Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 54

You Betta Redneckognize.

The other day, I was reading the new issue of one of the most important current event publications of our time (People) and noticed a letter from a reader regarding the show Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

"After reading this article, I can now accurately describe the ultimate decline of Western Civilization in three words: Honey Boo Boo."

Ladies and gentleman, it's time to knock this shit off.

Because really? Honey Boo Boo is the ultimate decline of Western Civilization? What about the still-booming industry of selling of young girls into sex slavery? What about the fact that genocide is still going on in our time and right in front of our faces? What about the fact that children are starving right here in America, people are dying from the lack of basic medical care, and we still have wide-spread issues with racism, bigotry, and sexual discrimination?

But Honey Boo Boo is the ultimate decline, huh? Alright.

I love Honey Boo Boo (aka, Alan) because she's a young girl with a monster-sized sense of confidence and self. She's funny and she knows it. She's honest and lovable and happy. And sassy. She's the kind of girl that our nation loses when she hit puberty and begins to be bombarded with societal messages that she talks too loud, is too bossy, isn't pretty or skinny enough, shouldn't interrupt, and that it's more important to be nice to everyone than it is to speak up for herself. And I, for one, am overjoyed that this little girl has gotten her own show just for being exactly who she wants to to be - funny, loud, ridiculous, and silly. She didn't get a show because she's pretty, or a celebrity, or because she's rich. She got the show because she made millions of Americans laugh out loud with her ridiculous one-liners and physical comedy.

And if you watch her show, you'd know that - besides the fact that it's pure comedy gold - the show's most  redeeming quality is that it's about a family who loves each other. Yes, they seem uncouth and slovenly and in possession of questionable personal hygiene habits at first glance, but they also genuinely enjoy spending time together. As a family. They talk and laugh and accompany each other to activities and support one another in their goals and dreams (whether it's losing a few pounds or winning the next state pageant). They're low-income (or were, before the show started), they live in a clapboard house by the railroad tracks, and possess, at most, a high school education.

And yet. They're happy. And love each other. And are good to one another.

If you ask me, a show about a real family who loves each other is probably exactly what's going to help save this Western Civilization we're so precious about.

I wrote the above and a whole lot more today, and then, as it happens, took a break and came upon this article on Gawker. And it said everything I wanted to say, only with much more keen insight. And I read it and thought, "I don't even need to write this blog post! This Rich kid's got it in the bag."

And then of course, I read the bile-spewing comments and was reminded of why I wanted to write this in the first place.

It all boils down to this:

Let's get over ourselves. Considering yourself to be "above" this "excuse for entertainment" because this family is "white trash" does not actually make you better than anyone else. It makes you unkind. It makes you close-minded. It leads you to draw conclusions based on ignorant and often cruel assumptions. Not facts.

And that's pretty fucking stupid, if you ask me. Talk about an excuse for intelligence.

And you can have an opinion. You can definitely have one. You don't have to like the show. You don't even have to watch it. But let's stop pointing at other people like this as the reason for why our nation is failing. Because it's not them. It's us. If we're so intelligent and so high-brow and sooo above this type of entertainment and, indeed, type of lifestyle, then what the fuck are we doing with all of that? Are we running for office? Starting non-profits and clothing drives and forming movements for change? Or are we simply sitting at our dinner tables, listening to NPR while we read the The New York Times and congratulating ourselves on being very smart? What good is all that if you're not actually contributing to the progress of our civilization, and are only instead pointing to the things that you think are helping along the decline of it?

Right? We live in the future.

So let's stop being such bitches about it. [image error]

Breaking News, Everybody!

Sean - or as I like to call him, Yawn-a-Sean - has been announced as the new Bachelor!



I like Sean. He's super cute, the boy knows how to kiss, and he's actually kind of funny, sometimes. Also, he took Emily dumping him (AFTER she hounded him to "open up" to her about his feelings for her) like a total class-act champ. Also, I don't think we even need to talk about how good he looks with his shirt off.

