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Nice guy

 

7libra

I feel like sometimes people think that I have it easy because I’m a kind, sensitive butterfly who wants to improve humanity and pet puppies and free Tibet. But being nice to others, although it is quite easy for me to do, can be fucking exhausting.

Here’s why:

The opposite of resting bitch face can get you in just as much trouble.

Smiling at people is supposed to be a simple gesture to make the world a better place or whatever, but I’ve found smiling at people can also lead to a 30 minute long conversation with a homeless man who wants to play you a song he wrote, and get advice on how he should color his hair. I’ve legitimately been late to work because I can’t get away from conversations with people quick enough. Especially the people at Trader Joe’s. If you’ve ever been to a Trader Joe’s you must know what I’m taking about. The overly cheery cashier that wants to know way too much about you, for someone ringing up your toiletries. She asks you what you are planning on doing with your four bottles of $3 wine and your block of cheese. “Well….I just got done at the gym, so I figured I would drink back the calories I sweated out, watch some Netflix. Maybe have a good cry. I haven’t cried in awhile you know? Sometimes it just feels good to get it all out.” Do you remember the movie Liar Liar with Jim Carrey? All of my human interactions are like that. I get asked a question, and have the terrible compulsion to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, plus every single one of my feelings. 

Creeping people out with compliments 

I’M SORRY that I like the texture of your skin, but I thought it would be nice if you knew. You have good face and neck skin. How is that my fault? No…don’t run. Don’t run away. Everyone’s looking now. God dammit.

Not getting the same courtesy back 

When I stop for you at a crosswalk – which I always will. I need you to lift your frigging hand up and give me a “Thank You.” I’m not obligated to stop for you. If I had a mean bone in my body or enough horsepower in my mom’s borrowed suburban I could mow you down if I wanted. I also get honked at a lot because I let people merge all the time. I’ll be like, “oh you have a dog in the car, you can go.” “Oh you have a nice bumper sticker about equality, you can go.” BUT YOU FUCKING WAVE TO ME GOD DAMMIT. APPRECIATE ME!”

Saying Sorry 

I’m always sorry. If I don’t text you back right away, if I am in the way of the silverware drawer if I accidentally bump into you. But here’s the thing. You say sorry back! If I step on your foot and it’s my fault, You say sorry, I say sorry, WE BOTH SAY SORRY! We should both be equally sorry for being in each other’s personal space which should be very precious to both of us. If I forget to pay rent, you say sorry. If I hit you with my car, YOU SAY SORRY!

Over-committing

Sure, I can help you move out of your house. Oh what, it’s my only day off in 15 days? Don’t be silly! I’d be happy to! You need to borrow my car? Sure! Take it for a week. I don’t need to drive anywhere. It has a full tank of gas, and I’ll tell you what pal, give it back to me on empty okay?

Getting dumped 

I’ve definitely been broken up with because of being too nice. I remember one time an ex got mad at me for “not standing up for myself.” I wasn’t standing up for myself because he was yelling at me and I didn’t want to yell back. Screaming hurts my throat, and sitting is more comfortable. Give me a fucking break dude. I think being too nice can also be a turnoff. I get that. But why? Why is it that when you care, you automatically turn into the Velma instead of the Daphne. (Yeah, that’s right, that’s a Scooby Doo reference.) Like,  I’M SORRY I BROUGHT YOU BROWNIES TO WORK, MY FUCKING BAD! Oh, I complimented your mom on her new dress. EXCUSSSSSEEEEE ME! I helped an old lady across the street, so what? Is that not HOT to you? I just think men should automatically get a hard-on when I say please and thank you. Is that too much to ask?

So as you can see, being the nice guy isn’t always a good thing, but I can’t change who I am, so instead, I’m going to keep complimenting people on their face shape/skin, breaking for people walking dogs, and doing color consultations with heroin addicts.

XOXO,

Milky

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advice aftercollegelife comedy friendship lifestyle self help Uncategorized women

Blood ocean 

man i feel like a woman.gif

The title of this post is what my ex-boyfriend used to call my period.

Having a period is a very normal, relatable female experience. Similar to liking chocolate, having your first kiss, and crying at the end of Titanic.

Based on these references, you see, I’ve never really felt female. Not that I’ve felt male, which is totally acceptable, (or at least it will be until that oversized Cheeto of a man becomes president and takes away our fundamental human rights.) I mean that I have always felt an equal longing and detachment from “women.”

I don’t like chocolate, I don’t find Brad Pitt attractive, and I stopped watching Titanic after they had sex in the car. Don’t worry, thanks to 20 years of spoilers, I’ve figured out what happens at the end.

I’ve considered myself, being raised as an only child by a man in his 30’s, as some some of mutant hybrid. An X-man, or woman if you will.

I don’t like sports, but I also don’t get a craving for ice-cream. I don’t care for driving, but I also can’t relate to the sensation women talk about when they take off their bra at the end of the day. My first kiss was when I was 7 as a double-dog dare. There were no fireworks, but I do remember he tasted like nachos.

I have a B-34 bra size which means if I didn’t have an aversion to nipping, I could not wear a “boob carriage” and get away with it. I have an IUD which means I don’t get the monthly visit from Aunt Rose. I barely even know what a vagina looks like you guys. 

