I am a creature of the night. I feel as though I should be holding a velvet lined cape over my mouth when I say this, but despite the overly dramatic wording, it is true. I am most active after the sun goes down. If I don't have a job or other such engagement forcing me to keep to a diurnal schedule (which I usually don't, I tend to work nights), I will always revert to my natural rhythm within a week or so. I'll generally wake up early afternoon and then go back to sleep around 8 or 9 am.
Since Husband works days, and very early ones at that, this means that I'm just hitting my stride as he's going to bed. Husband considers this to be the most annoying thing ever, but when he wakes up in the morning, I am very often sitting alone reading or writing or obsessively annotating a book that I've previously read. Or I am Wandering. I tend to do that a lot as well.
I walk, or occasionally drive, for hours on end. Sometimes I will create a reason for me to go out. "Oh darn, it looks like we forgot to grab this at the store earlier, I'll just go now. The closest overnight store is only two miles away, it wouldn't be environmentally responsible to take the car." Of course, I will usually add 4 to 6 miles to that simple trip, taking out of the way roads, or visiting favorite destinations that I come reasonably close to. The park, my old school, that spot by the creek, the library...Honestly, I laugh at myself a lot over the last one. Why go to the library, you fool? It's CLOSED, you can't read all the books through osmosis.
I've been favoring a lake near my apartment recently, a nice little park with a walking path and a playground and lots of wildlife scaring the shit out of me regularly. I saw a black fox kit a couple weeks ago, and I'm a bit crazy, so I took it as a sign that this should become my new haunting ground.
I get a lot of grief about this habit of mine. My mother and grandmother remind me at every opportunity that I shouldn't be walking alone at night. Admittedly I walk with my music on, possibly one of the dumbest things that can be done, but I know my way around my area. Any place that has previously given me a bad experience is widely avoided. Also, I carry a huge knife and serrated brass knuckles. So, there's that.
Edited to add- As it turns out, sitting in the bowl drop at the local skate park is also really nice.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Connection, or lack thereof.
Recently, I've had a lot of people remarking on the fact that my day-to-day interaction with the world is markedly different than most other people. Perhaps this is coming up a lot more because I have gone off of my medication in order to quiet the rage monster. The best way that I can think to explain this is the thing that I've been hearing the most, and that is that my smile is weird.
Aside from the fact that I've been hit in the face quite a bit, my smile is weird because I do not naturally smile the way most do. My 'natural' smile, meaning the natural expression that comes across my face when I am happy and enjoying myself is pretty much my normal face with a quirk on one side of my mouth. I don't have a strong natural connection between my emotions and my body. I remember an instance in school where I was in the midst of a panic attack over the allergic reaction I was having, and when I mentioned it to the girl who was talking at me, she responded with utter disbelief.
Anyway, my point is that if you see me smiling with my teeth, it looks bad because it is fake. Unless I am in the midst of laughter, it is fake. I have taught myself to respond that way in social situations so that people will stop asking me to cheer up. If you are spending time with me and are wondering if I am enjoying myself, then ask me. I will let you know.
Spending time with someone is a bit different for me too. My husband and I have butted heads over this a few times. He brings up occasionally how annoying it is for me to read or draw or complete other tasks when he gets home from work and he wants to sit and relax and 'spend time together'. This particular conversation never went well for either of us. He feels like I'm preoccupied with something else when he's seeking attention from me, which is valid and understandable, but my feeling is that if we are just sitting and watching a movie, we're already not actively conversing. We are literally touching each other, how is it possible that we are not spending time together somehow? This isn't a big problem really, we've compromised with each other by using quality time safe words, for all intents and purposes. He tells me when he feels as if I'm not involved in our activities together, and I respond honestly. If he's putting on Darkman, I let him know that I'll be reading right next to him.
I'm even more alien with strangers and casual acquaintances. There's this huge disconnect between me and other people that I don't feel comfortable enough to call friends. I've never looked at a person and wondered what their sexuality is, for instance. It has never occurred to me to wonder who someone would like to sleep with. I generally can't tell when someone is attracted to me until they're ridiculously blatant, and although I can look at people and recognize that the organization of their facial features makes them attractive, I've only actually felt sexual attraction to four men in my life. (One a celebrity, one an ex, one my husband, and one a fucking lunatic.) I'm much more likely to be attracted to women, but I've never had a relationship with one, and only ever tried for one once. I don't form attachments to people without cost and reinforcement. There are plenty of people out there right now who speak to me regularly, see me daily, get along with me very well, but I don't consider them my friends. I know a lot of things about them, but it's very rare for me to discuss myself with people until I've known them and interacted with them regularly for a year or so.
I don't get lonely, really. I miss people that I am close to, and I definitely go stir crazy if I'm alone without anything to do for extended periods of time but it's not based on the absence of other people, rather the absence of brain stimulation. I don't get uncomfortable in silences. Sitting with someone doesn't compel me to talk to them. I don't feel awkward when I have nothing to say to someone. I've actually concluded a lot of conversations by telling someone that I had no more on the subject. When I do speak with people I am long winded and technical, or a huge smartass. If I'm talking it's either a science lesson or a joke, with very little in between.
Sometimes, after someone reminds me that I respond to the world differently than they do, I get caught up and wonder if I'm doing it wrong. I wonder if other people are getting more out of their day to day interactions than I am, if there's a deeper level of enjoyment and involvement in their everyday existence that I will never have.
But then I listen to some music or read a book and get over it. Because dammit I am not crazy.
Aside from the fact that I've been hit in the face quite a bit, my smile is weird because I do not naturally smile the way most do. My 'natural' smile, meaning the natural expression that comes across my face when I am happy and enjoying myself is pretty much my normal face with a quirk on one side of my mouth. I don't have a strong natural connection between my emotions and my body. I remember an instance in school where I was in the midst of a panic attack over the allergic reaction I was having, and when I mentioned it to the girl who was talking at me, she responded with utter disbelief.
Anyway, my point is that if you see me smiling with my teeth, it looks bad because it is fake. Unless I am in the midst of laughter, it is fake. I have taught myself to respond that way in social situations so that people will stop asking me to cheer up. If you are spending time with me and are wondering if I am enjoying myself, then ask me. I will let you know.