Okay, everybody. Get back work and try to focus through your overwhelming excitement. You've got a job to do. You can't lose it just because Sean is the new Bachelor! What would your family say? How would you live with yourself? You've got enough riding on this job as it is...you can't afford to mess it up just because a Golden Boy from Texas with some sweet Southern charm and a killer bod is going to be drinking champagne and jumping half-naked into hot tubs all season long. You've got to concentrate - this isn't the time to be thinking about Sean taking a girl into his arms in some back ally somewhere and laying a passionate mouth-massage on her, then scooping her up and pressing her up against the wall, showing us juuuuust enough of what it would be like to give in on our 90 Day Rule with him in a hot hotel suite somewhere. Because who needs Rules?! Am I right, ladies? Who needs rules when you can have passion...with someone who's also safe, and loves the idea of marriage and family, and who will make you feel like you just got carried away in the moment instead of making you feel like they kind of know that you do this type of thing all the time even though you've perfected your sexy yet slightly sheepish "Oh my gosh, I never do this type of thing..." protestation that you always utter at just the right moment...like when he's scooping you up from the kitchen counter and carrying you into the bedroom. The way Sean would do. I bet he could lift a girl up and carry her into a bedroom somewhere...and I bet he could do that all the time, instead of just once in a while, like after he's been in the gym for a week and wants to impress you so he can finally seal the deal on this thing. Sean would probably do that sort of Sweeping Romantic Gesture with everything. Sean's probably perfect, everybody.

So anyway, guys. Let's get back to our regular, boring, straight up 9-5, doin-the-same-thing-I-did-yesterday work and return back to our regularly-scheduled, nothing-ever-changes, when's-it-gonna-be-MY-turn-for-romance lives![image error]

Written Shot of Courage

So I have to tell you about this, because it's going to come up later.

Even though it feels a little private, and a lot woo-woo.

But whatever. It helped me  - a fucking lot - and it's still helping me, so let's just talk about it and then later I can post something ultra cool and rad to win back the street cred that I never really had, mmkay?

On the night of the Big Breakup, I wrote myself a little note. It was one of those nights when you absolutely cannot see your way out of what you're going through. You can't imagine a future for yourself now that this has happened, you can't ever picture yourself being able to live with this pain in your chest, and you practically scoff at the thought that you'll ever feel better or happy or even okay again.

I've had other nights like that before. Where the pain is so fresh, you're in shock more than anything. And knowing what I already know about that kind of heartbreak, I knew what was coming for me. I knew the wave was going to hit sooner rather than later...so I wanted to be ready for it. I wanted to have provisions at the ready, for when it was time to rebuild.

Plus. I still had to move out the rest of my stuff out of the apartment, and figure out where I was going to live, what I was going to do, what I was going to do with Pooks...

Yeah. It was going to be a tough week.

So before I went to bed that night, I wrote myself what I now call a Written Shot of Courage. It was a note that said all the things that, sometimes, you just need to hear someone say. Or you just need to believe about yourself. Confirm. The things that you are going to look back on and wish you would have said to yourself, then.

So say it now.

Begin it with, "Hey, Hot Stuff."

Tell yourself that it's hard right now because you loved him, but that is one of the best things about you.

Your capacity to love.

Tell yourself you did the best you could.

And then repeat that. Repeat it three times, even, just so it starts to sink in. Because you did. No matter what, we all do the best we can with the information we have at the time. Yes, we mess up sometimes. Yes, there's always that one moment when you were less than patient, less than kind, less than awesome, that is going to bother you. Haunt you, sometimes. Try to tell you that it's all your fault. But even if it was all your fault (and chances are, it wasn't. You're just being too hard on yourself, sayeth The Girl Who Is Always Too Hard On Herself) you can't go back, you can't change it, so the best thing you can do is ask for forgiveness if you feel you need that from someone else, forgive yourself because you do need that from yourself, and understand that we make the best choices for ourselves from the perspective that we have in each moment. So you did the best you could. YOU DID THE BEST YOU COULD.

Got it? Good.

And then tell yourself it's okay to cry.

Because we miss this step, sometimes, in our effort to hurry up and make ourselves feel better. And let's face it - we grew up our whole lives surrounded by people telling us that we're okay, it's not that bad, don't be a baby, there's no need to cry. But sometimes? You just gotta fucking cry. And you should. I'll talk more about this later, but right now, be that gentle voice for yourself that gives you permission to be good to yourself. And that includes crying when you really need to just cry. 

