Why I’d Refuse To Be A Lesbian

Out of nowhere, I often find myself thinking about other people’s lifestyles/lifestyle choices.  I go through the motions of reasoning why I believe certain things.  I wonder why some people are so anti-gay since, in my opinion, if it were so “unnatural,” it wouldn’t occur.  I’ve read that >10% of the population is homosexual.  While I know that 10% is the high number, that’s 1 in 10 people, which is significant. 

 Studies show that gay people are very altruistic.  Since they don’t normally procreate, they usually go above and beyond to take part in raising their siblings’ children to ensure that their own genes get passed down.  Here’s a link to that extraordinarily interesting article:  How Gay Uncles Pass Down Genes.  With that said, I’m of the opinion that this is a normal thing that has always existed in every society. 

SO, onto the next topic.

I could never be a lesbian because women are EVIL.  After a horrific day last week, my husband said, “One thing that you need to realize is that, outside of your circle of girl friends, you shouldn’t ever expect any other women to like you.  Women hate each other”.  I knew that there were good reasons for marrying him, and one of those reasons is his wisdom! 

It’s so true.  I love and adore all my friends.  They’re all nice, smart, beautiful, and loyal, but one thing that they are NOT is a threat.  That’s because we’re friends who look out for each other, care for each other, and look out for each other’s best interests.  Other women out in the wild (yes, the wild) don’t usually look out for other women who aren’t in their social circles.  Other women are competition.  Women will do everything but urinate on their possessions to keep outsider women at bay.  If any foreign woman invades another woman’s territory, one of two things will happen:  1) Claws protract and someone says, “Hold my earrings while I handle this!”, or 2) A condescending, ineffective attack of character occurs, which usually begins with “Lil girl!”.

Women are unaccepting of other women’s success, whether it’s a successful career, a special talent,  an extraordinarily fantastic partner, or just basically anything remotely cool.  There are limited reasons why one woman can be more successful than another.  They’re slutty and sleeping with someone in power.  They’re stupid, but genetically blessed.  They’ve had bodily enhancements that put them at an advantage.  Note that all of these reasons are of the physical persuasion.

Nowhere in the vast arsenal of knowledge and logic in most female minds is the fact that one girl might be smarter, kinder, more knowlegable in a certain area, or more well-rounded.  I’m not referring to every OTHER woman in the world.  I’m referring to myself, too, because other than all the women that I love, I’ve never met a woman nearly as smart as I am.

Last Friday, some women told me, “You’re memorable because you’re a skinny blonde, and that’s all that matters to men”.  That must be it considering that I have absolutely no personality or intelligence, and my wit is definitely lacking.  Yep, my blonde hair and bony body have sealed the deal on my life of greatness.  I can’t remember a time in my life where I’ve ever been so disrespected by other women than now, but all I can do is take it as a compliment. 

So, to all the lesbians in the world who can love, love, LOVE another woman in that special way in spite of their evilness, I applaud you.

Mind Your Manners & Your Bidness

So, I’m blatantly aware that in our great country, we have this thing called “Freedom of Speech”.  It’s cool.  I like it.  However, the lack of censorship on some people is usually a constant source of frustration for not just me, but many.  With this freedom comes lots of double standards and speculation. Essentially, I think the world would be a better place if people made an effort to not be rude by thinking before speaking and minding their own business.

In the way of double standards, here are a few:

What’s worse?  A fat kid making fun of a skinny kid OR a skinny kid making fun of a fat kid? 

Obviously, the majority of people will have more sympathy for a fat kid.  As a formerly skinny kid and a current skinny adult, I find myself feeling sympathy for fat kids on TV, too.  How cute are that kid on Bad Santa and Jake on the old episodes of Two and a Half Men?!  The truth is that fat kids and chubby adults come off as being endearing and sweet. 

No one ever feels sorry for a thin person. Skinny people can be called unflattering names while others openly speculate about their eating habits and the size of their clothes, but as long as you’re a size 0 or 2 instead of a 26 or 28, it’s ok.  Skinny people are small, so it’s quite obvious that they have less feelings. 

Not only are skinny people mocked, but they’re often accused of insulting others.  This happens to me sometimes.  I’m not a big talker, but, for some reason, every now and then, I’ll get accused of saying something about someone, whether it’s about the size of their legs or the way a piece of clothing fits.  I don’t have to say anything at all, but that person imagines all their insecurities flowing out of my mouth.  I find this to be an interesting phenomenon. 

I largely don’t care what people have to say about me and my weight.  I’m a healthy size 0 or 2 person who doesn’t make fun of people of any size.

Still, I think this double standard is stupid.  No one likes people making fun of their weight, so it’s equally un-ok to poke fun at skinny people.

What’s worse?  Black people using the “H” word OR white people using the “N” word?

Both words are ridiculous, but I’d probably say that white people using the “N” word is more inappropriate than black people using the “H” word.  Why?  Because I’m a white person who doesn’t get offended by the “H” word or any other derogatory slang word used to describe white people.  I don’t care.  I’m pretty fond of my white skin, and a word won’t change that.  I have a feeling that most of the people I know probably feel the same.  I say “probably” because this isn’t something we discuss over yogurt or anything.

So,  in general, if a black person says the “H” word, it’s fine. If a black person uses the “N” word, it’s fine.  If a white person uses either word, they’re either seen as being ignorant or racist…but most probably BOTH. 

This is, indeed, a double standard that could be offensive to everyone.  I find it’s best to not use either word…ever.

What’s worse?  Making a political statement OR disagreeing with a  political statement?

Clearly, it’s worse to disagree with a political statement or movement.  Currently, we have this beautiful Occupy Wall Street movement happening.  While these people are exercising their “freedom of speech” by holding up signs in streets and asking for their college tuition to be paid, it’s NOT ok for someone else to openly disagree.  I recently had this discussion with a staunch OWS supporter.  “Rich people are selfish.  The wealthy need to be taxed more.  Corporations are evil.  The Republicans are a mess.  I hate Herman Cain–his speeches are from Pokemon”.  So?  I don’t really care.  I think the movement is made up of college students and some others with a false sense of reality.  It’s not smart to take out 10′s of thousands of dollars in loans to go to an expensive college and think that you’ll make $100,000/year right after graduation with no work experience.  Just because a person ends up less successful than they thought, their debt should not be forgiven. It seems silly to me, but saying this very statement is a grave, horrific attack worthy of Facebook deletion…which is hilarious in itself. 

In terms of people minding their own business, here are some thoughts:

The lives of the general public are not meant to be soap operas and great spectacles to entertain the masses.  If people want juicy gossip, watch E! or read about Kim Kardashian.  Don’t get your jollies from the misadventures/misfortunes of people you know and supposedly like.  Their business is none of your business unless they choose to tell you.

So:

-If someone makes a vague comment or posts something on Facebook, why speculate?  Just note that it’s a vague statement and move on without assuming it’s about you. 

-The amount of money in someone else’s wallet is none of your business.   The way they spend their money is not up for negotiation or debate either.  It’s inappropriate to make comments about how someone should do something for you because they need the money.  A statement like that is all the more reason to NOT  do the thing that you’re wanting them to do. 

-If you hear that someone is going through a rough patch of any kind, don’t call all your friends to inquire about this person’s misfortune.  You’re not genuinely concerned if you’re gossiping, so mind your own business and think of how much you like people flailing around tidbits about you without consulting you first.  There’s such a thing as privacy.

To conclude, people should quit being dramatic nincompoops and live their own lives without trying to degrade others or encroach on someone else’s privacy.  What can anyone gain by being insulting and nosy anyway?

To Whom the World Revolves Around

(Disclaimer:  The following blog is not about you…unless it’s about you, but it’s mainly about me.  Of course, it’s probably about you, too, but only if everything is about you, which it is, or is it? And yes, I’m blatantly aware that my title ends with a preposition.  Sue me, but not really.  I have no $$.)

On behalf of the world, I would like to thank you for giving our planet something so sweet and perfect to orbit.  I would also like to confirm that you are completely correct in your assumption that everything is about you, and, once again, I thank you for providing substance to each and every life on the face of the planet.  You have affected us all immensely.

On a more personal level, it is true that I am completely enamored with and enraptured by the heavenly entity that is you, oh precious center of everything comprehensible.  Everything that I do essentially revolves around you. Every thought is about you, every action is for you, this blog is about you, and last, but certainly not least, every Facebook status is written solely for you.  I am so obsessed with you that my bodily functions withhold themselves until I can consciously reason that, based on you, these functions are appropriate.  In short, my poops (if I pooped) revolve around you, too.

You might wonder why the world revolves around you. How did everything in existence come to be about you?  How does everyone know you?  How can everyone care so much about you?  A-ha!  It must be your ubiquitousness.  You have somehow managed to thrust your god-like presence onto everyone on the planet in such a way that you cannot be ignored.  It seems to be a tall order, but you have accomplished it, so let’s take a moment for the world population to give you a celebratory pat on the back. 

(Please, just for a moment, stop patting yourself on the back to make enough room for us to squeeze in.   Thank you.)

Each and every one of us appreciates all the unsolicited advice that we can get.  In truth, while it’s often taboo to be so abrupt and honest, we’re all too stupid to make our own decisions.  We need someone to advise us in every aspect of life.  Yep, we  need someone to tell us what to feel, how to act, what to wear, what hobbies to have, what decor to use for fancy soirees, what religious beliefs to hold, whom to vote for, what practices to practice, etc..  So, thank you for all the excellent jewels of knowledge that you have bestowed upon your lesser pupils.

While it’s clear that we all love and admire you, it’s also clear that we despise and hate you.  While we say nice things to your face, and we do everything that we do just for you, it’s only right that we all stab you in the back.  You see, all the whispers and glances correlate to your insecurities and fears, your ultra long toes and your strangely pointed nose. We gossip about your personal life because we have no personal lives of our own, and we spread lies to tarnish your perfect reputation in our feeble attempt to boost our own (lack of) morale. To put you at ease, it’s not Tinnitus that’s making your ears ring.  We’re all just talking about you.  This mindless chatter is to lessen the pains of our mundane lives that would be utterly meaningless without the sweet, sweet center of our vast universe.   Thank you for providing purpose for our otherwise useless existences. Thank you for your time, but remember, we’re all on your time.

Love,

Michele

P.S.  Can a postscript be a question?  I guess it can be. 

P.S.S. How can some people really think that they’re so important that everything someone says or does directly relates to them?  Is anyone that important?

If you find that in any place above, the word “you” applies directly to you, take your massive ego outside and have a nice day.

English Going to Hell in a Handbasket

 On a weekly basis, a conversation usually happens in which someone asks where I went to school and what I earned a degree in, and when they hear that I was an English major, if they don’t already know where I work, they say, “Oh, you’re a teacher then?”.  No, I’m not a teacher, and I have a good reason.  I would probably fail the majority of my students and become the notoriously honest teacher.  We’ll go with the word “honest”.  Education, especially when it comes to literature and grammar, seems to have gone wayward.  Who knows, maybe classrooms need an “honest” teacher like me, but I’m pretty sure that you’ll never catch me in the front of a classroom for the sole reason that I’d like to keep my remaining sanity.

Education in English may have been going downhill for some time now because, in a world where the bulk of our communication is typed, it’s amazing how terrible some people write.  No one is infallible, but you’d think that if a person has grown up speaking a language, they would have at least become proficient in writing it and understanding it.  If they haven’t, why would anyone take them seriously when it comes to other things? 

If my cardiologist sent me a letter that said, “All you’re insurance papers or in order, and I’m reddy to perform you’re open heart surgery, come in tomorrow around 11:30 and i’ll cut ya open before my lunch break for cheep have a nice day,” I probably wouldn’t be in the same room as this person, much less sedated on a table while he has a scalpel. 

I could probably forgive someone whose native language isn’t English.  It’s kind of endearing when someone whose native tongue is different slips up,  but  I grew up with two bilingual parents who were raised by my four French and English-speaking grandparents who were raised by  my eight French-speaking great grandparents.  My dad didn’t know a lick of English until his first year of school, but he speaks and writes very well these days.  How can someone speak and write better in their second language than someone else in their first and only language?  It’s quite baffling!  Maybe my parents are just smarter than most people.  Who knows!

You have to wonder what goes through some people’s minds.  How do they think?  The way that I write is the way that I think.  The sentences that I type/write are straight from my brain in the format that I think them.  If all of the words in my head were to print themselves out and float around the room, all the similar ideas would go together and fit into cohesive blocks while all the lagniappes would get stowed away in a completely different compartment with subdivides where the things that are alike would attempt to find each other.  It’s a pretty organized place.

Every now and then, I start to think that I’m crazy, but when I read something that says, “some people are so stupid i gotta pee, my nose itches,” I begin to think that I’m pretty normal and actually a little boring.  I’d imagine that scary things happen in this person’s mind.  Green slime is probably oozing out of the walls of the brain in question, and there might be  a clown and a donkey on opposite ends of a teeter totter going in circles, and words are carelessly strewn about in multiple funky fonts that are color coded in an illogical manner. 

People with bad grammar like to argue with other people, too, which is amazing.  While I can look past a little bad writing to see a good point, I usually never see a good point from someone with bad grammar.  They will probably refute the fact that they’re terrible, terrible writers with the fact that they’ve passed every English class that they’ve ever taken, and they were smart enough to earn a college degree.

I’ll never be able to stand in front of a classroom and teach people who are perfectly fine with just getting by.  I’m too much of a perfectionist.  I’m the girl who consistently says that I’m bad at math because I made 2 B’s in it during my whole school career.   I just don’t understand what’s happening in this world.  Shouldn’t all people have high standards for themselves?  I should probably boycott reading all together….

Crazy Says WHAT?!

I’m beginning to think that I’m crazy.  Well, to clarify, I’m not beginning to think it. I’ve been contemplating my potential craziness for some time now.  I’ve actually been asking my friends and family.  I keep getting answers that include, “No,” “Rational,” and “Normal,” and I even got an, “Everyone else is crazy”.  It’s a little disappointing that after all the introspection that I’ve done throughout my life, I still don’t know myself well enough to deduce whether or not I’m, in fact, crazy.

I’m like a Scotch Korean.  I’m a walking contradiction.  You might as well stick me in a pack of Starbursts.  I’d probably be a yellow one because that’s the most sour and  least delicious, and that’s about my luck.  Yep, I’m the yellow Starburst of life…

Not many things about me are consistent.  My views are different from day to day.  Some days are good.  Some days are bad.  I know that  I consistently like cats, and I consistently like smoking hookahs though.  It’s probably weird that I’ve never smoked a cigarette or done a single drug in my life, but I frequently smoke raspberry and blueberry-mint flavored tobacco out of a questionable looking, yet completely legal, smoking apparatus.  So, I suppose that I’m a cat loving, hookah smoking lemon Starburst.

At this point, I should probably explain why I think that I’m crazy.  I think that I might be crazy because I observe things around me and state the obvious, and some people react as if we’re living on completely different planets.  I can say that I saw a rabbit hop across the forest, and someone else will say, “No, that was a mermaid falling from a tree and galloping across the foothills of Turkey,” or just something completely absurd like that, and of course, I’d be wrong.  I’m always wrong.  Then, the person who saw the galloping mermaid will probably call me out for degrading a hare by calling it a rabbit in the vision that they didn’t even see.  And, how dare I say that the rabbit was running!  That rabbit hare was jogging at its own pace!

In addition to that, I often inadvertently do things that come off as being insensitive and catty.  I might say, “Hey, good morning,” and someone else will say, “I’ll have a good morning when I’m ready, but thank you kindly for your input.  Don’t make me feel obligated to immediately have a good morning–this isn’t a competition.  Just because you’re having a good morning doesn’t mean that I need to be doing the same.  I’ll have a good morning at 3 PM if that’s what I want to do, so have a NICE DAY!”.  To this, I’ll say, “Ok, you too,” and the story will continue on.  That person will say, “Now you’re just being cocky!”.  Meanwhile, another person will walk by and say, “Hey everyone.  Good morning!”.  The person who just got done tearing me a new one will then say, “Hey Teddy, good morningggg!”.  Who did I think I was being so RUDE and INSINCERE?

Also, I can pay a compliment that will magically turn into an insult within moments.  Somewhere between my mouth and another person’s ears, the phrase, “I like those shoes,” turns into, “Your butt is fat and your mother never loved you”.  If my words don’t get turned into other words, they get taken the wrong way.  If I say, “You’re so smart,” it’ll be taken as, “Thank goodness you’re intelligent because you sure are ugly”. 

On the flip side, my friends and family think that I’m a normal and sweet person, which is completely insane given the above scenarios.  While I’ve greatly exaggerated everything that I’ve said so far, the point is still the same.  Two people can carry out the same two actions, but one of those people can be perceived as being a friend while the other is a complete and utter tool.  If someone has a problem with a person, there is essentially nothing that person can do that will be right.  If someone has a chip on their shoulder, EVERYTHING that someone else does will get blown out of proportion.

Perhaps I’m a little sweet and a little sour, a little crazy and a little normal, or predictable with a surprise or two.  I’m not sure.  All I know is that I have to figure it out because my patience with society and all its dramatics is growing thin, and if I’m actually crazy,  I should probably start collecting my government check ASAP.

Ending on a Sherlock Holmes quote, “It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes”.

Stereotypical Fun: How Insensitive Are You?

I’m going to play Captain Obvious for a second:  We live in a society that likes to get mad.  So many people are looking for something, or just anything, to complain about.  I’m guilty and a bit of a hypocrite, too, because I like to complain about nitpicky people who like to complain.  I get peeved by people who are perpetually peeved.  The thing that I find most interesting about our society is the emphasis on labels and the games that we all play to tiptoe around these labels, pretending like we don’t even know that they exist.  Everyone wants to be different and unique, but they only want to be different and unique when it’s beneficial.  No one should ever point out a difference unless it’s congratulatory, so it seems.

I’m going to throw out two scenarios, and then I’ll elaborate. 

Scenario A:

I wake up in the morning, and I brush my teeth.  All the while, I look in the mirror and think, “I’m so white and blonde, and I don’t look edgy whatsoever.  I’m definitely a conservative, and I’m probably stupid because of my hair color”.  I then get dressed, and I go about my daily tasks.  I drive to work, but not without thinking, “That person in front of me can’t drive.  They must be Asian…or female, but if they’re Asian, at least they’re good at math”.  I get to work, and I ride the elevator with a group of people.  One is black, two are white, and one of the white people are gay.  I look to the white heterosexual with a sense of comraderie, and I think, “This black woman is looking at me.  She’s probably thinking  that I’m a Republican and that she is a better dancer and can outrun me in a marathon.  The gay guy is definitely a liberal with a lisp, but he certainly has a good fashion sense. He looks fabulous”.  I then go about my day while trying to pick up on whether or not people on the phone are using the proper “be” verbs because if they don’t, I’ll assume that they were raised on the bad side of town.  A friend of mine e-mails me to go to lunch.  She’s hispanic, so I suggest that we go to La Hacienda or Taco Bell, but then she tells me that our African-American friend is coming, too, so then I’m completely stumped:  burritos or fried chicken?

(Have I sufficiently offended everyone with these stereotypes that are obviously too silly to be offensive?)

Scenario B:

I wake up and get dressed within 15 minutes.  All the while, I think, “I’m tired.  I don’t feel like being awake.  Is that  a zit?”.  I get in my car to go to work, and I’m still thinking, “I’m tired”.  People are driving slow, so I say, “Come on, people!  DRIVE!”.  I get to work, and I ride the elevator.  I say, “Good morning” to the fellow passengers.  My brain falls back to sleep.  I get to my desired destination, and I say “Y’all have a nice day,” never noticing who I rode the elevator with, what they were wearing, or what they even looked like.  I go through the motions of my day.  Then, my friend calls me to go to lunch.  We go to a pizza place…because we always go to a pizza place.  Mind you, my friend isn’t Italian.

Which scenario is accurate? 

Scenario B is 100% accurate for me, but I’m sure that some people will probably assume that it’s A.  The person who chooses A is probably someone who likes to call other people out for hatred because, although they recognize and dwell on the differences between themselves and others, everyone else should pretend that the labels and stereotypes don’t exist. People don’t really think like ”Scenario A”.  People who believe that other people think like “Scenario A” may happen to label themselves as a “Democrat,” so they’re exempt from any wrong-doing because they’re poltically correct and completely unbiased.

Why did I just bring up politics?  Why did I just use the word “Democrat”? OMG, why did she just say “Democrat”?! Keep reading. It’s not so serious.

So, I was searching for Walk Hard:  The Dewey Cox Story to post clips to my Facebook page. That stuff is hilarious.  It doesn’t get any better than the ”Let me hold you, little man” song.  (On a side note, the song is about midgets, and midgets are short, but pretend that you don’t notice.) I somehow came across this sweet compilation video of Disturbingly Racist Cartoons.  I watched the video and realized that I had watched every single one of these cartoons as a kid, and any racist actions or remarks were completely over my head back then.   Watching them now, I can see that some things might be taken as being racist…because everything today is taken as being racist.  People are so quick to get offended.

  The other day, I actually came across someone saying that someone else LOOKED like they used the “N” word a lot.  Of course, the person saying this said the actual “N” word, which has never escaped these lips, so I won’t let it escape my fingers either.  I’ve heard it all.  Basically,  if any comment or action is short on complimentary pizazz to anyone, it’s automatically offensive.

So, back to the video, one guy writes something along the lines of, “I’m a DEMOCRAT, and I don’t even find that these cartoons are racist”.  I had to laugh because it’s HILARIOUSLY funny.  I’m guessing that being a Democrat makes him entitled to declare what is and what isn’t racist–the almighty and all-knowing virtuous democrat to properly label all things while, coincidentally, ignoring all labels.

Mind you, this blog isn’t political.  I hate politics.  While I registered as a Republican when I was 18, I can only say that I’m myself with my own opinions that I’ve gained throughout the last few years.  I don’t know all about who stands for what, and I’m not too interested in having a political debate.  I can only say that, according to the mainstream media, it seems like being a Republican is wrong, but I digress.

The scary thing about it all is that people take themselves way too seriously!  There comes a time when you just have to laugh instead of get pissed off.  Not everyone in the world is out to get someone, and generally, people are too busy thinking about their own lives to worry about everyone else’s.  So, your age, race, sexual orientation, religion, and political bias aren’t as important to everyone as you think they are.

My freshman year of college existence revolved around a group of my friends teasing me for fitting the description of Hitler’s perfect German.  They called me an “Uberman,” and I received Nazi and Jew jokes left and right. I laughed because it was in good fun. No one was hurting anyone.  Blatant hate is disgusting, but harmless stereotyping for the sake of humor is just that:  harmless stereotyping for the sake of humor. 

The most racist thing someone can do is wrongfully accuse someone else of racism.

End.

$10 M, Where Are You?

As of late, I’m noticing that rich people are on the receiving end of a whole lot of guff.  It’s intriguing how everyone on the face of this planet would like to be rich, but at the same time, they just can’t stand rich people.  As Americans, we have a mean girl mentality.  I read an article not too long ago that had “research” proving that wealthy people are much less empathetic than poor people while almost always attributing their success to themselves as individuals instead of congratulating the government for doing such an amazing job.  They also think that their work ethic is responsible for their success. How stupid are they, right?! 

If you’re interested, here’s that article:  The rich are different — and not in a good way, studies suggest.

 I often wonder why I can’t be one of these disgusting rich people.  I want $10 million, but where-oh-WHERE is my $10 million? I’m almost positive that I know why I don’t have it, and here are some reasons:

-I wasn’t born with $10 million.  I didn’t pop out of the womb with jewel-encrusted booties or golden toenails. My parents aren’t rich.  They gave me food, clothing, shelter, some love, and an education.  No trust fund with $10 million anywhere in the deal.  Inconceivable!

-I didn’t marry and divorce a man worth $20 million.

-I earned a degree in Liberal Arts.  Enough said.

-I have yet to find a use for my Liberal Arts degree because I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do when I grow up.

-Besides being incredibly witty and capable of typing up to 140 wpm, I have nothing substantial to offer the vast population at this moment.  I can’t play music.  I’m not a good actress.  I haven’t discovered a cure for any life-threatening ailments, and I didn’t create Facebook.  I’m not saving lives or subjecting every waking moment of my life to the public. This is not to say that I’ve grown complacent with being average.  There’s always room for improvement.

So, those are the reasons why I’m not rich.  I can’t say that I’ve ever met billionaires, but I’ve met a few millionaires.  Why are they millionaires?

-They were born millionaires.

-OR-

-They have a successful business that they’ve invested time, money, sweat, and tears into. 

-They don’t exhaust their wealth on bad decisions.

-They’ve made smart investments.

-They’re not just average.  While they may not always have superior intelligence, there’s some quality that they have that the majority of the population does not, whatever it may be. Usually, they’re so nice and down to earth that you can’t tell that they’re even wealthy.

-THEY HAVE GOOD WORK ETHIC.

I have a hard time believing that rich people get rich by being lazy sacks of manure UNLESS they’re spoiled brats endowed with lots of cash from birth.  People who are meant to be successful and wealthy know what they have to do to be successful and wealthy.  People who are meant to be poor just don’t know how to be successful and wealthy.  You can give a homeless person a house and $1 million, and odds are, he’ll end up homeless again.

Not everyone is worthy of monetary wealth.  I know that, as of right now, I don’t deserve to be filthy rich, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel successful.  I work hard, my husband works hard, we have a house and possessions that we take pride in and a cat that owns us.  Our quality of life is way better than the lives of people that live in third world countries and even that of royalty from just a couple hundred years ago.  We’re lucky enough to be citizens of the greatest country in the world.

The bottom line is that some people are greedy, and the greedy ones aren’t always the rich ones.  People need to get their panties out of a bunch and take some responsibility for themselves.  It’s not like Lady Fortuna is spinning her wheel, and you get what she gives you.  We’re all captains of our own ships.  The most frustrating thing in the world is when people constantly moan about their position in life, but the only thing they do to change it is badger the people who aren’t as miserable.

Rant ended… ::sigh::

Haters Gonna Hate

You ever have those days, weeks, or months where you feel that a particular person really hates your guts, but  he/she goes about it in an aggressive, yet fluffy way that may seem friendly to the unknowing passerby?  This is the equivalent of a ventriloquist smiling and giving you a rose while lowly saying “F you”.  Someone walking by might think, “Oh, how sweet,” but you, the “F you-ee”, ” if you will, obviously know the context, and you then conclude that this ventriloquist is a  conniving, deceiving poo-poo face.

The person who hates your guts (in a friendly way, of course) always smiles to your face and says nice things in front of other people, but they will always take every opportunity to prove that they’re better.  You’re not good at cooking?  They’re a world-class chef. They spend all their free time dicing, sauteing, and doing whatever it is that good cooks do.  You don’t find digging ditches particularly appealing?  They LOVE digging ditches–it’s awesome. It’s nearly orgasmic, that digging ditches…  You say that you’re not good at basket weaving?  They learned how to weave baskets from a remote Native American tribe.  You can’t dance?  They taught Michael Jackson how to moonwalk.

Not only are they better at everything, but they’re also busier.  If there’s a surefire way to tell that someone doesn’t like you, it’s the time, or lack thereof, that they invest in things that are important to you.  While you, the unlikeable gal or chap, likely spend 8 or more hours a day at your job and perform other survival duties, like whipping up meals, taking baths, socializing with friends and family, thinking of ways to better your future, and just living life in general, this person assumes that you twiddle your thumbs 16 hours a day and sleep the other 8.  No one can POSSIBLY be as busy as them.  You have to invite them to events 6 months in advance so that they can pencil you in on their schedule (pronounced SHEDule), only to realize that they’ve been double-booked, and “So long, I have a more pressing engagement”.  Note that when they do show up to occasions, they often mention alcohol consumption.

Exclusion is also a handy identifier of a hater.  Feeling left out?  It’s probably because you are.  Did those “thank you’s,” “congratulations,” “I’m so happy for you’s,” and “It was so great to see you’s” somehow skip you along the way?  Yeah, well, it’s because they don’t like you!

Yet another way to tell how much someone doesn’t like you is how often they claim to not want the things that you have.  If you have some pretty high heels, they say, “Oh, those are nice, but I wouldn’t wear heels.  I’m the perfect height”.  If you have an expensive cable package, they say, “Cable is nice, but when I think about how busy I am, I just don’t have time for TV”.  If you have a hot boyfriend, they say, “I LOVE being single.  My life is amazing.  Anyway,  I don’t go for looks”.  They also think that everything you like is tacky.  Hairbands?  Ew.  Sparkly things?  NO WAY!  Non-neutral eyeshadow?  Total faux pas!

NOW!  Why does this person not like you?  Think. Think.  Think.

Oh yes, it’s because you have one thing that they want more than anything in the world.  It doesn’t matter that you have this thing, whatever it may be, because you earned it or deserve it.  They apparently deserve it MORE.  Because they can’t admit that you–a measly, digusting, unlikeable creature–have that something special, they will go out of their way to make you miserable. 

It seems like such a time consuming task for someone so busy.

But, c’est la vie.  Haters gonna hate.

You’re Cool? Have a Trophy!

The title of this post is supposed to read “Better-Than-Michele-Taylor Trophies Now Available for All Those Better Than Mediocre”.  I couldn’t squeeze it all onto the line.  I lie–I didn’t try because I’m too lazy, and who would take the time to read such a long title anyway?

There comes a day in everyone’s life when they may realize that frolicking around a nudist colony would be way more awesome than conforming to society.  I’m not too fond of being nude in public, and I don’t think there are many people that I’d particularly enjoy seeing naked, but I’m just saying that some days are just that bad.  There are always people telling you, “You need to do this.  You should do that.  That could’ve been better if you would’ve done this,” and these people are ultimately oblivious to all the other people telling you more coulda-shoulda-wouldas  about other things.  It’s kind of a sad thought when you begin to realize that you’ve only ever been the first mate under the 47 captains of your very own ship.  Exasperated?  You shouldn’t be.  Frustrated?  You have no right. 

I’m beginning to wonder if anyone ever lets someone feel the way they really feel.  But, I digress.

I’m going to have a trophy designed to give as a gift to everyone I meet who’s better than me.  I will have 7 billion made.  Actually, I take that back.  As crazy as I might seem every now and again, I’m very practical, so buttons it is.  I will have 7 billion Better-Than-Michele-Taylor buttons made.  I’ll then have them mailed out to every country.  That way, the world’s whole population will have access to my buttons.   So, when I meet someone new, they’ll already be wearing their Better-Than-Michele-Taylor button; thus, all the primal competitive nonsense can be automatically bypassed.  Who can be rude to a person who has already accepted the fact that they’re inferior? 

This could be very successful; however, I realize, too, that people sometimes need to prove their superiority.  So, I’ll also enclose a list of all my shortcomings:  I have the physique of a 12 year old, I’m not a particularly good cook, I’ve never been good at any sports besides badminton, my toes are the length of most people’s fingers, I have little patience, and I’m relatively mediocre at most tasks.

My main goal in life is to remain as inconspicuous as possible.  I don’t like attention.  I don’t like competitions.  I don’t like to share every compliment I’ve ever received, and I don’t like to point out every good deed I’ve ever done.  If I were to ever write a book, I’d probably use a fake name and just collect the money without the fame.  I might not even tell anyone that I wrote a book . 

I’m feeling more so than usual that I need to be invisible. I don’t want to get blamed for anyone’s bad mood.  I don’t want to feel the pressure of being a role model.  I don’t want anyone to compare their life to mine, and I don’t want to feel like my life is a race.  All I want to do is live my life, have a solid support system of people who will be there for me on a bad day, and someone to laugh at my jokes.

Alas, maybe with the help of my Better-Than-Michele-Taylor button, every problem will be solved.

Life According to a Pleb Like Me

I have to admit that I’m easily amused.  It’s sometimes hard to distinguish whether I find something extraordinarily hilarious or deeply offensive because I’m not sure where the two lines meet or if they even do. Yet, I find that it’s always easier to make a joke than start a fight that I’m either too lazy or too apathetic to argue.  That brings me to the point of this blog. 

I have noticed that there are especially elite people online, and these elite people are high and mighty for a reason.  God came down from Heaven during a break from hearing prayers and checking his text messages to see if you really forwarded your “If you love Jesus Christ, pass this on,” message to 15 of your closest friends, to bestow a specific word on an especially intellectual, superior class of people.  That word is none other than (drum roll, please!) “Pleb”.  I first saw this word on Facebook about a year ago, and I thought, “What the heck does that word mean?!”.   After a little Googling, Merriam-Webster told me that it meant “a common person,” and Urban Dictionary said, “Michele, it means ‘one who’s inferior intelligence results in them making a complete titface out of themselves in public,’” so I said, “Oh, well, I’m a pleb then”.  I noticed that the Urban Dictionary should’ve used “whose” instead of “who’s,” too. 

After the first time I saw this word, I swear that 5 or 6 people have used it on Facebook since.

Then, I thought, “Well, who has the authority to decide whether someone is a ‘pleb’?”.  Duh–everyone who KNOWS the word “pleb”–doctors, lawyers, philosophers, cashiers, professors, librarians, homeless people,  parrots, etc.  If you know the word “pleb,” you’re automatically better than the general public, and you can refer to them by using this word to express their inferiority, as in, “This plebian society should not be in charge of making important decisions”. 

Now that I know the word, I still don’t feel comfortable using it to refer to anyone.  I oftentimes check my credentials in hopes that I might be able to successfully call someone a pleb someday, but I’m just the average person with good luck.  I graduated college with a 3.9 GPA, I allegedly have an IQ that’s just 6 points less than Einstein’s estimated IQ, and I have very cooperative hair.  The thing is, I only graduated with good grades because I majored in something I absolutely love–book readery (aka literature).  I majored in Broadcasting for a bit and made decent grades, but I’m very shy, and I had to make LOTS of effort to do well .  So, I switched to something way easier, and in that way, I’m a failure.  Also, I think IQ tests are completely bogus.  How am I only a little less smart than Einstein because I know who Copernicus is and I can read things forwards and backwards?  It’s just strange.  There are only two things one can be a prodigy at:  Math and Music.  Unfortunately, I’m bad at both, so that’s an epic failure for whoever designs these tests…  And my hair–my hair is like a neglected animal that tries so hard to get its owner’s attention by being well-behaved.

I know that I can be arrogant and self-righteous sometimes, but I still can’t call the society in which I live a “plebian society”.  So, it either cracks me up or really offends me that people give themselves the right to use this word.

On a completely different, yet similar, note.  I think people who find relatively obscure sayings or words to be racist are either really funny or offensive.  First of all, I find that finding things racist is racist in itself.  What group of people in this world has not been persecuted?  I guess I hate myself by default.  The French part of me hates the German part of me.  The tiny slice of Native American feels oppressed by my overall whiteness, and the Cajun  (Cajuns were sold into slavery, too) in me is probably still bitter towards the English.  I’m sure that after the 4.6 billion years that it took to put me on this planet, there’s a little of every race/ethnicity/nationality somewhere within. 

I found out recently that the word “gal” is seen as being racist and demeaning to some women since southern men (with their southern accents) referred to slave women as “gals”. Of course, slavery was a terrible, terrible thing, but not every white person owned a slave, and not everyone who used the word “gal” intended it for a specific race. I’m pretty sure that everyone who these people (What do you mean “these people?!”  Southern white people.) meant to refer to as girls, who were all coincidentally girls, were referred to as “gals” because of the southern accent. I know that my dad has already referred to my friends and me as “young gals,” so I should probably assume that he was being racist towards me because, somewhere within my lineage, I’m probably also part black.  And I thought he loved me!  This day and age, finding a word like “gal” or any word that is not overtly and purposefully used in a racist way to be racist is just silly.  Still, I don’t know if I want to laugh or be offended by it all.

Finally, on a completely different note, I’m pretty sure that I find this one more funny than offensive:  Obviously out-of-shape people threatening to dish out a tooshie whooping.  There are thuggish women out there who walk around while making physical threats as an intimidation tactic.  Is anyone really scared of these people?  I know that I am most definitely not physically intimidating, so I would never try to fight with anyone.  Someone twice my size who doesn’t work out is equally unscary though.  I’m pretty sure that if a fight breaks out, I can avoid breaking my knuckles by jabbing with a sharp, bony elbow, or if all else fails, I can outrun someone who’s packing a little more baggage than me.  I’ve never gotten a threat, but I’ve heard girls say this crazy stuff to other girls.  Unless a girl is in a gym kickboxing with a sandbag everyday, they’re just talking out of their derrieres.  Also, how unclassy is it for a woman to act like a bull with too much testosterone anyway? 

 So, yeah, these are the kinds of things that weigh on my soul at night.  I think I need some Flintstone vitamins.