Odds and End.

I saw an emergency storage container on campus the other day...in big bold letters on a trashbin-looking metal container, it stated "EMERGENCY STORAGE CONTAINER." It was a few steps from the parking lot. I would love to know what one might put into an emergency storage container. I tried to think of emergency storage situations I, myself, have had in the past--instances where I would have benefitted from an emergency storage container. I could think of none. But I did enjoy picturing myself holding something which needed storage immediately..."Quick! I need to store this NOW!!!" Or imagining myself in the commercial for an emergency storage container: "Has this ever happened to you? You need to store something in an emergency and your tupperware are all dirty? We have the answer."

I saw a lone shoe on my way to work on Friday. We've all seen the lone shoe on the side of the highway, on the sidewalk, etc. Will someone else find its abandoned mate? Are there pairs of shoes out there, alone and useless, waiting for someone to reunite them? Or are there really that many frustrated one-legged individuals in the US and this is their statement against society's insistence on selling them TWO shoes when they only require one? How do you lose ONE shoe? This question has burned in my psyche since I was about two years old...how do you fail to notice that one of your feet is suddenly naked? A flip flop, maybe, but we're talking an abandoned tennis shoe, one red stiletto. How far could you really get before this information confronted you and you retraced your lopsided steps back to your shoe?

A Guide To Recognizing Your Assholes

Yes, this post has been ruminating for some time, a research project in the archives of my head. I've thought a lot about which characteristics actually work to form an asshole's nature; it is not the simplest task. The world is not divided into Michael Myers and Mother Theresa clones. The person I was seeing earlier this year was not a sociopath, was not malicious, did not put "Screw Slickaphonic" on his daily to-do list. I don't believe he is evil, or an inherently "bad" person, but he is indeed an asshole. So, my archival research has led me to conclude the following about assholes:

1.) Poor Theory of Mind
-The asshole is unable to conceive of emotions not felt by the asshole, him/herself. Therefore, the asshole will appear reckless in his behavior toward others. For instance, PIDE (person I dated earlier) knew I still had non-platonic feelings and was not completely okay with our new platonic relationship. Two weeks after the abrupt breakup, PIDE invited me to a house party where everyone in the house but me knew that he was sleeping with a very, um, not awesome person. The odds were outstanding that I would learn this completely unanticipated information in public, among and from his friends. He did not invite me to the party hoping to hurt me, but he, being quite okay with our platonic situation, could not conceive of my feelings in that situation. Nor could he comprehend how very terrible such a public setting would be for me to learn this information, given my, ahem, "issues." Again, not malicious, just a very poor theory of mind.

2.) Narcissistic Tendencies
-I've also recently learned to make the distinction between "Cares About Me" and "Cares About My Opinion of Him/Her". This subtle distinction implies very different behavior. Assholes generally do not actually care about a person; rather, they care about that person's opinion of him/her. For instance, after behaving badly, an asshole will not ask whether you are okay or what will help you to actually feel better, but will instead ask what you think about him/her. The asshole will most likely attempt to explain his or her behavior noting how very sorry they feel that you are upset. However, the asshole will not actually take responsibility for his or her actions and will instead attempt to assure you of his or her good person status. Note: assholes' apologies are frequently attempts by the asshole to gain assurance that he or she is not, in fact, an asshole. Assholes will pursue your affection despite being incapable of responsibly caring for your feelings. Your opinion of them is important; your well-being is not.

3.) Technicality Players
-This one most irks me. An asshole will hold you to all conversations which may have been relevant to the social contract you have been writing together. If there's a loophole, the asshole will seize upon it and claim awesome person status due to technicalities. Perhaps you have discussed monogamy with regards to intercourse, but did not specifically discuss oral sex. An asshole will truly believe that he or she is a good and honest person if he/she abstains from intercourse with others while blowing the Brazilian soccer team. Rarely is someone awesome by technicality.

Slickaphonic: Technically awesome since 1978.

Embrace Your Crazy.

I've posted on this before, my fear of being emotional or girly in "My Gender Bothers Me, or Yes I'm Messed Up". Sometimes I feel like I should print out that post and send it to all potentials: Listen boys and girls, make me feel and I will have a rage for you which you will not understand. Actually treat me badly and make me feel and a fury you thought died in biblical times shall reign down upon you. (Most likely in email format.)

I am emotional.

I have hated that fact for almost as long as I can remember. I say almost because I can remember a time when I wasn't ashamed to cry in public, or have feelings in general... I hurt my arm when I was about 6 years old. I ran to the church across the street with tears streaming down my dirty face, where my parents were lunching, where sympathy would most likely be found. Instead, my father told me rather sternly, "That's enough." For a week, I was told to stop being so dramatic about my arm, to stop crying about the pain. Finally, after my school teacher wearied of consoling me, I was taken to the hospital and officially declared broken by non-dramatic experts. It was now okay to cry, apparently. But only a little.

