Hey Komen!

I bought a pair of pink shoes the other day, but since I know you like to sue people with boobs who wear the color pink, and you like to deny health services to women, and I’m on what some might call an active campaign to stay “cancer-free” and also “educated” and also “with all parts in working order,” I thought I’d return the shoes and donate the money to Planned Parenthood instead.

Aw, guys, I just want you to know that even though you issued a statement that had a lot of words in it, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe your leadership doesn’t have a political agenda, and I don’t believe you weren’t lobbied by pro-life groups anti-women groups to defund PP in the first place. I don’t believe anything has changed, except maybe next time you’ll attempt to do things a bit more quietly. And maybe you’ll start flirting with Zuckerburg in the hopes that he “accidentally” deletes any posts about your organization on FB.

And once again– as always when I talk about PP– I’d like to point out that not only do they offer breast-cancer screenings— which is what your money, Komen, goes towards– they also offer PREGNANCY and NEONATAL care.

/sarcasm/ Those bastards over at PP are so confusing! Are they for life or against it or what! I just can’t keep track! /end sarcasm/

Also I thought I’d say here, because there seems to be some confusion in this country, that PP as well as hospitals, care clinics, and other health service organizations of all shapes and sizes offer abortion services because abortion is LEGAL and therefore people women don’t have to die in back alleys with hangers up their hoo-has.

You can call me a crazy liberal if you want, and I’ll say “thank you!” but let’s back it up for a minute and consider that WOMEN are neither Democrats nor Republicans (I was raised to believe they were human beings and as a side benefit, they got to be citizens), and therefore maybe their bodies should quit being kicked around the political arena like Mitt Romney kicks around $10,000 bets.

You hear a lot that politicians have dirtied their hands at some time or another…I just want those dirty hands out of my panties and away from my cha-chas, ok? I prefer people to have washed up before they get that close.

For closing arguments, I give you George Carlin. [NSFW] (Does that even need to be said once I say “George Carlin”?)

Speaking of comedians, about a month ago I watched whatshisdoodle– Bill O’Reilly– complain about why all the late-night shows make fun of the Republican candidates and not Obama. His expert guest had counted how many jokes on late-night were about Obama versus anyone else (which intern got that assignment?) and there were something like 3 times as many jokes about Obama.

So Bill O’Reilly said, essentially, “Those are different, those are affectionate.” Awww. So cute when he gets petulant! Doesn’t he know feelings-based arguments are the territory of the hippies? Then he made his real point, which was that only liberals are given late-night shows.

I kept waiting for the expert guest to ask him why, if they care so much, conservatives don’t try to be funnier.

MM

It’s January, so everyone’s gearing up for wedding season. Which is in the summer, I believe, unless you live in the Southwest, and then it *should* be in the winter, but for some warped reason, is not. Or maybe it is, what do I know.

The point is, people on my FB newsfeed are getting engaged, and good for them, whatever. I say whatever because I have basically no opinions on whether or not they should be— if I find out about an engagement on FB, chances are good I’m not in that close touch with the couple and really can’t speak to their “readiness.”

Right about now you’re all, “Whaaaa? No opinions? What is even happening right now?” And you’re flailing your arms around like a muppet without a puppeteer, because your world is crashing down around you.

Yes. That is how much I imagine you care about the things I say. Leave me to it.

So people— let’s call them Adam and Eve, random names I picked for no reason, certainly no other couple in the world has ever been paired with those monikers— get engaged on FB. I mean, they get engaged in real life (at least I hope), and then they put it on FB. And they’ve been together for 2.6 years, and own 1.3 dogs and have 6.7 Apple products between the two of them, and 17.8 pieces of Ikea furniture. Adam and Eve post 123 pictures of food on FB per year, and 1,234 vacation pictures, and only wear matching sunglasses ironically.

Ok, so I’m lying. They totally wear the matching sunglasses sincerely, and it’s more like 14.2 Apple products. The point is, they’ve been together a decent length of time, and they’re 25 years old.

And then about 345 people “like” the engagement status post and say a bunch of things like, “Congratulations!” and “Congrats!” and just the word “C!” which I assume in this context continues to communicate felicitations, and not the other C-word. But maybe that post was from an ex, what do I know. But he should keep it to himself at that point.

And then approximately half the people (that would be 172.5) say some variation of this: “Finally!” or “It’s about time!” or “It’s been too long!”

Now look, I’ve had some tank tops longer than 2.6 years. I know couples who have been together for 8 years without getting married. (This does not make them “casual” or “unsure,” by the way. And no, these are not people who “don’t believe” in marriage and so will never get married. They just haven’t. Yet.) I’ve been with my coffeepot for four years now, and while I like it, and it makes me happy every single day, I’m not ready to marry it. And yes, sure, my parents got married at 26, but I turn 26 in March, and I think I might spend my birthday going to see The Hunger Games.