Spending time with someone is a bit different for me too. My husband and I have butted heads over this a few times. He brings up occasionally how annoying it is for me to read or draw or complete other tasks when he gets home from work and he wants to sit and relax and 'spend time together'. This particular conversation never went well for either of us. He feels like I'm preoccupied with something else when he's seeking attention from me, which is valid and understandable, but my feeling is that if we are just sitting and watching a movie, we're already not actively conversing. We are literally touching each other, how is it possible that we are not spending time together somehow? This isn't a big problem really, we've compromised with each other by using quality time safe words, for all intents and purposes. He tells me when he feels as if I'm not involved in our activities together, and I respond honestly. If he's putting on Darkman, I let him know that I'll be reading right next to him.
I'm even more alien with strangers and casual acquaintances. There's this huge disconnect between me and other people that I don't feel comfortable enough to call friends. I've never looked at a person and wondered what their sexuality is, for instance. It has never occurred to me to wonder who someone would like to sleep with. I generally can't tell when someone is attracted to me until they're ridiculously blatant, and although I can look at people and recognize that the organization of their facial features makes them attractive, I've only actually felt sexual attraction to four men in my life. (One a celebrity, one an ex, one my husband, and one a fucking lunatic.) I'm much more likely to be attracted to women, but I've never had a relationship with one, and only ever tried for one once. I don't form attachments to people without cost and reinforcement. There are plenty of people out there right now who speak to me regularly, see me daily, get along with me very well, but I don't consider them my friends. I know a lot of things about them, but it's very rare for me to discuss myself with people until I've known them and interacted with them regularly for a year or so.
I don't get lonely, really. I miss people that I am close to, and I definitely go stir crazy if I'm alone without anything to do for extended periods of time but it's not based on the absence of other people, rather the absence of brain stimulation. I don't get uncomfortable in silences. Sitting with someone doesn't compel me to talk to them. I don't feel awkward when I have nothing to say to someone. I've actually concluded a lot of conversations by telling someone that I had no more on the subject. When I do speak with people I am long winded and technical, or a huge smartass. If I'm talking it's either a science lesson or a joke, with very little in between.
Sometimes, after someone reminds me that I respond to the world differently than they do, I get caught up and wonder if I'm doing it wrong. I wonder if other people are getting more out of their day to day interactions than I am, if there's a deeper level of enjoyment and involvement in their everyday existence that I will never have.
But then I listen to some music or read a book and get over it. Because dammit I am not crazy.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
The despised return of a not very nice person.
I've been getting angrier. I begin to see echoes of my former self in my day to day interactions, and I am not at all happy to recognize the pattern.
I'm not entirely certain why this has been happening, since my dosage is correct so far as I can tell, and CBT did the impossible and taught me some self control. The situation isn't helped by the fact that I notice it happening, which makes me anxious, which in turn lowers my threshold for aggravation, which leads to unfortunate circumstances like what occurred today at work.
We were incredibly busy. I had just gotten done pulling a pallet jack that weighed 12 times my body weight to the back and then unloading it alone. A customer tried to be witty and trick me, score themselves some free merchandise. Thankfully, all I did was respond very curtly, and in a not-so-customer-friendly manner.
'You're correct. I forgot to ask you if you were a member. I'm trying very hard to care about that as if it's important.'
She huffed off, I tried very hard not to throw the marker I'd been using to mark the shipment at the back of her head, and when my break came around I took some extra time to shoot virtual zombies and wish that they were her, this faceless annoying customer who somehow bothered me that much.
Thankfully I gave my notice already, and I'm out of there on Saturday. I shudder to think how I'm going to respond when my manager gets that complaint call. Probably in a very similar manner, since the demon in me is secure in the knowledge that their stupid write ups will have no impact whatsoever upon me and my remaining 12 hours.
Since I've been saying numerous greetings to a version of me that I had hoped to be completely dead, I've been thinking a lot about my younger years. (yes, I understand that I'm 22 and I don't technically have any younger years. My life is split into two distinct timelines; Young Meghan, burgeoning pyschopath extraordinaire, and Older Meghan, she who thinks before she acts.) I shudder when I remember. I was so fucked up. I remember a dinner conversation that occurred a month or so ago, where Husband was reminiscing about some friends from elementary school and asked me if I had any special memories.
I remember being too terrified to speak aloud my first few years at school. I would know the answer to a question or want to tell someone that I liked their shoes, and it would be like the air passing out of my lungs took some hidden shortcut past my voicebox, and only a small whimper would come out. I spent most of my time up until the fourth grade hiding under my desk, or even in one of the bathroom stalls with a bag full of books. Shockingly, children had no idea how to handle this alien behavior. I think that, combined with the fact that my first grade teacher attempted to put me into the special education class, just destroyed any chance I ever had at having friends school. (I did have numerous pen pals, however. It seems my crazy only showed in person.)
Turns out it was a really good idea to hide from people, because I had no idea how to interact with other human beings. I would cry at the slightest frustration, and swell up with rage with little or no provocation. I'm pretty sure I growled at people, and I'm laughing so hard thinking of it now but it was so fucking crazy holy shit..
I'm the only person I know with an extensive list of violent altercations before the age of fourteen.Luckily I only got in serious trouble for that once. (Looking back, it is probably because the teachers and administration were aware of how much bullying was happening. Not that they ever worked on stopping that, but I guess the leniency was nice.).
There was the girl that I pushed off the monkey bars because she was calling me a retard, or the one that I hit in the face with a snow ball for pretty much the same reason. ( a quick shout out to Mrs. Durant, you old cunt. I hold you directly responsible for a lot of my school day suffering. Possibly the only reason my boiling hatred never took a more virulent form is because I was secure in the knowledge that the IQ test you ordered for me came back with a higher score than you.)There was my hit list, of course. Weekly visits with the school counselor started after that. Or when I threatened to stab the girl who was stealing from my desk and putting glue on my chair. Or the boy that I threw over my shoulder and face first into the pavement, the one I got into a fight with and pushed into the creek...the other one that headbutt me in the back of the head as I was walking away...the one who tackled me into the open basement on a construction site.( I'm shocked I could walk home after the last one, honestly. I landed on a pile of rebar.) There was the time that I hit a boy in the head with a pool cue, and the time that I strangled my sister. (attempted homicide by a child is just cute right?)
Thinking of all of these things literally makes my insides hurt. I remember how angry and painful they all were. I feel shame now for how long the list is, especially the times where I wasn't acting in self defense. The worst thing I have ever done isn't even on that list.
