I’m Not Dead

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I’ve started this post about 12 to 15 times and every single time I have the urge to write a sentence about how hard it is to put everything into words. Today I’m acknowledging, there’s no easy way for me to start this post. So here, you can have this useless paragraph chock-full of my own obsessive self awareness.

Around this time two years ago I was going through a really difficult breakup. One that woefully dug up every tenuous root of in life and left me hating the person I’d become. I was drinking way too much and floating through life like a sloppy clumsy shell of a person. I woke up every morning feeling like a body with no purpose, realizing that I hadn’t felt like myself since I moved to Los Angeles in the first place.

The sad truth is that I wasn’t myself. I was desperately searching for an identity that was with me all along, hiding almost. I wanted to be part of the big creative machine, I wanted to share a unique perspective, I wanted to live in an entertaining world that I helped to create. I wanted to make people laugh, I thought it was my purpose. I thought if I really put my mind to it, I could create outstanding animated comedy.

Slowly but surely, I broke off parts of myself and let them die. I became so obsessed with being the person I thought my bosses wanted me to be, I ceased to have a personality. I lived in fear for my job, every single day I woke up afraid I’d get fired for something that hadn’t happened yet. I lived in perpetual anxiety, juggling however many tasks my bosses placed upon me. I hated myself when I wasn’t good enough, and they constantly told me that I wasn’t good enough. So I constantly hated myself.

You can’t fully live your life when you hate yourself. You’ll always be slugging forward, yearning for the next opportunity to escape. Drinking copious amounts of whatever liquor I could get my hands on was my personal escape. I had a lack of “off switch” which was terrible for my brain and overall health. I wasn’t nice to myself for almost five years. 

Whether it be binge drinking, restrictive eating, binge eating, or over-exercising… I was a complete asshole to myself for about five consecutive years.

So how do you just magically stop yourself from implosion? How do you turn off that constant negativity? How do you quiet the criticism?

You figure out what drives you.

This sounds like bullshit from a self-help book, but I really mean it. Your version of success isn’t the same as someone else’s. Your dream job, dream home, and dream partner are all different. There is no template for what is going to fulfill you and make you feel whole, you just have to keep trying to see what fits for you. WARNING: This process feels pretty similar to being run over by an SUV repeatedly, but that’s okay: it’s supposed to.

During my studies in Becoming a Human Being 101 I learned that playing a team sport was the missing ingredient in my life.  In hindsight, I never found a passion for soccer, basketball or track. I had nothing that drove me other than being naturally gifted. I enjoyed so many aspects of being an athlete, but I didn’t love the game. 

With football, I don’t care how frustrated, angry, depressed, exhausted, confused, maniacal, and obscene I get. I don’t care that I turn into a sputtering overly caffeinated monster no matter what context I play in. I don’t care that my physicality rubs people the wrong way (plz appreciate that humor.) I  I will always look forward to stepping on the field again. Every single struggle is worth it because I get to keep playing football. I understand that I am obsessed, I understand that it’s not traditional, but when the fuck have I ever been traditional at any point in my life?

I’d say if anything I was hypnotized by the game because I was so infatuated with a man who shared this passion. I knew from the moment I first got my ass kicked by him in coed flag football that he was special to me. Not because of his appearance (he was wearing neon leggings and a skull cap the first time I spotted him) but because of the way he carried himself (despite looking like a clown.) The blind confidence with which he dissected my shitty defense, the no-mercy sportsmanship even though we were losing unequivocally… There was something special about this pompous asshole that drew me in. Against my better judgement.

Now, a year or so later, I’m living with that pompous asshole. He has taken me under his beefy wing and showed me a world within Los Angeles that I didn’t know existed. He brought out the girl I remembered from high school… The girl with a concerning amount of tenacity and aggression (an amount that could require intense psychological intervention without proper supervision.) The girl who wore clothing that matched her mood. The girl who laughs so hard she snorts and then chokes on her own spit. The girl who constantly wants to create and express herself.

