I have an issue, as I’m SURE I’ve mentioned, with any kind of unfairness. I can’t stand it, whether I’m its victim or the receiver is someone/thing I’ve never even met. The sheer concept of treating someone differently based on an arbitrary thing–on the large scale, their ethnicity, or on the small, their perspective–makes me itchy. More than itchy, I can quickly become infuriated by an act that doesn’t sit right with me. Or a person. Or that person’s unrelenting inability to see past themselves, turn around, look at what they’re doing and say, “Oh. Shit. That was pretty awful of me, wasn’t it? Perhaps, when I look around at all of the things that suck in my life and see that I’m the common denominator, it should launch me into a whirlwind of self-improvement and begging for forgiveness.”

Alas, poor Yorick. This isn’t how the world works. A favorite site of mine couldn’t have put it better: “Sadly, the depressing truth is that awful people will likely go on being awful forever. While we expect school bullies to have their comeuppance one day, or for arrogant people to finally feel some shame, these things rarely happen because life isn’t actually that satisfying. Worse, not everyone operates on the same scale of ethics. There are millions of detestable people out there right now who can justify every miserable thing they do. Even if you had the opportunity to sit them down and explain why they are objectively shitty, they wouldn’t understand your position, and there’s also a good chance they would try to poke you in the eye.”

“Life isn’t fair,” you say. Sure. Of course not. So for someone like me, it’s a constant stream of choosing which battles to fight. Can I stop the executive in the three-piece Armani from scoffing at the shoeless man who mutters to himself as he pees on a brick wall? No. I can’t. And my educated guess is that Armani Dude wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if some upstart young woman lectured him on the idea of karma and compassion. And I’ve never liked being ignored/ spit on, so I move along and swallow the guilt that comes bubbling up from inside. A guilt that tells me maybe I should’ve tried anyway.

Like my empathetic mother before me, I’m a sucker for the underdog. I take in adult cats because everyone wants a kitten. I defend people I don’t know in real life, much to the annoyance of people who really just wanted me to commiserate and laugh along. Hackles explode out of my spine when one of my students tells me he makes fun of the poor kid at school, and should I happen to see you pointing and laughing at someone with a disability of any kind, GOD HELP YOU. When I’m done verbally slapping you in the face there best be blood pouring out of your insensitive ears. If there isn’t, I’ll be digging for the ice pick in my trunk.

I mention this, yet again, because a book I recently read contained a line that won’t stop flitting through my brain: “Look for the things in your life that keep repeating themselves. The scenarios you continue to find yourself in. The kinds of people that are drawn to you. These are the indicators of the lessons you’re meant to learn in this life; be aware.” The second I started actually doing that was the second I started to see why I’ve ended up on the wrong side of so many arguments, backed into a corner and unable to defend myself. Why I’m responsible for holding myself back in so many ways, and why frankly, I’ve been allowing the opinions of other people cut me to the core. The only person’s judgment of me that matters is mine. People are going to lie, and talk shit, and in general not really have your back because it’s human instinct to look out for #1. And as a purveyor of fairness and putting yourself in someone else’s place, I have to learn to accept that (I hate it, but I’ll work on it). And maybe, just a little, learn to practice the art of self-preservation with a bit more finesse.

Back to 2012. January is coming near to its end (ALREADY, FOR THE LOVE). It’s been better than good so far. It’s the Year of the Dragon (the luckiest animal, supposedly), and while I myself am a Rat (and not in any way of Chinese descent), this year feels, dare I say it aloud, like it might just keep getting better and better. I hope so. And I won’t leave it at hoping–I’ll bust my ass to make it so. Bitterness is easy to come by, as is cruelty; happiness and kindness take a lot of work, and patience, and selflessness to boot. And so:

Dear Universe,

xo,
Arwen

1. Don’t be an asshole.

2. If you act like an asshole, admit it and apologize. Mean it.

3. Understand that not everyone is capable of numbers 1 and 2. Try very hard to forgive them for it, even if your brain is screaming that they don’t deserve it.

4. Attempt to rebuild burned bridges. If it doesn’t work, accept it and know that you tried–it’s no longer your problem, but theirs.

5. Don’t pretend to be more awesome than you actually are. Even if you are awesome–if you feel the need to brag about, exaggerate, repeatedly advertise or even fabricate your accomplishments/ amazing personality/ love life/ etc., you’re breaking Rule #1 and I’d bet a lot of money that your friends wish you would just shut the fuck up.

6. Be generous, with both your time and your money. Even if you don’t have very much of either. Especially if you do. You never know when you’ll need to depend on the generosity of others.