I walked to school until I hit high school. The time it took to walk home was, hands down, the absolute worst part of every day. Even walking the way I did, jumping the creek here, shimmying across a concrete embankment there, circling through this out of the way neighborhood, I can only remember a handful of times that I was blessedly left alone. Most days, one or more people would follow me home, taunting me,or throwing rocks. Most of the fights that I got into were on the way home.
I remember one day as I was walking a stray dog came up to me, and I pet it and continued walking. My followers that day, three boys whose full names I remember to this day, assumed that this stray must be my dog. So they began pelting it with stones, and hitting it with a large tree branch whenever it slowed down.
I decided on that day that I was going to kill those three boys. I even carried a knife with me, for that exact purpose.
Suffice it to say, they didn't like my explanation much when they caught me with it in my bag. Cue expulsion, and conditional behavioral therapy, and a stern warning from a worker of the state that this was my last shot, one more 'episode' and I would be removed from my home and placed in special care. I remember sitting in the courtroom, hollow, waiting for sentencing.
They were lenient once again. They gave me the lightest sentence they could. I finally considered the option that I was a part of the problem. I committed to the CBT. I started trying to talk to people and make friends. There are a couple of people I tested my newfound social skills on in middle school who will forever remember me as the creepiest person they ever met, but I adapted to whatever lesson was thrown at me. I have friends now, and a darling husband, and a crazy ass cat. I shouldn't be regressing.
Damn it, I can't afford more therapy.
Steph, dear, since you are the only one who actually reads this, please pay no mind. Despite what you may think, I'm doing okay, just getting very...snappy.
I'm not entirely certain why this has been happening, since my dosage is correct so far as I can tell, and CBT did the impossible and taught me some self control. The situation isn't helped by the fact that I notice it happening, which makes me anxious, which in turn lowers my threshold for aggravation, which leads to unfortunate circumstances like what occurred today at work.
We were incredibly busy. I had just gotten done pulling a pallet jack that weighed 12 times my body weight to the back and then unloading it alone. A customer tried to be witty and trick me, score themselves some free merchandise. Thankfully, all I did was respond very curtly, and in a not-so-customer-friendly manner.
'You're correct. I forgot to ask you if you were a member. I'm trying very hard to care about that as if it's important.'
She huffed off, I tried very hard not to throw the marker I'd been using to mark the shipment at the back of her head, and when my break came around I took some extra time to shoot virtual zombies and wish that they were her, this faceless annoying customer who somehow bothered me that much.
Thankfully I gave my notice already, and I'm out of there on Saturday. I shudder to think how I'm going to respond when my manager gets that complaint call. Probably in a very similar manner, since the demon in me is secure in the knowledge that their stupid write ups will have no impact whatsoever upon me and my remaining 12 hours.
Since I've been saying numerous greetings to a version of me that I had hoped to be completely dead, I've been thinking a lot about my younger years. (yes, I understand that I'm 22 and I don't technically have any younger years. My life is split into two distinct timelines; Young Meghan, burgeoning pyschopath extraordinaire, and Older Meghan, she who thinks before she acts.) I shudder when I remember. I was so fucked up. I remember a dinner conversation that occurred a month or so ago, where Husband was reminiscing about some friends from elementary school and asked me if I had any special memories.
I remember being too terrified to speak aloud my first few years at school. I would know the answer to a question or want to tell someone that I liked their shoes, and it would be like the air passing out of my lungs took some hidden shortcut past my voicebox, and only a small whimper would come out. I spent most of my time up until the fourth grade hiding under my desk, or even in one of the bathroom stalls with a bag full of books. Shockingly, children had no idea how to handle this alien behavior. I think that, combined with the fact that my first grade teacher attempted to put me into the special education class, just destroyed any chance I ever had at having friends school. (I did have numerous pen pals, however. It seems my crazy only showed in person.)
Turns out it was a really good idea to hide from people, because I had no idea how to interact with other human beings. I would cry at the slightest frustration, and swell up with rage with little or no provocation. I'm pretty sure I growled at people, and I'm laughing so hard thinking of it now but it was so fucking crazy holy shit..
I'm the only person I know with an extensive list of violent altercations before the age of fourteen.Luckily I only got in serious trouble for that once. (Looking back, it is probably because the teachers and administration were aware of how much bullying was happening. Not that they ever worked on stopping that, but I guess the leniency was nice.).
There was the girl that I pushed off the monkey bars because she was calling me a retard, or the one that I hit in the face with a snow ball for pretty much the same reason. ( a quick shout out to Mrs. Durant, you old cunt. I hold you directly responsible for a lot of my school day suffering. Possibly the only reason my boiling hatred never took a more virulent form is because I was secure in the knowledge that the IQ test you ordered for me came back with a higher score than you.)There was my hit list, of course. Weekly visits with the school counselor started after that. Or when I threatened to stab the girl who was stealing from my desk and putting glue on my chair. Or the boy that I threw over my shoulder and face first into the pavement, the one I got into a fight with and pushed into the creek...the other one that headbutt me in the back of the head as I was walking away...the one who tackled me into the open basement on a construction site.( I'm shocked I could walk home after the last one, honestly. I landed on a pile of rebar.) There was the time that I hit a boy in the head with a pool cue, and the time that I strangled my sister. (attempted homicide by a child is just cute right?)
Thinking of all of these things literally makes my insides hurt. I remember how angry and painful they all were. I feel shame now for how long the list is, especially the times where I wasn't acting in self defense. The worst thing I have ever done isn't even on that list.
I walked to school until I hit high school. The time it took to walk home was, hands down, the absolute worst part of every day. Even walking the way I did, jumping the creek here, shimmying across a concrete embankment there, circling through this out of the way neighborhood, I can only remember a handful of times that I was blessedly left alone. Most days, one or more people would follow me home, taunting me,or throwing rocks. Most of the fights that I got into were on the way home.
I remember one day as I was walking a stray dog came up to me, and I pet it and continued walking. My followers that day, three boys whose full names I remember to this day, assumed that this stray must be my dog. So they began pelting it with stones, and hitting it with a large tree branch whenever it slowed down.
I decided on that day that I was going to kill those three boys. I even carried a knife with me, for that exact purpose.
Suffice it to say, they didn't like my explanation much when they caught me with it in my bag. Cue expulsion, and conditional behavioral therapy, and a stern warning from a worker of the state that this was my last shot, one more 'episode' and I would be removed from my home and placed in special care. I remember sitting in the courtroom, hollow, waiting for sentencing.
