Here is something funny I have learned about myself: I’m not great at processing fear or anxiety in a reasonable way. If something scares me or causes internal turmoil, I don’t cry, I don’t yell or get angry. I shut down, put on pajamas and read a book. If I’m in a REALLY bad way, my husband will find me in the fetal position laying in my closet staring at a wall or reading. This all waits until I get home. This doesn’t happen in public. In public the most you will notice is that I am not as focused and I’m quieter than usual. My husband doesn’t fear sobbing or a quivering lip. He fears the silence. Not the everyday quite of inactivity or sleepy puppy snuggles after work. Rather the silence that surrounds someone who has vacated reality for a time. I haven’t succumbed to the closet monster since we moved to California. I have read a about a hundred books though.
Reading was an incredible struggle for me as a child (between having the attention span of a hummingbird with a cocaine addiction and enough dyslexia that I still misread things in very amusing ways). My mom spent countless hours reading to me or having me read to her before naps or bed. I honestly don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have this literary escape. If I wasn’t able to put reality on hold for enough time that my brain is able to sort through whatever feelings I don’t have the courage to face head on. This is how I cope.
Lately I’ve read a lot. Specifically I have reread books that I love. I am doing this because they are a guaranteed escape that I will enjoy, in a world I already know, with characters I already love. When I get to part of the story that I know will pull at my heartstrings.. I skip it. because that’s what I am avoiding now. feeling.
Several years ago a doctor stumbled upon an anomaly on my kidneys. After some extensive testing, I was told I have a some benign growths on my kidneys that would have gone unnoticed until someone performed an autopsy on my very dead, very old body. I was advised that I should consider getting them checked every couple of years just in case.
This year I remembered that I am actually almost an adult and I should really get those looked at. My last ultrasound of the area was in 2006. So I went in, explained to my doctor that my kidneys have polka dots and that she should take a look at them. So she did. and she asked me to have my records sent over. So I did. and she said “hmmm….”
I can say definitively that this is not a sound you want to hear from your doctor. It seems that my polka dots decided that color blocking was all the rage in Kidneys this season. The largest spots were much larger.
She sent me to a Urologist. This was probably one of the more amusing doctors visits I’ve ever experienced. Mainly because I walked into the waiting room and a dude with a piss bag strapped to his leg was just chillin in the corner. Before you get all huffy that I am making fun of someone who is clearly sick and suffering, know that it was 55 degrees outside and he was wearing shorts with his bag hanging out in all of its urinary glory.
He owned that bag.
He ROCKED that bag.
He is my ZFG hero. Believe me when I tell you that trepidation about a doctors visit will be cured by the site of an old guy who doesn’t give a single fuck that his piss bag is showing.
They promptly took me to an exam room to wait for the doctor. I guess it never occurred to me that men frequent Urologist more than women as this little gem was hanging on the door.
There is nothing more reassuring than the site of a flaccid penis on the door and flyers for Cialis on the counter. You could say it warmed my cockles.
When the doctor came in, I assumed he had only recently earned the right to buy cigarettes and drive alone in a car. (I found out later that the adage about Asians not aging until the day they just deflate into something closely resembling a raisin is entirely accurate. It turns out the doctor was in his 40s.) I’m pretty sure he learned bedside manners from Dr. House. I found his straightforward lack of empathy strangely reassuring.
These positive feelings were somewhat diminished when he actively googled my condition on his phone while we were talking about it.
He explained that the growths were quite large, and let me know that there were options available to prevent further growth. He mentioned the results of one of these little bastards continuing to grow involved words like Hemorrhage and kidney failure. I asked he what he suggested I do given the size of the growths. He said that the choice was mine. This is not the answer I expected. I tried to explain to him that I am not a doctor and I haven’t even taken a biology class since high school. I really didn’t feel qualified to make decisions about the future of an organ whose use I couldn’t define outside of it had something to do with pee.
He mentioned a procedure that involves cutting a hole in your artery and shoving a tube inside to snake into your kidneys to blast a couple of mini silicon balls to block the blood flow to the growths. Apparently this is totally normal. My other option was to just wait around until they burst either from trauma or they grew so large then started to affect the function of other organs. But he stressed it was entirely up to me because clearly I know enough about this to make an educated choice. Obviously I would like to avoid the side effects mentioned.
