Two Word Advice

Do y’all know Robin Sharma? Crazy popular author in the self help world… like.. millions of books sold.  I mostly like what he does. I found this on pinterest so, it may not be the most accurate (I’m honestly kinda guessing at his bit, to help me get to mine…).  I think he was asked, or decided, to offer his best 2 word advice.  And he said “Start now”.  How freaking powerful right?  Don’t wait til Monday to start that diet.  Don’t wait til summer to take a vacation.  Don’t wait for the scale to show a certain number before you love yourself.  Whatever it may be… start now.  I love that.

But.. I have my own thoughts. (I know y’all will find that hard to believe…)

So, my 2 word advice is “Show up”.

Just… show up.  Just be there. Be present.

I had an incident with a semi-friend. He was performing and it was lackluster as fuck. Not because he’s bad.  He’s actually pretty freaking brilliant. And good looking. And crazy fucking talented. But his head and his heart weren’t there. He started. He played a whole set. But he didn’t show up for it. It was a day or two after his show that I saw a quote, “Show up, even when no one applauds.”  Yes. So much yes.  Clap for yourself, that’s okay. But show up.

I was out the other night and a pal of mine was just sour. Pissy. Moody. Brooding. I went over. “Anything I can do? Want to talk? Let me rub your shoulders..” And he was having none of it. I’m not easily deterred though so I sat there beside him. Didn’t say anything. Pretty sure I was messing around on my phone. I made a point of having physical contact with him. Nothing over the top or aggressive, just my knee touching his under the table. And we sat like that.  Other people came up, tried to talk to him, tried to make him better. They started now. They were active in their pursuit. I simply showed up, and I stayed. I got a message from him hours later thanking me for being there. I literally did nothing. I just was present. He didn’t feel obligated to say anything, or explain or problem solve or… he was able to sit, have support and just be.

While I’m glad I was able to comfort my friend, I selfishly am so glad I was able to learn from that. I’m a fixer. Bad day? Let me buy you food or drink or give you a hug or pull a tarot card or…  I will come up with a million things I can start doing to “help” you.  And sometimes that works. Sometimes we do need to take more active steps. But sometimes it’s the more quiet, almost passive, things; sometimes it’s the simply showing up and allowing the moment to be what it is, that does the most good.

And if “show up” or “start now” don’t work for you…

Fuck it.

 

Bad Male Behavior

Guys. Woof.  Please note, I realize I’m gonna be making sweeping generalizations about an entire gender. I get it. I do know so many amazing, kind, respectful, courteous, sweet guys. (I’ll get more into that soon). So, when I’m saying, “men do blah blah blah…” I know not every guy. Disclaimer done.

So, guys…. woof…. in the past week, but amping up considerably in the past 48 hours, the amount of bad male behavior I’ve experienced is… yuck. Between a “friend” basically assuming I would literally whore myself out to him for some drinks, to the 5 pounds I’ve gained being really uncomfortably thoroughly discussed in the middle of the hallway here at the office just… so.much.yuck.

And this behavior was so bad that I then, I guess out of… seeking balance or something, I started sending “thank you” messages to guys who are my actual friends, who don’t do those kinds of things. I say thank you a lot. I believe gratitude is such an amazing thing, so I really try to always be expressing my appreciation. But I was talking to my girl at work (  hey girl hey! =)  ) about it and she flat out said, “Uh, you shouldn’t have to thank guys for being decent human beings.” OH SHIT Y’ALL, she’s fucking right. And it was such a simple statement but… crap. Like.. here I am singing the praises of men who are just behaving like they should, when I instead maybe need to re-focus on educating men who behave the other way.  I don’t think I can change the world. Honestly, I don’t even think I can change anyones mind. But I do think there is something wicked powerful about empowering myself to the point where I can stand up and say, “Don’t talk to me, or about me, that way.”  Best case scenario, maybe I do make a man (or woman, if she’s behaving incorrectly, bad behavior does exist both ways, I just personally felt it more from men recently) stop and think, and maybe next time he doesn’t comment on a persons body, or proposition her or..  Worst case scenario that person doesn’t give a fuck but I still get better at standing firm in my self respect, and self love, by honoring myself, which is still a pretty fucking kick ass scenario so…

Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself.  I sadly didn’t in those two instances and it kind of wrecked my mood for a while. I did however address some… things another friend had done that made me uncomfortable, and I got what I believe to be a genuine apology and a chance for he and I to become better friends for having worked through the misunderstanding. I’d rather be known as the woman who didn’t take shit from anyone, even if it made the other person uncomfortable (note: not preaching being an unreasonably aggressive bitch here, this isn’t about being combative, repaying bad behavior with more bad behavior is super counter productive), than the woman who allowed others to rob her of power, by allowing others to make comments that ruin entire days.

