Instead of checking in, I'm checking out.

I got really pissed off at Facebook yesterday. I mean, really really. I went so far as to delete my profile. It would still be that way, were I not required to reactivate like, 15 seconds later, so I could log-in to Spotify and continue to kick boyfriend's ass at Words. It was like breaking up with someone, having an AMAZING last word, then realizing after you dropped the mic and slammed the door behind you, that you left your purse inside. I sheepishly pulled my profile back up but have committed myself to a break. I'd like to explain, if that's ok.

So, in case you didn't notice in the sea of red and pink yesterday, some pretty important marriage equality stuff is going on in our country. And I figured based on how most people know me to be, I could say that I thought it was pretty silly how EVERY SINGLE PERSON was jumping on the profile picture changing warpath without anyone assuming it was commentary on the larger issue. I thought the understanding would be that I scoff at viral social media explosions, whereby people line up like lemmings and jump off the trendy cause cliff. But instead, I got accused of being homo-insensitive. Pretty awesome, isn't it?

Anyways. This isn't the first time something like this has happened on my Facebook. Where I post something completely off the cuff and people have immediate panic attacks over it. This is...frustrating to me. I get accused of stirring the pot a lot.The thing is, that's honestly very rarely my intent. We all know I'm opinionated and outspoken, but I am also fully committed to the idea that Facebook is not real life. It's beyond annoying to me that I can't just say something slightly ridiculous without suddenly having to manage an influx of criticism or downright narrow-minded idiocracy.

And the arguments are obvious. Don't post so much. Talk about the weather like everyone else.  These are the days I wish I had kids to post a thousand pictures of or recipes to pin or something. I could pare down my friends list from 900 to probably 150 if I want less people having the opportunity to weigh in on my thoughts.  Because, let's be honest. I'm friends with people I've met once and will likely never see again. I'm friends with people I sat next to one semester, freshman year, who I haven't spoken to since. Why?

I go through these phases with Facebook where "Why" is all I can ask. Why am I telling a group comprised predominantly of strangers that I'm out a bar with my friends? Or that I ate an entire cake and want to punch Jillian Michaels in the face. Why are my friends getting bent out of shape over engagements that aren't their own? Why do we compare ourselves socially? Why do people seem to hang on my words, ready to pounce the minute I post so we can talk about something that is completely mundane and frankly, why does anyone REALLY care? WHY WHY WHY, when we are together with our real friends, are we all sitting around on our phones? Trust when I say I am the worst offender of this last one and I want to get better about it.

Yesterday was different. Because, honestly, I got my feelings hurt. I was SHOCKED that anyone who's ever listened to me talk about how I feel about most social issues would ever think I wouldn't be first in line to promote marriage equality. Sorry I wasn't first in line to do the "IT" Facebook thing of the day, but the immediate conclusions that were drawn were really...insulting. It was when I felt myself wanting to lash out about it that I realized I need to step away for a minute. I am not going to fight over Facebook. Ever. Between this and the breastfeeding post, I mean, really, it's just NOT that serious. So I took the post down. Because I honestly just didn't have it in me to fight with a bunch of people who went so far beyond the meaning of the original message. Sometimes, y'all freakin' wear me out.

I care about your opinions. And there are days when I'm really proud of the debates in which we engage, because I feel like the nature of my friend group allows people to come up against perspectives that they might not in their own every day circles.  I like that for the most part, we respectfully disagree with one another and usually maintain a gloves-off style of discussion. I love that we care and want to inspire change and that, whether I agree with it or not, Facebook is where most of the meetings of the minds in today's society happen. And I want them to happen on my page. When they are worthy and based on facts, not your wounded, fragile ego's interpretation of my post.

I don't like having to tiptoe. I don't like that my opinion suddenly becomes fodder for such intense anger or reactionary behavior. It's so silly. It's my OPINION. And it's mine in no regard to yours. I wish people could understand that we're allowed to be different and disagree without taking it personally. Cause, and I mean this is the most respectful, full-of-love sorta way, what you think and what you do matter to me none. And I say that, really really hoping you feel the same about me. Especially when it comes to what I'm doing on Facebook.