The urologist then told me to talk to a more special specialist at another facility to schedule the procedure. This guy was kinda cool even though he totally name dropped during our phone consult. He basically told me that if I’m not a pussy I should be up and moving fairly soon after the surgery and that I would only feel slightly shitty. He seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing.
In these last few months, I quickly learned that after each doctors visit I was basically rendered useless for about half a day. My brain would shut down because mortality isn’t something I like to address. It seems to take me about that long for my brain to freak out and recover. In that time I would bury myself in a book while to help distract from the reality of life. I let all of this information process. I would eventually fall asleep and be good to go by morning.
At times I have trouble reminding myself that it’s not that big a deal and that I will be fine. But my greatest issue is talking about it. You see, I don’t like to telling people stuff like this. For some reason I am afraid my friends will think I am just looking for attention and sympathy. This is not the case, in fact I would rather not mention it at all to anyone. But if they found out later they would be pissed I didn’t say anything. I don’t like the look of sympathy, like I’m some sad Sarah Mclachlan commercial. I’m fine, I need you to think I’m fine, so I can actually convince myself that I am fine, and everything will be fine. There are people who are diagnosed with cancer and horrible disease and they battle on like the bad asses that they are. I don’t feel I have the right to be concerned about something so minor. I know it makes sense that I’m having a bit of a moment about it because this is happening to me and it sounds scary. It’s just easier to ignore it by running away in a story and going on adventures where kidneys don’t exist and I can still be an assassin mage princess ninja.
Lately it seems that if you want something to go viral make it a Disney princess mashup.
Like most american girls, I was brought up watching Disney movies. I had every princess movie, I played dress up and make-believe. I went to Disney World several times a year for most of my childhood. Sleeping Beauty is still my favorite Disney movie.
I was fortunate to be taught to take care of myself. I can change the oil in my car, change a tire, replace the breaks, fix drywall holes, mend busted sprinkler pipes, and a whole slew of other life skills. I was never told I couldn’t do something because I was a girl. My family supported me (and pushed me when I was ready to quit) to complete my bachelors degree. They have encouraged me to pursue a master’s degree or higher when I am ready to take on that challenge. When I knew it was time to change jobs I knew I had a solid foundation to make that change.
I was never told that I was a princess who deserves to have Prince Charming come take care of me.
The video below explains it rather well but there are still things even I disagree with.
My parents taught me to have the life skills necessary to support myself and my family.
They explained that life can change quickly so you better be able to step up to the challenge.
I was not raised to depend on another person for financial support.
You want a nice pair of stupid expensive heels? Great! Get a job earn some money and buy those hot ass shoes.
You want a big beautiful house with a white picket fence? Awesome! Get a job, manage your money, get a savings account, take out a mortgage and buy that big beautiful house.
Too many girls seem to think that all they need in life is a rich man who will take care of them. Why? What makes you so special that you’re entitled to spend someone else’s money without contributing?
To clarify, I am not referring to Stay at Home Mom’s and Dad’s. That is an unpaid full-time job; you are taking care of the house, managing the budget and raising kids. I am also not referring to people are physically or mentally unable to work. That would be a ridiculous standard to hold someone to. We can only do what is within our abilities.
What I am referring to are the girls who are waiting around for some guy to come rescue them from their mundane life. This is not a life goal sweetheart.
If your life sucks, that’s your fault. Go make it interesting. If you want money and nice things, go get a job, learn some skills and earn that money. If you want to be more cultured, go travel or read something other than a magazine.
Why are you waiting for someone else to handle it? If you aren’t happy with your life, that’s on you not on the person you will end up with.
Put your big girl panties on and take charge of your own damn life.