They were lenient once again. They gave me the lightest sentence they could. I finally considered the option that I was a part of the problem. I committed to the CBT. I started trying to talk to people and make friends. There are a couple of people I tested my newfound social skills on in middle school who will forever remember me as the creepiest person they ever met, but I adapted to whatever lesson was thrown at me. I have friends now, and a darling husband, and a crazy ass cat. I shouldn't be regressing.
Damn it, I can't afford more therapy.
Steph, dear, since you are the only one who actually reads this, please pay no mind. Despite what you may think, I'm doing okay, just getting very...snappy.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Borks. Or books, if you're one of those crazy people that don't constantly talk in baby voice.
Today I want to talk about something that is incredibly close to my heart.
Books. I want to talk about books. Pull up a seat and get really comfortable. I never get to do this any other time and it drives me absolutely insane. In my life I've read probably around 3,000 books, even more if you consider all of the online publications and scientific papers. I know books fairly well, I think. After reading so many thousands of words you start to get a feel for what works and what doesn't. I secretly call this my book sense. (Secretly, yes. Posting it on the internet is very secretive.)
When I am reading a book that is really, really good, I start to get this feeling on the back of my neck, like someone is running their fingers ever so softly against my skin. I lived for that when I was a kid, and now that I'm an adult who knows what sex and alcohol feel like, I would still say that it is one of my favorite feelings. It reminds me of reading in my closet, or the school playground, on my bed, or the fucking broom closet because I was a really strange child with no social graces.
Reading as often and as much as I do, I have some pretty set ideas about grammar, spelling and storytelling in general. I believe that grammar is the least of your worries. (It is still a worry! I am not advocating the substitution of your for you're, don't set me on fire.) Some of the most moving and important things I've ever read were grammatically incorrect. Sometimes the intricacies of subject relation and syntax will drown out what you're really trying to say. Write your words the way they hit you.
I'm still a huge bitch about spelling, but at least I'll admit to that one.
My biggest opinions are about books. I can throw muster up some diatribes on other subjects, as anyone reading this should be aware, but I get involved with my books in a way that should probably be considered indecent. One of those big opinions that I carry around with me is reflected in every facet of my life. I believe that all of the best stories, in books and movies alike, are about ideas instead of characters. The characters are absolutely essential as well, don't get me wrong. One of my favorite book series is 'The Dresden Files' by Jim Butcher, and one of the reasons is how well rounded his characters are, but the overwhelming idea behind the series is what keeps the books on my mind after I've stopped reading them. Best signified for me by this quote, 'To whom much is given, much is expected.'
It's not a new idea, there aren't really any new ideas, just old ones with new paint, but it is one of my favorites. I like wrapping my mind around the ideas of obligation and sacrifice, it leads me interesting places like the social contract and the nature of kindness. I love it when someone else's words inspire introspection and a reexamination of my previous thoughts and beliefs.
Another example of an amazing series is 'Sandman' by Neil Gaiman. Yes, these are technically graphic novels, but I don't feel that my chosen literature is somehow lessened because it is written on top of artwork. This series is the single most influential body of work I have experienced thus far. It has so many big important things inside it, shrunk down and simplified so that everyone who reads it can understand. Neil Gaiman plays with the idea of the power of belief and of dreams, he showcases our tendency to back ourselves into corners and then snap at those around us as though they put us there. 'Sandman' gives names and identities to the chaos that is the spectrum of human emotion and somehow it makes more sense than dopamine and serotonin. I felt like I saw the world differently after I finished the 'Sandman' series, and although the characters are absolutely amazing, they are not why. The lessons they teach are more important to me than the characters themselves. (Although I still can't read 'The Kindly Ones' if I'm in anything but the highest of spirits, because damn it I will cry.)
I've read books without an overwhelming message and enjoyed them. Sometimes I've even loved them and pledged to reread them year after year like I do with Sandman and The Dresden Files. The difference between the ones that I love and the ones that really matter to me is whether or not they've 'hit' me. If you're a bibliophile, then you know the feeling I mean. When you're sucked into a story so deeply that the world around you completely fades away, you're living the experience of these characters, feeling what they feel and then suddenly...the author snatches words out of your brain and uses it to take your breath away.
This person that you have never met, probably will never meet, has combined words on paper in a way that you have never seen or heard before, and those words explain something that you've felt or experienced so perfectly that you can't feel it any other way ever again. This is the book sense, when you feel that connection across time and space.
I like to think that every time that happens the author sneezes, but I guess that would become rather bothersome.
Books. I want to talk about books. Pull up a seat and get really comfortable. I never get to do this any other time and it drives me absolutely insane. In my life I've read probably around 3,000 books, even more if you consider all of the online publications and scientific papers. I know books fairly well, I think. After reading so many thousands of words you start to get a feel for what works and what doesn't. I secretly call this my book sense. (Secretly, yes. Posting it on the internet is very secretive.)
When I am reading a book that is really, really good, I start to get this feeling on the back of my neck, like someone is running their fingers ever so softly against my skin. I lived for that when I was a kid, and now that I'm an adult who knows what sex and alcohol feel like, I would still say that it is one of my favorite feelings. It reminds me of reading in my closet, or the school playground, on my bed, or the fucking broom closet because I was a really strange child with no social graces.
Reading as often and as much as I do, I have some pretty set ideas about grammar, spelling and storytelling in general. I believe that grammar is the least of your worries. (It is still a worry! I am not advocating the substitution of your for you're, don't set me on fire.) Some of the most moving and important things I've ever read were grammatically incorrect. Sometimes the intricacies of subject relation and syntax will drown out what you're really trying to say. Write your words the way they hit you.
I'm still a huge bitch about spelling, but at least I'll admit to that one.
My biggest opinions are about books. I can throw muster up some diatribes on other subjects, as anyone reading this should be aware, but I get involved with my books in a way that should probably be considered indecent. One of those big opinions that I carry around with me is reflected in every facet of my life. I believe that all of the best stories, in books and movies alike, are about ideas instead of characters. The characters are absolutely essential as well, don't get me wrong. One of my favorite book series is 'The Dresden Files' by Jim Butcher, and one of the reasons is how well rounded his characters are, but the overwhelming idea behind the series is what keeps the books on my mind after I've stopped reading them. Best signified for me by this quote, 'To whom much is given, much is expected.'
It's not a new idea, there aren't really any new ideas, just old ones with new paint, but it is one of my favorites. I like wrapping my mind around the ideas of obligation and sacrifice, it leads me interesting places like the social contract and the nature of kindness. I love it when someone else's words inspire introspection and a reexamination of my previous thoughts and beliefs.