So, I'm gonna take a little breather. I want to go back to not being connected every second. To not feeling the need to compulsively check my phone for information that is honestly NEVER very interesting. It's not that you or your life aren't interesting. It's that Facebook isn't. And I worry that Facebook will slowly (if it totally hasn't already) make ME less interesting. Because when someone asks me what I did with my day, I should be able to come up with something better than "Played on my phone."

PITA: Free To A Good Home

The other night, boyfriend left the seat up. Annnnnd I fell in. I managed to catch myself before the splash, but there was about a centimeter of space between my hiney and some cold, recently licked by dogs, water. And I thought it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. Partially because it’s just SO cliché’ and partially because boyfriend really likes to bust my balls ALL OF THE TIME, and this time, he got me without even trying. As he would say, that’s funny to me.

So, I tell my girlfriend about it yesterday, and her response was “OMG, were you so mad? I hate when “her husband’s name here” leaves the seat up. If I ever fell in, I’d make him sleep on the couch.”

Wait. For real?

So, I ask another girlfriend. And a coworker. And both said the same: “Oh yeah, I’d be so mad.” Something about it being so disrespectful. Whatever, this blog is not about the age-old toilet seat debate, though my personal opinion is, up, down, who cares? It’s just as easy for me to put it down as it is for him to put it up every time. As for my late night almost-swim? I should have been paying attention. I never understand half the things girls get mad about. Friends come to me for life-coaching and I typically think “Why are we talking about this? The answer is simple. You’re being dumb.” That said, we can’t always escape the ovary and I’ve had my fair share of times when I was simply being dumb.

So, in honor of the fact that I think women are insane, this blog is about being difficult. It’s something I’ve been trying to work on A LOT lately, so I have plenty to say on the matter. Though, if we’re being honest, I have plenty to say on pretty much every matter, so I’ll just get on with it. 

Hmm. So. In case you guys couldn’t tell from Facebook, I really like the guy I’m dating. And when I figured that out, I swore to myself up and down a thousand times, I’d finally get around to stopping all of those things I do that have been the cause of contempt in past relationships. Because for like, ONCE, I  REALLY REALLY want to stop being such a pain in the ass. (Oh, what, you thought I didn’t know that I have PITA tendencies? Trust. I know.)

I believe it is in the nature of every woman to be difficult. I mean, we ALL do it. And sometimes, I think the cause causing the difficulty is a worthy adversary, but the whole nature of the response is just TERRIBLE. I’ve cried, I’ve picked fights, I’ve pouted, I’ve yelled, I’ve put my foot down, I’ve even broken up, JUST because I was being difficult. When really, the matter at hand was completely arbitrary and immaterial.

The background on all of this is that I’m pretty used to getting my own way. My parents will even confess it: I’ve been ruined. Ok, not really. I’m not THAT terrible. But I’m an only child in pretty much every sense of it and the idea that anything could ever happen that isn’t JUST how I want it to be, still comes as a surprise. Every. Single. Time. It’s funny that you think I’m exaggerating.

Anyways, I know I’m prone to this. And I know for a dude it must be SO frustrating when you probably don’t even understand that you “did something wrong” and this silly person that you’re just trying to love is having a breakdown in logic right before your eyes. 

So, I’ve been practicing. Things come up and I feel my difficult instinct start to kick in, and I catch it. Or try to. Don’t get me wrong, I’m “Under Construction” for the next, ohhh, forever. There have been a couple of times where I’ve almost felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself whine terrible words out loud but somehow unable to stop. Like, movie slow-motion thinking, NOOOOOOOOOOO. But instead, yes. Yes I did. Ugh, I want to cringe.