I don’t think its fair to the guys. Why should a man be expected to pay for your shit? We pressure men to make enough money to support a wife and kids. Ladies, we fought to vote, we are still fighting to stand on equal footing in the business world. why are we working this hard to turn around and expect or partners to pay for everything? You are not entitled to sit there and let some poor sap shower you with gifts and money. Reality TV shows are not something you should aspire to. Relationships are about working together as a team to meet your goals. If you and your partner decide that it is practical for you to stay home, that is great and you are very fortunate. I am sure you support them in a multitude of other ways. But to live with the expectation that you deserve and are owed the privilege to sit at home and do nothing but shop and drink while someone else takes care of you, that is complete bullshit. You are not a princess this is not a fairy tale. Grow. Up.
We all wish we had enough money to live in a mansion and do whatever we wanted all day everyday. That’s a great dream, that no one will hand you. You need to bust your ass to get it.
I read an awesome response to a girl who referred to herself as The Pretty Girl asking about finding a millionaire boyfriend. A response was given by someone claiming they are a millionaire. Basically they laid out why dating her is a poor business choice. Their money appreciates over time, her attractiveness will substantially depreciated as she gets older. She is not an asset. She has no skills to add to the bargain. Therefore it is a waste of time for them to do anything more than date attractive women. Millionaires are better off marrying women who are successful in their own right as they have something to offer to the partnership.
The only person responsible for your happiness and success is you.
If you want something, go get it.
If you don’t know how, learn.
If learning is hard, TOUGH! Life is hard. If need to ask for help it doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You might fall. Get up.
You have to work. If it wasn’t challenging it would be called play.
End motivational speech.
Random Disney side comment:
Ariel : No one told her she had to give up her fins for legs. She did that her damn self. She’s lucky he wasn’t a damn psycho.
Jasmine: Your dad keeps you locked in a castle against your will, be pissed at him. You turned down everyone and had to be tricked into liking someone…
Aurora: You were raised by three old ladies in the forest because your parents abandoned you, how the hell do you even know what a man looks like? Stockholm’s syndrome much?? Maybe don’t marry the guy who raped you in your sleep
Bell: Beast is nuts and violent. understandable as he was turned into that thing and can’t function. He locked your dad and you in a freaking dungeon cell. You think the dishes can talk, you need therapy not a wedding dress.
Cinderella: Move out, get a job as an animal trainer with Aurora. You can make clothes and shit.
Pocahontas: should have let your dad kill him. It ended badly for your people.
Snow White: Bitch all you have to do is cook and clean for a bunch of little guys who mine jewels and they feed you rent free?? what are you complaining about? And don’t take food from strangers because it leads to random dudes raping your in your glass coffin. #justsayin
Rapunzel: Seriously? again with the kidnapping, stockholm syndrome and therapy. Get a group rate going.
Mulan: Bitch gets shit done.
As supercilious as I am concerning how people dress and act, I am surprisingly open minded and nonjudgmental concerning how people choose to live their lives. For the most part I believe if you aren’t hurting anyone or yourself you should do whatever you want. I am a firm believer that you can reduce morality down to one simple rule: Don’t be a dick.
Don’t be a dick to other, and don’t be a dick to yourself. It’s simple.
Unfortunately, there are people who feel they are morally obligated to force their beliefs onto others. This is where we start to cross into the danger zone of becoming a Dick With Good Intentions. If you feel that it is necessary to force someone to do something against their will or to deny someone from basic right because you are worried about an esoteric essence inside them, you have fallen down the slippery slope and become a DWGI.
This weekend I watched my best friend from childhood marry her perfect mate. It was the most touching and beautiful wedding I have ever witnessed. I have been to a GAZILLION FREAKING WEDDINGS. This one takes the cake (wedding pun For the Win). You may ask why this one was so special. It was special because it was a wedding between two beautiful women in love, surrounded by their family and friends. These are two intelligent and loving people who want nothing more than to share their life together and build a family.
As a result of my love of their love, It absolutely pisses me the hell off that there are people who work to deny others the right to be recognized as a married couple. What kind of asshole tells someone else, “No, you can’t marry that person you love because it confuses my neither bits in the NO NO Zone and I don’t like that.” I can not even imagine how heart broken, distraught, and filled with spine breaking RAGE, I would be if someone told me that I could not marry my husband. It is cruel and unnecessary. No one should be able to tell anyone else they can’t marry the person they love. If you don’t want a homosexual marriage, then don’t marry a homosexual. Let them marry each other, everyone is happier that way.
