached the point where I think waiting for things to get better is just setting myself up for disappointment, and it’s taking its toll on my mental health. If you’re paying any attention at all to the world, things are not getting better. More and more people are struggling to survive. People are dying. Our leaders are suggesting we should just sacrifice our health to “boost the economy,” which is just another way of saying they want us out there dying in order to make money for people who already have more than they could ever spend in a lifetime. 

I’m a middle class white woman and I’m worried about what my future will look like. Will I continue to have equal rights and freedoms? Will my son have clean air to breathe and water to drink when he’s my age? And while these are valid questions/concerns, when I stop to think about what is happening to the more vulnerable people in our society (people of color, immigrants, those who are surviving poverty, our trans brothers and sisters, etc…) it’s enough to make me want to give up all hope. They are dying. Things are not getting better. 

There’s nothing I can turn to that even suggests things will get better. All of the momentum in societies around the world right now is moving in the opposite direction. More fascism. More isolationism. More militarism. Greater income inequality. We tried to put forth a progressive group of candidates for president this past year and within months it became clear that none of them stood a chance. There is no “movement.” The majority has no interest in changing the status quo, even when it’s in their best interest to do so. We will end up with another 4 years of the most inept, unqualified president we’ve ever had, and after that, the real fascists will come. At this point, I truly believe we’ve seen the last democratic president we’ll ever have. When the ruling party openly says that they can’t win without suppressing votes, and the highest court in the nation lets them get away with doing it, there is no more reason to hope. 

Things will not get better. We can’t keep telling ourselves that we can change things by utilizing conventional means. The system is broken for anyone trying to change things. But it’s working exactly the way the people in power want it to. I imagine everyone who lived to witness their empire fall felt this way. They probably grasped at the same straws we’re grasping at. But it’s time to get real. 

Things are bad and they’re going to get worse. People are dying and will continue to die. Unless you’re financially in the top 20% (maybe 10% even), your life is going to get harder and more uncomfortable until you find yourself begging for the same scraps as the people who you currently look down your nose at. But by then, it’ll be too late. There won’t be enough scraps to go around. Maybe then they’ll be a movement. But it’ll be poor, starving bodies up against a well supplied, fully stocked military that has complete authority to fire on its own people. We might win eventually. Revolutions often succeed, but revolutions are a bloody business and we will suffer losses so terrible I can’t bring myself to fully imagine them just yet. Or maybe we won’t bother with revolution at all and just settle into a grim existence where we’re all just waiting to die. Fighting takes energy, and we’re kept so busy trying to be as productive as possible so that the billionaires can keep hoarding their wealth that we’d rather Netflix our lives away then change anything. (That’s not a judgement, it’s an admission of guilt.) 

So what do you tell yourself when you know it won’t get better? How do you wake up every morning with the knowledge that each day the world will be just a little bit worse than it was the day before? I’m asking because I don’t know. I’m asking because, on the outer edges of my mind, a little voice that I’ve ignored for years is waking up and whispering to me that perhaps it would be better to give up. I need to stop that voice before it gets louder. I need to figure out a way to keep going for my son and my husband. But I don’t know how to move forward towards a hopeless future. I’m sure my child will have questions for me one day about why the world is so awful and I don’t know how I’ll answer them in a way that won’t make him feel hopeless too. I don’t know how to lie to myself or him about something so massive. I feel like I should never have brought a child into a world like this, but it’s too late for that now. Now, not only do I have to go on living through this unending parade of shit, but I have to live with the guilt of seeing him live through it too. I may never forgive myself. 

So tell me, how does one cope with this? How can I find joy without immediately being reminded of the futility of my situation? How can I hope to be happy when everything seems fleeting, everything seems trivial, and everything seems temporary? I really don’t know. I guess I’ll just keep plugging along, doing what I need to do to survive, and pretending to be okay for the benefit of others. Maybe if I pretend for long enough, it’ll feel real. I guess that’s all I can hope for. Because it won’t get better and I’m done trying to convince myself that it will. 

Jun 13 2019
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Ruminations

This is Not My Beautiful House

I often have nightmares about a past life. Not in the reincarnation sense of the word, but about a life I used to have that feels very far away and very recent, all at the same time. I’m not old. I’m 36. But when I think about  my life only 6 years ago, it feels foreign. My brain has blurred the edges of those memories in such a way that it feels like I’m remembering a dream. I know that the memories are real. That everything did, in fact, happen. But at the same time, I’m so far removed from the person that I used to be that I sometimes wonder how I ever lived like that. How did I survive? I must have, I’m here. But if I had to do it all over again, could I? It seems unlikely.

Then there are days when I’m transported so fully back into the person I used to be that the life I currently live seems surreal. I look around at my beautiful home and my beautiful husband and my ever-expanding pregnant belly and I think to myself, “Surely, THIS is the dream. Any minute now, I’ll wake up and remember that none of this was meant for me. This is just another one of my daydreams; a survival mechanism meant to help me escape the reality of my fraught existence that has somehow gone too far. Any minute now, an alarm will go off and I’ll be jolted back to my reality – a reality of insecurity, of struggle, of too little love.” This is not my beautiful house.

In truth, I don’t really recognize the person I’ve become sometimes. None of this was ever supposed to happen. I was raised to fight, to suffer, to be alone against the world. My mother would be rolling in her grave (if she had one) at the thought of me expecting a child of my own. She hated being a mother, and she loathed the idea of ever becoming a grandmother. Before I was even in middle school, she started telling me stories about how doctors had told her that I would never be able to physically conceive or give birth to a child. That something (I was never sure exactly what) was medically wrong with my reproductive organs, so I ought to just put the idea out of my mind completely. (I spent a lot of time around doctors and in hospitals when I was a child. I was often sick, and it was discovered that I was born with only one kidney, so it actually didn’t seem too far-fetched that I could have other abnormalities. As a master liar, I’m sure she was banking on my believing her because of those reasons.) Not that I even needed her lie to believe that I should never have children. My own upbringing was so incredibly fucked up that I had resolved early on never to inflict the same experience on another living soul. I believed for so long that I was my mother’s daughter. She tried so hard to make me a replica of her, and for many years, in many ways, she succeeded. I was angry, I was vicious, and I was so incredibly alone.

Because I’d been raised to believe that other women couldn’t be trusted, it took me a long time to open up to my friends. Even after I did, I still needed to be the strongest one in the group. I cultivated the perception that I was made of steel, with a Teflon barrier that could repel pain. Sometimes, I still fall back on that persona when I’m feeling overwhelmed or I can’t handle an emotional situation. But I’ve learned over the years that it worked more to my detriment than my benefit. (When people don’t think you can feel pain, they’re less likely to care when they’ve hurt you. It perpetuates a vicious cycle.) And if my methods of relating to friends were bad, my choices when it came to romantic relationships were even worse! I didn’t trust anyone who genuinely seemed to care about me. People who were too kind were automatically suspicious. I preferred partners who were at best, aloof, and at worst, completely emotionally unavailable. In some cases, I allowed myself to endure the same type of emotional abuse from my partners that I was used to getting from my mom. I was so desperate to cling to something familiar that I didn’t care if I got hurt in the process.

Given the circumstances, it’s no surprise that I decided I’d never have a child. Even though the idea of getting married and settling down seemed increasingly out of my reach, I still wanted it. I craved that security. I desperately wanted to know what it felt like to have someone choose to spend their life with me. To be loved that much. But with my obvious lack of qualifications or experience in the area of having a stable family, I figured that while I might some day miraculously get married, I’d still never be a parent. The risk was too great. The responsibility was too overwhelming. My emotional baggage was too insurmountable.

And yet, here I am. How did I get here? It’s a long story, one that I’ve touched on in many of my other posts. The extremely abbreviated version is this: a lot of therapy, a lot of work on myself, several incredibly supportive friends, and just plain being lucky enough to find the love of my life. That last bit sounds corny, and maybe it is, but it’s also true. I found a love that is so complete, so supportive, and so life-giving that I literally wake up every morning thanking the universe for giving me such a gift. I know that it’s rare and because of that, I don’t take it for granted. I know what it’s like to live without love. I know that being loved is not a guarantee in this life, and that not everyone gets to experience it. Experiencing love has made me a better person. I put more love into the world because I understand how important it is now. I love my husband as fiercely as I can because I know he deserves to feel every bit as loved as I feel. My wonderful friends helped me to see that I was worthy of being loved, the emotional work I did in therapy and on my own helped me find the strength to love myself, and the love my husband so freely and abundantly gives to me has helped me to learn to give my love freely and abundantly to others in return.

Because of all of those things, I realized that maybe it was time to confront my fears surrounding becoming a parent. This was neither an easy nor a quick decision. I spent nearly two years in therapy confronting my past and working through my issues surrounding being a mother. It was intense and emotionally exhausting, but also liberating. I learned to let go of so much fear. I learned that I didn’t need to keep holding on to aspects of my old identity that no longer served me. I unlearned a lot of the negative beliefs I had internalized in my youth – that loving others was weak, that being a mother was “giving up” on a better life, that I’d always have to do everything on my own. Perhaps most importantly, when I really reflected on my deepest wants in life, I realized that the desire to be a parent had been there all along. It was there when I chose to be a mentor to children who had similar upbringings to mine. It was there when I cared for and nurtured the people in my life who were struggling. It was there in those daydreams when I let myself imagine my “perfect” life. I had just never been willing to allow myself to say it out loud. I was too scared of what it might mean to want to be a parent. When I finally let go of that fear, it was like a whole world opened up before me. I felt free and excited and ready for a new adventure, one that would last for the rest of my life.

So here I am. I’m embracing my life and stepping up to the challenges and adventures that lie ahead. I feel certain. This is my beautiful house. This is my beautiful life.

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Jul 12 2018
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Ruminations

The Death of Aspiration

PREFACE: I really struggled with whether or not I should write this. Then I struggled again with whether or not I should share it. Talking about these things makes me feel very vulnerable and exposed, which aren’t exactly feelings that I enjoy. I started writing this essay a few weeks ago, and then edited it and added to it today. It’s not perfect. Not by a long shot. But these are dark days, and I know that there are many people out there who are fighting for their lives, so it felt relevant and important to speak my truth and be honest. I hope you get something from it. If not, at least writing it was cathartic for me.

 

I’m not really one for publicly mourning celebrity deaths. Fuck, who am I kidding? I’m not really one for publicly mourning at all. Grief is a deeply personal, private emotion for me, and I prefer not to share it with others. But this isn’t a piece about grieving. Not really. This piece is more about how I’ve been personally affected by two high-profile suicides that have happened recently – Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain. 

Now, I know there is no shortage of think pieces about these people and their deaths. And I’m not really going to wax nostalgic about what each of them meant to me because to be honest, neither one really made a great impression on my life. Sure, I have a few Kate Spade accessories (I’m a sucker for clean lines and whimsical details), but most of them were bought after she stepped away from her company. And as a person who is interested in food, I’ve obviously heard of Anthony Bourdain, even though I’ve never actually seen an episode of his show. This piece isn’t about how I’m going to fill a hole that they left in my life, because such a hole doesn’t exist.

No, this piece is about aspiration. Or rather, what happens when you have to face the reality that even if you get exactly what you want, you might still not be happy.

I’ve struggled with depression my whole life. I’ve definitely had my ups and downs, but at my worst, I was thinking about killing myself every day. I was in my early 20s and I felt like my life was falling apart around me. It was so bad that I slept through my finals in my second year of college. I slept through everything, really, except for work.  I knew I needed to be able to pay my rent so that I could continue to have someplace to sleep in peace until I finally worked up the nerve to end things. That’s really what it felt like. When I first started noticing that my depression was growing harder to manage – when I first started thinking about killing myself – I spent most of my free time and mental energy trying to think of reasons why I shouldn’t take my own life. But after awhile, when nothing seemed to help, my mentality shifted. Instead of focusing on reasons to live, I spent my time trying to steel my resolve to finally end it all. I just wanted peace. I wanted to quiet my brain. And when sleeping for 14+ hours a day still wasn’t enough to quell my demons, I busied myself with trying to figure out how to end things in the quickest, most painless way possible. (You know you’re close to hitting bottom when you start googling “What is the least painful way to commit suicide?” Spoiler: There isn’t one.)

During this time, I did not reach out to my friends. For those of you who don’t know me very well and are wondering where the hell my family was during this time, well, that’s a long story for another day. (It’s worth noting that my mother did know that I was struggling. However, she absolutely forbade me from seeking psychological help because, and I quote, “Any therapist you see is just going to blame me for your problems!” How right she was…) One of the most insidious aspects of my extreme depression was that I was depressed because I felt completely and utterly alone. But I was also completely incapable at the time of trying to reach out for help. I had convinced myself that my friends wouldn’t like me anymore because I was sad all the time. I felt like asking for help or even comfort made me a burden to them. But worst of all, I felt like the fact that no one had seemed to notice I wasn’t around anymore meant that I never really mattered to them in the first place. I told myself daily that no one would miss me, and that made the idea of killing myself seem much less terrible. I walked my ass right up to the edge of the proverbial cliff and tried desperately to convince myself to jump off. But deep down, I still felt a tiny spark of life that wasn’t ready to go out. Thankfully, the help I needed finally came, in the form of one friend who recognized what I was going through and pushed me to go to therapy. Eventually, after a great deal of hard, emotional work, a few months of prescription anti-depression medication, a hell of a lot of stubbornness,  and the discovery of a survival instinct I didn’t know I possessed, I started to see a light at the end of my tunnel. I started wanting to live again. Waking up didn’t feel so horrible. I called my friends and rejoiced in the fact that they seemed earnestly happy to hear from me. Slowly but surely, I started to rebuild my life.

Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. Depression rarely just goes away. There’s a constant ebb and flow. Good days and bad days. Good years and bad years. But at least after that incredibly dark period, I knew how to spot my own warning signs. So when I started headed down that road again a few years later, I sought help before it got out of hand. These days, I feel pretty good about my life. I have a wonderful, supportive husband, a beautiful home, and two goofy but lovable dogs. I’m planning for the future. I’m planning for a family. But I’d absolutely be lying if I said I didn’t still struggle with my demons. As recently as last year, I found myself feeling, once again, like I could just disappear without anyone really missing me. That seems to be the negative belief/emotion that I always come back to – that I’m just not special enough for anyone to care if I disappeared forever. I don’t know why that’s where my mind wants to go when it breaks, but I wish I could figure out how to stop it. Even though I know it’s not true, the feeling of it never really goes away completely.

Which brings me back to the premise of this piece. If I’m being brutally honest, there has always been a part of me that believed that I could beat my depression by becoming a better version of myself. Because I’m a naturally ambitious person, this often lead me to believe that if I were more successful in life, I would be truly happy. If I made a name for myself, had a notable career, was financially wealthy and well-respected, then I wouldn’t be so depressed all the time. Perhaps this seems shallow or superficial, but I really just wanted to feel like I was “the best” at something. I guess I figured that being wildly successful would make me feel whole. At other times in my life, I thought that if I could just connect with people better then I would be happier. I thought if I could figure out how to be more interesting and more edgy, then everything would be easier. I’ve always been attracted to people who seem to be effortlessly cool. They have great fashion, are into obscure or interesting music, they make amazing art and lead amazing lives, all without appearing to have to work very hard at it. I, on the other hand, have always been the opposite of effortless. I try SO hard. In fact, I’m haunted by the notion that everyone knows and judges me for trying TOO hard. This isn’t helped by the fact that I’m a big, loud, clumsy person who is never quite sure whether what I’m saying or doing is socially acceptable or completely off-putting. Also, I have almost no chill. Basically, what I’m saying is that I’ve spent a good portion of my life believing that if I were more successful and just generally cooler, I would be happy enough to stop wanting to die. Which made it extremely disheartening to see two people who pretty much embodied the two sides of my “Perfect Life” coin decide to take their own lives.

