Tag Archives: relationships

the post in which I give zero fucks

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It didn’t happen when I turned 50, but sometime after I turned 51 I stopped caring so desperately about what people thought of me, and I have to say that it is really fucking awesome (yes, I will use profanity when I want to – Sorry. NOT sorry, who am I kidding).  I still have moments where I grab the “rock of really giving a fuck about what you think about me” I used to wear like a raincoat, and haul it around for a while, but I just can’t be bothered to carry that weight anymore, ya know? In one way the “swirling shit storm” of my life the last several months (years, really) has helped me let go of many things simply because they are too heavy to keep carrying.

There are things I will not apologize for anymore, and if you don’t like me because of it, I’m really, really super-fucking-okay with that.

You don’t like my politics? Great!
My life choices? Fucking Awesome!
My tattoos? More power to ya!
My sarcastic, sassy and profanity laced language? I will somehow manage to carry on without your fucking approval.
Can’t decide if  I’m worth dating? Sayonara, Adios amigo, Caio bello, sich verabschieden, d’adieu, tchüss. (because I totally AM worth it, ‘Slaying Dragons For’ kind of worth it, and I can’t spend my time with someone who doesn’t think so).

There also things I will apologize for, because like most humans, I can be a self-centered asshole on a remarkably regular basis. Those things I try to be accountable for and apologize. Things like running about 5-15 late on a staggeringly regular basis. I do apologize for this, but I haven’t suffered enough negative consequences from this for me to alter my behaviour yet. That and forgetting your name, I have a smooth spot on my brain where people’s names are stored, it’s not you, it’s me. Really, really.

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Then I read Mark Manson’s Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck and was forever changed. Well not quite, but damn.

The point is, most of us struggle throughout our lives by giving too many fucks in situations where fucks do not deserve to be given. We give a fuck about the rude gas station attendant who gave us too many nickels. We give a fuck when a show we liked was canceled on TV. We give a fuck when our coworkers don’t bother asking us about our awesome weekend. We give a fuck when it’s raining and we were supposed to go jogging in the morning.

Fucks given everywhere. Strewn about like seeds in mother-fucking spring time. And for what purpose? For what reason? Convenience? Easy comforts? A pat on the fucking back maybe?

This is the problem, my friend.

Because when we give too many fucks, when we choose to give a fuck about everything, then we feel as though we are perpetually entitled to feel comfortable and happy at all times, that’s when life fucks us.

And life will fuck you over, and over, and over, that’s just the way life is. It is also beautiful, tragic, sacred, messy and glorious . Our big mistake is to think the world, that life, that God owe us something. That we are supposed to be, #happy, #blessed, #blissful and need to share this with all our Twitter/Facebook/Instagram/Wordpress followers all the fucking time. Seriously?

Here’s the thing, the world, life, the universe, God and everything else you want to call it, do not owe you one single solitary fucking thing, got that? Does Not Owe You. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. Pas du tout. Nichts. We are not here to be entertained, to be taken care of, to have all our superficial and egocentric whims catered to. Life does not owe us. Life does not owe us a certain lifestyle, a six pack, an adoring partner, lots of money, an easy go of it, and when we caught up in the Super Sucky Vortex of Entitlement and we think that somehow we deserve these things, that we deserve all the stuff, all the fucking junk that we have been told over and over that we should have, when we get stuck in that vortex of really giving a fuck about the stupid shit, that is when we are most miserable.

tumblr_mmm3xfqWTM1snu8fxo1_500Okay, so my title may be slightly misleading. I do give a fuck about somethings, not about what you think of me, or my life, my family or any of that, I  give a fuck about what’s truly fuckworthy. In my 20’s I gave the most sincere fucks about the stupidest things. I tried, I tried so damn hard to be what I thought people wanted me to be. It made me fucking miserable.  As I aged, and occasionally matured, I found I didn’t have the energy to give a fuck about anything that wasn’t worth it. The clarity about what is important, what is worth giving a fuck about is what has liberated me. I am not apathetic, I am simply not will to waste my time and my fucks on anything unimportant.

Which is what exactly? We are here to give back, to be of fucking service to our fellow humans, to those who hold no power over us, to animals, to plants, to our mother, the fucking earth. What we need to do is to take care of each other. Is that so hard? Because it sure seems like it’s really fucking hard for people. And this is where I actually do give a fuck. I give a fuck about that homeless guy that you pretend you don’t see. I give a fuck about the recycling you just tossed in the street, about the dog you left in a hot car,  about the plastic floating in the ocean, about being kind to the person who seems to least deserve it, about feeding people who are hungry.