Inequality deeply frustrates me. I feel empathetically for those who are being denied freedom to do what they want. This is possibly because I am the worst person at taking orders. To the degree that I can’t join group teams or classes because I don’t like being told to show up places routinely at a certain time. If you aren’t paying me, you don’t get to tell me when and where to show up. I do what I want.
Oddly enough given how opinionated, stubborn and independent I am, I have had several men act shocked when I said something about being a feminist. They usually say something along the lines of “You’re not a feminist, you’re too laid back to be like that and you make jokes…” They earn the eyebrow of sarcasm and scorn for this. I took feminism classes in college and argued with a variety of women on a vast array of topics that some see as un-feminist, but really they are just different schools of thought from different groups of feminists. It’s a shame that so many people (male AND female) seem to think that feminism means you hate men and wish to police all that they do and say; searching from some perceived misogynistic oppression. That is a big bag of NOPE. Sorry, not how it works. Answer this: Do you think women should be paid as much as men for the same exact work? Do you think that women should be allowed to have the exact same rights as men? If you answer yes: Boom feminist. Simple. As a feminist I feel compelled to fight for everyones right to equality and freedom even if it doesn’t directly effect me. Again it boils down to this: Don’t be a Dick. AND DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO.
I was in Wyoming for work last week.
Before I get started with my review of this experience, I feel that I need to air out my misconceptions concerning this state. This will give you a better understanding of my response to the experience.
What I expected:
Sheriff Longmire in a hat, on a horse, in about 10 feet of snow, or 100 degree desert weather.
A waffle house, general store, and someplace famous for their chili that is run by a lady named Miss Patty.
Native Americans EVERYWHERE.
At least one buffalo.
What welcomed me the first day:
Not a single thing on the list above because Longmire lied to me.
6 “Asian” restaurants and 1o Mexican places
The Walmart where every single People Of Walmart photo was taken.
While we were driving to Rock Springs, Wyoming from the Salt Lake city Utah airport (a.k.a The land of numerous wives), I observed that the landscape looked similar to West Texas. Dry, covered in dirt, with sad little scrubby plants, and a few out of place flowers. It looks like a desert. At any moment you expect a band of cowboys to come riding down the ridge to attack a wagon train or some crap.
On our first full day we started to notice some storms off in the distance. A phenomena I haven’t witnessed since I left the flat lands of Florida. And then it started raining and raining some more. In fact, it did not stop raining for two days. Yet for some unknown magical, mystical, middle of nowhere, bullshit reason my lips chapped and the inside of my nose crusted over with a blood infused cement booger hybrid. Every morning I woke up and praised Jesus that I didn’t asphyxiate in my sleep.
We had asian food, steak, sushi (because it was different than the Asian food place) and the free dinner the hotel provides. Much to our surprise we didn’t actually die from eating sushi and it was the place everyone recommended when we asked where to eat. The steak house was a steak house, there was booze, meat, 70’s wood paneling and the necessary taxidermy that provides just the right amount of testosterone overload to season your steak. This was the nicest place around. Everyone that worked there wore bow ties and looked appropriately miserable.
We stopped at Walmart for snacks and at some point we were transported to middle earth. It was like a strange middle america petting zoo filled with normal creatures dressed exotically. It’s like the Fashion train stopped at the Little House on the Prairie and everyone got the hell off. I learned at lot about the possibilities of layering. For example, I was unaware that one could layer various pieces of leopard print lycra with intermittent layers of bright red lycra that had been sold by the acre. They didn’t really have a “No Shirt, No Shoes, no service” policy so much as a “Cover your naughty bits ’cause Jesus is watchin'” policy. It seemed to work for them. I’m pretty sure that everyone has a plaid couch and a deer painting somewhere in their house.
What they lack in current fashion options that aren’t plaid or camo, they make up for by being just about the nicest people on the planet. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone one say anything stronger than “well they’re somethin’ else, I guess…” as a negative remark. Though that could be the midwestern version of “Bless their heart”. After three days I started to recognize people, by day four we all started to say “Hi” to each other. I think it’s the water. The urge to start teasing my hair grows with each passing moment and I considered buying aqua net on more than one occasion. If I pickup a three wolf moon picture I give you permission to cut my hand off and ship me back to California.
