Ninety percent of the people I’ve worked with who are disruptive or lazy or unskilled or addicts or likely to throw a tantrum are men. Ninety percent of the ones who get called “difficult” are women.
I’ve still got stuff to work on. If a guy can convince me he has the answers or a better plan than me, I will follow him anywhere. I’ve fallen for it more than once. It’s not easy to pull off, because I happen to think most people are idiots, but if you can do it, I’m in trouble.
Couples, singles, gay, straight, cats, dogs, and well-trained lizards are welcome. No babies.
It’s like, it’s like I have a different kind of heart... sometimes I’ll be at work or a party, and get that same feeling: ‘I am not like these people, I don’t know what I’m doing here’ and it comforts me to know that I felt that way as a child too... I’ve been prepared to be an outsider most of my life.
I thrive in structure; I drown in chaos. I love rules and I love following them. Unless that rule is stupid.
Jessica became my first enemy. Like most enemies in my life, I hoped to punish her with passive-aggressive glances and silent-but passionate!-resentment. She retaliated by forgetting I existed. Ah, the moral victory.
I think self-doubt is healthy. And having to fight for the thing you want doesn’t mean you deserve it any less.
That woman is all the colors of the rainbow and I want to roll around in her closet. She.
By fifth grade, I cracked a major development in strategy. I needed to get boys to talk to me. I wasn’t pretty, but I could make them like me through the magic of conversation, or at least trick them into revealing some actionable knowledge and go from there.
It took an older man saying point-blank “I like giving you advice” for me to realize that yes, that’s the bit you like. Not being helpful to me, but the sound of your authority reverberating in the ears of a younger woman.
I suppose I should try to find a balance, but that seems harder.
I would love it if we could limit my red carpet topics to my favorite colors, what sound a duck makes, and my thoughts on McDonald’s All-Day Breakfast – blessing or curse?
I would describe the size and style of our vessel, but I don’t know anything about sailing, so I’m trusting you to picture a boat.
I am not like these people. I don’t know what I’m doing here. And it comforts me to know that I felt that way as a child, too. Maybe that should make me feel worse, but it makes me calm and resolved. I’ve been prepared to be an outsider most of my life.
I have a small stroke anytime someone asks to use my laptop; I only use that thing to look for porn and the definitions of words I should already know.
I’ve seen you on meth?!” “I would say, for the last year, you’ve only seen me on meth.” I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.
This was inspired by my pediatrician, a relatively young man whom I called Dr. Handsome. I had assumed this was because his name was Dr. Hasen or Dr. Branson, but I recently found out his name was Dr. Ritger, so I guess I should have just died at age four when I decided to call my physician Dr. Handsome without so much as a pun to justify it.
I love rules and I love following them. Unless the rule is stupid. And yes, I have felt qualified, no matter my age, to make that determination. Scrupulous people don’t enjoy causing trouble, but they can be defiant as hell.
The trickiest parts were the constant assurances that I was having a great time. I’m not an idiot. I knew what was happening was positive, it just got... disorienting. I don’t mind hard work – I love a challenge! – but pretending everything is wonderful when it’s not makes me feel mentally ill.
I was eight years old at this point, and my mother had a brilliant plan: occasionally buy me a stupid-looking outfit, let me wear it, and I’d get it out of my system before I got to high school.
M. Night Shyamalan can’t be stopped. And for some reason, neither can I. Nudity.