Another example of an amazing series is 'Sandman' by Neil Gaiman. Yes, these are technically graphic novels, but I don't feel that my chosen literature is somehow lessened because it is written on top of artwork. This series is the single most influential body of work I have experienced thus far. It has so many big important things inside it, shrunk down and simplified so that everyone who reads it can understand. Neil Gaiman plays with the idea of the power of belief and of dreams, he showcases our tendency to back ourselves into corners and then snap at those around us as though they put us there. 'Sandman' gives names and identities to the chaos that is the spectrum of human emotion and somehow it makes more sense than dopamine and serotonin. I felt like I saw the world differently after I finished the 'Sandman' series, and although the characters are absolutely amazing, they are not why. The lessons they teach are more important to me than the characters themselves. (Although I still can't read 'The Kindly Ones' if I'm in anything but the highest of spirits, because damn it I will cry.)
I've read books without an overwhelming message and enjoyed them. Sometimes I've even loved them and pledged to reread them year after year like I do with Sandman and The Dresden Files. The difference between the ones that I love and the ones that really matter to me is whether or not they've 'hit' me. If you're a bibliophile, then you know the feeling I mean. When you're sucked into a story so deeply that the world around you completely fades away, you're living the experience of these characters, feeling what they feel and then suddenly...the author snatches words out of your brain and uses it to take your breath away.
This person that you have never met, probably will never meet, has combined words on paper in a way that you have never seen or heard before, and those words explain something that you've felt or experienced so perfectly that you can't feel it any other way ever again. This is the book sense, when you feel that connection across time and space.
I like to think that every time that happens the author sneezes, but I guess that would become rather bothersome.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Affordable Care Act
I wrote this about six months ago, and I decided to put it here because fuck you I do what I want.
(Goddamn I am long winded.)
(Goddamn I am long winded.)
Today, I am going to do something that I don't usually do. I'm going to rant. Generally when I set out to have a discussion with someone, in person or online, I intend for it to be just that; a discussion. What I am doing today is making a statement, and I really don't care what you have to say to the contrary. This is how I feel, this is what I think, and there is no revelation that you could possibly provide that can change how I feel in this instance. Consider this your disclaimer. What follows is my opinion. You can agree with it, or you can't.
I'll start out on a personal note. I have a condition called dysmenorrhea. The medical description of this condition is 'abnormal pain during menstruation'. For me personally, this definition is woefully inadequate. For me, this means that during the first one to three days of my menstrual cycle I have uterine contractions so powerful that they can be seen through my abdominal wall, high grade fevers that have me drenched in sweat within minutes, vomiting and diarrhea to the point of severe dehydration, and occasionally fainting.
During one of my first episodes with this condition, I fainted at the top of a flight of stairs. Luckily I was already hunched over from the pain and I fell forward instead of backwards.
This condition also means that I have a low likelihood of being able to carry a pregnancy to term, since the powerful contractions that I experience, along with the ovarian cysts, have caused scarring that severely limit the chances of carrying a pregnancy through the second trimester. This in itself is not the point of me writing today. The point is that although this condition is very painful and has affected the possible outcomes of my future, it is easily treated with hormonal birth control.
That, ladies and gentleman, is one of my problems. For the past 2+ years, I have been unable to treat my DIAGNOSED MEDICAL CONDITION because I cannot afford the $60 to $100 dollar monthly cost of the medication used to treat it. Before you even dare think it, I am not uninsured. The medication simply isn't covered by any of the paid medical insurance programs that I have had since I was 15. This is not because it is not a valid treatment, but because this particular treatments primary use is as contraception. Of course, Viagra, which has no alternative use besides as a sexual aid is covered by all major insurance plans. For fuck's sake, the Post-T-Vac penis pump is covered by Medicaid. What health condition does that stupid thing treat? Not getting laid?
Suffice it to say, I was ecstatic when I heard about the Affordable Care Act. Finally it was recognized that birth control was an essential part of reproductive health, with reasons aside from the obvious use as pregnancy prevention. The guidelines in this act were drafted by the Institute of Medicine, based on what they consider to be absolutely necessary for women's health. Surely nobody would turn this into a war that admonishes us for daring to take control of an epidemic of blatant disregard for women's health issues, all the while complaining about the downward spiral of our society as it becomes infested with plague ridden whores.
As you can tell, I am deeply disappointed in my species.
I've read the Affordable Care Act, the legal jargon version and the 'For Dummies'. There is nothing in there that I feel is worthy of criticism. It has long been accepted that women, simply because of being women, are prone to different medical complications. Men get prostate exams, women get mammograms etc. There's nothing sexist or wrong about saying that having a uterus brings with it a whole host of problems which require entirely different forms of care. Because I am a woman, I am less likely to suffer from a heart attack, but I am at a higher risk of breast cancer. ( Yes, men have mammary tissue and are also at risk for breast cancer, it is simply a MUCH LOWER RISK.)
For those of you arguing (for some batshit crazy reason) that this is just an attempt by the government to make us all sterile, there are also reforms in this legislation that focus on the importance of pre and post natal care, like screenings for gestational diabetes and counseling on breast feeding. That is the essence of this bill. It says that women have different needs when it comes to health care, it recognizes that the health insurance industry has been lax in providing us that care up to date, and it seeks to rectify it.
If you are against this bill, I don't care what reason you hide behind, I am ashamed of you.
Yes, YOU.
I don't care if it's because of your religious beliefs, or your trepidation at a government run health care option, or even your deep seated fear that it is part of a secret agenda to give women more power to overthrow the world via the mutant powers of their baby proof vaginas.
(Just so you know, in my mind, the second that anyone uses the word 'agenda' or 'conspiracy' in a discussion THIS IS WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU ARE SAYING. Please keep that in mind if you decide to respond.)
I recognize that we all come from different places and have different experiences, and that every interaction that you have with the world will be colored by these experiences. If you were raised in a religious household that doesn't believe in birth control, of course the very words 'birth control' will upset you when it comes to federal legislation. If you're worried about the interference of government in personal matters, it's going to be the words 'federal legislation' that make you shake in your boots. I respect that. Really, I do.
And I still don't care.
It is perfectly possible for me to understand that you have different thoughts and opinions, and respect your fundamental right to have those thoughts and opinions without it becoming MY responsibility to keep you coddled. This isn't about your feelings. If you don't believe in birth control, then don't use it. It's that simple. Intention does not magically absolve you of the consequences of your actions. Your personal beliefs are not more important than my physical health, I don't give a fuck who you are.