Other than the Walmart, there was a strip club somewhere that I was never able to locate called the “The Bareback Saloon” and oddly enough, considering the name, was suppose to be mostly naked ladies not dudes. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment other than a few bars and a drive thru liquor store. I don’t drink anymore so bars turn into a weird exercise in freaking out social drinkers by ordering a coke and watching them try and figure out if I am a recovering alcoholic or pregnant. The answer is neither by the way. I just can’t drink alcohol in any amount without getting migraines.
As if the rain wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass, at some point during the week the temperature decided to dip into the 20’s at night and maybe squeaked into the 50’s and 60’s during the day. I had exactly one jacket. Im pretty sure it saved my life. I didn’t realize until I walked to the car one morning that I had on brown steel toe boots, brown man-pants, and my brown jacket. I looked like a giant walking turd. My options were continue to look like a poop or freeze my tits off. I chose warmth. On the topic of freezing to death, we were informed that it can snow 12 months out of the year in Wyoming and the question still remains, why do people live there? We finally had to ask what all the weird fences were next to the road. It turns out they require fences to stop the snow drift from closing down roads. These are not temporary structure brought out in the winter. These are permeant fixtures because the frost giants like to visit year round.
The day we drove to the airport to fly home, we stopped at Little America (combination truck stop, diner, motel and final resting place of your last scrap of dignity if you sleep there) for breakfast. It was the only place with trees for about 300 miles. They have road signs starting from 100 miles away and they are posted just about every 50 feet in case you missed the last one because you were distracted by the splendid vistas.
Road sign 600 of 900000.
look at this picture, now imagine this but for hundreds of miles with the occasional Butte thrown in for variety.
Little America was built whenever classic diners were just diners. All the buildings are brick with colonial white columns. The whole place looks like a slasher movie set in the 1950’s. Except there is a dinosaur in front of the restaurant and the random nightmare penguins on all of the roofs.
We enjoyed a decent meal and completed out 3 hour drive to the nearest international airport that happens to be in another state.
We arrived home safely and my body is happy to be at sea level. My skin is eternally grateful for the humidity. My brain trembles at the possibility I will be returning to Wyoming in the near future. Next time I will know to bring a parka, a teasing comb, my hair spray and a bottle of angel tears to moisturize my skin.
I imagine we have all seen articles that definitively state a number of things we should start or stop doing right this minute, or things we MUST try before we die or places you MUST see before you’re __ years old.
I hate this trend in articles. I have gotten to the point where I will purposely avoid reading them because I dislike the way they formatted their title. I don’t know if I am the only one that feels this way or if it’s just a weird mental quirk of mine but it just irritates me. I feel that these articles should have a sub title that adds “in our opinion” at the end of it.
I understand that there are whole websites that are dedicated to lists of crap they feel you need to conform yourself to. I even read some of them, like http://www.buzzfeed.com and http://www.cracked.com . I just get annoyed when some ass-hat writes an article telling me how to live my life. As though their advice and vast existential wisdom will somehow change my life by telling me to “let go of negative thoughts”. Thanks, I don’t know how I have managed to live my life without that little gem of guidance. I can now move forward and with my mundane existence feeling enlightened by these blessed bits of knowledge.
The worst to me are articles telling you what you should NEVER say to women/men/children/sentient vegetables or whatever. Most of the time these articles make an assumption about the context or are so freaking obvious that it doesn’t merit being added. If you need to be told by some random dude with publishing ability online, that telling your significant other that they are fat slob and you find them sexually underwhelming, then article isn’t going to suddenly make you a less terrible person. Its too late you are irreversibly a catastrophic fuck-up.
Soo good luck with that.
