Or is it, 102?
What do you call it when you’ve taken the beginner’s course and our moving on in difficulty?
ANYway, I should just call it “Part 3987 in Britt’s Quest To Not Be An Asshole.”
Oh. Heh. Sorry. I’ll explain…
It seems that I am, by nature, a judgey person. It is my natural inclination to look at a person/situation/decision and instantly be able to stick it in a box of Good, Bad, or Completely Fucked Up. For the first twenty some years of my life, a healthy majority of people/situations/decisions found themselves in one of the last two.
I was basically convinced that if you did something “wrong” or “stupid”, it was your fault and therefore you deserved no compassion or empathy. Suck it up, take responsibility and don’t do that shit again.
I know, I know.
Enter… Life. And my own fuck up’s. And bad decisions. And glaring personality flaws that created my very own messes. And a ginormous lesson in humility served with a steaming side of Bite Your Tongue and Eat Your Words, Bitch.
Over the last year or two, I think – or I hope – I’ve gotten a lot better with the “well, you’re a fuck up” mentality. I’ve learned to see people as a compilation of their experiences and decisions – good, bad, or otherwise – and that most importantly, not everything fits into one of the Three Boxes. Some things – most things, I think – end up in a ginormous canyon called Doing The Very Best I Can With What I’ve Got. (I’ve also discovered a new box called Meh, Whatever, Not My Problem So I Just Don’t Give A Shit One Way Or The Other. This box, however, is slower to fill.)
I have been feeling pretty happy with my progress in Judging 101. Thou shalt not judge fuck ups as “fuck ups”. Check.
Enter… that dirty whore, again. Life.
Recently, I have found myself meeting a whole new group of people that I am having a very, very hard time NOT judging. They are the anti-fuck ups. The people who planned their lives, jumped on the track, and began steadily checking off goals and accomplishments in a timely manner.
They are accomplished. And refined. And… fuck I’m running out of nice words. Boring as fuck is what I really want to say. And, honestly, a little fucking spoiled. Imagining a conversation with a group of them makes my upper lip hurt just thinking about it.
These are the people who have never had anything go wrong. Ever. The biggest thing they have to worry about is… well… I really can’t think of a single nice way to end that sentence. They are the people you imagine have never shopped at a Wal-Mart, or a Target, or an Old Navy. They’ve never been embarrassed or a disappointment. They don’t even know government cheese exists.
They are, ironically, living the life that I so desperately imagined for myself when I was eating government cheese. I was absolutely sure this is what I wanted for myself when I grew up.
But that’s not my life. I got pregnant early, I had disappointments, I had businesses go bust and jobs vanish over night. I’ve fallen in a hole and dug myself out – twice. I’ve had fights with my husband, vowed to never speak to my mother, and lost more fathers than I care to think about. I’ve been to a funeral where the immediate family was escorted in through the back in handcuffs.
Granted, these are not all great tragedies or traumas in my life, and I have had AMAZING things happen to me over the last *grumpletwentysomethinggrumble* years. Please do not mistake this for “Oh mah GOD my life has been so HARD but look at me I have GROWN!” Because it’s not. My life is no better or worse than what I have always assumed was pretty much everyone else’s average life. Shit happens. Good, bad, whatever.
But my point is that THAT… all of that… has helped make me into who I am. Shit, no, it’s not even anything as airy-fairy as that. It’s just… it’s LIFE. REAL fucking life. It gives me a personality, stories to tell, a sense of humor, a heart. It makes me HUMAN for God’s sake.
But these people? Well… I’m having trouble seeing them as real, fleshed out people. They just look like flat caricatures, like those life-sized decals you can stick to your wall. I see people walking around living in a fantasy world, where nothing is every messy or inconvenient. You get up, you do the right thing, you enjoy the nice benefits, you move up the ladder and that’s it. Everything just so.
They’re like… drone people. Or something.
See? Judgey. Horrible, horrible judginess.