My father, of course, apologizes frequently for this, and especially lately as I suffer through feeling. The arm healed, but I still hate myself for feeling so emotional about experiences that my rational self declares trivial. I hate crying when I am in physical pain--it's gone so far that now I either hysterically laugh or angrily curse when I am in extreme pain. But I will not cry. And any time I do succumb to emotion, it feels as though my brain cleaves into two selves; Thinky Self hates Feely Self for being so fucking dramatic about everything, which makes Feely Self ashamed and even more emotional of course. And now all of us just feel outright crazy because I've officially given names to two personalities in my head. But I digress.

My absolute greatest fear in life is to break down in front of people. I can't remember a time I had a face-to-face screaming match with someone, or let the tears flow in front of the person who opened the floodgates. When I am upset, I become outwardly ice-cold while the emotions begin to boil inside. Only my eyes flash what's seething beneath. I leave the situation as quickly as possible. The only form of communication I allow myself with people when I am upset is the most impersonal of all: email. I will write to tell them I am hurt or upset or angry, but I will not let them see me in that state. Letting Times New Roman convey my message with proper grammar and complete sentences gives me some sense of safety--safety against others viewing me as an overly emotional, dramatic, weak GIRL. Safety against others seeing Feely Self. I realized that except for two individuals in my life (ironically enough, one being my father), I am actually unable to cry in front of others. My voice may tremble, but I cannot even force tears out (I tried both times I was pulled over for speeding).

But I'm beginning to see the problem with this strategy: Others know Feely Self is in there, but they don't know how big or terrible she is...They know there's a monster lurking in the water, but having only seen its tail as it retreats, they cannot gauge its true size. Every boy or girl who has broken up with me (with the exception of "Sebastian") has told me the same thing: "I'm terrified of dating you." Sure, they all choose their own special word combination, but it's the same cryptic message. What a relief it would be to hear "I'm just not attracted to you in that way", or "This just isn't working out" or even "I got someone else pregnant." And the breakup speech always contains the "I like you so much" and "you're so amazing" phrases for added frustration and consternation.

I have a hard time believing that I am *just. that. awesome.* I'm starting to wonder if perhaps some of my intensity peaks out, and my attempts to stifle this intensity make it appear all the more menacing. It does feel menacing to me--even though my emotions are rarely inappropriate, I just feel the intensity of those emotions is outright crazy.

It's time to embrace my crazy, folks. I am not a robot. I am not even a moderately emotional person. I am an extremely intense, highly emotional and sometimes jealous individual. I am passionate about almost everything. I am lukewarm about almost nothing. I will still use Thinky Self to make sense of things, but I need to let Feely Self socialize a bit more. After living with Real Crazy for eighteen years, I suppose I doubted anyone would want to be with an emotional person. But I don't think I've been fooling anyone, I've just been scaring the hell out of everyone. I'm not my mother, I'm not Real Crazy, my rational self does not turn off when the emotions turn on, but I do feel everything much more intensely than most. And my selves are trying to be okay with that...

I'm embracing my own crazy.

hey, it's not all dark!

from mcsweeney's lists:

Brews
to Accessorize
the Modern Hipster.

BY KEVIN SCHEITRUM

- - - -

I Liked These Guys Before Anybody Else Knew About Them English Bitter

Boys Don't CrIPA

Oh Fuck My Rent Check Didn't Come in the Mail Bock

Fixed-Gear Bicycleweisse

Essentially Empty Yet Always Present Messenger Baggleywine

Almost Stout of the Closet

All My Friends Are White Ale

So What If I Messed Up Your Starbucks Order Porter

Rummage Sale Pale Ale

I Don't Really Like This but I'm Drinking It to Get Back at My Parents and/or Friends With an Overt and Crass Display of Being Cultured Lambic

I Am Entirely Fucking Done With Society Because It Is Run by Corrupt and Criminally Exploitative Man-Machines Who Don't Give One Shit for Anyone or Anything Except for Money and Power Light Lager

Sleeping Pillsner

There's dirt in his veins, and i know this. that's why i'm here.
to be caressed and loved by muck.
he promised that when it got too violent behind our eyes we'd stop sleeping and we would walk through gas stations and truck stops instead, picking up more muck for our love.

and when he cuts his wrists on the bone of my hip, i'll let him cry and bleed for all of those promises he made but will never keep.
i'll take the crushed lightening bug off of my finger and press it to his lips, whispering for him to keep quiet.
it doesn't matter any longer.

he'll want to scream, of course. he always does.
but i'll slip on my suicide blue dress--the one as soft as cancer
and tenderly dry his tears with my kneecap
and leave it on the bathroom floor where it ever belonged.

The Toothbrush

I only meant to take my own toothbrush out. I didn't even touch his, but the rubber on mine must have grabbed the rubber on his and out they both came. I saw it happening, but couldn't react in time. His toothbrush fell to the floor--behind the toilet where the shit-glazed plunger resides. It fell to shit. God, how it fell to shit.

My first instinct was grab it quick, clean it, try to salvage the brightly colored, $3.50 piece of plastic....try to make it useable again.

Then I remember, he hasn't used that toothbrush in two weeks.

It's still there, I need to throw it away but I don't want to touch it right now.