Kate Spade was incredibly successful in her career. She embodied a type of “upper-class” sophistication that I could never even hope to accomplish in my lifetime. From the outside, she seemed to have it all – a beautiful family, and happy marriage, and a legacy. She was a household name. And she must have been dealing with tremendous emotional pain. Anthony Bourdain was universally respected, both by his peers and by the general public. He was the epitome of cool – passionate, edgy, and unabashedly authentic. And he must have been dealing with tremendous emotional pain. As a person who often looks outward rather than inward for solutions to problems and for emotional reassurance, I found it horribly distressing to think that two people, whose lives I basically aspired to have, were so profoundly unhappy. The fact that there’s no step-by-step guide or handy to-do list of accomplishments that will get me to a state of consistent happiness is really fucking difficult for me to grasp. I’m made seriously uncomfortable by the feeling that I can’t work my way out of depression, and yet deep down, I’ve always felt in my bones that there was never an easy solution. I guess I’ve always known that looking for answers outside of myself was never going to get me very far. But dammit, I wanted to believe! I feel like a 5 year old kid who just figured out that Santa isn’t real and that grown-ups are mostly liars. I feel cheated out of a good and easy life that never really existed in the first place.

I find myself asking, “So what now? Where do I go from here?” Early on in this essay I talked about filling a hole that didn’t exist, but now I’m wondering if maybe there was a hole after all… A hole where my aspirations used to live. A hole where I kept my dreams of being a perfect person and having a perfect happy life. And now I’m being forced to come back to the real world, with its sadness and imperfection. With its pain and regret. Where even my happiest memories and moments are tinged with a little bit (or a lot) of sorrow. But I suppose that’s okay. I’ve always found a certain beauty in the darkness, and I’ve learned that a lot of the things I used to consider “flaws” are really just the special parts of a person that make them interesting and unique. I guess it’s time to apply that appreciation to myself. I guess I have to stop pretending that my struggle with depression is something that can be fixed. That maybe, managing my depression just means filling my life with enough love and joy that the bad parts don’t feel so overwhelming. I’m trying to learn how to be nicer to myself, to forgive myself for my shortcomings. It’s not easy, but I’m used to things not being easy. I’m learning new coping mechanisms every day that help me to be better prepared for when life throws me a curve ball that makes me feel like I want to die. One of those coping mechanisms is being honest – with myself, with the people I love, and with the world at large. We’re all coping. We all have our own struggles.* But through our struggles we gain strength. I know that first hand. I also know that I want to live. So I’ll end this musing with a quote, courtesy of disco goddess Gloria Gaynor, that I thinks sums up my current beliefs:  “I will survive. As long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive.”

* If you’re in the midst of your own struggle, especially if it seems like it’s life or death, please know that I love you, okay? You’re not alone and you’re not a burden. If you call me, text me, email me, comment, etc… I will answer. If you’re reading this, you matter to me. Even if you don’t know me personally, find a way to reach me. I want to know you. I want you to know that you are special and beautiful and that the world is better with you in it. You deserve to know that, and you deserve to feel loved. Thank you for reading and for being you. 

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Feb 13 2015
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Ruminations

It’s been awhile…

Oh, hello blog that I’ve been neglecting for the better part of a year! Nice to see you’re still here, barely justifying the $26 a year I spend to keep you in existence. I suppose I ought to write something in you to keep you from becoming completely obsolete (rather than just the comfortable mostly obsolete that you are now).

Okay, I’ll stop talking to the blog as if it’s a sentient being and start talking to you, my faithful and ever-so-patient readers. I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long, though I doubt very much that you were actually waiting. More likely, you’ve forgotten all about this blog, but you’ve just seen a notification in your email or on your Facebook page (Hi Jess!) and a sense of morbid curiosity has drawn you back into my blog’s loving, sarcastic embrace. But hey, I’ll take it. You know I love each and every one of you for reading this nonsense that I write. (Yes, even you, Random WordPress People who have followed my blog for reasons I don’t entirely understand but am incredibly flattered by!)

So, what shall we talk about? Would you like to know how I’ve been? Well, I’ve been good. My Big Fucking Break (see previous post) ended in early October when I accepted a marketing position with the Southern California branch of the real estate company I worked for when I lived in the Bay Area. Also, things are going extremely well with 90s Music Guy. We moved in together last month and just celebrated our year anniversary. Who knew OkCupid would actually work?! Don’t get me wrong, these past several months haven’t been entirely cheery. My best friend moved to the other side of the country and I miss her terribly. There has been some family drama that I’ve mostly avoided, but was disconcerting nonetheless.

Also I’ve somehow managed to get fatter. (See how I said “somehow” like I don’t know how it happened? That’s a damn lie. I know exactly what happened. For about the past 6 months, I’ve eaten whatever I want with reckless abandon and I’ve enjoyed every second of it.) But seriously, I’ve reached the point where leggings and jeggings are the only comfortable pants I own anymore, and if there’s one thing that’ll spur this fat girl into dieting, the threat of a limited wardrobe. And so, after much discussion, 90s Guy and I have decided to make a change in our lifestyle and embark on a diet and nutrition plan that will hopefully have me back in pants with buttons again soon.

I bet you just read that last paragraph and thought, “Oh great! Another blog post by a fat girl about how she’s going to lose weight! YAWN/SIGH!” Well, fear not! This post isn’t about that. (Though I reserve the right to write that post in the future, and I expect you all to endure it because you luuuuurve me.) So what is this post about? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m just going with it in hopes that some incredible work of staggering genius suddenly develops from this otherwise self-indulgent drivel. How am I doing so far? Are you inspired? Have you laughed? Cried? Seriously considered buying a pair of jeggings because I’ve now declared them to be an acceptable fashion choice? No? Fine.

Maybe this blog post is just going to be about nothing. Maybe it’s just me writing something because I felt like I needed to write again. Hopefully, it’s me dipping my toes back into the writing pool before I decide to cannonball in with a post that actually means something. Keep your fingers crossed for good things, because lately I’ve been experiencing that old familiar pull towards my keyboard and I’m feeling rather inspired. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Until next time, my darlings!

Aug 13 2014
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Rants

Are You A Good Bitch Or A Bad Bitch?

Have you been called a bitch lately? Have you called someone else that? Do you refer to yourself as a bitch? Is that a compliment?

The word “bitch” can take on many meanings for many people. It’s unarguably the most gendered insult out there. Even when directed at men, it’s still meant to suggest that said man is acting like a woman, which apparently is the worst thing any man can do according to some people. (You know, people who need to have their heads surgically removed from their asses on a semi-regular basis.) Usually, bitch is an insult directed towards a woman who is speaking or acting “out of turn.” Over the years, many women have tried to reclaim the word and make it empowering. Perhaps the most obvious example of this is Meredith Brooks’ iconic 90s ode to girl power.

(My sincerest apologies for getting that stuck in your head for the next week.)

As an outspoken, strong-willed woman, I’ve often been called a bitch. Mostly, I’m okay with that. If speaking my mind and standing up for myself and others makes me a bitch, then it’s a title I’ll happily embrace. Many of my best girl friends have been described as bitchy for being equally strong-willed and opinionated, and to quote Ms. Brooks, I wouldn’t want it any other way. In a world that forces unrealistic and often unattainable standards on woman, while demanding us to be perfect examples of grace and composure at all times, I happen to think that embracing our “bitchiness” is one of the few methods by which we can assert ourselves and promote our own agendas.