*sigh*
The thing is, they AREN’T living in a fantasy. I know this, logically. They really and truly are living THEIR lives, just the same as I’m living mine. It’s just… different… right?
And what’s the alternative? To wish character building hardships on someone so they are more interesting at parties? That doesn’t seem right either, does it? Why can’t I just say “oh wow, that is awesome! Yay for YOU!” without attaching all kinds of sentiments like “boring” and “shallow” and “pretentious”?
*sigh*
My mom sent me a text message yesterday. Actually, a series of them. Her motherly advice was:
“u just have to let other people be their own queer selves. Think of them like transvestites or nascar freaks or something. U don’t mind having flaming gay friends so be like that about pretentious kid hater friends. U just have an eclectic collection.”
(Seriously, the woman will spell out eclectic collection but not “you”. WTF?)
I think, maybe, she’s got a point.
I also think, maybe, this could be the post that finally incites hate mail.
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I’d have to say that many of the boring people have had some character building moments, but they make a concerted effort not to wear that on their sleeve. You don’t necessarily know that one of them lost their family business in Hurricane Katrina, or that another one has a severe drinking problem. This ends up meaning that all they talk about is work or, God forbid, politics, which just makes for a dreadful party.
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what a wonderful rant.
I know the type of people. And the sick feelings.
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I’m with Avitable. (Did I just say that?)
I think some people are just better at hiding/repressing/covering up the not so great parts of their lives, while others – me for one-put them out there for the world to see. Maybe that’s you, too. I’m comfortable with not seeming perfect and with everyone knowing the bad shit. No surprised here.
You’re meeting sooo many new people. Don’t write them all off yet. Some of the ones who seem perfect will end up with the best shit going on, which will make you seem so well adjusted in comparison!
You’re in the south now! People hide their shit down here!
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You are talking about Avitable, aren’t you?
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It almost feels as though their sanitized, bump-free, flat-line representation of their lives is a condemnation of those of us with dirty messes, pot holes and something appearing to be a cardiac arrest followed by an anxiety attack on an EKG in very close proximity.. like almost simultaneously… yes?
Some people are able to resist the urge to reveal that a bird shit on them last week while they were walking into church.. the rest of us, “You will NEVER fucking guess what happened to me on Sunday!..(insert story). but I just wiped it out with a wet paper towel and took the kids into Sunday School”
The bird still shits on them, but some folks are still afraid that telling the story is like picking your nose in public and their mother would not approve.
Isn’t it freeing to a.) have a mother who isn’t disapproving or b.) not really care if she’s disapproving, OR c.) get a kick out of making your mom’s face turn that shade of purple?
My in-laws are visiting… I have no time for blogging.. just commenting, so I’m a bit long winded…
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:what: :heartbeat: :hug:
My mom always told me that if I couldn’t say anything nice I shouldn’t say anything at all. I’m so trying to be nice today. It won’t last… I promise.
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Britt,
Welcome to the south! It is maddening at times. I was in a small group with several women, there was serious sharing going on, and this one girl said… “oh my, I have just never had anything bad happen to me.” The next week she comes to group and says, “you know, I was talking to my husband about never having had anything bad happen and I don’t know why I didn’t think of my FIVE miscarriages” How tightly wound, emotionally shut down, and compartmentalized do you have to be to honestly not recall the emotional hardship of massive fertility problems and miscarriages. Best way to associate with these people, put on your big smile, talk about shoes, and don’t share anything personal. (Thats what the real friends are for)
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What’s wrong with Nascar Freaks? I’m one.
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avitable: but… isn’t that what sleeves are FOR??
t:
Blue Momma: Oh, no, I’m not in the South. I must not have made that clear.
I’m in FLORIDA!! Which, no matter what anyone says, is NOT The South.
Not once did they mention Florida in Steel Magnolias or Gone With The Wind. I’m sure of it.
themuttprincess: he is DREADFULLY boring.
