Tuesday, January 17, 2017

A Fuck: To Give Or Not to Give

I’ve spent a lot of my life giving fucks about things I shouldn’t.  When it comes to being neurotic, I'm right up there with George Costanza.  I am self-aware enough to make that statement regretfully confidently. 

ah, to be a care-free kid covered in pig shit again...

As I get older, though, it becomes abundantly clear to me a lot of my neuroses have been about as unproductive and chafe-inducing as an Over The Pants Handjob.  So, I took some time to compile a list of things I think are worth Bob doling out a couple of fucks for. On the flip, I've included some things/people that I've deemed unworthy of any of my precious, sugar-coated fucks.  

Let's get sharted, people:

Parents/Guardians/whoever raised you and dealt with your shit, literally and figuratively 
Our creators are at the top of my list of things to give a fuck about it: the ones who raised us, changed our diapers, accompanied us to get our wisdom teeth yanked, bailed us out of jail during college for drinking underage and proceeding to act like Ace Ventura upon arrest..is that only me?? Shit. Our parents are responsible for our deep rooted issues stemming from early childhood lives.  We all wouldn't be here if our mom didn't forget to take her birth control and/or didn't have an ineffective diaphragm.  Only me again?  Shit.  My point is: it is of the utmost importance to give a fuck about respecting, appreciating and loving your mom+dad/mom+mom/dad+dad/weird aunt Judy and Crazy Uncle Phil/Grandma...whoever was responsible bringing your annoying, snot-nosed, punk-ass up. 

me and my parentals

Caring about what others think
The moment I click share on a toe pick post, I feel a pang of "Jesus Christ Lord Almighty God Help Me, WHAT am I thinking, WHY AM I SHARING THIS?" in my gut.  Then, I pace uncontrollably until someone force feeds me a Xanax breathe, then I give myself a pep talk: if some dickhead random feels like judging me, they can go fuck themselves go right ahead, that's not my business - of course, this mentality has been hard for me to adopt, but I always end up choosing it, which is why I'm able to continue sharing my writing.  I know this a reoccurring sentiment on Toe Pick, but I'll reiterate it: mulling over what people think of you is about as productive, tedious and ineffective as trying to play pick-up stix with your butt cheeks. NO ONE IS THINKING ABOUT YOU AS MUCH AS YOU THINK THEY ARE (I repeat this to myself like 19 times a day).  Seriously, your coworker Debra in HR likely has a ruptured hemorrhoid from too much anal with her douche boyfriend, Raul who she met on FarmersOnly.com, and that's why she looks at you like you just stole her Lean Cuisine from the communal office fridge: IT AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU.

You have to give a fuck about them and pay them or whatever EVEN THOUGH NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU ABOUT THEM IN SCHOOL AND THEY'RE SO FUCKING COMPLICATED AND SUCK BALLS.  I learned about them from the IT guy named Darryl at my first job as a temp receptionist at a car dealership and I felt so confused and lost and scared.

an ex 
Let's say you drop your ice cream cone into a pile of manure...you wouldn't pick it up and keep eating it, would you?  That's essentially what you're doing when you give a fuck about an ex. Let him/her/shim go.


Your chompers 
Teeth are monumentally important.  Crooked teeth can be sexy, but yellow teeth have the power to make people never want to eat corn again.  There's so much to laugh (aka: expose our teeth) about in this ridiculous world we live in: Donald Trump's affinity for golden shower orgies, Carrie Fisher's Prozac-shaped urn (RIP, CF...respect.), the Kardtrashians, that guy you passed on the street who tripped and tried to pass it off as a jog...my point: your teeth are visible a lot, make sure they're clean or not urine colored (thanks for the inspo, Trump-a-lump).  And if they are? Bleach that shit, Crest Whitestrips are like 39.99 at walgreens and if you have a Walgreens card, it's even cheaper NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW OR ANYTHING.


I am a HUGE animal lover...I can confidently say I'm more fond of dogs than I am of most humans.  I will admit I'm not particularly fond of cats but I'll pet them and say "hereee kitty kitty" if i'm around one BECAUSE THEY'RE LIVING THINGS AND THEY DIDN'T CHOOSE TO BE CATS. One time I dated a guy whose roommate had a cat.  We were watching tv and the cat sauntered over and the guy kicked it away.  I got out of there faster than Kanye gets off when jerking off to a picture of Kanye.  When it comes to animals: give a fuck.  It's a dealbreaker to not. And FYI - if you dislike animals, get your head checked: that is some Jeffrey Dahmer shit. 

Saying no
Turning down invitations is no big deal...and is not something to stress over.  You're an adult and if you'd rather stay home, heat up a frozen waffle, douse it in Nutella and whip cream and shove it in your face faster than R. Kelley orgasms at a urinal while you do the macarena in your underwear instead of attending the Bris of your second cousin's dogwalker's baby, YOU CAN!  That's the best part of being a grown-up, you can do whatever the F you want.  Just don't say yes to an invite and then bail last minute - flaking is as cool as a pap smear. 

And, that's all I have for now.  Right now I need to give a fuck about picking up some DayQuil as I've gotten that cold that has been going around, whatever that even means. 