Whatever obstacles I face in this life, I am comfortable. I am confident that I can handle anything that comes my way. I am unafraid, I am safe. I am myself.

cat cat face pussycat cat eye

Photo by Hardeep Bhagat on Pexels.com

Meow.

Anger

This has been a confusing year. I struggle to write, I’m afraid of what will come out. I am angry. Very angry. I try to push aside the reasons why I’m angry, but some days they hit me all at once while I’m taking a shower and of course that’s fucking useless. It’s hard to get myself to sit down and let this all out because it’s not a pleasant feeling. Sitting here, at my computer slamming on the keys so loudly I might wake Kaker up from a sound sleep. But here we are, so let’s see if I have the balls to post this.

I went to a great school for writing. I don’t think going to Boston University necessarily made me a better writer. I think I learned useful tools and I became a lot more savvy in formatting and ‘tricks of the trade.’ I learned how to create a polished script. I met people who will probably be successful someday because they went to Boston University. But no, my education did not make me a better writer and I’m not sure if that’s even what I was expecting in the first place.

I was (do people still use italics in this way?) expecting help in my career. WHY ELSE DO YOU GO TO COLLEGE OTHER THAN FOR HELP IN YOUR CAREER? PLEASE ANSWER ME THAT QUESTION WITH ANYTHING LOGICAL OTHER THAN TO RAGE YOUR FACE OFF.

The main reason why I ultimately chose Boston University was because of the LA Internship program. In a sick and twisted turn of events I can honestly say that internship program was one of the most hellish experiences of my entire life. That’s not entirely BU’s fault, it was a combination of things (eating disorder, long distance relationship, being broke as shit, eating disorder.) Let’s talk more about BU for a second though.

Boston University sells you on the idea that they will hook you up with your first internship. They will give you the proverbial “foot in the door.” They sell you on the 500+ LinkedIn connections the internship program coordinator has developed across the industry. What they don’t tell you is that at the end of the day your internship quality depends entirely on the bias of that program coordinator (and that she is insufferable and unhelpful.)

I told her my interests (horror films, death, and violence) and she gave me the names of 3 people who I had to reach out to personally and set interviews up with. I guess you pay for this ludicrously expensive program on the hopes that she hooks you up with a solid email address? I didn’t get anyone solid. The one interview I set up from her ~contacts~ sent me to a small apartment in mid-city with three middle-aged men and a small yappy blind dog named Tiberius. They called themselves a production company, I call them four weirdos who were too delusional to get a real job. The only upward mobility at that place was into one of their beds as their night time companion. I don’t even mean that in a sexual way, I mean in the “let’s stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and talk about hypothetical philosophical scenarios” way.  

For the BULA program I had to “take initiative” (entertainment folk are big on taking initiative which really means doing someone else’s job for them) and go find my own internship. I found mine by browsing Entertainment Careers (the equivalent of entertainment Craigslist.) The only reason I chose to intern on The Jeff Probst Show was because they hired off the phone and it was with CBS distribution and at least I’d heard of CBS before. Everyone had, Jesus.

I don’t really want to talk about either of my internships other than to say they were utterly useless and demoralizing. (Has the highlight of your day ever been walking onto the empty set of Judge Judy to avoid being yelled at by an angry cab driver you refused to give your cell phone number to?) My night classes with Boston University were no better… At one point my “professor” (a washed up entertainment lawyer) gave us a breakdown of how much money we should expect to make our first year out of college and how far that income would take us in LA. He literally drew out a pie chart of all of our expenses. This wonderful chart showed us that we would barely make enough to live on. And that was IF ANY ONLY IF we were lucky enough to get our dream job as a Production Assistant. For reference, the average PA makes $15 per hour which is roughly $30,000 per year. For more reference, the cheaper end of rent in a safe part of Los Angeles is $1,000 per month… Meaning over a third of your income is devoted solely to making sure you’re not homeless. Again, that’s if you are #blessed with such a sacred opportunity.