We recently moved to a new apartment and it doesn’t Suck! So far, no one has been arrested or had their doors kicked in by armed federal agents! This is a 100% improvement from the first day at our last place. Based on that alone it’s a superior living situation. Our old neighbors were the standard apartment neighbors that greet you as you pass but other than that you try not to make eye contact or conversation. We had 2 bed 1 bath with a total of three windows and no air conditioning or air flow. (the bear throws off about a million jules of heat at night. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sleep with a snoring furnace next to you?) God, I hated that freaking apartment. All of it. From the beige carpet, to the windowless kitchen, to the soul sucking feeling that permeated every inch of the property. (these are first world problems).
When they told us the rent was going to go up if we wanted to renew our lease, we decided that it was time to find someplace new. I had two requirements: air conditioning and a second bathroom. If there is anything worse than trying to sleep when you are hot, it’s needing to pee REALLY BADLY when someone is taking a poop.
The Bear found the new place and we were able to take a tour about 2 days before we were expected to sign the lease and move in. They have the complex set up so that the balconies face each other with a courtyard area in between. There are some big ass Red Wood trees hanging around that give the place an awesome FernGully feel. I love it.
We eventually got most of our crap packed, and signed our lease, only to have U-Haul cancel our truck and not get us a replacement until almost 5 at night. Around 8pm, after a shitty day dealing with the trucks and getting it loaded, we roll up to the new place exhausted and irritable and still need to take all of the heavy furniture up the stairs to the new place. I was robustly questioning my strength and endurance. When out of the shadows rides a suburban knight in shining basketball shorts, a neighbor asks if we want some help. Being the cynics we are we say “yes” but expect him to not come back. Except he did come back. And he actually helped. He helped so much I barely had to carry any of the awkward furniture. Helped us for like two hours. So we gave him pizza and got to know our first neighbor.
At this point we figured he was a One Off because we learned that at one point in his life he was studying to be an ordained Jesuit priest and he currently works at a non-profit that helps people with mental illnesses. Basically, he’s a Saint.
This belief lasted until the first morning we woke up and took the two idiot dogs down to the fairy courtyard to pee. And we met our neighbor who walks her Cat. She happily introduced herself and her cat. She remembers our names and our dogs names. She says hi every time we see her. We also met the neighbor across from us, the neighbor below us, the neighbors next to us and the neighbors from the corner building. They talk to each other. Often. They know each others names. They have actual conversations. With. Each. Other. Doors are left open. Balconies are social areas of gathering, and IT’S THE WEIRDEST THING WE HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED. But, it’s a nice weird. I am slowly learning to tone down my bitch face. Strangers rarely flinch when I make eye contact these days.
Yesterday we finally finished unpacking and decorating and I think it looks great. It’s a good balance of our personalities. I look forward to inviting people over for games and food. At our last place, the apartment never felt clean or finished. I never wanted to invite people over because I hated being there. I didn’t cook often and chores would sit for weeks undone.
Its amazing how a few adjustments in your life can so drastically change your whole outlook. 6 months ago, I was in a miserable job that I hated, an apartment I couldn’t stand to be in, and I was feeling pretty shitty about my future. So, I found a new job that I love. like, I really love it. As in, I look forward to going to work every single day. We got a new apartment, that I also love. I could happily see us staying in for more than a year.
I’ve even started doing stuff I enjoy again. I started swimming and my awesome company is sponsoring me to swim a mile in a fundraiser for a local Women’s Cancer Resource center. If you would like to help, you can donate here: http://www.wcrc.org/swim/profiles/swimmer/id/2169
The last month has been a world wind of change. and I couldn’t be happier with how things are going right now. I am glad that I was able to grit my teeth and get through the shitty time in order to fully enjoy and appreciate all that I have right now.
“Preder et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim.” Ovid
Be patient and strong; someday this pain will be useful to you.
I remember getting embarrassed about EVERYTHING as an adolescent. I couldn’t even walk past the bra section in a store with out turning 10 kinds of red. (Fortunately I was flat as a sheet of paper until college.) I was obsessed with what people thought of me, how I looked and if people liked me. Typical teenage girl neurotic bullshit. Which was made worse by the fact that I was growing at all times and my arms and legs were unpredictable in their movements. This caused me to trip, fall, knock shit over and break things constantly.