Now, I want to make something absolutely clear. When I say being “bitchy” is a good thing, I’m NOT talking about being catty, rude, or mean. I’m talking about daring to be yourself in a society that demands conformity and submission. A good bitch is strong, unafraid, and confident. A good bitch can defend herself when people try to hurt her or knock her down a peg. A good bitch is not afraid to let her star shine brightly. And perhaps most importantly, good bitches appreciate and embrace the bonds of sisterhood. We good bitches stick together in order to help and support each other, knowing that all too often, the deck is stacked against us. I’m damn proud to be a good bitch.

However, as we all know, not every bitch is a good bitch. There are definitely some big, bad bitches out there. Bitches who are vapid, who lie, who cheat, and who steal. Bitches who think they’re better than everyone else, who can’t be bothered to care about the needs of others, and who actively strive to tear down other women in an attempt to build themselves up. In fact, some of the most misogynistic statements I’ve ever heard have been spoken by women. I was guilty of this, once upon a time. I thought that the best way to become equal with men was to become “one of the guys” and I did that by criticizing and insulting my own gender. I had no regard or respect for sisterhood, and for all my efforts, I received no more respect from men than I receive now. In fact, I was far less respected. See, here’s the thing: No one will respect you if you don’t respect yourself. Bad bitches don’t have much self-respect or self-esteem, despite their frequently ostentatious behavior. Sure, mean girls might come off as super confident, but that’s just a feeble front to cover up deep-rooted insecurity and often, loneliness.

So the question I want to pose to all of you today is, are you a good bitch or a bad bitch? Do you stand up for what you believe in regardless of what anyone else thinks about you? Or do you hide behind a facade of cattiness and cruelty because you can’t face up to your own insecurities? Do you empower other women who are, most likely, struggling with the same problems and issues that you struggle with? Or do you belittle women who fight for sisterhood and equality because you’re too scared or too lazy to do it yourself? Because if you’re a good bitch, I want to know you. I want to be friends with you and support you and love you because we’re all in this together. But if you’re a bad bitch, then you can just fuck right off. And while you’re at it, please stop and take a good, hard look at your life, because you’re on the wrong side of this. You’ll never achieve greatness by turning your back on your sisters. And you’ll never find happiness either.

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May 25 2014
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Ruminations

On Feminism…

Today, I was asked by a friend to explain why I thought feminism was relevant. The conversation was in regards to the videos posted by the man who went on a shooting spree in Santa Barbara last night.

A link to the specific video in question can be found here:

http://jezebel.com/suspected-ucsb-shooter-posted-disturbing-video-detailin-1581072674

And additional videos he made can be found here:

http://jezebel.com/elliot-rodgers-final-videos-racist-postings-leaked-1581163115

(TRIGGER WARNING ON ALL OF THOSE VIDEOS.)

Basically, I posited that the mentality of this clearly disturbed, deeply misogynistic man is, in itself, an example of why we need feminism. A friend of mine required further clarification of that statement, so I took some time to think about it and tried my best to explain my reasoning to him. The paragraphs below are what I came up with. I thought it might make for a good addition to this blog, because feminism is important to me, and maybe this will help people understand where I’m coming from.

I think, first and foremost, it’s important to define what “feminism” means to me, because there are a lot of people who would assume that by calling myself a feminist, I must hate men, or that I want to establish a matriarchy that would give all the power to women. That’s nonsense. What I want is equal rights. I could just as easily call it “humanism”, but for the specific issue we’re talking about here, it’s dealing with the fact that women are being looked down upon, and so I’ll call it feminism. For me, feminism is about empowering women and girls, helping them to realize that their value as people is measured in more ways than just how men perceive them, which I think is important in a society that consistently objectifies and sexualizes our gender. Feminism is also about letting women have control over their own bodies. You asked for examples of society marginalizing women, well, how about the fact that half of our country doesn’t believe that I should have the right to decide whether or not I’d like to reproduce. (But I’ll save the lengthy discussion about abortion and birth control for another day.) Another example of the need for equality is the gender gap in pay, as well as the general way in which working women are expected to “have it all” (which really means “do it all”) whereas you never here this ridiculous concept applied to men.

But in this specific instance, in this video, you have an obviously disturbed individual who flat out says that he wants to kill women because they rejected him. He clearly states that he believes he’s entitled to the love and affection of these women, when any rational person knows that you are never entitled to the affection of another person. I want to be clear in the fact that I don’t believe all men think this way. I know they don’t. (Because, for the record, men can be feminists too. I’m dating one.) But a simple internet search of the term “friendzone” will bring up scores of forums and subreddits filled with men spouting these exact same principles of entitlement. It’s joked about in movies and on TV. Memes about it go viral. It’s commonplace to label women as a bunch of bitches who only date super aggressive bad boys and ignore these poor “nice guys.” Here’s the thing, if you’re only being nice to someone because you expect something in return, you’re not nice. You’re manipulative. The whole idea of “Nice Guys” and “The Friendzone” basically takes responsibility off of the guy in question and places it solely on the woman. It’s not that he was being a manipulative ass, it’s that she’s being a frigid bitch. It’s dangerous that this mindset has become so commonplace because, as we’ve just seen, it can pervade the minds of those people who are already deeply disturbed and make them feel like these “bitches” who are reduced to sub-human standards deserve to die. Or deserve to be raped. Or deserved to be harassed to no end on the internet. Pick your poison, and I guarantee you that some asshole has done it to a woman because “she deserved it.”

To try and divorce this guy’s obvious misogyny from his actions, to say that it’s only a result of being depressed or mentally ill, is frankly preposterous. Of course he’s mentally ill. He also hates women. If he had posted a video saying he hated black people right before he went and shot a bunch of black people, we wouldn’t be arguing over whether or not he was depressed or mentally ill, we’d be calling him a racist. People would not be out of line in calling for a societal response to that sort of thing. And guess what? We have! That’s how hate crime legislation came about. And yet, in our society, when someone commits a very obvious crime against women, there is no stricter punishment. In fact, you’ll find that drug offenses are often punished more severely than rape and sexual assault. Oh, and don’t even get me started on how the onus is so often placed on the victim to prove that she was raped, rather than on the rapist. Because, depending on where we are, what we’re wearing, how much we drink, etc… we’re potentially “asking for it.”

And so I speak out about these things. Yes, I’m passionate about the need for feminism because I see so many examples every day of the inequality that surrounds me. Right now, there are more people (or maybe just louder people) spouting the rhetoric that women are not equal to men than there are people who are standing up for our rights. But I feel like the more people hear a different opinion, the more they’ll start to listen to it. Again, I don’t expect to change everyone’s mind. But I want to challenge people to examine their beliefs. It’s not okay that women make less in this country than men, simply because we’re women. It’s not okay that we’re being told we shouldn’t have the final say over our own reproductive rights. And it’s really not okay that the internet at large seems to think it’s the responsibility of women to indulge the desires of men we don’t want just because “they’re nice”, and if we don’t, well then maybe we deserve the consequences.

I hope that is enough of an explanation for you. I could go on and on, but I feel like it would be more productive to have a conversation about it in person rather than trading comments on a Facebook post. And if you really are interested in feminism, I highly suggest you research it more. There are plenty of women out there who have articulated the need for feminism far better than I just have.