There is already an exemption written into the Affordable Care Act for religiously sponsored health insurance groups. Regardless of what the Catholic Church is crying about, they are NOT being forced to provide birth control against their religious beliefs.(Even though, according to a survey, 98% of Catholic women already use birth control.)
Their trepidation in regards to this issue have already been taken care of. Not that they deserve it anyway, because as a FEDERALLY FUNDED INSTITUTION they have absolutely no right to deny any sort of healthcare to their employees, religiously opposed or not. If the government is paying your salary, then you do what the government mandates, period. If it really hurts your feelings so much to know that somewhere out there, a woman employed by the church is using that sinful contraception (even if they are actually employed through a third party organization, or said woman is PAYING for that insurance coverage, as is usually the case.), then give back your federal funding and tax exempt status and go do whatever the hell you want.
Trust me, if trying to limit other peoples treatment options in healthcare is your way of making sure the human race has a good relationship with God, then we don't need you. You've obviously only been skimming when looking through the Bible.
This isn't what I'm really angry about, though. I know that there's no way to reason with the people who claim that condoms help spread AIDS. It's not a battle that I'm going to win, regardless of my intentions. After that particular revelation about the Catholic Church, I don't expect sanity from the Papacy. It's hard to be truly upset with someone when you suspect that the cause of their wrong doing is stark raving lunacy. I'm disappointed and frustrated with the Catholic Church, and there is no way to excuse some of the harm that they have done, but right now I am furious with the common man.
Before you take a step back from the computer lest the feminazi cooties contaminate you via osmosis, understand that I use the word man to mean 'mankind', not everyone out there with a Y chromosome. Ladies, I'm looking at you too.
We are all failing to recognize a huge threat to our civil liberties; the threat to family planning. I know I mentioned my happiness with the Affordable Care Act being related to a medical condition that I personally suffer from, but it would take an idiot to enter this type of debate without looking at the other aspects of contraception. Birth control is first and foremost for preventing pregnancy, and that is also ESSENTIAL to women's healthcare, and also to any man who will ever have a relationship with a woman.
The biggest mistake anyone can make is to assume that this is a 'war on women' (Although, to be honest, it's mostly aimed at women.). If a woman gets pregnant, I can say with at least 99.5% certainty that there was a man in the room when the pregnancy occurred, and they also have a right to decide when they are ready to start a family. While this is an issue concerning women, it is a war on anybody who believes that they have a say in when and how they conceive, and it is being fought not with guns and ammunition, but with defamation of character and sweeping generalizations.
Of course, I can't mention defamation of character without also mentioning Rush Limbaugh. Besides his failure to grasp just how birth control actually works (seriously Rush, you take one pill a day. Are you retarded?) the man launched a vicious personal attack on a woman who was testifying about her friend losing an ovary, and very likely her ability to EVER conceive, because of the current situation for women in health care.
Let me reiterate in case some part of that escaped you, a woman lost an ovary and possibly her ability to ever carry children, and the woman who spoke out to defend her civil rights was called a SLUT and a WHORE on public radio and television because of it.
I don't understand how this man-child still has a job, and I REALLY don't understand all these people who claim that this misogynist prick is 'just telling it like it is'. How fucking dare you.
First off, that works on the assumption that the only reason to use birth control is because you don't want to get pregnant, which I know from firsthand experience is wrong. There is a long list of conditions that are most effectively treated by hormonal birth control regimens, including dysmenorrhea, polycystic ovarian syndrome, hirsuties, pelvic inflammatory syndrome, and many more.
The other broad generalization I see that makes me give up on humanity all together is that the only reason you could possibly want birth control to actually prevent pregnancy is because you are having so much sex with so many different people that you wouldn't be able to guess who the father is if you did get pregnant. That is not just untrue, it is so insulting to every woman who has ever taken birth control at any time that I don't understand why a single woman is still listening to his foul mouth.
Really, Rush? You've never come into contact with a married couple who couldn't afford to have a child? You've never met a single woman who SHOUDN'T get pregnant because it would be dangerous to her health? You know what, it really doesn't matter if you have. Somehow, things exist without you experiencing them personally.
There's another glaring misconception here that I don't understand, and that's that somehow Rush Limbaugh himself is opening his wallet to provide this birth control, which is ridiculous.
The truth is, this bill SAVES money, for the common man and for insurance companies. Not only on the cost of unwanted children, (50% of all pregnancies were reported as accidental. That's a lot of new children that are now eligible for tax run programs like medicaid and welfare, isn't it?) but also on the cost of alternative treatments to uterine conditions. Do you know how much a hysterectomy or ovarian drilling (which is another proposed treatment for polycystic ovary syndrome) costs? A hell of a lot more than the monthly round of birth control that treats the same problems without invasive surgery. There is a reason that it is not the insurance companies that are fighting this legislation, and that is because, despite the upfront costs, the widespread availability of birth control and the other services offered (remember, there are others) is cheaper.
And even if it wasn't a cheaper alternative to what we've already been doing, the fact of the matter is that even when a woman gets her insurance through her company or her school, she is still generally paying a monthly premium on that service. I have never been employed at any company or gone to any institution that offered insurance coverage that did not require an out of pocket payment. If I am paying money each month to an insurance provider, regardless of whether or not I may get a slightly better rate by going through the company that I work for, I am still paying for my own insurance.
So, in the mind of Rush Limbaugh and the people that are defending him, it's all just us dirty ladies too busy getting trains ran on us to hold down a job and pay for our own shameful slut pills.
How is there even one person out there who is not infuriated? Why is a man guilty of slander still running his own radio and television show? We may not be able to stone him to death, but damn it we really shouldn't be REWARDING him by allowing him to keep his show.
But that's just one man, and the worst that he can do is gravely insult millions of women. The worst harm is being done by those who refuse to recognize their own involvement in this problem.
Whether you are religiously opposed to birth control or morally opposed to the public health option, this is not you on the front lines of a righteous war. This is not you defending your right to worship. This is you saying that what YOU believe, what YOU think, is more important than the choices and well-being of others. That is most definitely not in the constitution, and I know damn well that it is not what Jesus taught.