Don’t offer to buy drinks for sexual favors. Don’t comment on somebody elses body. Don’t tolerate anyone doing either of those things to you. Be strong, be proud, behave.

To Offend or Not to Offend…

 

edited photo of banana and cactus
Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

 

I started writing a post a few weeks back and.. it’s still saved to drafts, along with half a dozen other abandoned ideas but there is a difference.  Normally if I don’t flesh out a post, if it ends up in the “saved drafts” graveyard, it’s because I don’t feel like there is enough there, or I can’t figure out how to say it, or I am unclear on what I want to say.  But this one, I stopped because I could not figure out a way to present the thoughts without being just… horribly offensive.

And I don’t want to do that. But now that I’ve been sitting on it for a few weeks, I’ve been re-pondering and like… do I care if I’m offensive?  Why do I care?  I mean, I love y’all, please know that. I’m a fucking nobody, spouting nonsense on the internet so, if you take even 3 minutes out of your day to read any of this, you are a super star to me. But.. I don’t know you. I will probably never meet you.  If you think I’m being a royal cunt in one of my posts, will it actually affect either of us?  Probably not. It’s not that I’m not already offensive, I mean, I did just use the word cunt, I’ve blipped over anal sex, edible panties, like.. this is not a G-rated blog, g-string maybe, but certainly not g-rated.

But.. maybe it was the topic. I wanted to dive into comments my friend makes about “skinny bitches”, and I wanted to contrast that against if someone made a similar comment about a “fat bitch” and sort of why one is more acceptable than the other and talk about body types, and why we shouldn’t talk about them, and body shaming and self love and all the things.  But in breaking it down, in pulling those buckets of words up from the well of my brain, it just… it didn’t work.  I mean I do still want to tackle some of those thoughts, eventually. But the more I wrote, the more and more kind of awful and offensive it became so I stopped.

And I hate the idea of editing myself so as to not offend. If you’re that easily ticked off, you probably shouldn’t be here. And I believe in free speech. And I celebrate differences of opinions. But… the post goes unpublished still. I’m not even sure who I’m afraid I’ll offend. The two guys I matched with on Tinder? I just… I don’t know. I try to not be abrasive, but at the same time, sometimes things have to be sanded down a bit, you know? So, do I want my blog to be sandpaper? No. But do I want to feel like I can’t say something because it might hurt feelings?  No. Maybe I want to be like ultra fine grit sandpaper, which “is one of the most delicate abrasives”, per doityourself.com. (Yes, I did research sandpaper. Leave me alone. This is how I end up with a bizarrely broad knowledge base.)

I think I’d feel okay rubbing you the wrong way, if I did it delicately. Which sounds kinda dirty, but gentle, so I’ll let it stand.

You tell me to relax
And listen to these facts
That everyone’s my friend
And will be till the end
But know this much is true
No matter what I do
No matter what I say
Offend in every way
  ~White Stripes

Tinder Mud

Tinder Mud

I have a link to here on my Tinder profile. I know that is where most of my traffic comes from. (Hey Tinder peeps!). So let’s talk about Tinder.

If you were directed here, from there, you’ve seen my profile. Give me just a sec though to recap for anyone else. I have my profile so finely crafted. It’s been perfected over the time I’ve been in Tinderland. It is one of the best filtering mechanisms ever, truly.

(“There is no such thing as conversation. It is an illusion. There are intersecting monologues, that is all”

Let’s intersect each others monologues…

Looking to chat, to pass the time. Truly that’s it. If you’re looking for more, pass me by.)

So, pretty definitely clearly not looking for a hook up, or dick pics, or a boyfriend. It’s good. I have a female friend who is also on Tinder. Her profile is more of… “I don’t know what I’m looking for, I’m open to possibilities.”  Which is great. It’s also probably why she’s had half a dozen men start conversations with her with the great greeting of, “Anal?” (Guys… that’s not an opener. You gotta work up to that, both verbally and physically, just sayin’).

So, you know the whole symbolism of the lotus? The story basic white girls tell when they get that tattoo? (No judgement, I just spend $1000 covering up a tattoo so, there is nothing but love in that observation). The lotus blooms from mud. It’s not in some neat, well manicured lawn in the suburbs. It is like… “Here is some fucking disgusting muck, and I’m gonna mother fucking bloom.” And this is much like my Tinder experience.