Happy Tuesday, my fellow fuck givers! 

xo -

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

I'm Looking Up

I should look up.
I should put you away.

looking down
I should have done these things long ago.  Years ago.
I should have put you away as my friend ruminated about her dad’s cancer last month: it had spread.  The cancer had spread.
I knew you were there. You were face down, but goddammit I knew you were there.
You vibrated several times as she spoke to me - cried to me.  I looked down at you and I wondered what messages you were transmitting.  Was it my mom?  A Facebook message?  My boss emailing me to tell me I did something wrong? 
My focus darted from consoling my friend WHOSE FATHER HAS CANCER THAT HAS SPREAD to looking down and wondering who it was that could have possibly been causing you to vibrate so incessantly.

Jesus, I should have continued looking up at her, I should've never looked down at you.
I should have put you away.

I should have looked up at the sunset beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, illuminated by hues of gold, amber and flamingo pink. 
Instead, I picked you up and used you to capture this otherworldly sight.
I looked down at you as the sun continued to set, applying a cocktail of various filters to my image – straining my eyes as I imagined which ones would garner results that would appeal to my followers: to the people I rarely communicate with outside of this app called Instagram
It was important: I needed to show people that I was there in the presence of that sunset. 
I needed to allude to the fact that I’m a content human being, gaping at this view and basking in the glow of this spectacular sky.  
By the time I posted my exaggeratedly filtered photo, the sun had gone down.  
It had become dark.  
I had missed the moment, all because I was fixated on you and the fleeting satisfaction you'd bring.
I was fixated on you: a fucking cracked device.

I should have looked up.
I should have put you away.

I should have put you away that morning I woke up after having been out until 5am.
Feeling tired, despondent, empty and alone, I struggled to find you. 
You’d alleviate some of my pain; I knew you would.
Visions of the night before marred my consciousness, and I wondered to myself why I still have this insatiable desire to party like it’s 1999. 
Something needs to change, I think to myself as I look down and notice I’m still wearing my little black dress, infused with the pungent stench of stale cigarette smoke, booze and that perfume my mom got me for my 30th birthday.

I sifted through my disheveled sheets and found you. 
I heaved a sigh of relief, held you up and stared at you as I applied an absurd filter to my face that distorted my forehead and mouth.
I began spouting out a nonsensical soliloquy about my irresponsible night out and noticed my mascara stained eyes were still visible, even through the Snapchat filter. 
I hoped my followers would find my diatribe amusing and figure if I make hard life things funny then they'll subsequently feel less dangerous.  
After all, I've got a persona to uphold, to fulfill...this persona that I've assigned to myself: I'm the single 30-something girl who is behind in life and it's all one big fucking joke. 
I needed attention and I was using you to get it.

I opened my Instagram app and began scrolling; I see several memes featuring jokes about drinking too much and again, my debacle seems funny and normal. 
Everyone overindulges, everyone gets massive hangovers, everyone feels lonely sometimes, we’ve all felt behind in life; it’s all funny, it’s all okay: it's all one big fucking joke.  

I should have looked up and embraced the state I was in, I should've honored the fact that I am a human being, and life is hard - not funny all the time, but hard. 
It’s messy.  It can be sad, it can be ruthless, it can be unforgiving, it can chew you up like dipping tobacco and spit you out, leaving you to pick up the pieces; it can make you wonder what the point of it all is.

When I look down at you, I forget that.  
Maybe that's why you're an addiction of mine; an affliction.
When I look down at you and pull up Facebook or instagram I don't see any of “the hard” in life.  
I see champagne brunches on a sunny day, skiing trips in Aspen and loving couples basking in merriment.
Social media makes hardships seem like an anomaly.
"Is it okay that I don't have this markedly charmed life?" I start to wonder the more I'm exposed to these idyllic lives via filtered photos.  Then, I participate in this charade and so begins a vicious cycle.

Sometimes when I look down at you I think of how social media is nothing more than a mindfuck, a false representation of this intrinsically complicated thing called life; a life that, unlike our photos, cannot be filtered.  

I should have put you away when I stumbled upon those pictures of the person I was once in love with who is now in love with someone else.
What does she have that I don’t, I think as I continue to scroll through photos.
My heart sinks lower than I ever thought it could ever sink and my ability to swallow becomes obsolete.
My mind races as I think of how well my day started – I’d woken up to news that I’d finally placed my candidate in an awesome job!  But, because of you, because of social media – feelings of inadequacy, dread and heartbreak have flooded my system like really bad tsunami, you know – like that one they had in Japan not too long ago.

I should have looked up, accepted the fact that I'm not anyone's person yet, and that's okay - instead of gaping at you, and continuing to inflict pain on myself with every methodical swipe.

I should have looked up.
I should have put you away. 

Henceforward I’m going to try and look up.
I know it won’t be easy, but I give my word I will try.
I need to scale back. I'm going to try and scale back.

I’ll try and put you down and away as I talk to a friend, a coworker or even a stranger.
I’ll look into their eyes and try to listen, interact and be all there.  
I’ll be respectful, I’ll be gracious; the fact that you’re in my pocket, by my side – won’t even cross my mind.  I am going to try not to let it.

Here, now, in this moment - I am choosing to look up.