Not that married people don’t like The Hunger Games, too, but perhaps you get my drift. Twenty-five year olds are doing different things now than they used to…..for example, my aunt and uncle were going to see Animal House, not The Hunger Games. And they’re divorced now.

I’m making jokes, yes, but I’m really very serious when I say that really— really—- it has not been too long when Adam and Eve, who have been dating for 2.6 years and who are 25 years old, get engaged. What, were they supposed to get engaged before they could officially sync all their devices through iCloud? Before they’d filled their Pinkberry punchcards? Before they’d weathered fifteen seasons of American Idol? (Is that show on six times a year? I don’t understand.)

Yes, I’m still making jokes. But it does take time to get to know someone. And then things change, and you have to get to know them all over again. And you have to get to know this third entity you’ve created between the two of you, your relationship. And then you move, and you have to get to know a new city. And then once all that is done, maybe you just want to be together. For a while. And then for longer. And then for a few years after that. And maybe you love them, but you’re still unsure for whatever number of good or bad reasons, or maybe you’re very sure, but you aren’t ready to get married, or your bank account isn’t ready to get married, or your Apple products are still adjusting to a blended household.

Weddings aren’t going anywhere. Neither is the person you’re with. And if they are– if they’re threatening to leave you if the two of you don’t get married– and if they’re doing so because you clearly aren’t committed and they’re trying to get you to prove it by slapping a ring on it– or because they’re feeling competitive with their FB newsfeed even though the two of you, together, as a couple, don’t really want to get married– then maybe we should all be posting “finally!” when FB shows that tiny broken heart next to your names. Or at least we’ll think it.

Except for that person who’ll post, “Oh no! But you two were perfect for each other! What happened?!?”

On the other hand, this morning FB let my friend in Boston tell me where to buy these cute shoes I’ve been wanting for a year. So it really does help us connect in very meaningful ways.

MM

I hate saying goodbye at parties. Not, like, dinner parties or whatever. But parties at bars, birthday parties with more then 12 guests, Halloween parties, house parties, New Year’s parties, dance parties, 80′s parties, 70′s parties, disco parties, come-as-your-favorite-literary-character parties, pool parties, beach parties, bachelorette parties, holiday parties, barbecues, weddings, etc.

Any sort of party where I can’t wave to everyone at once and be done with it.

Before you start thinking I’m horrible, let’s review the facts:

1) You might already think I’m horrible.

2) Everyone’s always drunk, so saying goodbye is like herding cats. Or drunk people.

3) This is the thing everyone says, even if they haven’t talked to you once and you only met them AS you were saying goodbye to the person they were standing next to, and even if it’s 1:50 am and the bar’s about to shut down: “You’re leaving? Don’t leeeeeeave. Staaaaaaaay. We’ll have fuuuuuuuuuun.” Thus forcing me to say something mean (it’s unavoidable at that point!) like, “I’m going to have more fun being in bed than I possibly would with you.” or “The only fun you’re going to have is with your toilet. By the way, you might want to pull your hair back now.” It’s good to be prepared. And far away, asleep, while someone else is puking.

4) When you go to say goodbye to people, and it’s late, and they’re drunk, they start hugging you. Even if in normal social contexts, this person and you would never press your private parts together. And then the next person does it because they saw the first person do it and they don’t want to be rude, or something? So instead they grope you. 

5) When I decide I’m ready to leave a party, it means I’m ready to leave. It does not mean I want to leave 30 minutes later after you have engaged me in random conversation about where I got my coat after I came to say goodbye to you. First of all, this coat is four years old, so you’re not going to find it in any stores. Secondly, I’m wearing it for a reason. Thirdly, I feel like you’re holding me hostage. I mean, how can I walk away from a compliment? That’s right— I can’t.

6) But then I have to find something to compliment you on, and you have to shrug it off, and then I have to either insist or revert to mission and be like, “Ok then! Bye!” and look like a total asshole and like I completely 100% did not mean that thing you just forced me to say. And then you’ll remember me less-than-fondly.

Whereas if I just jet out the door, chances are good you won’t remember me at all. You won’t remember whether or not I said goodbye, or whether or not we talked. You might not even remember if I was there. You definitely won’t care that I took off– in fact, you might even blame yourself for being too busy to catch me as I was going. You’ll just be like, “That was a good party. I want Doritos for breakfast.”

And I’ll be like, “That was great! I decided I wanted to leave and then I walked out the door and was asleep 20 minutes later. I am definitely going to the next thing she throws.” 

Love,

MM

Hey dude. I just met you. So when you ask me what I do and I say, “I’m getting my master’s in creative writing,” the proper response is “Cool,” or “What do you write?” or, “So….do you wanna write books’n'stuff?” or “I really love Harry Potter,” or “My great aunt published a poem once.”

It is not, “WHY would you get a master’s degree in that?” said in a tone of voice that clearly indicates you think it’s ridiculous because you wrote a very creative Facebook invite once and it’s not that hard, so I must clearly be a special sort of delayed cavewoman to need an advanced degree to understand how to do it.

Hint: just because you say it with a smile doesn’t mean I won’t want to rip your face off!

I know you’re challenging the very worth of what I spend my time doing. If you don’t think that’s what’s going on—if you think you’re just making conversation— then when’s the last time you asked a lawyer why s/he got an advanced degree? “Because they have to have one to do what they do,” right? But a writer– a writer could just write.

What about politicians? Oh, those guys. Those crazy, non-practicing lawyers. What goofballs, thinking they should learn some stuff about some stuff about laws and what’s legal and illegal before they run for office and stuff so that they can do a fair to middling job or whatever.

Then! When I mention teaching creative writing, the proper response is NOT, “Yeah, but can creative writing even be taught?”

Wow! Double whammy! Hit me from both sides! Simultaneously accusing me of studying something that can’t be learned and of teaching something that can’t be taught! You’re right. Due to your insight, I am going to change my life and become a— I’m sorry, what was it that you do? I’m going to do that, because clearly it’s very useful.

Now “can art be taught and how” is an interesting debate when bandied about by people seriously engaged in the practice of art and attempting to parse out the boundaries between talent and skill, craft and genius, inspiration and perspiration. It’s a terrible debate when you ask, because I’m just going to say “yes” and then stare at you blankly.

You don’t like the “yes and stare blankly” approach? Ok, well the other answer is this: “Did I mention that it’s my time I’m spending, and not yours? But right now you are spending my time by making me justify my existence to you?”

Oh wait, but you asked me with a smile, so now I’m the asshole. I should have started this letter with “No offense, but…” What?!? No way, bro.

Love!

MM

Aw, guys, it’s super sweet of you to wish people happy birthday. And I understand that being the 79th person to type, “Happy birthday, Harry!” on someone’s Facebook wall feels lame.

But that is NO EXCUSE for typing “HBD!” with one finger while you sip your triple carmel mocha latte and sext your boyfriend while at work. If posting a repetitive “happy birthday” post feels stupid to you, think how super lame it looks to the person whose birthday it is when you can’t even do that. You can’t type ten extra letters? That “p” just too hard to reach for?  You are a level below lame! Congratulations! That is hard.

On the day when Harry went to all the trouble of pushing his way out of his mother’s womb like a bowling ball through a mouse-sized hole in a wall made of exposed nerve endings, you can’t be bothered to send a present, send a card, make a phone call, or send a text. No no, it’s all Facebook wall for you— and now you can’t write out the full traditional greeting of well wishes and real words with vowels and everything?!?

You know what the worst thing is? The thing that really gets my goat backed up against a fence and bleating in protest and about to kick you with angry little goat hooves? It should just be “HB.”

lovingly,

MM

I’d really rather you were…you know…running the country, rather than auctioning yourself off to have dinner with voters for $5 or more.

First of all, I hear we’re in kind of a bummer of a situation with this whole economy / Republicans refusing to let the government run kind of thing?

Second, there’s just…something…kind of…not right about the whole thing…something about auctioning off…I can’t quite put my finger on it…

Oh yes. You shouldn’t let them make into you into a sex symbol available to the highest bidder like that! Last I heard, you were not a sexy fireman on Long Island and the Democratic Party was not the local firehouse raising money through a swimsuit/suspenders calendar.

I mean, not that these aren’t desperate times, but.

$5? Have they really beaten your self-esteem down that badly?

Yours, A Concerned Citizen,

MM

I know you’re really high. But when did it become practice, in response to someone saying she was at a wedding this weekend, to ask, “First wedding?”

SHEEEESH. 

So much for that piece of cake stashed in my bag giving me dreams of my future husband, so if I ever spot him on the bus, I can accost him and make him sign some legal documents binding him to me financially and contractually obligating him to love me unconditionally. Because I really thought that was going to work.

MM

1. To the people who are yelling about shoes: “STOP buying BOBS! They’re UGLY! And they’re not Toms!“

Oooooookay. First of all, Bobs shoes look exactly like Toms. I mean, that’s part of the complaint, right? So if you think Toms aren’t ugly, then Bobs are also not ugly. Second of all, brand loyalty is fine, but everyone does understand that it’s a personal preference, right? As in, should not be imposed on others?