Fuck. At the time I thought this was all worth it because I loved writing so much and it was the only thing I REALLY knew how to do. Since I was a little girl (who looked like a boy) writing stories of my cat taking a dump so large his litterbox couldn’t contain it. Since my second grade teacher praised my mediocre story about a penguin following a trail of pizzas to a cave of jewels. Since my sixth grade teacher gave me my only A+ ever and told me that he wanted a signed copy of my book when I was a famous writer someday. Failure wasn’t an option because so many people expected me to succeed. Failure was never an option.

Until it was. I felt myself failing, I felt myself accepting that I was failing. Since I officially gave up on writing as my career I have not shared a single new piece of writing with anyone. That was on June 1st of 2017. Since that day I’ve tried to reconcile who the fuck I really am behind all of this anger and pain.

Can I still be a writer even though this town has essentially told me, no? Do I even like to write anymore? Am I even a good writer? Was I ever a good writer? Am I just a simple white girl from Minnesota with made up problems and excessive angst?

The only thing I knew for sure this year was that I am an athlete. I could not prove anything else. I embraced the one part of my identity that was clear and obvious to me. I slowly chipped away at the parts of myself that detracted from being an athlete. I quit drinking, I ran screaming from all things entertainment, and I embraced those who accepted this new version of myself. The brooding and pseudo-artistic part of me took a backseat, only escaping for brief moments of “what the fuck?” My frustration turned slowly but surely into unbridled anger. All negative emotions were recycled into a giant heaping blob of Anger.

Kaker lovingly calls me an angry bitch. My male teammates tell me I play best when I’m angry. My coaches are begging me to channel my anger. You’d think at this point I would constantly be foaming at the mouth. Unfortunately I am a complicated woman and my brain often does the opposite of what I’d like it to do. But I’m sick of suffering from my own mentality. I’m sick of being victim of my own insecurity.

I’m sure as hell done being a victim of other people’s insecurities.

I have nothing to lose anymore. I’ll never be someone’s assistant again. I’ll never serve as another woman’s emotional punching bag. I’ll never be that resume that someone looks at and thinks “I’ll hire this girl because at least I know she won’t quit after putting up with my bullshit.” I’ll never comprehend why any of those women thought it was ok to treat another human being the way they treated me and every assistant they had before or after me. You call yourselves feminists but I call you imposters.

I wake up on Saturday morning for my tackle football practice and I think of these women. I think of the 10 dollars per hour I killed myself over, I think of the walls of iMessage I would receive at 2:00 am on a Saturday, I think of the lies and deception I witnessed firsthand but stayed silent for. I feel myself growing angrier and angrier.

When I line up across from a girl in a tackling drill, I think about my first boss in Los Angeles. The one who started it all. I visualize her name, I repeat it over and over again in my head. I can feel it stuck to my tongue like spoiled milk. I think of how many times I had to clean up pee soaked potty pads from the floor of her apartment, how many plates of disgusting microwaved dog food I had to concoct and make palatable for two dogs with a higher net worth than me, how many useless tasks I was assigned on half-baked ideas that would never amount to anything. It’s hard not to want to beat the shit out of someone.

The problem with my anger is that sometimes it gets stuck and forms into a funnel cloud in my brain. That funnel cloud grows more and more ominous each time I fuck up. After enough frustration and failure I’ve got a full on tornado swirling around in my brain. The tornado that screams

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Why are you so stupid?”

“Why can’t you figure this out?”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The easiest person to be angry with is yourself. I find myself randomly frustrated that I chose to go to school for film, I find myself randomly frustrated that I drank myself stupid most weekends since I got to college, I find myself randomly frustrated that I allowed employers to treat me the way they did for so many years. What do I do with this anger? How do I move past my own transgressions when the laundry list seems to grow by the day? How the fuck do I turn around the goddamn funnel cloud?

If you are similarly struggling with these questions, I encourage you to stop living in the past. Stop fixating on the things you did wrong and focus on the things you’ve done right. Realize now that you are on the top of a mountain, you are looking over the destruction. It’s easy to get stuck in the chaos and never pull yourself out, but you have done that. Being angry at your former self does not help your future self. Anger is not the opposite of happiness, but you still cannot let the anger consume you.

