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?
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.
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.
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.”