Annie: your long winded comment was soooo perfect. Seriously.
AmyD: I’m sure I’ll get an IM later…
Adrian: well, I do know a lot about shoes…
NotaGranny: Nothing’s WRONG with them. I just don’t “get it”. At all.
But I totally respect your right to vote Republican. I mean, um, watch Nascar. Sorry, slip.
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This is a two part comment.
2) The Serious One. You know, that’s true whatever someone said up there somewhere. EVERYBODY has shit happen in their lives because, we’ve all read the T-shirt. Shit happens. I guess it IS true that not everyone runs around telling everyone what happened in their lives. Me, obviously, I can’t imagine that because that’s where most of my good story fodder comes from. So there – there you have your hidden hook for empathy. It’s just HIDDEN shit.
Now on to b). I personally have gotten more comfortable being the moron who gets crapped on by a bird and telling everyone about it – and making a side splitting story out of it to boot – than being perfect. Since I blew perfect when I was 2 and ran up to answer the doorbell, pulled up my dress, and said “See my boobers?” C’mon – see? THAT’S FUNNY!
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Adriene is right. That’s part of Southern grace. Their daughter may be a crack whore but they focus on how well their hair and potato salad came out today. I tend to be one of those people at first. I was taught to be polite. Even though I was taught something doesn’t carve it in stone but politeness is tried and true. So I tend to share my average everyday *hilarious* flaws with friends… and the internet. I’m not fake at first, I just don’t tell the constipation stories etc. for a wee bit. You’ve only been there a short time. Hurricane Britt needs quickness, things to happen RIGHT NOW! but she may need patience for others to catch up with her.
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Nothing interesting has ever happened to me.
This is why I live vicariously through blogdom. Without everyone else’s trials and tribulations, I’d end up with Reader’s Digest.
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Hmmmm–lots to say but little time right now—I’ll be back.
Oh and sugar you are SO right about Florida not being ‘the South” LOL
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Your mom cracks me up. :lmao:
But I am a little confused. Did you find people who hate your kids, for the Stepford Wives?
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OMG, I know EXACTLY what you mean.
And (I don’t even drink anymore) but we are invited to a couple parties every year with those types and even when they’re drunk, they aren’t any fun. They are just fucking dorks still, or dorks who have nothing fun to say, but THINK they are funny cuz THEY are drunk.
And I just sit there ,amazed, thinking “And THESE people are rich and successful and don’t ever worry about anything. Why?”
They are fucking drips that I cannot stand and would NEVER be friends with.
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I must agree that Southerners tend to shove the skeletons in the closet or under the rug or behind the door or wherever they can find to hide the fact that they are, in fact, human and not some sort of mutant robot aka Stepford people.
It is like that here in California, some. But sort of opposite as they are all trying to be crazier or more liberal or something.
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Just an FYI – those life sized decals that you put on your walls are called FATHEADS. ‘Nuff said.
Oh and everyone judges. EVERYONE. Plus it’s a teeny weeny bit fun, but I kick animals so….
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Mom: well, it’s good to confirm where my issues about being ‘appropriate’ come from.
Brandi: now YOU sound like my mother. LOL
RW: Oh shut UP. You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.
Even if you are an old crank.
Turnbaby: I await your return with bated breath.
Lynda: ummmm… both? or neither, maybe? I dunno – maybe I’m projecting.
annie: do you live in ‘the South’ too?
KG: I should have moved to California. That sounds like a race I could win.
ADW: OMG, I am laughing so hard here, all I can say is :heartbeat: :heartbeat: :heartbeat: and PLEAAAASE come to Florida for just ONE night out.
I promise to keep my hands to myself. Mostly.
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One dimensional types often have more depth than you think once you poke them.
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While I completely agree that being in Florida is not *exactly* the same as being in the South, but I think the “Southern Brave Face” is one of the traits Floridians have adopted as their own.