It makes me feel sheepish now. Which, is progress I guess, because normally it makes me feel indignant. Difficulty comes with a sense of entitlement. I would like to change the thought process around having the right to be a pain in the ass. Say it with me now, I DO NOT HAVE A RIGHT TO BE A PAIN IN THE ASS. This sort of thinking lumps me in with the rest of the chicks on the planet who like to address small problems with big reactions. That shit ain’t cute, y’all.

Recently, this thing happened. I don’t think this is the place for details, but I’ll give it to you like this. I got upset about something REALLY dumb. I guess in my sorta defense, I was a little (ALL OF THE) drunk at the time, and I can’t tell if I would have been as upset had I been in a sober state. Regardless, I got upset. I cried. IN PUBLIC. OMG, could I be any more of a girl? Anyways. Before I proceeded with a course of action, I took a couple of hours to think about it and realized I was TOTALLY over-reacting. (I know, right? I actually thought that! All by myself!) So when it came time to have a reaction, I was completely calm and (mostly) rational and a situation that could have turned into a 7, stayed at a 2. And it felt SO GOOD. I picked not difficult, AND IT WORKED.

It doesn’t always feel good to pick not difficult. The act of not being difficult is HARD. Because let’s face it, we want to be difficult because we think we’re right. And when you choose not to be difficult, you have to loosen the grip on just how awesome your perceive yourself to be. You have to admit that what you’re asking for (or, demanding, more likely) is not REALLY important. Unless Galileo was wrong, the Earth revolves around the Sun, not you. That’s a tough one for me to take. Some days, I forget that other people even exist…Or at least, I wish they didn’t. 

The point is, I’m really big on preaching about how happy is a choice. I don’t buy into the idea that we’re a victim to our emotions (seriously, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Quit. Crying.) Though I know we can’t always help how we feel, we can help what we do about it. And doing difficult, sucks. For us, for the person we’re storming around at, for our friends who have to listen to how we TOTALLY freaked out. About a toilet seat. So I’m going to try. Every Day. To choose Not Difficult. Then, by actually being awesome, I’ll actually be awesome, and that, my friends, will be awesome.

I only know it won't be Comic Sans...

Boy and I went to a wedding this weekend. It was really, really lovely. The bride and groom exchanged hand-written vows that were sweet and lighthearted and filled with a genuine loving sentiment toward one another. I had too much fun with the open bar, flirted with my boyfriend who looks impossibly handsome in a suit, and quickly found my way to the dance floor to live out Ginny Brock's dreams of being a back-up dancer for Lionel Richie. I was high on life and love and fun.

Then it happened. Inevitably, it gets quiet and the DJ makes the announcement: It's time for the bouquet toss. And instantly all the joy found with Jack (and his girlfriend, Ginger) is lost. My heart is racing, no longer from the dancing, but because I fear that someone is going to make me go up there. And per usual, they tried, and per usual, I politely declined. Before I go any further with this, I need to say that pushing a girl toward the bouquet toss is a lot like pushing her head: you just don't. Or, shouldn't. ANYWAYS.

When I was little, I wanted to be She-ra. I remember spending hours in the woods pretending I was Sarah from Labyrinth. I rode in the most bad-ass ten-speed bike gang in Rhode Island. I wanted to own horses and played video games with my dad. I liked tee ball and, later, softball, though I was never particularly great at either. I read A LOT of books. I never remember liking dolls. I think I had a couple? Certainly not the vast collection of Barbies that most of the girls I knew owned and operated. I don't remember ever playing dress up. It's not so much that I was a tomboy as it was that I just didn't (and as y'all know, still don't) get into frilly girl stuff.

The point of telling you all this is that never once in my little girl brain did I ever dream about a big girl wedding. There was never a white horse, white prince, white dress, none of it. Some of my girlfriends knew, down to the color of ugly bridesmaid dresses, exactly what their wedding was going to be like...by 5th grade. I had NO idea. None of these things ever crossed my mind, and to be honest, they still rarely do.