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May 14 2014
1 Comment
Rants

Big Fat Rant

I’m sure by now many of you have seen this video. You’ve probably also read one of the ten thousand opinion pieces that have already been written about it. I’m not usually one to jump on the “This issue went viral so I better dissect it to death” bandwagon, but this happens to be an issue that really resonates with me, so I’ve decided to weigh in (no pun intended… well maybe) and tell you what I think. I feel like it’s a safe assumption that if you’re reading this, you actually care to know my opinion and so you shall have it. Ready? Okay, here we go!

I’m a fat girl. I’m not morbidly obese, but I’m definitely at least 50 pounds heavier than I should be, if not more, depending on who you talk to and how skinny they think women should be. One guy once told me that at 5’5″, I should ideally weigh about 100 pounds. I think I was in elementary school the last time I weighed that. Also, that guy can go fuck himself. But I digress… My point is, everyone seems to have an opinion of what women should look like, women included, and that sucks. You know why? Because we’re all different and we’re not all supposed to look the same. I’m not sure when exactly the standard for beauty became so homogeneous (tall, skinny, white girls, anyone?) but it honestly makes me really sad. Because this need to reduce what’s considered desirable to it’s simplest form really stifles the complexity and variety of attraction. In other words, society dictates that we should all want this one thing (or that we should want to be that one thing in order to be desired) but many, if not most of us have much more varied tastes. However, because most people inherently crave acceptance, there is incredible pressure to put our actual desires on the back burner in order to conform to societal norms. And when that happens, people get left out. Fat girls (and guys) get left out. Short guys get left out. People of color get left out. People with disabilities get left out. This rampant close-mindedness about what constitutes beauty is excluding a HUGE portion of of our society, and quite frankly, that’s bullshit. It pisses me off. There’s so much beauty in this world and here we are, chasing only one aspect of it! SO FRUSTRATING!

Now, I’m not saying that we should immediately start ignoring everyone who is conventionally attractive or calling them ugly. That would negate the whole point I’m trying to make, which is that beauty comes in ALL shapes and sizes. What I’m saying is that I think it’s high time that we all stop being so afraid of being different. And stop being so afraid to date someone different! I think it’s beautifully expressed in that clip just how obsessed we are with what other people think of us based on who we date. Not only does she spell it out when she flatly accuses Louie of just that, but if you look at his body language and facial expressions even before that part of the conversation, he’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being seen with this girl even though he really likes her. I’ve been that girl. I’ve met my fair share of guys who really wanted to fuck me but who would never in a million years want to date me, because it would feel like “settling.” (Seriously, I’ve been told by a man that he didn’t feel like he should “settle” with me. Joke’s on him, though. I’m fucking awesome and not just in bed.) So, the bottom line is, if you like something, go for it. Fuck anyone who might try to shame you for liking someone who’s a little unconventional. Consider, if you will, Sir Mix-A-Lot. That man made a fortune by just being himself and talking about what he likes: big, juicy asses!

That's one happy man!

That’s one happy man!

Of course, the other side of this issue, perhaps the more important side, is learning how to love ourselves and our bodies, because how can we love others when we can’t even love ourselves? This, I realize, is no easy task. It’s taken me YEARS to obtain the tiny shred of appreciation that I have for my body, and I’m still working on it. Even when I was younger and thinner (though I was never actually “skinny”) I hated my body. Now, I look back at pictures of myself and I would gladly sacrifice a few non-essential digits to the Powers That Be in order to look like 20 year-old me again. (Who really needs pinky toes anyway, right?) This self-loathing is so ingrained in me that even when I’ve encountered men and women who have loved my body to the point of practically fetishizing it, I didn’t believe them. I thought, “Surely they’re just humoring me. Or worse, they’re trying to justify to themselves why they’re with someone who looks as hideous as I do.” DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS?! Which is why, on the journey to improve my life that I mentioned in my last post, I’ve decided to make learning to love my body more a priority. One of the ways I’m working on that is by going to the gym. Not necessarily to lose weight. I have no delusions of looking like a Victoria’s Secret model anytime soon. But I want to get back the things I actually used to like about myself. I used to be terrifically flexible and much stronger, so I’m doing Pilates in the hopes that I’ll regain some of those traits. I used to be much more coordinated (and able to dance) so I’m doing Zumba. (You want to see something hilarious? Come to my gym on Monday mornings to watch this fat, clumsy, white girl try to dance. I can see myself in the mirror, and I can’t help but think that my uncoordinated movements would be better served by playing the Benny Hill theme song than the salsa music that’s usually playing.) But I feel like it’s worth it. In addition to hitting the gym, I’m just trying to appreciate myself more. Rather than focusing on the  love handles or the cellulite, I’m choosing instead to acknowledge that I have really shiny hair, big, pretty eyes, magnificent boobs, and a pretty nicely shaped ass, even if it is a little bigger than I’d like it to be. (If it’s good enough for Sir Mix-A-Lot, it’s good enough for me!)

Lastly, I want to take a minute to address the amount of time we spend shaming ourselves and others for being fat. This behavior is unfortunately so natural in our society that we don’t even notice we’re doing it. A friend of mine posted a very insightful commentary on Facebook about this issue. Specifically, she referenced a conversation in which a woman tried to comfort her friend by telling her that the new girlfriend of her friend’s ex is “fatter than you!” Now obviously this woman meant to be comforting, but unfortunately, she failed. Miserably. I’m sure her friend didn’t really feel better after hearing that. I’ve been hearing similar comments lately, but it usually goes something like, “That girl your ex married might be thinner than you, but she isn’t nearly as pretty.” I understand that my girlfriends are being supportive when they say things like that, and I love them for it. But all I can think when I hear that is, “Oh great! It doesn’t matter how pretty I am because I’m still fat, and that trumps everything else.” Here’s the thing, putting down other people doesn’t ever really make us feel better. Maybe in the short term you get a little burst of instant gratification, but eventually, focusing on something negative only brings up more negative emotions. (That said, I’m nowhere NEAR perfect in this regard. I can be catty as fuck sometimes, but I always end up feeling rather petty afterwards, which sucks.) I think it’s important to weed out this kind of talk as much as possible, and I’m trying to make an honest effort to do so. It’s generally accepted that we shouldn’t go around mocking people with disabilities. Nobody I know would ever say something like, “That girl your ex is dating can’t even walk! She’s in a wheelchair! Haha, stupid cripple!” So let’s please stop saying things like, “At least she’s fatter than you!” I know it’s easy and convenient to think that all fat people are just lazy gluttons who lack self control, but that’s really not often true. You never know the circumstances that dictate a person’s choices. You have no idea what their struggle has been. And oh, by the way, there are lazy gluttons who are skinny and there are fat people who are healthy. Skinny ≠ Healthy.

So that’s my rant. If you enjoyed it, my name is Michaela and thank you for reading. If you didn’t enjoy it, my name is Jimmy Cracked Corn, and you know the rest.

 

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May 09 2014
2 Comments
Ruminations

Living Life vs. Surviving (Or: Why I Needed a Big Fucking Break!)

Hellooooooo readers! I know I’ve been absent for awhile. If I’ve left a big, gaping void in your lives that can only be filled by my snarky, mediocre-at-best ramblings, then you have my sincerest apologies. (Also, maybe it’s time to review your life choices and priorities? Just sayin’…) At any rate, I’m back and I’m going to make a sincere effort not to disappear again for months at a time. But no promises. I’m not going to set myself up for failure or anything.

For those of you who have been wondering what I’ve been up to and why I haven’t written, I’m going to attempt to explain myself. The answer to the latter question is a very simple one: I didn’t write because I couldn’t write. I’m sure there are writers out there who can whip out a piece on a whim, any old time, regardless of circumstances or their emotional state. I’m not one of them. Perhaps that means I’m not a real writer, and if so, so be it. But for me, writer’s block isn’t just a speed bump or a hurdle, it’s a fucking mountain and sometimes it takes me awhile to get over it. Which leads me to the answer to the first question: What have I been up to?

