You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost)–Felicia Day

I feel like I read a bunch of books all in a row that made me feel better as a human being. That made me want to TRY harder as a human being. And that made me realize that I am becoming my best self even if I’m scared to death half the time about never amounting to anything.

Felicia Day has anxiety and certain things become very addictive for her as well. (IE. She was addicted to World of Warcraft for three years and did little else. Hello Sims.)

This book made me feel so good about feeling like the Fraud Police are always after me if I do something good or productive for my future and suddenly I’m hit with that overwhelming feeling of ‘I have NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING. Let’s go ease this anxiety by avoiding all things productive and essential.’

She did it too. And she managed to overcome it enough that she can live the life she wants.

I met her in the summer at the signing for this book and she’s just as lovely and sweet as you imagine she will be. She also told me she really likes my hair. (Which was nice since I thought it looked like garbage that day and I had just recently chopped it all off.)

Anyway, if you are feeling like you don’t belong, trying to get your act together, or just want to be embraced by the words of Felicia Day, this is for you.

I will probably read it every couple of years just to help me better understand myself and move forward.

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Not the best representation of my hair that day. But who cares. I met a hero.

Constant vigilance.

Reminder.

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I needed that last night, but thankfully I have a best friend who is awake at 11 pm and knows the best ways to slap me out of it.

Plus when I’m upset I just now immediately “Google” pictures of wrinkly dogs.

How can you ever be frustrated looking at these faces?

Annual Valentine’s Rant.

Hello Humans.

With the couple holiday coming up you should know what is up next for us single people.

Hell.

Just kidding! Haha I like Valentines Day! All I meant was that it would be my annual “Buck up mother fucker!” speech because (ho ho, who would have guessed!) I’m still single and there isn’t any shame in that.

But instead I thought I would give some sage advice because I’m the wisest person in the room these days.

…I’m currently sitting by myself and the closest thing to a “live” creature in here is Doomsday’s ashes. … Awkward.

Okay. So here we are and I’m wired after I basically just slept through music lessons even though I drank a French Vanilla and now it’s finally hitting me! Useless caffeine!!! EEEEEE…

I’ll try to calm down.

All right. So, with the impending Valentines Day you are all likely thinking “OH YAY THE WALKING DEAD IS ON!” No? Just me and my sisters? …Awkward!

Cutting out hyper rigamarole : Here is “How to Interact with Single People”.

1.) Just don’t. Just fucking stop trying to talk to us. We like being alone. That’s why we are always alone. Just leave us to our Netflix binge watch and our cross stitching. We are happy little clams alone. Okay, that was a partial joke. You can talk to us. As long as you hand us candy first.

2) DON’T TELL US LIST:

Don’t tell us: “You’ll find someone someday.” Bitch I find people every day. And just as quick leave them behind. …That sounded kind of slutty. I just meant I interact with humans on a regular basis…you probably can’t tell given the awkwardness of this entire article so far. MOVING ON.

Don’t tell us: “You’re great, why aren’t you with someone?” ANSWER: I’m WITH someone all the time. ME. I’m fine. You can shut up though.

Don’t tell us: “I just want your life to start!” (This has actually been said to me by multiple people) Acca-scuse me? I believe my life started December 19th, 1986. And I’m still just as Goddamn cute. Just because I’m not romantically entangled does not mean that my life hasn’t begun. My LOVE life hasn’t really taken off, but that’s not the entirety of a person’s life. YOU on the other hand, need to get a life. Life life life life life life. Can I say the word enough? I’M SO HYPER.

Don’t tell us: “When are you going to get married?” Never. Moving on.
Don’t tell us: “Hey, I know someone that would be GREAT for you.” Never. Moving on.

Don’t tell us: “You just need to put yourself out there more.” Never. Never ever ever. In a German accent.

Don’t tell us: “You are too picky.” Picky isn’t something I associate with befriending humans. Picky is what I am with food. And I have yet to meet a person who is as delicious as food. …Except Matthew Lewis. That guy can get it. Don’t even try to tell me that Neville Longbottom isn’t a hot piece of cake. Just don’t.