I have a hard time admitting that I’m proud of myself because I still feel like I haven’t done enough. I don’t feel like I can truly be proud until I have accomplished the things I set out to accomplish. I am happy that I am moving in the right direction but I’m not done. I’m not ready to sit back and accept this. I have grown stronger from the bullshit of the last 5 years, even the self inflicted bullshit. All of the bullshit was worth it to feel like I have purpose and a future.

Writing this didn’t feel great, but it’s a start. My instinct is to make sure this never sees the light of day, but who knows. Maybe someone else can benefit from reading this, or maybe someone who was wondering how I am doing behind the social media facade will feel enlightened. If you didn’t feel like reading every word- the summary here is:

  • I’m angry
  • I’m going to write again
  • I’m scared

 

Twenty Something Eat Pray Loving

Now that I’ve experienced prolonged unemployment, a painful break-up, and nearly fatal car explosion (jk?) all within the span of a few months… I think it’s time for my twenty-something Eat Pray Love style melodramatic existential crisis. This is a book/movie I’d hoped I would never have to reference, but here I sit, at work… I ate rice and beans mixed with a soggy veggie burger for dinner last night with a can of Coors Light before walking to an Open Mic night in one of the most pathetically stereotypical starving Los Angeles artist nights of my life.

 

At Open Mic Night I took a massive bite of a (legal) edible marijuana rice krispy bar midway through the show, assuming I wasn’t going to perform because my name hadn’t been drawn. Not sure why I assumed that. Of course, I got called LAST and by that point was a few beers deep and HIGH AS ALL FUCK. The kind of high where your eyes are red slits and you keep giggling at the salt shakers on your table remembering Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper  from Blue’s Clues (Luis and Erik if you’re reading this we should totally do them as a joint Halloween costume.) Set still went well, all things considered. No, I didn’t record it… I haven’t recorded ANY since my first one because every single time I go I get all jittery and forget to tell whoever I’m with to record it. IDIOT.

 

My goal for 2016 was to perform in at least TWO open mic nights. I set the bar low because I didn’t know how long I’d get explosive diarrhea before every performance. Luckily that wore off after I had 7 minutes in front of a basically empty bar where I only got pity laughs (and obligatory laughs from my endlessly supportive and reliable hype man.) Well guess what? I’ve performed 7 times now! Bitches can’t tell me nothin.

 

If you feel like embarking on your own Eat Pray Love journey, I’ll give you my advice on how to get started. Granted, this is mostly terrible advice coming from a completely uncertified and unqualified source. Make of it what you will.

 

Spend Some Quality Time With People You Hate: Nothing reminds you of who you are quite like hanging out with people who annoy you. Go to some event where you’ll see a lot of people you’ll hate. For me, this would be one of the following: A fancy networking gala, a CrossFit competition, a zen Yoga Group, an Improv Show, or some sort of seminar on the meat packing industry. I know I’m going to be surrounded by people who share a passion that conflicts with mine, and I’ll be in the minority. Such a reality check, because I can never keep my mouth shut but this forces me to. Sometimes you just need a bunch of people to tell you that you’re wrong, and it’s even more powerful when you HATE the people.

 

Hobbies, Find Em: I joined two soccer leagues and a flag football league. I try to go to the above referenced open mics at least once per week when I don’t have a soccer game. I also try to set up networking drinks as frequently as I can manage (never.) When you fill your week with activities you have less time to be sad about sleeping alone in your cat litter laden bed (at least you can pretend you went to the beach?) I’m realizing that I actually really enjoy outdoorsy activities, like camping. These hobbies are helping me become ~a more complete woman~

 

Force Yourself Not to Be An Idiot: You know all those instincts you’ve developed over the years? Your impulse to run from all complicated scenarios? Your tendencies to shut people out when you feel them getting too close? That weird thing where you pick at the skin on your knuckle until you bleed and people ask you if you got into a fight and you have to lie and say your cat scratched you? Your Eat Pray Love period is a great time to try to retrain those. It’s painful as hell and you’re going to feel like a toddler screaming and shitting yourself every day. You might even actually shit yourself- in which case… Give me a call for diaper recs.