To say I’ve had a lot going on these past few months is an understatement and, quite frankly, a euphemism. March, in particular, put me through the wringer. I started the month off by getting so sick that I missed several days of work. Of course, when it rains, it pours, so my dog Buddy also got extremely ill during that time, prompting a very expensive trip to the vet. (He’s fine now, thank goodness!) Upon returning to work, I had what can quite accurately (and without hyperbole) be described as the worst week ever of my professional career. Which sucked. A lot. But on the upside, it forced me to confront the fact that I was working a job that really wasn’t for me. I had spent the few months I had worked at that company feeling miserable but fairly comfortable because I worked with my best friend. Once it became uncomfortable, I knew a difficult decision had to be made. While I was contemplating my next move, the following week I received the charming news that my ex of 5 years, who I had broken up with only 13 months prior, had gotten married. Now, this is not someone I want back. It was a bad relationship and a bad situation, and not a day goes by that I’m not happy to be done with it. HOWEVER, his lightening-fast marriage really cast a spotlight on just how much I wasted 5 years of my life that I’ll never get back. I thought I had reached this awesome place of acceptance and closure, but that news got me pissed off all over again. Oh, and I found out on FACEBOOK. While at my horrible job. On the day I had planned to tender my resignation. So, yeah… I pretty much felt like this:

fuck-all-the-things

After all that, I went home and took a long hard look at my life. Well, first I got drunk. (I’d like to take a moment to thank the makers of Don Julio Blanco Tequila. You guys have really gotten me through some shit, and for that I am eternally grateful.) But after the tequila wore off, I honestly did do some soul searching. I knew I had to quit my job. I knew I needed to figure out what to do with my life, and I knew I needed to get my proverbial “house” in order. (As well as my literal house! I still had boxes laying around that I hadn’t unpacked since I moved to my place in November. Shameful, I know.) Part of the problem I had been experiencing was that I was so focused on all of the negative aspects of my life, that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the positive ones. And let me tell you, despite all the fuckery that March threw my way, there were some really GREAT things happening in my life. For one thing, due to some really crazy circumstances, I found myself in the best financial position that I’ve ever been in. (No, I didn’t rob a bank, but I’m flattered that you think I could pull that off!) This allowed me the freedom to be able to quit my job and take this time to get my life back on track. But more significantly, I found myself in an actually healthy relationship *Gasp!* with a wonderful man who, I swear, I fall more in love with every time I’m with him. Gag all you want, but it’s MY blog and I can get all schmoopy if I want to. So there! (And for those of you who might be wondering, yes it is 90’s Music Guy from my first post. For all my bashing on OkCupid, it actually worked. Whodathunkit?!)

Once I quit my job, which was a big deal for me because I’ve always been a worker bee, I got down to the business of trying to figure out what I want. You guys I shit you not, for me, figuring out what I want out of life is the hardest thing in the world. Without going into detail, I had a terrible childhood and upbringing due in large part to my narcissistic (and possibly sociopathic) heroin addict mother who was as emotionally abusive when she was sober as she was when she was high. There’s only so many times, day after day, that you can be told you’re not good enough before you start to believe it, and so I believed it. I truly believed that my life was difficult because I deserved to struggle. This manifested itself in just about everything I did. I was constantly putting stumbling blocks in my own way. I was my own worst enemy and a master of self-sabotage. I consistently entered into relationships with emotionally unavailable men because I thought I only deserved to be with someone who was (and I quote myself here) “as fucked up as I am.” I dropped out of college. I stopped making plans. And honestly, I stayed in that place of stagnation and self-flagellation until 2013, when I finally decided to remove myself from my comfort zone and make some changes. But even then, I was still just surviving. The fear of the unknown was so great, the pressure to answer the question “What am I doing with my life?” was so crushing, that I decided to try and fill my life with as many distractions as possible to avoid having to think about it. I was wildly successful in that endeavor. Until the end of March.

Without knowing exactly how to find the answer to that question on my own, I sought out help. I’m extremely lucky that a very good friend of mine happens to be an amazing healer. She’s an acupuncturist, an ordained minister, a psychic medium, a life coach, and an all-around awesome human being who has experienced more than her own fair share of struggles. With her guidance, I started meditating regularly, as well as taking other steps to enrich my life and suss out my true calling. I’ve never considered myself a spiritual person, (20 years of having organized religion shoved down my throat soured me on the concept of God) but lately, I’m starting to feel like perhaps there is a bigger purpose for my life, and that’s exciting. With my time off, not only have I had a chance to start getting myself in better shape, but I’ve also had to time to really cultivate my relationships with the people who matter most to me. I feel like I’ve been able to really be there for my friends. I’ve also been able to spend more time with my cousin (who is more like my sister) and to become the kind of aunt to her son that I’d always wanted to be. On dates with my boyfriend, I’m able to thoroughly enjoy my time with him without feeling distracted by all the stress in my life. And most importantly, I’ve learned to focus on and appreciate the positive, rather than dwelling on the negative.

I’m still not entirely sure what my purpose is, but I feel like I’m getting closer. I don’t know exactly what will make me happy, but I know that I’m a much happier person now than I was three months ago. And so, the next time someone asks me “What are you doing with your life?” I’m going to tell them that I’m living it to the fullest. That I’m learning how to love myself for the first time in 31 years. That I’m building a foundation that will last a lifetime, so that when things do get stressful, when shit gets difficult again (and it will), I’ll know how to manage it better this time.

So, there you have it. That’s why I needed a break, and that’s why I haven’t been writing. I know it got a bit heavy, given the previous subject matter on this blog, and trust me, I don’t intend for this to be the new norm. I plan to get back to the usual sassy bullshit you’ve learned to expect from me. (Besides, I owe my friend Isabel a post dedicated entirely to boobs, and I intend to make good on that promise.) But I’d like to thank you all for reading. It helped me a lot just to write this all out, and who knows? Maybe it will resonate with some of you who are dealing with similar issues. I hope so. Because at the end of the day, we all deserve to be happy. Except clowns. Clowns deserve to suffer for all eternity for being so fucking creepy. And on that note, good night!

 

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Feb 24 2014
5 Comments
Okaaaaaaay, Cupid…

The Greatest Terrible OkCupid Message EVER!

I’m aware that there have likely been millions, if not billions of terrible OkCupid messages sent since the site was first created. They can be creepy, condescending, incomprehensible, awkward, ridiculous, and sometimes, downright mean. However, I’m going to go on record as saying that the message you’re about to read is the absolute BEST of the WORST when it comes to messages on OkCupid. It’s got it all: Desperation, Delusion, Misogyny, Fat Shaming… (Aside: If you read that in Stefon’s voice, you might be my soulmate. Just sayin’.) Seriously, you guys, it’s amazingly, awesomely bad. So without further hesitation, I give you the following message, which I received from a 45 year old San Diego man who goes by Mbainsd on OkCupid… (Posted in it’s entirety with bold portions added by yours truly for effect. A full analysis of the text will be provided below the message.)

“OK, so here we are..looking for a new and lasting relationship. The internet is a double-edged sword..you have access to a great number of people, but with one wrong move or a misinterpreted statement, with just click of a mouse, we are HISTORY, gone..and the woman is onto the next ad. But, as you may already have experienced it, most people in here are not worth it and you may not like me, in that case I will give you 2 options, if you don’t like me please go to option 2:

Option 1:

You sound very nice. If you enjoy the company of smart educated upscale men I would welcome an opportunity to getting to know you. I have a BS in Industrial and Mechanical Engineering and I’m also an MBA graduate. I’m a 45/6’3″/180#, clean cut, classy, old fashioned, well dressed and trendy man, with excellent manners, sense of humor, and very handsome (ask my Mom), but a bad speller. I enjoy different activities, including traveling, dancing, jogging, tennis, snow skiing, movies (at home or theater), concerts, restaurants, cooking, people watching, Sea World, Disneyland and the Zoo. I also would like to learn how to roller blade, and taking salsa classes. I am a nonsmoker nondrinker, and of course I don’t do any drugs. I enjoy a healthy life style, including exercising and healthy eating. I am a divorced father of one little boy, with shared custody. I live in San Diego. I work for a manufacturing company as the VP of Operations. We have plants in Europe, Mexico and also in the US. I also teach part time at a local university in San Diego in the School of Business/MBA program. I look forward to hearing back from you.