Don’t tell us: “You should try online dating!” Ugh. Worst. Let me tell you something about online dating. That’s where human garbage generally lives. And they all message weird shit or dick pics. Ain’t nobody got time for that. I like dudes, but I don’t need someone messaging me their genitals and having it scare the shit out of me when I’m just scrolling along. Nobody needs to see your angry dick.

3) Give us your candy and be on your way. No explanation needed.

4) Talk to us like we are human. There is nothing wrong with being single. There is nothing wrong with waiting for the right person. There is nothing wrong with just hanging out trolling through life. Talk to me like you would your married friends because girl, I’m a person. I just don’t have someone attached to me by a legal document and matching rings.

5) Tell us how happy you are in a couple and we might throw up. Or mime throwing up. Or make that throw up motion behind your back. Or to your face. Mostly to your face. Because what do I have to lose, right?

6) Stop using the word “babe” when you are talking to or about your significant other. Babe is a pig. Are you calling your S.O. a pig? Why do you hate them? Also, if I hear you call them that I will ACTUALLY throw up. It’s the worst. Stop it.

7) Stop complaining about how big of a dick your S.O. is. Because my response will usually be something along the lines of: You should break up with that dick because god he sounds like the living worst. To which you always respond with “Hey! He’s actually the sweetest!” Where? When? What the actual fuck. The only things you’ve ever said about your S.O. were negative and complaining bullshit. When would I ever find out that they are the sweetest person alive when the only information you’ve given me is all evidence of douchebaggery?

And then you get mad at me and we can’t be friends anymore. Tale as old as time.

8) Stop telling me I just need to “get laid”. It was funny the first never times you said it and it’ll keep being funny until the never of never o’clock in Neverland on the second Tuesday of Novnever.

9) Accept my singledom. Because I have, and it’s fun. Never assume I’m completely lonely 100% of the time just because I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s maybe 12% of the time because I’m usually surrounded by people I love, like, and can tolerate the rest of the time.

10) You can tell me your Valentine’s Day plans and I promise not to make the barfing motion or be a dick about it because it’s actually nice that you and your lover made plans to bone. To bone and be nice to each other. We should put that in our calendars every day man.

Can you tell I’m coming down off my caffeine high? I’m starting to get nicer.

All right. Enough ranting. Keep moving forward. Listen to me, don’t listen to me, I don’t give a fuck, just stop being a dick. Be kind! Rewind!

Peace bitches. I’m off to spend the weekend with my spinster sisters and watch Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and then the Walking Dead.

Eat your heart out. (Haha…get it? Zombies would do that…they would eat your heart…nevermind.)

I’m so tired. I’m also so fancy. You already know.

Happy V-Day Bitches.

Sisters!

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My reaction when my little sister just came over with a French Vanilla cappuccino for me! She thought I would be mad because I asked for an English Toffee. But when I said English Toffee I was thinking “Blargh, I think I really want a French Vanilla. Ah well.”

And then she asked for a French Vanilla by accident!

PSYCHIC SISTER TELEPATHIC CONNECTION!!!!

SO MUCH CAFFEINE.

KMF: Treat Yo Self

This week I was feeling like a bag of garbage. My haircut is currently a mess due to growing it out for a wedding next year. (Through no fault of my friends, I’m sure she doesn’t give two shits if hairdressers have anything to work with come the time of her wedding.) My eyebrows were starting to look like individual angry Hulks, ‘stache city, and gnarly nails.

While looks aren’t the most important thing to me (they only make Top 20 because I try not to completely tip over into looking like a street urchin, and I work with kids and have wrestling matches so what’s the point in my hair looking good during the day? Most of the time I come home looking like I’ve been wrestled by a mongoose not a two year old.) it’s interesting the affect it takes on a person.

Yesterday morning I was telling myself I looked like a bag of garbage because I don’t know what to do with my hair anymore. I was telling myself I looked like garbage because my eyebrows had a few extra hairs that my old glasses normally would’ve covered and I wouldn’t have thought about for probably another three months. (I’m naturally blonde so who gives a fuck, right? And I’m one of the most hairless people I know.) I was telling myself that I looked like garbage because my hands and fingernails weren’t at their best. I was telling myself I was a big fat ugly bag of garbage because of a few rogue hairs.