 

Don’t Put Up With Bullshit: When I was in high school I would convince myself that the CLEARLY douchey guy I had a crush on, who by some grace of da lord started to give me attention, was actually a great guy. I asked him if he liked me, he said “I like your ass.” I told him that I didn’t want to just hook up, I wanted commitment, he said “Probably not.” I told him I thought he was smart, funny and talented. He said I was “cool.” And you know what? I thought that was so sweet of him. I was so innocent back then. I wanna go back to that past Katrina and slap her across the face repeatedly. When bullshit presents itself, what do you say to bullshit? “Not Today.”

 

Quit Making Excuses For Yourself: You wanna lose weight? Stop making up excuses why you can’t go to the gym, and stop eating like a fat fuck. You want to read a book? Stop wasting hours writing political posts on Facebook. You wanna make friends? JOIN SHIT (just please not Improv for the love of God.) You wanna get laid? Spread your legs and watch your back. You’re not too busy. If you’re a twenty-something without children or a significant other, you have nothing but time. I don’t care if you have a job, I have a “job” and I write this blog when I feel like it. The world is your uterus, start building a fetus in it.

 

Wear Clothes That You’re Comfortable In: I felt obligated to wear jeans today because I wore joggers the other day and everyone made snide remarks about my “sweatpants.” Fair enough, they’re very comfortable. But sometimes after you go on a camping trip and eat copious amounts of burgers, sausages, eggs and bacon (without working out at all, mostly just while drinking beer) your jeans just don’t fit like they used to. I’m walking like a bow legged sailor. Or maybe like a lego man. Or maybe like a wooden doll. Just something that can’t move it’s extremities with ease.

 

 

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One last nugget of wisdom before I wrap up this breakfast burrito: you really don’t have to Eat, Pray or Love if you don’t want to. Of those three activities, I am only doing one of them. It is Eat. Praying is fine if you’re a religious person or know how to pray to an ambiguous Godlike creature. Loving is cool too- but if you’re in this mess in the first place I’m assuming your heart has turned into a shriveled up black hole like mine. My heart is like a pancake that was left on the griddle for too long. It’s pretty much just charcoal, butter and flour. If you poke my heart it will disintegrate and its ashes will absorb into different parts of my body, giving me some kind of communicable disease that will shorten my lifespan drastically. Please, don’t touch my heart. So of the three things, Eat, Pray, Love… Just make sure to pick one and do it well.

 

 

(the above picture is an image of my heart)

Which Side of Rock Bottom Are You On?

I’m obsessed with that Hailee Steinfeld song, Rock Bottom. In fact, I’m going to listen to it on loop until I finish this post. So I will probably hate it by the time I’m done if things go according to inevitability. I’m gonna try to help you decide whether or not YOU are on the right side of Rock Bottom.

If you’re anything like me, you’re constantly skimming along the gravel of Rock Bottom, barely avoiding a complete crash. It’s like that episode of Spongebob where they accidentally take the bus down the steep hill and are trapped with creepy-ass bottom dwellers who spit between every word they say. That’s where I live. I’m that one fish with the cool lamp on its head. Alright kids… Time to find out where you stand.

 

1.) Have you ever overdrafted using your debit card on drunk pizza? 

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. Your priorities are in order, you know the importance of nourishing the drunk soul. You might have to pay a fee at some point, but if you call your bank and explain the situation they will likely be understanding. Because what were you gonna do? Not get drunk pizza?

 

2.) Have you ever thrown up into your mesh baseball hat, forgotten about it, woken up, and found it cleaned in your dish rack? 

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. That’s disgusting.

 

3.) Do you ever go to the bathroom at work and pretend to take a massive shit just to swipe on Tinder and Bumble so that your coworkers don’t see you and judge you? 

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. You gotta do what you gotta do, not like you’re doing work anyway. The longer you can sit in there without people wondering if you’re okay the RIGHTER side of rock bottom you’re on.