I give a fuck about a lot of things, just not what you may or may not think of me. Hasta la vista.

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both ears

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both ears

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And I do, have both ears that is, so romantically it’s really not so bad, right?

I went to see “Hello, My Name is Doris” with two friends in sympathetic life situations. Specifically, we are over 50 and in various stages of divorce and dating. These are my movie peeps, also known as the women I see movies with when I’m not being empowered badass and  taking myself to a movie dammit. Right, so the movie. The previews were shamelessly targeting those of us whose love and life situations might involve fantasies about a metaphoric or actual sledgehammers.

Really, I want a sledgehammer. I really, really, really do. I would also like Jake Gyllenhaal to come help me swing it around.

Both movies are about dismantling your life and possibly moving on. Possibly, not happily-ever-after moving on, just the moving on part.

Back to Doris and Van Gogh, who is never actually mentioned directly in the movie, but is used in the Our Love Lives Don’t Suck Too Much comment, “at least we have both ears”. Doris is going through a major life change and developes a crush on a much (30+ years-isn) younger coworker. I spend the movie deciding if I felt empowered, depressed, mortified, embarrassed or simply grateful for both ears.

In regards to dating younger men, I’ve been there, but just 16years younger (#ThatWasAwesome). Still, Doris resonated with me. I spent my time oscillating  between ‘insane old lady’ and ’empowered fabulous woman’. I still do.

I spend my work life and much of my leisure time with fabulous 30(ish) yoga teachers and half the time I forget I’m 20 years older or at least pretend no one notices, and half the time I think, what the hell am I doing here? Surely someone will figure out I’m much too old to be doing this sort of thing. The teachers who are my age are in stable married relationships, and then there’s me.

Doris is fun and open and spunky, but her younger friends and coworkers while quite fond of her, describe her as ‘weird, but in a good way’.  And then there’s me.

In the end I will say this about the movie, Sally Field does an amazing job, that and that at least I have both my ears.

bejesus. really, that’s a thing

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Go to a movie she said, get yourself out of this funk she said. Better than my plan of smashing possibly valuable antique china against the garage door, and throwing everything into garbage bags and slinking off to go live a quiet hermit like existence and never speaking to anyone ever again, plan. Ever again, except people I like, except for Fezzik, because he’s the best, except my students and coworkers. Okay, never again speaking to people who annoy the bejesus* outta me.

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see, I didn’t make it up

*Bejesus, is a lesser known, but fairly important hormone found in most humans in varying amounts depending on varying factors. It is excreted or lost in times of agitation, surprise or stress, as in “you scared the bejesus outta me!” Similar to, but still distinct from ‘crap’, which has an entirely different odour when it is ‘scared outta you’. It has been known to stimulate the ‘Fuck This-FT’ response which is responsible for the ‘Clean all the Shit Syndrome-CSS’, ‘Send Incoherent Emails your Ex Disorder-SIEED’ (except he’s not really your ex, because you have to be a ‘thing’ before you can be an ‘ex-thing’ and he wasn’t into being a ‘thing’, and would only state (under great duress) that your ‘thing’ was slightly more than friends with occasional benefits, odd movie dates, with witty and occasionally racy texting on the side kind of ‘thing’), and the subsequent ‘Sound Like a Fecking Idiot Syndrome-SLFIS’ which has been linked to ‘Eating the Whole Goddamn Box of Cookies’, ‘Hating All of Your Clothes’, and can include side effects such as ‘web searches for plastic surgery’, ‘installing dating apps’, ‘uninstalling dating apps’ , ‘application of detoxifying lime green facial masks’, ‘having existential conversations with the cat’, can also trigger Hamster Wheel thought brain override. Bejesus is not for everyone. Ask your doctor if Bejesus is right for you. If you’re a woman in the United States ask your white male congressman if Bejesus is right for you, then ask your white male conservative Christian religious leader if Bejesus is right for you, then pole your white male relatives to see if Bejesus is right for you, then consider why you need Bejesus in the first place, and why aren’t you happy enough in your subservient societal role, and let go of all this ‘Uppity Woman Bullshit’, and get your ass back in the kitchen and just make the men in your life a goddamn sandwich, like God intended.