Most of you know...I was married once. (briefly) And I have to say that planning a wedding was ridiculously difficult for me. While I imagine most girls to have happily tearful moments when they settle on their dress, I was mostly itchy, wishing it was black, trying to figure out how it would look with some Chucks, thinking I really needed a half-sleeve, and asking the seamstress to remove every bow, bead or bedazzled anything from it. I felt poofy and absurd. There was nothing princessy about it for me. I don't like flowers. When asked about things like candles and centerpieces, my resoundingly honest answer was, I don't care. That pouring sand into a jar together thing? WHAT IS THAT? Brides find themselves passionately committed to things like...linen colors. I don't even care if my socks match.  Every time I go to a wedding, I find myself looking around, feeling like I'm a total imposter and that it must just be an accident that I have ovaries because they're clearly broken.

Weddings terrify me...and I don't just mean having one. I mean going to them. They are the most socially anxious you'll ever find me. It's why I'm usually first in line at the bar. I mean, I guess I'm always first in line at the bar, but at weddings it's for a reason. A terrible, anxious, sinking feeling because I know what's coming. And it does. Like clockwork. Every. Single. Time.

"So, how long have you and boy been dating?"
"Oh, you know, not very long? Just a couple of months."
"Oh! Sooo, when do you think y'all with get engaged?"

Uh. Um. You heard me say just a couple of months, right? It always makes me have a complete pee my pants panic attack. I don't know what to say. There's this weird terrible impossible new girlfriends have to figure out how to balance between "We're just not there yet" and "Your friend's a total doucher and we will never be there" thing. WE DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DOOOOOOO. STOP DOING THIS TO US.  ANYWAYS.

So, this brings us back to me at the wedding, sweaty-palmed, praying I can make an exit so I don't have to stand next to a group of girls who probably already know exactly what kind of font they'll have on their invitations, and awkwardly be awkward. I feel like if I ever were to catch the bouquet, I'd be robbing real girls of all their hopes and dreams. Besides, I don't want to be NEXT; I just want to be HAPPY.

I love love. And I love that I got to go to the wedding this weekend, because I got to see it, pure and sweet, between two really cool people. That's some lucky business. But please, if you ever see me at a wedding, know that I am probably just trying not to throw up so if you could refrain from asking me terrible things orrrrr, say, throwing flowers at me, I'd greatly appreciate.

That shit's for girls...

If you've spent any considerable amount of time with me, and by considerable I mean around 5 minutes, you've probably heard me express my distaste for my own gender. Faster than a vegan to speak up about the moral irreparability of honey, I'll shout from the roof tops about how ridiculous I think most women are. My friend Candie is going to yell at me when she reads this. She's a hippie. She encourages loving each other, loving everyone, embracing the whole "girl friends as soul sisters" thing. In her defense, the chicks she keeps company with are pretty amazing. If I were her, I'd yell at me too. As it stands, I'm me and I think most chicks are reprehensible, impossible, just...terrible.

Look, I've TRIED. I pledged a sorority for the sake of our old pal Pete. I've collected and discarded female friends over the years like Pokemon cards. At the first sign of "you're going to cry on my shoulder over something that's your own fault," I'm out. I can't help it. I come fully lacking the empathy that makes anything that your ovaries cause, my problem.

It's not that I'm completely insensitive. And it's not that I haven't done my fair share of totally batshit crazy girl things. I cry at movies. (Some times.) I baby talk my dogs. Once a month I wouldn't blame poor boyfriend for running for the hills to escape the plague of locusts that has replaced my brain. I yo-yo diet. I profess love after first dates.I wait for phone calls. I have anxiety from moment to moment when nothing has changed. I'm insane about my muffin top. I stalk babies in grocery stores. I LOVE TEEN MOM. I mean, what I'm saying is, I get it. We are creatures of the moon and driven by our hormones and sometimes we just can't help that shit. But when we can help it, we should.

Girl friends want you to make them feel better. To make them feel pretty or something. To make their inevitably shattered-by-their-own-choices ego feel less broken. They want to talk for hours. They want to cry. They want you to tell them that they don't completely suck at life. Newsflash: I'm not an emotional crutch. I'm not a bad-behavior-encourager. I'm an "It's ok that you made a mistake, but now you need to get your shit together and fix this mess" sorta friend. You wouldn't believe how many chicks have called me mean. Wrong.

If you're gonna wallow, I'm out. If you ask me for my advice, don't follow it, then complain, I'm out. More importantly, if you do something that I actually consider morally wrong in some way and not just a dumb decision you made that doesn't impact anyone else, I'm probably out. Not because of the choice, but probably because of how you're handling it.

One of the benefits to being "one of the guys" is that I've been exposed to invaluable insight into the male psyche over the years and really, really, listen, I just want to help! I'm not going to lie or martyr myself. It's purely selfish.  In part because I feel bad for my dude friends who are forced deal with the likes of all of us and I just want them to be happy so we have people to double date with, and in part because some days I WOULD like to have more than 3 girl friends and a cousin who I can talk about non-fashion/boys/weight/celebrity/baby-related things. Someone also of a rational mindset who would be brave enough to say something like, "You're being a total and complete douchehole right now and if he dumped you it would be ENTIRELY your fault. So suck it up and accept your fate, because you did this." If you exist, you're impossible to find. PLEASE CALL ME.

Anyways, based on all of this, I've come up with a list of the Top 10  Things I'd Say to Every Woman. If under 3 apply to you, we should talk. But not for hours.

1. Stop watching the Notebook. Stop reading shit like 50 Shade of Grey. Go find/read/do something that makes you SMART. Smart is hot. Whining that guys aren't like Ryan Gosling is not.

2. Throw away all your self help books about how being a bitch will get you a dude. Actually, just throw away all your self help books. That shit is ridiculous propaganda that you're more than capable of figuring out on your own.

3. Work out and watch what you eat. Sorry if it offends you that you can't find a guy to love all 400lbs of you. That's not the world we live in, sweetheart, sorry.

4.  Stop being desperate to get married and have babies. It's annoying. You were put on the Earth for greater causes. If you don't know what those are, there's a great discovery exercise that might distract you from the fact that everyone you know over the age of 23 is in a rush to procreate. Chill.

5. Get a hobby or thing you really love to do, by yourself. Something that's just yours. We get into relationships and suddenly we're like, OHHHHH, My boyfriend LOVES samurai fighting. I have always been sooooooo into samurai fighting. Now I samurai fight all the time.  Whatever.

6. Get some self respect. For the love of God. We are old enough now to see and read all the signs. Don't be blind to a boy because you like him. When you like yourself, you will not tolerate the shit that most women put up with.

7. Do not sleep with another woman's husband or boyfriend. I mean it. That's shitty as eff. There's nothing else to say about it.

8. Stop being complicated. Women over-complicate EVERY. THING. We like to blame dudes, and you know, some times, it's their fault, but I can't remember last time boyfriend came home and was like, "You know, I really feel like you don't care about me or my feelings because you left your towel on the floor." Pick your battles and shit. Again, Chill. Also, they will never understand that we go into panic mode when it takes them longer than 5 minutes to text us back. Might as well learn to chill on that as well.

9. Process your grief privately. Facebook and Twitter are not the place to go to bash your ex or their new girlfriend or to unload every deepest darkest feeling in your heart. No one cares and it makes you seem weak. Sorry, just the truth.

10. Next time, try not crying. I mean it. Bite your lip. Blink a thousand times. We all need a good, appropriately timed cry every now and then, but for real; stop falling apart. It's tacky if you're older than 6.

Sooo, I think that's it! I just needed to say these things. As I'm going through the trials and tribulations of dating with my guy friends, I've become even less tolerant of the fairer sex. It won't be the last time we talk about this stuff. And per usual, you're allowed to get mad. Just don't post hate mail anonymously. That shit's for girls.