Friday Fumblings

I’ve been thinking a lot about this human characteristic I see on repeat. I think it’s maybe more prevelant in women than men. You tell me. It has to do with pride and ego and sometimes I think women’s p/e is a thousand times more complicated. It goes like this….You can never ever in a million trillion years convince someone to like you if they’ve already decided not to like you. Basic. Right?You see my husband’s Aunt dislikes me. I think she’d chuckle if I died. She’d find a way to say I was stupid enough to die. She loves to bash me wherever she goes and her bashing is, most of the time, embarrassing on her part. But some people revel in it. They love to seethe with her about Diana and her perfect life. She recently complained the Women’s March was awesome but she liked it a bit less because I went to Washington. Eighties eye roll. I really don’t think about her but maybe 2% of my year. Unfortunately, it’s usually around the holidays and then she becomes a management issue. I know why she dislikes me immensely. It’s the same reason my Mother dislikes her sister-in-law, why my Nana hated her twin, etc.

They simply care too much what the other person thinks of them. You see my husband’s Aunt once punched my cousin in a drunken rage…right in front of me. Actually several times and my husband had to pull her off like a crazed dog. She blacked out and doesn’t remember it but was told about it the next day. She’s ashamed. Ashamed her life didn’t turn out the way she wanted it after affairs with married men left her single and bitter. She compares herself to me for some dumbass reason and then…yeah, you know. My own mother’s competitive nature with her drop dead gorgeous sister-in-law also left her in embarrassing situations like fuming on Christmas because the blonde with the huge blue eyes was sucking up all the wind at the dinner table.

It’s unfortunate we are not taught more how to laugh at ourselves. Heartily. Ya know? Like wouldn’t it be awesome if Steve’s Aunt could just laugh at how crazy her life has been? Maybe laugh/cry about how ridiculous her life has been. Maybe apologize a few times for beating her daughter and then laugh cry as we ALL blubber at the table about vomiting out our nose in front of the cute guy junior year.

I mean wouldn’t it be better if we could all just be like, jesus, we’re all so fucking weird? I mean, I’m a total weirdo. One of my biggest fears of working with publicists was being boxed. I hated the idea of my writing and my personality belonging in a box somewhere because the minute you are, you’re then up for criticism. Like Emma Watson these days and her feminist stance on female sexuality. Criticizing Beyonce and Kim Kardashian and then posing for high fashion shoots with underboob. Her stance leads her to criticism. And that is where this horrible human characteristic of ours ruins the fucking world.

We want to see her fail like hyenas without a leader. Well, I don’t want to see her fail because Emma Watson is stellar but I mean, we want to see people fail. Like Lena Dunham…drives me crazy. I’m sure it’s the same damn p/e thing I’m talking about. I don’t like her because she’s an entitled white girl feminist (looks in mirror). Right?

And you won’t convince me she’s not a twat. You won’t and can’t and I’ll never see anything else. I just don’t like Lena Dunham. I’ll look for her flaws everywhere I can. Her show sucks…yes, I read the reviews…she’s criticized by Roxanne Gay, I say of course she is. I’m no fucking different than my husband’s aunt that thinks I’m a piece of shit.

You’re gonna see what you want to see every step of your life. This is basic humaness 101 and yet we do it, subconsciously and consciously all the time. We even justify our dislike with examples and group discussions. Women shaking their heads together, mhmmmm. I mean we’re full grown up damn women and yet we still do this. And if you don’t think I can read bitch, you’re crazy. Passive aggressive is like my white suburban girl accent. It’s simply my choice to engage or not to engage in it, consciously. You might stew on it, seethe in it and hope beyond hopes you get to be the high and mighty twat the day Lena Dunham fucks up. Or I do. Because I will and I do and then you’ll get to say, see, she was just stupid enough to let herself die.


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