 

4.) Have you spilled a whiskey ginger on your cold leftover fries (during a date) and still decided to keep them and eat them, despite them tasting like absolute shit, because you don’t want to waste them?

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. That’s disgusting. Throw that shit out, they’re gonna be soggy as FUCK.

 

5.) Have you accidentally eaten weed candy, gotten higher than you ever thought possible, and not told anyone because you were afraid you were going to die? 

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. That’s hilarious and totally something that everyone can relate to. You are probably a stronger/better person for having gone through that experience.

 

6.) Do you keep a spare set of clothing in your car because you never know where you’ll be spending the night since you don’t have a home? 

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. Get a home. No one wants you living on their couch. They say they don’t mind, but they do. They want you out of their apartment. They’d rather throw you out on the streets, they just don’t want that negative karma in their life.

 

7.) Have you ever licked peanut butter off your iPhone screen? 

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. No one should ever waste peanut butter.

 

8.) Have you ever told a potential employer, in a job interview, that you would kill yourself to work for them? 

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. There’s a reason you never got that job. They probably reported you to a hospital clinic as soon as the interview was over and said “This fucker needs HELP.”

 

9.) Have you ever eaten your lunch at 11:00 am because you need the happiness that food brings you, ASAP?

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. Food fixes everything. You might need a second lunch. But that’s okay, you deserve it.

 

10.) Do you regularly share YouTube videos and memes on Facebook? 

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. And there might be no saving you. You’re stuck there. You actually might have already been living there. Maybe you can translate their language for the rest of us.

 

11.) Do you consider yourself a member of the “Bey Hive?” 

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. It’s cool if you’re a fan of Beyonce, a lot of people are. But why do you need to be a self proclaimed member of the Bey Hive? Which is essentially, from my understanding, a bunch of teenagers on Instagram who threaten murder on anyone who speaks negatively of Queen Bey… Also please stop calling her Queen Bey.

 

12.) Have you ever burst out sobbing in the middle of the H&M Coachella section over something that happened weeks prior?

IF YES: You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. If there is any good place to cry, it’s the Coachella section at H&M. If for no other reason than the fact that a Coachella section exists in a prominent clothing establishment.

 

13.) Have you ever drunkenly gotten an enormous order of McDonalds, including but not limited to, McMuffins, McGriddles, McNuggets, Snack Wraps, and two large orders of fries for you and your friends, only to go home and eat most of it before they can have any?

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. You should also go to a cardiologist and check to see if there are chicken remnants lodged in your arteries. Also maybe go see a priest and ask for forgiveness and confess to your sins. What you did was unforgivable on so many levels.

 

14.) Have you ever told three people you could hang out with them on the same night, then at the last minute have to cancel with two of them because you spent all day debating who you wanted to hang out with the most?

IF YES: You’re on the wrong side of Rock Bottom. You’re a dick.

 

15.) Have you recently started following a “Falling in Love” playlist on Spotify to listen to in the car, even though that’s the furthest thing from what is currently happening in your life? 

IF YES:  You’re on the right side of Rock Bottom. You’re Katrina Nicholson.

 

This list contains only SOME of the qualifications for visiting Rock Bottom. It is not all inclusive. Some of them happened to me. Some of them happened to people I know. Some of them apply to people I’ve interacted with. Some of them apply to people I hate. Rest assured, if you can relate to anything on this list, you’ve visited Rock Bottom. The challenge is not to EXIT Rock Bottom as fast as possible, it’s to be on the RIGHT side of Rock Bottom.

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Incessant Cynicism OR Optimism

We’re getting a little abstract here, promise I’m not high right now. If I was high at 9:00 am I would be at Denny’s doing the bottomless pancake deal with reckless abandon. Like I said in the very beginning- Talk Shit Tuesday can be about anything. It isn’t always going to be a public figure or even a person.