But I do still feel what it means to be a woman. Being a woman means when you walk into the grocery store in sweatpants and no makeup, and a bun, and you smile at people, no one smiles back. But when you walk into a Plaid Pantry with curled hair and red lipstick on, people open the door for you. When you ask for a pack of Camel Crushes they say, “How could I say no to such a pretty face.” When you forget mascara people ask you if you aren’t feeling so well. When you wear heels, other women stare at you, while men offer to carry your things, or at least stare at your ass when they think you aren’t looking.

Being a woman means getting told to “smile.” Being a woman means never feeling like you are good enough. Being a woman means feeling on top of the world when you are blonde and skinny and young. People say, “Oh, I like her, she’s cute.” or “Oh, you are so skinny and you have such long legs, those will help you when you get older. Lucky you.” Lucky me. I guess.

But also being a woman means this:

It means getting a college degree while working 46 hours a week. It means paying rent, utilities and medical bills while trying to balance a social life and a fulfilling hobby. It means worrying that people will talk shit about you, and then finding the people that will never talk shit about you and loving them so much it hurts. It means getting heartbroken and picking up the pieces with self-help books and red wine and lots and LOTS of texts to your friends back home. It means waking up one day realizing you are 30 lbs heavier than you would ever image yourself being, and reconciling with the fact that that does not define your worth. It means having 3 interviews at your dream company and not getting a call back the following business week. It means finally quitting your dead-end job after years of applications, networking and LinkedIn profile updating. It means saying yes when you want to say yes, and saying no when you want to say no. Even when it feels like you should because you really feel like you should be social, and you’re worried you’re going to come off as a flake, and you haven’t gone out all week but you just really DON’T FEEL LIKE PUTTING PANTS ON. Really, being a woman means whatever the fuck your experience is being you. Not some 60 Minute special on Millennial Moms. Not some Reddit meme about being an overly-attached girlfriend. You are a woman, whether or not you get a Brazilian wax once a month (which holy shit hurts so bad oh my Jesus H. Christ, hold onto your labias) or you haven’t haven’t shaved your legs in 5 months. I’ve personally done both.

Yes, sometimes being a woman feels like you will never be good enough. But you are enough. And I know that for certain, because as a woman, I am always right.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover

 

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aftercollegelife comedy hobbies lifestyle pacific northwest pdx self help Uncategorized

All the Small Things

blink 182There’s something about spending  82 days in a leg brace and 6 months in physical therapy that really puts things in perspective.

I think it’s ingrained in the human condition, something about always having to search for better resources as a Neanderthal or some shit, where we can’t just chill out and reflect on how far we’ve come. How often do any of us really sit down and think, “I can breathe, I can walk, I can even pay my electric bill when I put my mind to it. I’m a decent human being and everything is pretty o.k.”

For me, the answer is never. I’m constantly in a state of mind, where I’m beating the shit out of myself, like frigging Tyler Durden. The internal dialogue ranges from, “Holy shit what am I doing with my life, and why am I not famous already?!” to, “Man, I really should have done a load of laundry last night.” It’s as if the fact that I’m not on SNL and don’t have clean underwear are the the defining characteristics of who I am as a person, and that person is lame with a capital L.

Well I’m over it, and am going to sincerely do my best moving forward to not be so hard on myself, which is a hefty effing task if you know anything about me. I can’t even take naps because I feel like I’m wasting valuable time that I could be running laps or dusting something.

I think we should all be more supportive of encouraging people to focus on the positive. Like, have you ever noticed when you ask someone how they are doing, the answer is always “okay,” or ,”good.” How come no one is doing fucking phenomenal? I want someone to be like, “Oh me? I’m doing mighty fine today, because I cooked food for myself and made a credit card payment.” If someone said that to me, I would be like, “That’s fucking awesome Rhonda. You celebrate that girl. You fucking bump that credit score to the heavens and get some essential nutrients today, dawg.”  (*I have no idea how credit cards work.)

We shouldn’t be so worried about sharing our accomplishments in the fear of making others feel bad or less successful or whatever. I’m reading this self-help book right now (because extensive therapy, medication, and extremely supportive friends and family just ISN’T ENOUGH DAMMIT) and it says that when you try to do something positive, especially something that is radically different from your current state, the “universe” is going to try to push back. Like, let’s say that all of a sudden I decide to get off the sauce, quit smoking, and dedicate myself to yoga practice.  I’m going to get all sorts of wack feedback like, “So what, are you not drinking anymore?” “Is that just soda water?” I know this to be true because it’s already happened to me numerous times. Way to encourage my drinking problem guys.

And we are totally all guilty of it. I had a friend that started hitting the gym hard, and she would always post Facebook updates about going to work out and “crushing it” and then take photos of herself looking like a total fox. I remember one night scrolling through my news feed while straddling a plate of Mexican food, and saying, “Fuck that betch. Fuck her right in her six-pack abs.”

But imagine if instead of nay-saying, and shaming people into hiding their accomplishments, we took inspiration from the success of our peers, and used that to fuel our own journeys to fulfillment?

As Taylor Swift so eloquently put it, “The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.”

I think whether it’s your own demon brain thoughts, or someone else tripping on your newly adopted paleo diet, or career change, or WHATEVER,  you got to “shake it off.” and just keep doling out those positive vibes. Share what makes you happy, and celebrate other people for making dope life-decisions.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover