You may not remember me, as my last post was over a year ago, but I used to provide you with witty ramblings of a self-absorbed twenty-something, as well as provide the occasional gentle chiding to the pop-culture phenomenons I find unseemly and hilarious. I had taken a hiatus from all things blog because something AMAZING happened...
This dickwad shot me in the ass. To be fair, it's an easy shot, even for a baby.
In any case, I know I have been missed. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO SAY IT*.
However, I did promise a betrothed edition, and how I came to that soon-to-be-uproarious conclusion requires a little bit of explanation. For long time followers of my brand of blogging humor, you will know that the catalyst for the grand majority of my blogs is sitting in a movie theater, watching a modern-American film, and realizing that I have something to contribute to the blogosphere once my mind inevitably wanders. In rare occasions, the movie is actually really good and makes me think of something that I would have not thought of had I neglected to watch that particular movie.
Depressing aside you should feel free to skip:
I went and saw Silver Linings Playbook, and I found the movie, up until probably the last 30 minutes, extremely real. Real not necessarily in any unfolding of events, but real in it's characters and real in the life of its own that a mental illness inevitably takes on. I identified deeply with Bradley Cooper's Pat in his combined but often contradictory struggles to both assure his family of his progress past his breakdown, and perpetually beat back the sleeping dragon of his mental illness. Once the diagnostic process in my own life had finally yielded a name I could call myself, and a list of symptoms made sense to me and my closest friends, I realized that handling stress would always be my largest obstacle. That my life would be fighting the urge to shut down or run away from any stressful situation. That whether or not the things that happened to me were my fault, the "post-traumatic" was over now, but the "stress disorder" would characterize my life forever. That reassurances to my family or myself would always be qualified with the knowledge that within me something could always implode if the pressure cooker got hot enough. It was the most miserable realization in my entire goddamn life.
Anyway, watching Silver Linings Playbook made me think about things that are difficult. Like, really really difficult to do. Confronting your own mental illness: DIFFICULT. Making a movie about something personal that manages to be universal, SO DIFFICULT. Lifting a thousand pounds, running a marathon, finding a prettier pair of eyes than those of yours truly....yadda yadda yadda-all things that are obviously difficult but seldom attempted. However, there are comparably difficult things that as human beings in a social society must force ourselves to attempt every day, often fail, and are consequently punished accordingly. I also will offer a plausible solution. I now present to you the "Official Meredith Mullins Working List O' Shit that SUCKS (Seriously, shit sucks) Official List."
But seriously, good sir, try disappointing these eyes. I DARE you. Your soul will crumble.
1. Finding the right way to comfort/rally behind/
give your opinion pander to a friend who is in crisis. There is really no good way to do this. Either you are saying too much, saying too little, are transparent in your unabashed bias, or completely out of line for giving advice. The only rule I have been able to swear by is that NOBODY wants to hear what they could have done differently, why they might be wrong, or why the bitch who pissed you off may have meant well, EVER. What we all want to hear, as humans, is a resounding "BITCH, please. Fuck that bitch. She/he doesn't know you nor does she/he have any right to make you feel this way. You are awesome/reasonable/perpetually correct when involved in feuds with other people and she/he better never forget it. All hail you and your irrepressible awesomeness/reason/patience/saintliness," or, in short, "OH NO SHE/HE DIDN'T!" So, tread lightly and with complements. CAVEAT: Do not use this response when said friend is speaking of their significant other, because they will inevitably return to their significant other, awkwardly making you the bitch who talked shit. DISASTROUS.
Who you are trying to be:
Who you come across as:
The bitch got mad style, though. Who else could rock a rope belt?
Solution? Fake a nosebleed. Works every time.
2. Writing a blog while Facebook is in another browser window. It just can't be done.
WHAT? Two notifications in 30 seconds!?!?!! VALIDATE ME! VALIDATE ME!
Solution?: One would think you could just cancel Facebook and be done with it. However, how would you transfer adorable pictures of yourself to your blog with ease? Could you live with yourself and your writing if things like THIS went un-posted?
You couldn't. You just couldn't.
So, what to do? Abuse meth-amphetamines. When you are up for 24 hours you will have time for it all: every snarky comment, every self-important diatribe. The sky is the limit. Well, the sky and a healthy heart rate.
Hold on, I have notifications pending...
Okay. Poke-back executed.
3. Successfully execute a non-conflict producing response to what I like to call an "explaina-bitch," cousin of the Community popularized "explaina-brag," and not look like a total douche. What is an explaina-bitch, you ask? The sentence, "Not to be an asshole, but your baby is ugly." An extreme, yet illustrative example. As I have learned, saying "BUT YOU'RE GONNA BE" is...not received in an awesome fashion. The verbal diarrhea of the explaina-bitch has many cousins. Probably most aggravating (especially to those of us still involved in the wonderland known as the service industry) is the "covert-a-douche." For example, "I hate to be annoying, but can I get some more ice in my water?" You hate to be annoying, sure, but you have DEFINITELY made peace with it, somehow.
Truly, the Kesha of expressions.
I have found the only polite response to this shart of an expression is silence, but if you are trying to avoid the inevitable awkward silence, there is always the comedic option, such as "I never hate to be an asshole," or, "I get paid to be annoyed." This is tricky, because you must possess a level of charm that I just don't have, as even my sincerity often comes out as sarcasm. So, what to do?
The solution: Roundhouse kick to the face. End of conversation.
*Please feel free to say it.