7. Learn to be okay with being wrong, crazy, and imperfect. No one has ever made a significant impact on the world that was not at least one, if not all, of these things.

8. Learn to be okay with other people judging you, lying to you, lying about you, taking you at face value, and in general, not giving you the benefit of the doubt. Most folks don’t bother to learn the truth about someone if another person swears they ::know:: that person and what they’re like. And most folks are also really, really bad about breaking Rule #1. If you find yourself being viewed unfairly, be pissed–you have the right–but don’t dwell on it. That doesn’t do shit to them but it will destroy you.

9. Make fun of yourself. Allow other people to join in.

10. Understand that no one will ever fully “get” you or your life experiences, or agree with your philosophies. For example, I do not agree with people who say “Life is a test.” To me, life is not a test but a crash course in humanity, one that is filled to the brim with many tests, and whether you pass or fail is irrelevant so long as you give it your absolute best shot. If you don’t agree with me, that’s okay. I’m not an evangelist. I’m not interested in converting you. And I believe that each person has the right to believe in whatever they choose, assuming it doesn’t cause harm to anyone else.

11. Don’t get involved in drama that doesn’t concern you. I swear to GOD it’s not worth it.

12. Be aware of your own strengths and weaknesses. Celebrate both; they’re what make you you.

13. Do things that scare the shit out of you. You’ll be surprised at how quickly determination can obliterate fear.

14. Know that there are far, far worse things that can happen to you than death. Death is a given and it’s useless to cower in the face of it. Pray, in your own way, that death is in fact the worst thing that ever happens to you and the people you love.

15. Be nice. This is my favorite rule; although it is essentially a branch of Rule #1, it takes it a step further. Not being an asshole doesn’t automatically make you nice. Being nice takes effort, and sometimes a great deal of it.

This rule is also my favorite because it was inspired by a friend whose life was taken unexpectedly, accidentally, and far too soon. She wasn’t a perfect person. She was constantly judged for actions that others deemed inappropriate and, like most teenagers, had a propensity to make less-than-awesome decisions. But she had hope; she looked towards the future with a smile, with dreams of being successful and happy, and with the attitude that anything was possible. It’s a shame, worse than a shame, that her time here was cut so short. But after her death, when her family delicately and painfully drifted through her bedroom, they found a small note that she’d left in a place where she’d be sure to see it every day as she walked out the door. All it said was, “Be nice.”

It’s the best advice I’ve ever taken, and the only mantra that I truly believe should be upheld by every single person that walks this earth. It’s the only thing I demand from others, and it’s something I tell myself each day.

I suppose Rule #16 should, then, be: “Look for inspiration in unlikely places.” And so I will. Always.
***

AUTHOR: “Sure thing. I will discuss my approach, which can be summed up in three statements:

1. Crush Your Enemies
2. See them driven before you
3. Hear the lamentations of their women!”

Best. Response. Ever.
***

2: “…I think I’d play dead. Or pretend I was performing an exorcism or something crazy…
: No. I definitely don’t think that quickly when I’m stoned.”

1: “Dude. You don’t think that quickly EVER.”

***

This is always a fun one. Because as soon as a person starts to think of themselves in a negative light, all sorts of stupid, random insecurities start to surface. Then your brain organizes a skirmish among them, pitting your non-airbrushed skin against a semi-snaggly tooth, or a droopy eyelid against a wee bit ‘o belly flub (also, I imagine them wearing tiny helmets and brandishing swords and cudgels).

I’ve gone through many a self-deprecating day, vacillating between “if only I had perfect skin” and “I’m going to need adult braces, OH GOD THEY’LL CALL ME MRS. METAL MOUTH,” and certainly drawing mental perforation marks down my thighs and tum. It’s a stupid thing that most girls (people, really) do, and on any given day it can be triggered by seeing a coworker’s shelf-shaped ass or, perhaps, because a certain person acts SO FUCKING SURPRISED when they learn you’re a dancer, “because aren’t dancers usually like, REALLY slim?”

::glare::

Regardless, if I get really, really honest about it, there is only one thing I would change: my repetitive venturing into that place where I feel shitty about something random and take it out on myself. For instance, money, the fact that I don’t have any, and why despite my MANY REQUESTS TO THE UNIVERSE that a giant bag of cash fall out of the sky and onto my head, I have only had one person offer to give me eighty dollars worth of pennies in a sack with a dollar sign on it.

Seriously.

We’re meeting up next week.