You’re from the midwest where everyone airs their shit in church and asks for their meth-addicted baby momma’s to make it on the prayer list. In the south, they ship those kids to relatives in California or Washington.
I’m gonna try very hard to not be insulted by the comparison of all us flaming gay guys to the pretentious snobby kid haters. But man, that’s harsh. :doh:
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:lmfao: @ Kentucky Girl.
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Dear Miss Britt,
I happen to know lots of those people. And every single one of them, I promise you, has skeletons in the closet that would straighten your curly hair if the dirty laundry were aired.
xoxoxo
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No fucking pressure regarding lunch tomorrow now, is there Britt??
hahaha–not to worry, I’ll be the one sitting outside smoking.
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No, not a hate mail but i just cant get by all the fuck words to understand what the fuck you’re talking ’bout.
I read enough blogs to know that theres a ratings place somewhere, where i dont know, i havent fucking found it yet. Anyhow, by using the word fuck many many fucking times, even fucking stretching for it as it looks like you fucking deliberatly did, you get a fucking rating, and the rating gets higher depending on who says fuck the most. I run a couple of blogs too but have never once resorted to the use of the word. Its soooo childish. Really, fucking think about it Britt. You wouldnt want your kids to hear or read this. Time to grow up.
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Heh. The south is a fun place to be, really… maybe. I find myself in the Meh box mostly, what does that say bout me?
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Gosh: and I know where everything is at Wal-Mart, Target and Old Navy. I could work there. The best thing about LIFE is that it’s always changing. You just suck up today and believe that tomorrow’ll be better. At my age I’ve had to realize that life IS short, too short to sweat the crap. I wonder who in the world lives in those f-ing giant house they’re building all over the place but then think, so what? I can’t take the damn house with me I’d rather enjoy the other stuff.
Shopping for the perfect pair of shoes I don’t have is enough to make me happy for a week. Small expectations, big reward.
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Nascar..Non Athletic Sport Centered Around Rednecks..
But I was raised in Washington State. Race parties are an excuse to hang out with friends, get drunk, grope said friends, get out of the pool when there is a wreck on the track, boo Jeff Gordon..
Lots of fun!
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“Marin said- I run a couple of blogs too but have never once resorted to the use of the word. Its soooo childish.”
I am kind of new to this blog, and this may be someone known to all of you and I am just being a giant idiot. That said, I would assume that if someone is going to lecture people about their use of expletives and brag about blogging without using them then you would ASSume (did I say ASS?? How absolutely immature of me) this individual would proudly link to their own blog.
Just sayin
(apologies in advance if I am an idiot on the outside of an inside joke)
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Marin, you’re a right stupid fucking cunt, aren’t you?
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Wow–Britt–looks like ya got ‘fuck spammed’– Spam fucked would be too gross to contemplate:-p
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Woo Hoo and Fuck Yeah to Adrian. Take a look at his post tonight!
:lmfao:
We love you Miss Britt!!
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Oh for fucking fuck’s sake, let’s drop the fucking fuck argument and focus on he real fucking issue. Britt, what you have run into is very well described in a series of text books written by Ruby Payne. Bridges out of Poverty and Frameworks of Poverty are both great books (check out Half.com) and show how many of us are deeply affected by generational poverty.
Payne divides us into three identifyable economic classes and I am guessing most all of know how to live in poverty or middle class. Ruby Payne says changing class systems is very painful and full of unwritten rules and regulations. You felt part of that pain as your poverty/middle class culture clashed with the next level. Some people learn how to adapt so they can “hang” with this new class and eventually live in the wealthy class. Others, lik me, feel too uncomfortable and will never bridg the gap. I guess it is dificult to move from one economic class to another, it is near impossible to jump two economic class levels.
By the way, you know those relatives and friends of yours (the fuck ups) that choose to live in poverty, rather than making it in middle class like you did? They feel the same discomfort and inability to function on, what is to them, the higher economic class level your family enjoys. They often com across as bitter or resentful simply because of this discomfort.