What in the actual fuck.

GARBAGE? I was calling myself ‘garbage’. I am not:

gar·bage
ˈɡärbij/

noun: garbage
1 wasted or spoiled food and other refuse, as from a kitchen or household.

OR

2 a thing that is considered worthless or meaningless.”a store full of overpriced garbage”

I am not overpriced garbage.

I know this. Most of the time. So in a bid to snap the hell out of it. The simplest thing would be to remedy all the things that were bugging me physically.

I decided that I would pamper the hell out of myself yesterday and show myself I’m not garbage, and thankfully my favourite salon had an opening.

In the grand scheme of things I care very little about eyebrow hair. And even less about a blonde barely there moustache hair. So those would be the first to go because it’s ridiculous to give them a second though. So boom. Gone. Sleek as fuck.

The most important thing I did yesterday was for a body part I use the most and think of treating the least.

My hands. My lovely 29 year old hands have been bruised, battered, cut, slammed, poked, prodded, and beaten to hell. And all that’s just from cross stitching and knitting.

So I decided to get a manicure. Something that I haven’t done probably since prom. At the very least. And because I usually just cut my nails short and call it a day because I’m always doing something with them that messes up my nail polish so what’s the point?

The point is the hand massage bitches.

Why haven’t I been doing that more often? Forget the cuticle cleaning, or even the applying of nail polish or any of that. The hand massage alone was exactly what I needed. If you can’t afford/don’t care about getting your nails done, get someone to massage your hands with moisturizer. Because it was so lovely!

Plus the girl doing my nails told me ghost stories, which was fun. Haha .

My point is: Don’t talk to yourself that way. I’m trying really hard not to. Treat yourself to something you wouldn’t normally treat yourself to. Be kind. (Always) And then go and buy the on sale Kardashian moisturizer and perfume kit for $13 at Winners like a goddamn queen.

I went spa crazy yesterday. I even bought one of those weird things that pulls out your blackheads and those weird towel things that’s not a towel that wraps around your head so that you don’t damage your hair. And an on sale Ralph Lauren bathrobe.

Because I’m a mother fucking queen.

I also only buy things on sale now because I’m a cheap queen! haha.

Whatever. I feel like a million bucks for under 200 bucks.

Treat yo self. Keep moving forward.

The Art of Asking–Amanda Palmer

This book is the pinnacle of what I’ve been feeling lately.

I hate asking for help, the shame kills me, my pride is exhausting, and I feel like the Fraud Police are constantly after me.

Being an artist, a writer, or anything really, in the creative field (or actually life if you think about it) means that you are always asking for something.

You are asking people to believe in you, to trust you, you are asking for help to get further in your career, you are asking for people to see in you what you sometimes think isn’t there and basically saying “Yes! I promise! I will come through! Just please please please see me.”

Amanda Palmer opened my eyes a long time ago when I saw her TEDTalk. She used to be a living statue, dressed as a bride with a white painted face and she wanted to connect with people as a form of art. And it worked. All she asked was for people to look her in the eye, sure, coins and some money were welcome, but she only asked for what you could give. And sometimes that was just looking her in the eye and sharing a connection for a brief moment of time.

We often forget that we are all here for something bigger than ourselves, we are here for each other, for the universe, for mankind.

And to be here for mankind we have to be kind to man. Yes?

This book is part essay mostly autobiographically, and all heart and soul .

I love her and she just pours out her everything into this. It made me feel better and seen and heard while also showing me how to be and hear others and make sure to be present and listening and that there is no shame is asking for help or what you want out of life.

Watch her TEDTalk, read this book, follow her on every social media possible.
I’ve only had one person say the actual words “I see you” to me, and it meant the world to me. It still does.

Other people show me in putting their phones down to talk, looking me in the eyes, laughing with me, making me dinner without asking for anything in return, and I hope I show them in tons of ways as well. I try at least. Tiny gestures to say, “I see you.”

Let’s all really look from now on, okay?

Constant vigilance.