Option 2:

I know you are not looking for a man like me, but do you have a friend/relative looking for an educated, upscale, tall, handsome, slim and fit, well dressed and sometimes a good cook kind of man? I am 6’3”/180#, MBA graduate and Mechanical Engineer. As the MasterCard commercial says: Brand New House…One Million Dollar, Mercedes S63…$160,000, Range Rover…$105,000, BMW 750…$110,000, Armani Suit…$2,000, Rolex Watch…$10,000, Finding a good man…Priceless. Keep me posted if you think of a smart slim slender thin trim petite fit woman with class and a sense of fashion looking for a great man. A stay at home wife/soccer mom wanna be will be a plus, but if she wants to work she can always run one of my businesses. It’s easier to schedule trips and travel when only one mate works. Best of luck with your ad.”

Did you get all that? Wanna read it again, just to make sure? Okay, good. Let’s dive into this mess, shall we? The first paragraph isn’t too bad. It reads like countless other opening paragraphs of OkCupid messages I’ve received. An awkward first line, a little “cover your ass” statement about how he could be misinterpreted and the lamentation that his message might go unacknowledged (Spoiler Alert: It did.). But then, it suddenly gets interesting when he decides to “give you 2 options” and without telling you really anything about himself, instructs you to go to “Option 2” if you don’t like him. Well thanks so much, random internet dude, for giving me my options! My feeble lady brain might not have otherwise figured out what to do with your message. Seriously, I might have ended up staring at my computer screen blankly for days had you not instructed me on exactly what I should be doing. Phew! That was a close one…

Okay, let’s look at Option 1. After all, we don’t really know yet that we don’t like him, so we should probably start there instead of proceeding directly to Option 2, right? Right. So what do we have here? He opens strong with a compliment: “You sound very nice.” Why thank you, kind sir! Unfortunately, he follows it up with this line: “If you enjoy the company of smart educated upscale men I would welcome an opportunity to getting to know you.” Hmmm… Most of the smart, educated men I’ve come into contact with not only understand the value of a strategically placed comma, but they know the proper usage of the verb “get”. Yeah, okay, I’m being a grammar nazi here, and I recognize that. But if you’re going to use several adjectives to describe your intellect, then you should probably have the writing skills to back it up. (God help me if there is so much as one mistake in this blog post. You all are going to crucify me, aren’t you? Meh. I’ll probably deserve it.) Anyway… He goes on to offer some details about himself (with appropriate citations, of course. Just ask his mom!) and gives us a laundry list of interests that seem entirely generic to me, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt at this point and assume he really is into rollerblading and salsa dancing. But here’s where he really starts to lose me: “I am a nonsmoker nondrinker, and of course I don’t do any drugs.” Clearly, this man is no fun at all. (And CLEARLY he did not read my profile because this gal loves her craft beer and G&Ts!) Sorry, man. I’m pretty sure we’re not meant to be together. I’m seriously considering just skipping directly to Option 2 at this point, but I’m polite, so I’m going to read the rest of this paragraph. (Blah blah… divorced, father, work stuff… blah blah…) “I look forward to hearing back from you.” Yeeeeaaaah… Probably not gonna happen though.

Okay, on to Option 2. You’ve already read the message so you know that this is where it REALLY gets good. You start to see a little bit of crazy coming through in those first two paragraphs, but Option 2 is where he really throws caution to the wind and lets his big ol’ freak flag fly! Straight out the gate he opens with “I know you are not looking for a man like me, but do you have a friend/relative looking for an educated, upscale, tall, handsome, slim and fit, well dressed and sometimes a good cook kind of man?” Okay, guy, here’s something you should know about me: If I don’t think you’re good enough to date me, then you SURE AS HELL aren’t good enough to date one of my awesome friends! We’re talking about some of the most amazing women in the world, for Christ’s sake! Not. A. Chance. (Besides, you’re only “sometimes a good cook…” Child, please!) Oh, but you obviously think you can sway my opinion by creating an asinine list of all the fancy shit you own in the style of an advertising campaign that has been played out for a decade now. “As the MasterCard commercial says: Brand New House…One Million Dollar, Mercedes S63…$160,000, Range Rover…$105,000, BMW 750…$110,000, Armani Suit…$2,000, Rolex Watch…$10,000, Finding a good man…Priceless.” Finding a good man really is priceless, but you, sir, are a douche bag. Nay! You are the KING of the douche bags! What’s priceless is the fact that I’ll forever have this example to point to if ever someone asks me what I mean when I say “That guy’s a douche bag.” So thanks for that!

This next part is my absolute favorite, though. He wants me to “keep him posted” if I find a “slim slender thin trim petite fit woman” who might be into him. In case you weren’t counting like I was, that’s SIX adjectives he used as a synonym for skinny. Cut the crap, man. Just say “No fatties!” like the rest of your fellow OkCupid assclowns and call it a day. Oh, and by the way, did you even bother to look at my photos? Because darlin’, none of those words could be used to describe me! Why did you even message me in the first place? Wait… Now I get it! Those first two paragraphs were a (not so) clever ruse to get me to hook you up with one of my skinny friends, weren’t they?! Well, guess what, homeboy? This fat girl isn’t so easily manipulated.

Just when you start to think, “Okay, that’s obviously the worst of it, right? He’s already exposed himself as a rich, clueless, fat-phobic douche bag. There’s nothing left!” He hits you with some good old fashioned misogyny. (That’s a BINGO for those of you who are playing along.) “A stay at home wife/soccer mom wanna be will be a plus, but if she wants to work she can always run one of my businesses. It’s easier to schedule trips and travel when only one mate works.” Wooooow… Allow me to translate this for those of you who aren’t fluent in Mansplaining: “Take off your shoes, let me put a baby in you, get back to the kitchen and make me a sandwich, bitch!” So here’s the thing: This man doesn’t want a woman, he wants a maid that he can fuck sometimes. He doesn’t want a partner, he wants a mindless drone that he can control. He’s not looking for a companion, he’s looking for arm candy to show off in public and abuse in private. It’s fucking pathetic. Men like this should all go die in a fire. So let’s all give a big double finger salute to Mr. Mbainsd, for giving us the best example I’ve found of how NOT to pick up women.

Oh, and here’s a picture of this winner, because I know you’re all dying to see what a magnificent specimen he is…

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Feb 21 2014
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Ruminations

First Post!

I figure this is a decent enough topic for a first post, since it’s one of the bigger issues I’m dealing with at this point in my life. Some background… I’m in my early 30s. I’m single (obviously). I got out of a 5 year, long term relationship about a year ago, and I only recently started to feel like I was really ready to move on. The past year can be broken up as follows: 3-4 months grieving the loss of a relationship that I thought would result in marriage, 2-3 months of irrational anger towards my ex and his new girlfriend, remaining time spent partaking in some sort of partying/therapy hybrid mode with my very best friends. (Is there anything that time, some venting, and a fuck ton of gin & tonics won’t fix? If there is, I haven’t encountered it yet and I don’t want to.)