 

tarantino-sukiyaki-xlargeMovie. Great idea. Quentin Tarantino movie, even better. There will be no covert love story, no sweeping music, no heartfelt redemption, just fabulous gut and brain splattering violence, the very darkest humour, and Samuel (Fucking) L. Jackson, who is even awesome without is testicles (oops, spoiler alert).

 

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totally

So you go to a Saturday night movie by yourself because you’re a strong independent woman who makes sandwiches for nobody, and it’s awesome, running into people you know, not having to share your popcorn, drinking whatever you want to drink and sitting wherever you want to. Which turns out to be basically the same amount of popcorn, same drink and the same spot in the theatre, but you don’t even notice this because you are having a fabulous time dammit, and it’s Quentin Tarantino, could you be any more clever? No, I don’t think so. So there you are, in the same seats, eating your popcorn, with your jacket on the seat beside you, because not sharing is fucking awesome, and then an eHarmony add!? e-fucking-Harmony? Can they actually do that? Which triggers the Bejesus cycle and it takes half a bag of popcorn, 10 twizzlers, and 3 violent movie trailers before you get back to your self actualized independent woman who gives zeros fucks about all the adorable couples surrounding her in the movie theatre.

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online dating in 7 words.

Thank god for Quentin Tarantino, and Twizzlers.

 

things I should have figured out by now

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Swear to God, when I was 18 and 19 years old, I thought I would be handed a playbook, or a key, or knowledge would just magically appear in my brain when I turned 20. Just like that, one day a kid who knew nothing, and then BOOM! instant adult, ALL questions answered. Also, my skin would clear up.

Imagine my profound disappointment. Maybe 20 was unrealistic, but surely 30?

I was raised to think that ‘adults’ knew everything, that ‘adults’ never questioned things because at some magical ‘adult’ age all the answers simply landed in their brains. I am not making this up. I really thought, well into my 30s that I had missed the important download of ‘adultness’ and that everyone else had this shit figured out and I was the only one who was just flying by the seat of my pants.

Things I have still not figured out:

  • low maintenance hair
  • clear skin
  • walking in heels – gracefully
  • how to file (neatly)
  • spell words with all the right letters, in the right order
  • money, the part where I earn it and spend it only on responsible and prudent things, save for vacations,  and not say,  on another low maintenance hair product
  • how to paint my toenails (neatly)

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    professionally done

  • how to store art supplies (neatly)
  • not worry if these pants make my ass look flat/fat/good/not good, or if this shirt/bra makes my boobs look less pathetic/perky/worth noticing, and does my hair work with this outfit, or should I scrap the whole look and start over? Never mind, starting over…
  • Plastic surgery, worth it for my floundering self esteem, or shameless vanity that I should find beneath me
  • how to Ohm properly, or pronounce Sanskrit words
  • how to remember and pronounce 90% of people’s names
  • men. I haven’t a clue. I know I’m okay looking , reasonably intelligent, and also men like the hair,  but I keep ending up with a different version of the exact same guy
  • how to fake enthusiasm when I give zero fucks (zero fucks blog link)
  • eyebrows, pluck, wax, tattoo….
  • how to ‘stand up and greet your neighbour!’ without wanting to vomit into my purse first, or crawl away secretly underneath the chairs
  • get to bed at a reasonable time
  • making soup, eatable soup
  • fly kites
  • remove contact lens
  • read bad poetry – I can’t even

 

What I can do reasonable well:

  • doodle/draw/paint for hours upon hours wp-1457917804786.jpeg
  • fold socks and towels in an organized and orderly fashion
  • make my bed
  • teach yoga
  • make people laugh
  • tip well
  • playing cribbage in an unsportsmanlike but entertaining manner, or as we like to say, 31 ….. Bitch..
  • jigsaw puzzles
  • watch movies
  • cook and bake, not counting soup
  • eating – I’m super good at eating
  • 20150913_144951-01.jpegdrinking coffee, but I’m really fussy…
  • dressing up and passing for an elegant intelligent woman for entire evenings at a timewp-1457917806537.jpeg
  • being generally half decent to peole
  • supported fish pose – I totally rock this pose
  • staying calm when things get crazy
  • getting a massage – so good at this
  • dessert
  • rationalizing reasons to eat dessert
  • sleeping in  contact lens
  • drive a stick shift

Ultimately, I don’t have a clue. I am making everything up as a go. I suppose this is okay, but the skin not clearing up, I’m still pissed about that.