I have noticed that as I grow older, I care considerably less or not at all in some cases. Most people assume that I am awash with self confidence. Which is not entirely true (I do trust in my abilities and judgement when it comes to things I’m knowledgeable of). Most of the time what people see isn’t self confidence but a total lack of Fucks to Give in any situation I may be encountering.
I have spent much of my adult life standing in front of groups of people ranging from children to grown ass adults and instructing them on a wide variety of bullshit. This is not an example of my confidence, this is an example of how good I am at pretending I am super excited to be there. Whenever I start to get nervous and start to think “oh sweet fucking christ Im going to fuck this up and they are going to laugh at me and I am going to die.”
I stop myself and remember that I really don’t give a shit what these ass-hats think of me, I just need them to soak in the epic knowledge I am about to blast all over their
facesbrains. So far it’s the most effective teaching tool on my box. (yeah I just wrote that.)
I have come a long way from the child who would rather die than talk about human body functions. I hope that this is just one of the graces of growing older and more experienced in life. There are many life examples that I have lead me to believe that the fucks given only go down from here.
Think about the elderly people you see around you. They don’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t make them happy.
You are driving down the road and they need to be in your lane, well you better hit the brakes motherfucka because Aunt Bea is commin over.
You go to a restaurant and notice a group of elderly ladies sitting at a table, and they run out of butter or something, they don’t wait for the server to come back, hell no that hand is up in the air and they are waving the empty butter thing around.
You are in the farthest stall in 4 stall restroom trying to covertly poop in a hellhole public restroom, Grandma is too old and too tired to worry about stall spacing etiquette, hell no, she’s taking the stall right the fuck next to you and she’s gonna blast ass like she’s at home. Why? because when a good bowel movement hits she’s gonna take advantage of whatever bathroom she can find. If she wants privacy, she can turn her hearing aid down. You get to sit there in abject horror debating if you should wait for her to leave for follow her example.
Think about any public locker room ever. All the naked people who don’t even bother with a towel are older than dirt. You don’t see the young fit people rolling out in the buff, nope they change in the stalls or in the corner of the locker room at lightning speed. Old people Air Dry. Because. They. Don’t. Give. A. Single. Fuck.
I say we get this party started early and stop giving a shit about what other people think. Boom instant happiness!
I am not much of a video game person. I am more of a go outside and hike through the woods to commune with the natures type, or the sit inside reading about people who ride dragons and shit. As a kid the only video game I remember playing with any ability was NBA Jams on my brother’s Sega Genesis. The only reason I was even remotely successful (I use this term very loosely) was because I could consistently jam the buttons with just the right amount of abandon to result in some amazing dunks that made the announcer yell “BOOM SHAKALAKA”. Video games just never really appealed to me, I never had the attention span and I was usually kicked outside to go play or going to some type of sports practice. This has had a two fold influence on me, it taught me to enjoy physical activity and it gave me a raging case Ultra Competitiveness. So when my loving husband expressed a desire to get me to play a computer video game, I was hesitant.
I am pretty sure he was born with a game controller in his hand. To the level that I refuse to play Wii games with him bc I suck so hard at them and he wins so easily I just get pissed off and want to throw the controller THROUGH THE GODDAMN FUCKING ASSHOLE TV THAT DOESN’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT SHOOTING A REAL FUCKING GUN! He then takes the controller away from me and we sit in awkward silence until the moment passes.
You can see how playing some stupid game on a computer would not sound like an awesome plan to me. But, I love him and it was something that he wanted me to try so gave him my laptop and he downloaded Diablo III. For the non-nerd readers, this is a game where you can choose a character and use said character to slaughter demons and shit. There is a whole story line behind it and you have to go rescue people and find random shit to give to other people and its complicated but the gist is that you get to murder the fuck out of some stuff. As you kill stuff you achieve high levels. Now of course the Bear is like level nine million and his character looks like a tank with legs carrying a giant dick shaped sword of death.
I picked my character based on the fact that she had the best shoes. Because,standards and priorities. So I get all pumped about the chick and I click on the choose button and BOOM all the cute clothes she was wearing in the display section are gone and I am left with what looks like a syfy channel stripper. Thigh high boots, a mini skirt and a bathing suit top. That’s it. Turns out in these games you have to earn the right to wear clothes and armor. That, my friends, is a big bag of Dicks.