Look, I get that Tom’s is a small, independent company and Skecher’s is the evil corporation, etc, etc. But any business/corporation supporting a cause you agree with is great and sure, maybe Skecher’s could have been more original about this whole thing, but isn’t part of what’s great about a competitive market system that little companies put pressure on bigger companies to behave in better ways and we as consumers get to decide before, during, and after?

And no, I don’t think the “ugly” question has been settled. But whether you think Toms are ugly or not, whether they fit your feet perfectly or not, whether you own any pairs or not, whether you support social marketing and socially conscious businesses or not….I mean, can’t we all agree that they’re LITTLE PAIRS OF SHOES MADE OF FABRIC.

They’re not as divinely mind-boggling as, say, sex or Kate Middleton’s hair or fig and carmel gelato or Ryan Gosling’s beguiling bone structure or guacamole and beer on a hot summer day.

2. To the people who post irrationally defiant “I’m complex and unique” updates, ie: “I like cooking AND baking. WHAT ABOUT IT?” or “My fantasy football team is losing. Yeah, that’s right, I’m a poet AND I watch football! So shove it.” or “Beatles or Stones while I write? Yeah, I like them both. Deal.”

You guys know none of these things are mutually exclusive, right? And that we’re all not actually cardboard mannequins and we don’t expect you to be either? And it’s rude to tell mass groups of people to “shove it” or “deal” when none of us has challenged you? We really don’t care. We really, really aren’t shocked to hear that you like hiking and knitting. And none of your “complexities” are actually that complicated. I mean, ok, hiking takes place outside, and generally knitting is an indoor activity, so I guess that is pretty wild.

3. To the cat video lovers:

Sigh. I’m not going to ask you to stop posting the videos. I’m pretty sure it’s a disorder at this point and you can’t help yourselves. And sometimes, it totally pays off to click that stupid little triangle that means “play,” aka “I’m going to devote the next x number of minutes in my life to this stupid piece of crap that will probably improve my day in a way that is completely out of proportion to what is healthy.”

But really— really— I do not have to watch that video. It is not an imperative. Telling me that I have to makes me hate you and the video and the person who posted the video and their parents for conceiving them and whatever vet did not fix that effing cat’s parents.

This video really is quite charming, though. But you don’t have to watch it! Only if you want to! Only if it makes you happy. If it helps— as far as I know, Skechers had nothing to do with this, it has a Beluga whale AND a Mariachi band and I like them both so you can DEAL with it, and I will admit that it makes me irrationally pleased.

Love,

MM

First I praise myself: “Look how well you’re doing! Look at how well you’re breathing.”

Pretty soon, though, I realize I’m lying.

Then I start scolding myself: “What’s wrong with you? You have two legs and two lungs and you’ve only been running for six minutes. Grow a pair.”

Then I mock myself: “Oh, you think this is hard do you? This is too hard for you? Too hard for you? A two-year-old crawls faster than this. People run with prosthetics, and you want to sit down? Are you effing kidding me?”

Then I clear my throat, which always sounds to my own ears like I’m about to throw up, then I wonder if I’m about to throw up, then I tell myself to stop thinking about throwing up, then I focus really hard on the trees so I don’t throw up.

Then I start bargaining with myself: if I can run to the water fountain, I can stop running for as long as it takes to get a drink of water. If I finish my run all the way, I can watch trashy tv when I get home. If I finish my run without throwing up, I can have an ice cream bar after dinner.

Keep in mind these supposed “rewards” are things I was going to do anyway, would do as consolation prizes were I not to finish my run, would have done if I hadn’t gone running at all that day— ice cream after dinner is actually a reward for feeding myself dinner, not for exercising— so their motivating capacity is limited to whether or not I can keep the thought “Psh I get it no matter what!” out of my head for the two minutes it takes me to reach my goal.

This usually fails.

Then I start really bargaining with myself, aka lying: “If I finish, I can get a puppy.”

“I finish, I will win a Pulitzer.” “If I finish, I will be rich.”

Then I do it all again:

Nice Me: “If I finish, I will be so proud of myself!”

Mean Me: “Oh yeah? So proud of the fact that you ran for less than the time it takes you to shave your legs? So proud of yourself for not throwing up all over yourself like a pansy little chicken thrower-upper?”

Then the bell dings and I weep for joy.

And then I think, “I totally could have kept going. Better stick to the schedule though.”

But we both know the truth.
MM

As in, all of you, because there are plants everywhere here…Maybe don’t water your plants? Since it rains every 3-4 days here?

And I keep hearing things about precious freshwater resources and stuff?

Yeah. Just a thought.

Love,

MM

PS— it’s really pretty here.