Everybody is getting too fucking confused by all the shouting and too clouded up by their own hang ups to recognize the point. This isn't an attack, it's a wake up call. Right at this moment, there is a woman who requires treatment, possibly for a life threatening condition, and her insurance company can deny her that treatment. It happens all the time. One woman lost an ovary because of it, and I would bet all the money that I've ever made or will make that her story isn't unique. There are women with sexually transmitted infections and diseases who don't know it because they don't have the money to pay for the tests. There are new mothers that don't know how to breastfeed and couldn't afford the pumps even if they learned. Someone recognized how wrong that is, so now they're trying to fix it.
What on earth is wrong with that?
Nice guys finish last. (Because they don't understand how races work.)
I've been spending an awful lot of time browsing the internet recently. Whether this is because my husband is currently off in Mississippi or because I'm a desperately sad individual who is too obsessed with her cats is yet to be determined.
Anyway, my point is, there are a lot of recurring themes that you'll find on the internet if you spend enough time on it, and the one I'm talking about today can most easily be titled as the 'Nice Guys Finish Last' movement. If you have been living under a rock and somehow don't know what this means, I suggest looking it up on urban dictionary. If you're too lazy or too frightened of the nexus of humanity that is urban dictionary, then I'll sum up. The basis of this belief is that any man who is 'nice' is going to end up sad and alone because women are only attracted to douche bags who will break their hearts and then take a big steaming shit on the pieces. (You'll notice that I put the word nice in quotation marks. We'll get to that later.)
This is ridiculous.
Let me try and break it down the best way I can. Let's say that every person in the world, man and woman alike, has a list. This list is made up of different criteria, like sense of humor and intelligence, and all of these lists have a points system with 150 points possible. I'll give you an example of what this list would look like.
Intelligence - 30 Points
Sense of Humor - 50 Points
Looks - 10 Points
Kindness - 20 Points
Creativity - 20 Points
Common Interests - 10 Points
Sexual Compatibility - 10 Points
Just in case you haven't figured it out already, the list is full of criteria for sexual attraction. That right there is my own personal list. Some people care more about looks and common interests than I do, or less about a sense of humor, and that's fine. It takes all sorts to make the world run and all that. The point is that the list is different for everybody, and that it changes for everybody too. Your list at 17 isn't going to match your list at 34.
Let's run with this a little further and say that every time you meet someone new, they pull out their little list and grade you according to what's on it. You don't ever get to look at it, and you're not going to be informed when they start tallying up the score. They make all the rules, because, hey, it's their damn list. There's 150 points possible, and it takes a score of at least 75 to become friends, and at least 100 for this person to become attracted to you. Let us also say that if you score a zero on any one category, then you are automatically disqualified from the running for attraction. Stay with me, this is where the confusion seems to happen.
So, one of these nice guys meets a woman that scores 110 on his list. She just so happens to have all the qualities that he looks for in a romantic partner. Unfortunately for him, he only ranks an 85 on her list. She could be friends with this nice guy, possibly even great friends based on his score, but through no fault of his own he just didn't make a good enough grade to date. Yes, it is entirely plausible that he didn't make the grade because of how he looks. That fucking happens. And it is OKAY. Everybody gets to make their own damn list. Not making the grade on someone's list doesn't make you undesirable, and it doesn't make them an asshole.
You should never have to fuck someone that you are not attracted to. Can we all agree on that?
Anyway, it's unfortunate that Mr. Nice Guy wants somebody that doesn't want him back, but that's just the way it works. And yet, this simple situation turns into a global conspiracy against nice guys. Do you see the disconnect?
Either all women are incredibly shallow and will go for the attractive shitwad regardless of the plethora of 'nice guys' lumbering after them like starving zombies. Or there's the flip side, where every woman takes your level of niceness into account, and actually considers it undesirable, which is just appallingly stupid. Nice is not enough to overcome a complete lack of physical attraction, sorry to say. It also won't make up for not having anything to talk about because you don't have a damn thing in common.
Even if you did find a woman whose entire list is made up of nice, then you've got to score a perfect 100 to even qualify. That means no laughing at dirty jokes or homicidal thoughts in traffic. Nobody is that nice.
And listening to you motherfuckers, I have to imagine that you don't actually understand what that word means. "I treated her like something besides a set of orifices with legs. I don't understand why she isn't tripping over herself to gargle my cock. THE WORLD IS A MYSTERIOUS PLACE AND NICE GUYS FINISH LAST HURF DURF."
If your entire friendship with a woman is based on the premise that it is going to get you into her pants, then YOU ARE NOT FUCKING NICE, and this doesn't even apply to you in the first place. She's not a fucking prostitute, and if she was she wouldn't accept 'giving her a hug that one time she was crying' as payment, you stupid douche bag. If you think that acts of common human decency entitle you to someone's body then there is something wrong with you, and she's damn right for not wanting to have sex with you in the first place. If there is an ambivalent ruler somewhere out in the cosmos, I pray to it everyday that NOBODY will EVER fuck you.
Also, the 'women go for assholes' thing. What makes every man except you into such a twat? Unless it's a case of domestic abuse, chances are that the guy your lady love is dating is fairly decent, just like you are. Relationships don't falter and end because one of you is a devil and the other is a saint. Shit happens, men and women alike need to learn to accept that, and for the love of god everybody stop posting melodramatic statuses on Facebook about it.
Granted, there are ladies out there who go for dillholes, but those types of ladies aren't common, and those types of men aren't all that common either. And honestly, if you're clinging to this stupid tripe because of one of those women, you're going for the wrong person to begin with. Let the assholes have each other. IT'S WHAT THEY WANT. Also, it removes both of them from the breeding pool.
Now, I have no problem with you menfolk swinging for the fences. It's admirable, and sometimes you've got enough gumption and stamina to actually pull it off. When that happens, I have nothing but respect for you. But I cannot even count the number of times I have seen a man make this argument to explain why his attempts to snag a lingerie model with three degrees didn't work. (Okay, that may be a bit of hyperbole. I only know one lingerie model with three degrees.)
Really now? That's the only reason you can think of why this goddess in human form doesn't want to ride your dorito-smelling sweaty ballsack? It couldn't possibly be because you consider bathing to be bad luck for your CoD rankings and the only way you know how to communicate is with internet memes. That just adds charm. At that point, you're just using this stupid 'Nice Guy' dogma as a way to pardon your own ridiculous standards. If every person that has ever scored over 100 for you would give you a 60 at best, then you are aiming way too high.
Ladies, this goes for you too. Don't internalize the self esteem bullshit too much. You deserve a man that treats you well, definitely. A millionaire CEO with washboard abs? Not so much. Be fucking rational. Those goddamn Disney movies have messed with your perspective.