And then write some nice things about yourself. Write the things you need to remember and all the things that are going to help to hear when you wake up in the morning - that you are going to be okay. You are going to get through this. You are brave, you are strong, you can do this. You make the best decisions for yourself and your heart.

And you will find love again. Love that is better for you. And you will be happy again.

And then tell yourself that again, and underline it this time, so it starts to sink in.

And then write some stuff that is even harder to believe, but that deep down in your heart you know you need to believe.

That this is going to turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you.

That this is your fresh start. The beginning of the life you've always wanted.

And that doesn't mean you love them any less, or that that love doesn't mean anything anymore. It just means that now you have to love yourself as much as that - even more that that -and that love has to mean everything to you now.

And then write a goal that's going to make you feel better just thinking about it. Like getting super hot again. Or finishing your first book (that was my "take that, heartbreak and disillusionment!" goal last time I broke up with a boyfriend. And now we have Holiday Chick, and some of us are better for it). Or flying off to see that place you've always wanted to see. Maybe it's the one and only thing you can think of right now that will make all of this worth it. Maybe it's just something that you always thought would be really great to do. Maybe it's the thing you need most in your life right now. Whatever it is, write it down as if you're already doing it.

And then it's up to you how you want to end the letter. But make it the one positive, hopeful, comforting thought that you really want to carry you through your day. Make it your new mantra, even. The one thought that makes you feel better than anything (make it positive and about you, though. Ending it with "He's going to die a slow, painful, horrible, lonely death" is not conductive to a positive mental state). Like a "You are going to be great. Fuck YEAH you are!" or "You've got a super fine ass and there is somebody out there for you who knows it!" or "You've got a kick-ass life to live. So let's start living it."

Get the picture?

And this is not just a breakup thing. It's not a girl thing, or a heartbreak thing, or a motivational-tape thing. It's a life thing. And when life hands you a rough time, write a nice note to yourself. It's easy to be cruel to ourselves and shift the blame onto our own actions and secretly believe we deserve bad things (or at least that we don't deserve good things) and that this is the best it's ever going to get: congratulations, you screwed it all up again. It's harder to be kind to ourselves. It's harder to be nice to ourselves. It's harder to be brave and want more for ourselves than what we've just gotten. To believe that we deserve more for ourselves. And that we can have it.

So why not, just this once, take the courageous route and stand by your good self.

Because, in a year or two, you're going to read that note again and it's still going to be relevant. It's still going to make yourself feel good to be called Hot Stuff. You're still going to be the inherently good person you are right now, with that amazing capacity to love. You're still going to be brave and strong and good, and you're still going to want good things for yourself. And more than that, you're going to look back and be proud of yourself that you were able to say the things that you most needed to hear, even when it was hard for you to believe them. 

And that's how that thing called "self-worth" is built up, kids - when you're good to yourself even when it's not easy to be good to yourself. And I don't know about you, but I kind of like this whole self-worth gig, you know?

When I first wrote my note, I read it to myself every night before I went to sleep, and it was the first thing I reached for when I woke up. And I made a point of reading it after every crying jag or frustration freak-out. And then it started to sink in, and I started to only really need it when I was having a tough day or wanted a little extra push. And now I've got it memorized, but I'm still never going to get rid of that letter. Out of all the things I've ever written, that is one of the best. It's one of the nicest, greatest, most motivating things I've ever done for myself, and I did it at the exact time when I needed it the most. It's a miracle moment (even though I kind of hate the saying "miracle moment." It makes me think of retreat centers in California filled with men who sport ponytails and earring studs and menopausal women who wear crazy-patterned Kafkans. They are not my people), to look back and see myself writing that note. On a whim. On an impulse. Out of desperation to figure out how I was going to possibly make it through the next few days without my heart exploding. Out of the knowledge that I've done this kind of thing before and my old methods of getting through it didn't always work out so hot, so why not try something new?