So I try to stay positive because I love my husband and he loves video games. I start the game running about in my thigh highs boots of destruction and a peashooter looking weapon. I run around killing stuff with some assistance from the Bears Barbarian of CockThunder and I earn a few levels. Now so far its been kinda fun. It turns out a bunch of people I know play this game ( ok… I know four people who play this game). One of my friends, who is like a level 20 trillion wizard of wrath or some shit, say “hey join my game and I will help you level up faster”. So, I’m all “ok cool I can do that!” so I join his game. Literally died immediately. My character is so pathetic a demon fart killed me.
Remember how I mentioned I have a raging case Competitiveness? Yeah, lets just say I had a relapse. The beast has been given a taste of cyber blood and will not be sated until I reach max level and “I WILL KILL FUCKING EVERYTHING!!”
Two days later and only playing when I get home from work and they gym, I have two characters now and both are 27 levels higher. My first character is now fully clothed and has both amazing shoes and jewelry and my second is named Thunder Thigh and she looks like a Valkyrie. My husband now has to tell me when its a good time to go to bed. He has threatened to put parental controls on my computer and he looks more concerned everyday. I don’t think he anticipated this response. I say that he got what he asked for so he can’t complain.
Now. BRING ME MORE DEMONS!!!!
side note: he said I am not allowed to have a World of Warcraft account… wonder why..
The term Psychopath is overused as a descriptor of people we dislike. Allow me to outline a few of the tendencies of a true psychopath are (according to This site). I have added some hypothetical examples of what it might look like in your work place.
a few traits of a Psychopath:
1. Glib superficial charm. Someone who only charms those who they hope to get something from. Provides fake smiles and compliments to attempt a level of warmth that is blatantly insincere.
2. Grandiose self perceptions. Convinced they are the most important person and nothing will function without them. Telling others that the coworkers who are below them are not as important in the company because they could do it all on their own. Only supporting those who are willing to grovel at their feet and pet their substantial egos.
3. Constant need for stimulation. Always sticking their nose into other areas even if it has nothing to do with them. Even if there are other head managers who are responsible for that area. Assigning tasks that are not even in someones job description or area because they don’t even know that.
4. Pathological lying. Will outright lie to others about things going on around them, to the point they forget the truth. Talking in circles so they can flip flop their statement at will to avoid ever appearing incorrect even if everyone sees right thought it.
5. Cunning use of manipulation. Attempting to set people against each other by telling lies or half truths. Attempting to bait people to turn them against their managers and act as informants because no one talks to them.
6. Lack of guilt or remorse. Screwing over someone below them unnecessarily in the name of “Business needs and consistency” without batting an eyelash.
7. Shallow emotional response. Questioning someone who is actively responding to an injury because they don’t actually know what is suppose to be done, so they assume it’s wrong even when it’s textbook perfect. Even questioning if that head injury REALLY needs to go to the ER.
8. Lack of empathy. The inability to realize people with kids, who have worked here for years, shouldn’t be forced out of the job because they no longer like that persons availability. Not promoting someone who has a decade of experience in the department because it’s easier to manipulate them if you tell them that even after ten years they aren’t ready yet.
9. Unrealistic goals. Expecting a team of 3 agents and 2 managers to complete the same job with 100% success in a department that has enough hours for 5 agents 2 managers. And being upset when there isn’t coverage.
10. Can’t take responsibility for their actions. Not being able to admit when they don’t know what they are talking about and blaming it on someone else. Trying to blame others for their low coworker opinion scores even though it names them specifically.
Can you imagine working for someone like that? It would really suck. It might make you consider leaving a a company; even after a cross country move and 4 years of hard work and dedication. Working for someone that horrible could cause you to change your life goals because you aren’t willing to sacrifice your dignity on the alter of their ego.
But don’t worry. It might just force you to look for new opportunities that you never knew existed. You might just step out of your comfort zone and into a position that will support your growth and advancement. So I guess psychopaths aren’t all that bad if you know how to handle the situation.