My point is not to say that I’m a mannequin OR that I don’t succumb to my own bullshit–far from it. But when you start to admit you’re getting older (sigh), and all that nonsense your parents and teachers told you about life being short and the only real goal you should ever strive for is happiness and blah, blah, blah starts to make actual sense? It gets slightly easier to see exactly how ridiculous it is for a person to feel guilty for eating a donut when they had an apple for breakfast, or for having a cookie after eating chicken and salad for dinner, or why a girl would literally starve herself into bobble-headdom for a chance to stumble dizzily down a runway. OR, why some people refuse to go outside without makeup on, or their hair done, or the perfect outfit. Or to take it further, how there’s not a whole lot of…point…in lying. Or being friends with people who suck. Or getting into arguments over things that don’t matter (or completely avoiding the ones that do).

So. Since this post has officially killed the concept of ‘in a nutshell,’ yeah, there is. And I’m working on it. I suggest you do the same.
***

This is all Lady Gaga’s fault.
***

How confident you sound, how small and tritely you behave

How cowardly, which is, of course, the opposite of brave.

Oh, hypocrite!

Spew your godly advice into less shrewd ears

Rescind your exaggerations, your crocodile tears

Your fabricated talents bred from over-zealous fears!

Oh, hypocrite! 

How offensive, how disgusting, how impossible that you don’t know

It’s never what you say and it’s only what you show.”

-Anonymous

Exactly 27 years, two hours and 31 minutes ago, you breathed air for the first time. Well, you tried, but because you were a Cesarean, didn’t get the crap squeezed out of your lungs and had the foresight to wrap your umbilical cord nice and tight around your throat, so you didn’t breathe so much as “send your parents and all of your doctors into a frenzied panic to pump your lungs, cut the cord and throw your blue little body into an incubator.” Which is to say you’ve literally been stirring up shit since the second you were born. Good job.

Today, there’s a thunderstorm rattling your windows. You had a ridiculous, horrifying nightmare last night about aliens overtaking the earth and shooting you in the throat (wtf?). Today you’re watching Scream while drinking coffee. Lenny made you (MADE!) a gorgeous, personal piece of art for your gift. It’s your “golden year” birthday (your favorite number!) and therefore lucky. Take advantage. You’re going to eat San Francisco’s best Eggs Benedict soon, and then spend the day doing exactly what you never allow yourself to do: relax. Read what you want. Buy yourself something pretty. Watch what you want. Drink beer all day and eat a burrito and maybe take a nap. And for once, you’ll remember that you deserve it.

Happy 27th, self. Make it a good one.

Love,

Me

***

There is a reason my parents moved to California the second they got married.

If you watch the episode of P&R titled “Harvest Festival,” that’s almost exactly what going to the Indiana State Fair is like. Except the ISF is HUMONGOUS and they left out the Fried Kool-Aid.

Yup.

I’ve been going to the ISF just about every single summer of my existence, but it didn’t become completely ludicrous to me until last year, when I witnessed a morbidly obese individual, dressed head-to-toe in f*cking orange, get told he couldn’t enjoy one of the rides because of his immense size; pissed as a hornet, he stomped off (if there had been a seismograph nearby, this shit would FOR SURE have registered) and bought himself deep-fried butter.

Yes.

This year I just vacillated between staring in horror and laughing myself into fits, but I expect that next year will bring tears and no one wants to see a grown woman cry, right? Well, maybe Chris Brown. Or Kanye. Or John Edwards. REGARDLESS.

Either way, I imagine I’ll still go to the Fair until I no longer have reason to be in Indiana at all, because [1] nostalgia is a sneaky motherf—–, and [2] as I grow older, outfits like this become exponentially more hilarious:

When he turns around, you can see his whisker implants.

…and you get to play the adult version of Where’s Waldo?, without even trying:

MOM! I FOUND HIM. Winnerrrr

I know these are real people, and that’s precisely what f*cks with me the most: this dude is out there somewhere, perhaps enjoying a good hide in a large crowd, and it is SUPER POSSIBLE that he has children. For all I know, he could consider that there cart a fine specimen of baby carriage. Either that or he was planning to haul a large amount of fried goods and cheese sculptures home.

There were things I enjoyed this year: taking my niece on her first carnival rides; watching my mom try to choke down fried kool-aid balls because she’s one of those ‘waste not’ folks and would’ve felt guilty trashing them; seeing the largest chickens and bunnies that probably exist anywhere in the world; snickering like an asshole during the “homemade designers” fashion show. Oh, and this:

I was afraid to go inside. You never know.

I did NOT, however, enjoy this:

Are you people fucking kidding me?

Nostalgic I am not for the racism of the midwest. Which is why I don’t mind ending this post here, with a big, fat “GET YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR ASSES, RACISTS.” Until you  do, I’ll continue to mock your stupid, dated outfits and morbid obesity. GOODNESS.

***