So that's it. That's the story behind the Written Shot of Courage. It helped me, it might help you, it might not. You might be like, "Amber, shut the hell up about this shit. Start talking about cool stuff again, like how you really feel about Nick deciding to choose KEEP on the Bachelor Pad finale, or whether or not you think Teresa really did set up Melissa on Real Housewives of New Jersey." I hear you, friends. You've been craving my insight on the current world of reality TV. You love my strong and intelligent opinions about what really matters in the world today. You do not know how to adequately form your own decisions about how to regard the most influential popular culture leaders of our time without me telling you what those decisions should be.

And I won't let you down.

I WON'T! Will NOT.

It's coming.

Hold your breath. 

And get ready to Redneckognize.[image error]

Sometimes, when I don't wanna do stuff, I like to take pictures of myself eating M&M's.

Thus concludes my thesis, "Why Working At Home Is The Best Professional Route For Amber L. Carter."[image error]

Of new beginnings. Also, new underwear.

In the first few days after my last break-up, I crafted a kind of a working motto for myself. It went something like this -

New, new, new.

The most painful part of this particular break-up was that I thought I was done, you guys. I thought I was good, you know? That I had found it, and this was it, and this was going to be my bright and happy life. The beginning and The End, all at the same time. And thought of having to start all over again...it was just so exhausting. And overwhelming. And really fucking depressing. And I didn't want to do any of it. And then you get those memories of how happy you were when you packed up everything the last time and how every single detail that had to do with moving was so exciting and awesome, and then shit, right?! Joke's on you.

So I decided that if I had to start over and rebuild my life, then I might as well make it as shiny and new as possible.

The day I moved the rest of my stuff out of the apartment (what a. god awful day. THAT was.), I operated on the philosophy of taking only what I need and leaving the rest (or taking the "rest" to second-hand stores. Please enjoy new assorted household, clothing, and entertainment items at your local Goodwill and Half-Price Books, St. Louis Park residents! Also? My charitable giving tax deductions this year are going to kick five shades of ass!).

I find it really cathartic to pare down my possessions. It's the physical part of the metaphorical belief that when you clear out the old...the things that no longer work for you...the things you no longer really love...you make room for new and better things to come into your life that you will love. So I did that with all of my stuff. ALL OF IT.

First I got rid of the obvious - all the things, good and bad, that reminded me of my past relationship. There's obviously always going to be things that you instinctively want to hold on to that remind you of the good times, or hold a lot of value either emotionally or monetarily, or that you think you could re-purpose into something still useful and worthy. But I have found that all of those things hold a certain association and therefore karma (for instance, wearing the lingerie he bought you the next time you sleep with someone new? Not going to make you feel better. And also, it's just kind of gross), and so it's just easier to get it out of your life. And by that I mean: Either get rid of it totally, or box that shit up and send it to a storage space with instructions that it can only to be opened again in 15 years after you're happily settled and can look back on this relationship with nothing but good feelings and a "See? That had to end so I could begin ___" attitude. Otherwise, it's just not worth it. I had to get brutally honest with myself a couple years ago and admit that every time I put on that shirt or watched that movie, I thought of him (whomever the associated "him" was). And whether those thoughts were fond or bitter, it didn't matter. What did was that they were distracting me from my present life, and the last thing you want is a dead relationship keeping you from living your present life as fully as you could (and should) be living it.

Let's get real: We are always going to carry around memories with us, whether we want to or not (unless you have amnesia. Which, admittedly, seems like it'd be a super lucky break to become one after you break up with someone). Why keep a whole bunch of baggage around - literally! - to go along with it?

Then it was time for all the things that didn't automatically make me think, "I love that." You know the thing, girls, where we hold up an item of clothing and even though we hardly ever wear it because it fits weird or doesn't really go with anything else or we just don't love how we feel in it, we still somehow try to talk ourselves into keeping it? Anytime I found myself doing that, I tossed it into the Give Away pile, telling myself that I would find something better, something that worked for me, something I really, really loved.

And yes, you can use the above as a motherfucking kick-ass metaphor for relationships.

So I cleaned out and pared down my possessions to only the stuff that I really loved and/or had use for. Which left me with about three suitcases and two medium-sized storage crates of stuff. Which was both great and scary - all of my worldly possessions could literally fit into the back of a car.