I keep getting shit on lately for being cynical… Deservedly so. I went off on a really depressing tangent at brunch the other day about how if Modern Family wanted to be realistic the Dunphy parents wouldn’t be cutesy but instead they’d constantly be on the brink of a fight or otherwise barbing one another with passive aggression. A few days before that, I told someone that every time I see a new couple engaged on Facebook I instantly feel bad for them as they embark on the sad winding road that is the odyssey into an unfulfilling marriage.

Yeah, I’m a Natasha Bedingfield style Pocket Full of Sunshine, right? This is why people love me so much. I’m sort of kidding when I say all of these things…I guess I might be trying to be funny… It’s probably not healthy. I humbly prefer my own negativity to the alternative: incessant optimism.

My other way of explaining this is “that person” who refuses to accept bad things in any given situation. The constantly “nice” person. The one who is just a drop of golden sunshine out of Barney the Dinosaur’s asshole. You never see them in a bad mood because they refuse to get in a bad mood because bad things don’t happen in this world and a frown can always be turned upside down.

I’m not suggesting that everyone should deadpan morbid sarcastic remarks at every corner (I’m working on it) but you’re allowed to be a human. You’re allowed to show the range of emotions that occupy a human brain. You’re allowed to have a resting bitch face once in a while. Part of me, the part that isn’t a selfish asshole, is worried for you happy people because I think you’re afraid to let yourself feel sad.

The truth is, I need to befriend one of these positive people so that the two of us can combine personalities and meet somewhere in the middle. We could write a great buddy comedy about me and my manic pal who discovers me at my lowpoint: crying in the Coachella section of H&M as I realize that I’ve grown from a size 6 to size 10 over the course of a year. She’ll wear a size 4 of course and she won’t be able to sympathize with failure because she’s never experienced it, but she has also never let herself eat until it hurts and she’s always wondered what Cici’s Pizza Buffet might be like.

She and I would have so much to teach each other.

Seriously though. Two anecdotes:

We’ll start with me. I like to read people’s minds. If I don’t get an explicit reason for something from someone, I will invent a reason and then apply it to the situation as if it were fact. During my job search, this can be especially harmful. You go in for an interview, don’t hear back and then assume it’s because you made an ass of yourself and are some kind of hunchback human who needs to find work up in a tower where no one can see you ringing a bell pointlessly to tell time. That’s what the hunchback does, right? He rings the bell to let people know what time it is? Hunchback you became obsolete during the dark ages when the WATCH was invented. But I guess it isn’t hurting anyone to let the Hunchback pretend he has a job day after day… It’s like when you buy kids those Fisher Price toolsets and let them pretend to build shit but you silently judge them because they’re really just nailing fake plastic screws into more plastic and accomplishing nothing. Maybe someone should buy me one of those..?

More times than once, I have taken a job rejection so personally that I let it drag down my sense of self confidence in all areas of my life. Literally, I’ll get rejected from a job then go out into the world, open up the freezer at Ralphs and let the icy cold freeze my tears and mask my palpable sorrow…While a young employee watches from afar in horror but refuses to intervene. I think this is a defense mechanism: you always assume you’ve done something wrong and are to blame so that when something good happens you can be pleasantly surprised.

My other anecdote is a bullet point list:

  • Call a spade a spade
  • The simplest answer is usually the correct answer
  • Don’t make excuses for shitty people being shitty people
  • Don’t defend someone who wouldn’t defend you the same way
  • Pretending something is wonderful won’t make it wonderful- it’ll still suck and you’ll have to deal with it.
  • If you sugarcoat something, the person you’re attempting to shield from harsh criticism will never actually learn.
  • If someone doesn’t take a hint, give them a bigger and better hint. Or you know, stop hinting and just tell them. This isn’t fucking Trivia Night.
  • If you don’t understand something, ask for clarification and don’t call yourself an idiot for asking for clarification. People explain things shittily sometimes

Sometimes my brain is all over the place, today is one of those days. This is uh, an odd post but I think if you look hard enough you’ll find some nuggets of wisdom.

I just reread this and I honestly have no idea what this is, so I’m going to just add some funny gifs at the end like BuzzFeed. That’ll get the Millennials excited, right?

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(lol enjoy that last one the most.)