I don’t benefit from your buying one or both of those books. But I am in a state steeped in generational poverty and I feel it is essential to provide community educational opportunities to break the mind set of living in poverty. Then we just need to provide some fucking jobs…. oops we are back to the “F” word.
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MAN! You don’t get online one night… LOL
BOSSY: yeah, you’d think that would be obvious and not need to be pointed out, right? :banghead:
jester: well I appreciate your effort to not be insulted, because I assure you, it was not meant that way. Flaming Gay is not thought of as an insult in our house.
(which is hopefully evident by her liberal use of the word “queer” to mean “odd/out of place” as opposed to Gay – because it would never occur to her to use it any other way. God my mother would die to think anyone ever thought she was even remotely hateful towards a gay person.)
ANYway, the only comparison meant there was that they are both very different from me. And yet, I have no problem or feel no discomfort or need to “understand” why someone is gay… and that perhaps that same attitude should be extended to someone who is simply different from me in different ways.
AmyD: yeah… because you totally DO win that contest.
Jaime: ok, so what I want to know is how did you find out these dirty little secrets??
DeannaBanana: no, no pressure at all. Just be prepared to tell me all about your deepest insecurities and you’ll be fine.
marin: so’s your face
geek: that you’re laid back! which is cool.
My husband also falls in the “meh” category 99% of the time.
Mrs RW: yep, I need more “so what”. And shoes.
TrishK: Now THAT sounds like a party…
Adrian: nope, you’re not an idiot – that was my first thought as well. Followed immediately by something like “chicken shit”.
avitable: why do I imagine you saying this in a Scottish accent??
Turnbaby: I know! Next people will be throwing their panties at me, I just know it.
TrishK: oooh… on my way, thank you!! :blush:
Y2K: hmmmmm… I don’t know if I agree with that in this particular case. Mainly because, while I spent a part of my childhood in “poverty”, I’ve also been fortunate enough to be around very successful people. I’ve never been one to assign personality characteristics to personal income (or lack thereof) because I’ve been fortunate enough to meet alllll kinds of people all along the pendulum, and I haven’t found that a bank statement is a good gauge of what someone’s character or personality will be.
HOWEVER – many of the points you bring up are very valid. I just don’t think they apply to this particular case.
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You imagine correctly. Get out of my head.
Oh, and “so’s your face”? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
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Pfft, gladly. If I could, I would, in a heartbeat – and dead bolt the door behind me!!
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Your post is the reason I stopped going to Mommy and Me classes when my now 7 yr old was like 7 weeks old! I live in the south and yes, people (i.e. southern women) lock the closet doors on their past/disappointments/ regrets/that crazy stunt they did on the last “Girls Gone Wild” video for a free t-shirt and serve you a nice piece of blue ribbon apple pie. But the secret is to start feeding them some nice red wine and you see the true side….but just as quickly as they sober up, they are back to the “stepford wife” thing it’s something you learn to do as a little girl when you live in the south your whole life. They teach it in 1st grade. So, it’s too late for you, but Emma has time to learn the ropes to becoming a “proper southern woman” LOL….Next time you have a run in with one of those stepford wives, just think to yourself, “I wonder what YOU did on the last Girls Gone Wild video?” :sex011:
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Somehow I have a hard time imagining Emma will ever be able to pull off “refined”.
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Hmm. I had a government cheese kinda childhood. I didn’t get pregnant early, but that was really more luck than anything. Something happened where I felt into a career path of slight refine, but I am not that person.
Despite having rich friends and family members hidden in the corner, I can’t quite fit into the mold of refined. I don’t know how, it’s too tight and restrictive and not my color or my… well, my anything. I don’t care how much or how little money I make, where my career path actually takes me, I just want to be happy living my daily life, and I don’t want to fake it. That’s it.
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PS – “fuck” is my favorite word, along with all its variations. Isn’t “marin” Swedish for “fuck”?
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