The other notable point I should probably make before I move on to discussing my process and feelings about dating on the interwebs is that I’m kind of fat. (GASP! SHOCK!) Yeah, that’s right, I said it. I’m kind of fat. Before you concern troll me, know that I’m not morbidly obese or anything, but I’ve definitely been shamed by various ex-boyfriends, mean girls, and one very snarky Wii Fit avatar. You might be wondering why this is even relevant. Perhaps you think I’m fishing for compliments, but let me assure you that I’m not. (And I’m rather terrible at accepting them, so if you were thinking of showering me with platitudes or using friendly euphemisms like “voluptuous”, just save it. I honestly hate that shit.) My weight is relevant to this conversation because I’m about 50-70 lbs too heavy to fit in with the conventional beauty standards that reign supreme here in Sunny San Diego. As such, my online dating experience is going to differ wildly from someone who is petite and conventionally attractive, and I feel it’s important to make that distinction so as to remain relatable.

At any rate, let’s talk about online dating, shall we? My online dating cesspool of choice is OkCupid, though I’m sure there’s not a whole lot of difference in user experiences on that site vs. other sites like Plenty of Fish or Match.com. I keep trying to convince myself that perhaps people are less creepy on sites that require you to pay for them, but I recently (and noncommittally) dipped my toes into the Match.com pool, and if anything, those dudes seem even more creepy than the OkCupid guys, so I’m back to square one with that theory. Anyway, like any other living, breathing woman with a pulse and the ability to take a reasonably flattering selfie, my profile gets a pretty decent amount of traffic. Not size 4, athletic, blonde girl traffic, mind you, but I still get multiple messages every day, particularly on days when I actually bother to go online and check out profiles.

Many of the messages I get are extremely short, poorly punctuated fragments like “hello” or “hey there” or the ever eloquent “what’s good beautiful”. And then there are the messages that are laughably terrible, the best of which I plan to post for your amusement under the “Okaaaaaaay Cupid…” tag on this blog. But every now and again, I get a decent, thoughtful message from a guy who doesn’t have a neckbeard and isn’t wearing a fedora, and I won’t lie, I get really excited when that happens. However, that sets into motion what I like to call the Online Dating Vetting Process.

First and foremost, I thoroughly read through a guy’s profile to try and suss out any trace evidence that there might be a fedora or 20 hidden in his closet, and he’s just wised up to the fact that he shouldn’t wear them in his profile pictures. Anything like a list of attributes women shouldn’t have is a clear red flag. Comments like “Most women are (insert gender specific stereotype here)” are a red flag. Phrases like, “I’m a nice guy!” or “Are you looking for someone who will treat you the way a woman should be treated?” Yep. You guessed it. Red. Flag. And last, but not least, if someone lists Atlas Shrugged as a favorite book or Ayn Rand as a favorite author… HUGE FUCKING RED FLAG. (People who are really into Ayn Rand are sociopaths and should be avoided at all costs. Sorry-not-sorry.)

Next, it’s time to look at pictures. That’s right, ladies and gents! I don’t look at the photos first. You know why? Because I don’t believe looks are the most important thing. Maybe you do, and that’s cool. But I’m all about those big, sexy brains. So if a guy knocks my socks off with an awesome profile, those few extra pounds or that lack of a full head of hair isn’t really going to bother me. Sure, looks matter to an extent, and anyone who says otherwise is probably lying. But given that I spend a fair amount of time challenging conventional beauty standards, it would be hypocritical of me to impose them on the people I’m trying to date. So, while I’m scrutinizing the pictures, here are the things I look for: Sincerity. Merriment (There’s nothing worse than someone who is trying to look “too cool for school” in every damn picture. SMILE ONCE IN AWHILE!). The ability to not take oneself too seriously. And lastly, I tend to be wary of guys who have a girl with them in every single photo. I get that maybe you’re not the type to take photos on your own, but come on! Ever heard of the “crop” tool? You can do that on your phone now, even! You know what makes a girl feel uneasy? The idea that she’s might end up going out with a guy who is so clearly hung up on his “best friend” that he left her in every single picture he posted on his online dating site. Cut that shit out, fellas! (To be honest, this advice isn’t just for the fellas. Ladies, same rules apply. On or two friend photos? Awesome. But you have to have some individual photos in the mix too.)

Lastly, and I realize that this is unique to OkCupid, I read the answers to his questions and compare them against mine. This is often even more telling than the profile itself, especially if you happen to find someone who explains his answers. Sure, an 85% match score probably seems quite high, until you’re scrolling through his answers and realize that he considers it impossible for someone to be attractive if they are even slightly overweight and also, he thinks it’s okay to use other peoples’ toothbrushes. (There really is a question for everything. Thanks OkCupid!) If by some small miracle, someone manages to get through these three levels of scrutiny and still seems like a cool guy, then it’s time to write a response message.

the best messages that I receive on OkCupid are the ones that make reference to something in my profile, and ask me questions about it. For example, I’m a big fan of 90’s rock and alternative music (because I’m awesome) and I talk about that in the “My Favorites” portion of my profile. One of the best messages I’ve received lately was from a guy who stated that he was also very into 90’s music, and asked the following: “If you could make an ultimate 90’s playlist using only 5 songs, which 5 songs would you choose?” Guys, I might still have responded to that message if the dude was wearing a fedora in his profile photo and started the message with “M’lady…” That’s how enthusiastic I am about talking about my favorite songs from the 90’s. (Thankfully that wasn’t the case and he seems like a pretty cool guy.) Needless to say, I wrote back.

I like to give it a maximum of 5 messages (combined for both of us) before someone sets a date to meetup, and honestly, sooner is better in my opinion. That’s because the absolute, single most important thing I’ve learned in my time spent dating online is that I can’t gauge chemistry without meeting in person. I can’t tell you how many really cute guys with great profiles who wrote awesome messages and with whom I had great banter ended up being completely underwhelming when I met them in person. (And in many cases, I suspect the feeling was mutual.) You just never can tell. So rather than waste my time messaging back and forth for weeks, I like to set up a meeting as soon as possible so that I can determine whether or not there’s even a snowball’s chance in hell of things moving forward.

This leads me to what I consider to be the most difficult part of online dating, hands down. Waiting for the first date. Friends, let me be honest for a minute and tell you that I have absolutely no idea what to think or how to feel leading up to a first date with someone I’ve met online. And I’ve gone on dozens of them by this point! Here’s the thing… Because I know that you can’t really determine whether or not you’ll have chemistry based on the messages you’ve exchanged, I try not to let myself get my hopes up too much because that just seems like I’m setting myself up for disappointment. (I’ve gone on a lot of first dates, but only a handful of second dates, and even fewer third dates. Only one guy so far has made it past date three, and he was really amazing, but sadly, a relationship just wasn’t in the cards for us.) On the other hand, though, I feel like I’m setting these poor guys up for failure. All those bad first dates have made me jaded, and my first instinct is just to expect mediocrity, but I know that’s really not fair. I would hate it if I knew someone was thinking of me that way. So if apathy is bad, but caring too much is also bad, what’s left? I don’t know if I’ll ever find an answer to that question. For now, the days prior to an OkCupid date always make me feel a little manic. I fluctuate between getting really excited, and then counteracting that excitement with a large dose of cynicism. I’m hopeful, but realistic. I give bullshit answers when people ask me questions like, “Are you excited?” because honestly, it’s not even worth it to try and explain these feelings to someone else who is probably just making polite conversation and doesn’t really care anyway.

So yeah. Those are my thoughts on online dating. I kind of hate it, but since I’m no longer in school and there aren’t an abundance of available single men in my established social sphere, I find it to be a necessary evil if I want to actually meet new people. A friend of mine described it thusly: “You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince!” and man, ain’t that the truth! But it only takes one awesome guy to make the experience worthwhile, and I’m still optimistic. I even have a third date scheduled for tomorrow night with 90’s Music Guy, so wish me luck!

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