'Nice Guys', if you are actually a legitimate nice guy and not someone hiding behind the title, there is someone out there dying to have a party under the sheets with you, I promise. You just have to be patient. If you try using this argument to explain why you haven't found her yet, the chances go up that you never will.
I
Anyway, my point is, there are a lot of recurring themes that you'll find on the internet if you spend enough time on it, and the one I'm talking about today can most easily be titled as the 'Nice Guys Finish Last' movement. If you have been living under a rock and somehow don't know what this means, I suggest looking it up on urban dictionary. If you're too lazy or too frightened of the nexus of humanity that is urban dictionary, then I'll sum up. The basis of this belief is that any man who is 'nice' is going to end up sad and alone because women are only attracted to douche bags who will break their hearts and then take a big steaming shit on the pieces. (You'll notice that I put the word nice in quotation marks. We'll get to that later.)
This is ridiculous.
Let me try and break it down the best way I can. Let's say that every person in the world, man and woman alike, has a list. This list is made up of different criteria, like sense of humor and intelligence, and all of these lists have a points system with 150 points possible. I'll give you an example of what this list would look like.
Intelligence - 30 Points
Sense of Humor - 50 Points
Looks - 10 Points
Kindness - 20 Points
Creativity - 20 Points
Common Interests - 10 Points
Sexual Compatibility - 10 Points
Just in case you haven't figured it out already, the list is full of criteria for sexual attraction. That right there is my own personal list. Some people care more about looks and common interests than I do, or less about a sense of humor, and that's fine. It takes all sorts to make the world run and all that. The point is that the list is different for everybody, and that it changes for everybody too. Your list at 17 isn't going to match your list at 34.
Let's run with this a little further and say that every time you meet someone new, they pull out their little list and grade you according to what's on it. You don't ever get to look at it, and you're not going to be informed when they start tallying up the score. They make all the rules, because, hey, it's their damn list. There's 150 points possible, and it takes a score of at least 75 to become friends, and at least 100 for this person to become attracted to you. Let us also say that if you score a zero on any one category, then you are automatically disqualified from the running for attraction. Stay with me, this is where the confusion seems to happen.
So, one of these nice guys meets a woman that scores 110 on his list. She just so happens to have all the qualities that he looks for in a romantic partner. Unfortunately for him, he only ranks an 85 on her list. She could be friends with this nice guy, possibly even great friends based on his score, but through no fault of his own he just didn't make a good enough grade to date. Yes, it is entirely plausible that he didn't make the grade because of how he looks. That fucking happens. And it is OKAY. Everybody gets to make their own damn list. Not making the grade on someone's list doesn't make you undesirable, and it doesn't make them an asshole.
You should never have to fuck someone that you are not attracted to. Can we all agree on that?
Anyway, it's unfortunate that Mr. Nice Guy wants somebody that doesn't want him back, but that's just the way it works. And yet, this simple situation turns into a global conspiracy against nice guys. Do you see the disconnect?
Either all women are incredibly shallow and will go for the attractive shitwad regardless of the plethora of 'nice guys' lumbering after them like starving zombies. Or there's the flip side, where every woman takes your level of niceness into account, and actually considers it undesirable, which is just appallingly stupid. Nice is not enough to overcome a complete lack of physical attraction, sorry to say. It also won't make up for not having anything to talk about because you don't have a damn thing in common.
Even if you did find a woman whose entire list is made up of nice, then you've got to score a perfect 100 to even qualify. That means no laughing at dirty jokes or homicidal thoughts in traffic. Nobody is that nice.
And listening to you motherfuckers, I have to imagine that you don't actually understand what that word means. "I treated her like something besides a set of orifices with legs. I don't understand why she isn't tripping over herself to gargle my cock. THE WORLD IS A MYSTERIOUS PLACE AND NICE GUYS FINISH LAST HURF DURF."
If your entire friendship with a woman is based on the premise that it is going to get you into her pants, then YOU ARE NOT FUCKING NICE, and this doesn't even apply to you in the first place. She's not a fucking prostitute, and if she was she wouldn't accept 'giving her a hug that one time she was crying' as payment, you stupid douche bag. If you think that acts of common human decency entitle you to someone's body then there is something wrong with you, and she's damn right for not wanting to have sex with you in the first place. If there is an ambivalent ruler somewhere out in the cosmos, I pray to it everyday that NOBODY will EVER fuck you.
Also, the 'women go for assholes' thing. What makes every man except you into such a twat? Unless it's a case of domestic abuse, chances are that the guy your lady love is dating is fairly decent, just like you are. Relationships don't falter and end because one of you is a devil and the other is a saint. Shit happens, men and women alike need to learn to accept that, and for the love of god everybody stop posting melodramatic statuses on Facebook about it.
Granted, there are ladies out there who go for dillholes, but those types of ladies aren't common, and those types of men aren't all that common either. And honestly, if you're clinging to this stupid tripe because of one of those women, you're going for the wrong person to begin with. Let the assholes have each other. IT'S WHAT THEY WANT. Also, it removes both of them from the breeding pool.
Now, I have no problem with you menfolk swinging for the fences. It's admirable, and sometimes you've got enough gumption and stamina to actually pull it off. When that happens, I have nothing but respect for you. But I cannot even count the number of times I have seen a man make this argument to explain why his attempts to snag a lingerie model with three degrees didn't work. (Okay, that may be a bit of hyperbole. I only know one lingerie model with three degrees.)
Really now? That's the only reason you can think of why this goddess in human form doesn't want to ride your dorito-smelling sweaty ballsack? It couldn't possibly be because you consider bathing to be bad luck for your CoD rankings and the only way you know how to communicate is with internet memes. That just adds charm. At that point, you're just using this stupid 'Nice Guy' dogma as a way to pardon your own ridiculous standards. If every person that has ever scored over 100 for you would give you a 60 at best, then you are aiming way too high.
Ladies, this goes for you too. Don't internalize the self esteem bullshit too much. You deserve a man that treats you well, definitely. A millionaire CEO with washboard abs? Not so much. Be fucking rational. Those goddamn Disney movies have messed with your perspective.
'Nice Guys', if you are actually a legitimate nice guy and not someone hiding behind the title, there is someone out there dying to have a party under the sheets with you, I promise. You just have to be patient. If you try using this argument to explain why you haven't found her yet, the chances go up that you never will.
I
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