I think I’m lucky. I think my profile is helpful. I don’t know. I still have a few guys who try to do something they maybe shouldn’t, but I also have amazing people who start conversations with me by asking about what I think the meaning of life is. My friend, who’s greeted with, “Anal?”… she’s still growing through the mud, I think. I feel like I am at the blooming stage. And each amazing interaction I have unfolds another petal.

When I mention Tinder people get all hoity-toity. “Why are you on there?”  “You know it’s just guys looking to fuck, right?” “Ewww, that app is gross.” And like.. sure, full disclosure, I have slept with two guys from Tinder, one well after a year of us being friends, and the other as part of a relationship of sorts, neither were rando hook-ups, but even if they had been.. whatever. I think it is like much of life. It is what you make of it.

For some people it is a hook up app. Good for that, good for them, get that booty, y’all. For some people it’s a means to feed an ego, or to boost confidence, or to distract them or.. I don’t know. If you’re using a hammer you could be hanging up a picture, or murdering someone, the tool is the same in either scenario. So, I guess I want to start looking at the other tools I have and making sure I’m using them to help me bloom as well, and I so strongly encourage you to do that too.

What Passing Out and Throwing Up Taught Me About Love and Friendship

It was my birthday a few days ago. Not an exceptionally exciting one. 33. Big whoop. But, a birthday nonetheless.  I, even when I was young, didn’t much care for the hoopla of birthdays. Like.. hooray, I was born… woohoo.. basically if I got a slice of cake and a gift or two, I was more than content. Super low-key is kind of my scene.

I have been in pretty much back to back to back super sad, controlling, borderline emotionally abusive relationships, so I didn’t have much of a social life for most of my adult life (I was allowed to go out, but the amount of grief and questioning and hassle I would have encountered, and then the amount of guilt I would have felt and.. it just wasn’t really worth it.) It is only recently (within the last year or so, but kind of ramped up the past… 4 months, I’d say) that I have really kind of gotten out and about on my own, out of my shell and into the world. And I have been so very, very lucky in that, the people I have found, the people who have found me, are gems, true treasures. I’m #blessed.

So, birthday. Yes. My birthday fell on a night that our regular Wednesday night hangout was doing 80’s karaoke. I wish I had a pun here using an 80’s song lyric, and I apologize for failing y’all. I drank. A lot. More than I should. More than I ever have previously. Or ever will again. (I’m not doing one of those “I’ll never drink again” things, cause let’s face it, we all know that ain’t true, but I am never drinking to that extent ever again. Seriously. Promise made here) And it was not great. At all. I don’t mind being Tipsy. I do that well. But drunk me… ugh.

So… I drank a lot. And I basically fell asleep on one of my new best friends. He’s a trooper, and I love him, and I owe him. He was so sweet. And then I threw up a little. One of my other new best friends was nice enough to call it spitting up, which doesn’t sound near as awful or embarrassing, so I love her too. I had a few people help me clean up. I had a friend help me home, help me shower, put my ass to bed, made me breakfast the next day (which I was still too sick to eat) and let me nap before driving me back to my car, still at the bar.

I am a control freak. Thoroughly. I don’t allow myself to be out of control, ever really. It freaks me out. Not only do I have issues giving up control, but I then feel guilt about those who have to jump in and help me. So it’s kind of a double whammy of uncomfortableness for me. But I was out of control and you know what? I was taken care of. Incredibly well. By multiple people. Some of whom I’ve only really known a few weeks. And I had a few people check on me the next day. And no one is shaming me or making me feel bad (they probably know I’m already taking care of that enough all on my own…) Not only am I control freak, but I am so blind sometimes to the love and support that does surround me. Maybe it’s a pride thing, I convince myself I’m so capable and so strong and that I don’t need anyone, and that doesn’t allow me to see truly how many hands are held out to support me when I do need it.

So, while I’m not suggesting you go out and get black out drunk and puke on people, I am saying that maybe sometimes it is okay to be vulnerable (maybe you can tell that friend about your past, maybe you can let that co-worker know about your sexual preference, maybe that person genuinely does want to hear about your bad day, or whatever it is for you). Again, I will not put myself in that exact position ever again. But the level of love and care that was shown to me did truly bolster my faith in people. To see so many people step up and give me their best, when I was at my worst… that was like.. the best gift I could have ever received. Also, not eating for two days/puking I did manage to lose 4 pounds, which is a pretty awesome birthday celebration, though right now I am kinda… hungry like the wolf… sorry, I had to.