And then I went shopping!

The first part of it is kind of dumb but also kind of funny: I was sitting in a Barnes & Noble cafe, flipping through the new copy of US Weekly, when I came across photo of a celebrity wearing a fedora hat. "I always wanted a hat like that," I thought to myself. "But I'm not the kind of girl who can wear hats."

Who the fuck says I can't?! I suddenly heard a voice inside my head ask. While it was true that every time I courageously tried to wear a kicky hat in public, I felt like it made my head look weird and that everyone was driving by and pointing at me, saying to their friends, "She should NOT be wearing hats." But suddenly, getting this fedora hat felt like the best break-up recovery move ever. I was gonna go shopping right now, I told myself, and I was going to buy a super cute fedora, and I was going to wear it when I went walking around the lake with my friends and when I met them for coffee on Saturday afternoons and when I went shopping during the day and when I just hung out on a patio somewhere, having cocktails at sunset. Aka, I was going to wear it whenever I did things just for me, just because I liked doing them and could do them.

So I went to Target and picked out a black fedora that actually looked pretty good on my weirdly shaped head. But I didn't stop there: I decided to build a foundation of New by buying a new collection of (super comfy and supa sexy) underthings, ridiculously cute pajamas, and some basic tops and jewelry that fit into the vision of style I wanted to start creating for myself (simple and clean but put together, etc).

And let me just say this: There is something really, really great about being able to literally toss out all the lingerie you used to wear with him and replace it with an entirely cute, entirely new set that you bought just for you. Some people consider a new haircut as the go-to method for beginning the getting-over process of a break-up. I now consider buying all new knickers as mine.

And a little retail therapy is especially cathartic, I think, if you know that you kind of got into a rut at the end. Like, for instance, if every day was Yoga Pants Day and every night was Pajama Night. Or when you passed up getting haircuts, waxes, or pedicures because you knew he wasn't going to notice them, anyway. And it's especially helpful when you do it with things that are going to make you feel good (or at least better) about doing stuff you're not necessarily looking forward to. Like sleeping alone. Or getting dressed up to go out. Or moving into a new living space.

One of the hardest things about break-ups is feeling like you have little to no control. Even if it was your decision to walk away, it's hard to feel like you have control over how much your heart hurts or how much you miss them or even how much you want to burst into tears right now. And the thing about editing your possessions...it gives you control. It gives you something to manage. You get to decide what stuff you keep around you, what kind of things you want in your life, and what things you don't. Even if you don't get rid of anything - like, if you're one of those freakishly put-together people whose entire closet is full of things they absolutely love - it's still extremely helpful to go through all of it even if it's only to serve as a working reminder that you are capable of making great decisions for yourself. Of providing good and lasting things that add to the quality of your daily life. And that when something doesn't work, and will never work, it's okay to walk away from it because you either have a hundred other things to fall back on that do, or you know you can always find something else to replace it with that will.

And if all that fails, seriously just throw out all of your old pairs of underwear and buy some brand new ones. And then tell people about it. People love hearing about that stuff. And then they'll probably get a mental picture of you prancing around in your new underwear, and then you'll realize that they're probably picturing you in your new underwear, and then things will get kind of weird, but who cares? At least the both of you will know that you wear underwear. If anything, it will set you apart from the dirties who don't even wear underwear because they're totally cool with subjecting everyone else to their stank. Have you ever had to sit next to that type of person? It's not sexy. You don't catch a whiff and then think, "Oh hey, my primal instincts are digging your musky pheromones, so let's do this!" No. You try hard to mentally call up what Irish Spring smells like and then do the best that you can to go on with your day.

Underwear.

It's what sets us apart from animals, you guys.  

So go out and get some.

In all seriousness, though, how great is it to be in the same city as these two right now? Pretty awesomely great.

Please note that these smiles on Erica and Chris were captured before I subjected both of them to a Bachelor Pad marathon.

Which gave me a really great strategy and the hope that maybe I can make them watch all of my favorite reality shows and girly movies with me while I'm here. My plan is just curl up on the couch, look at them with wide eyes, and say really softly, "I just think watching this together will really help me get over my break-up, you guys."

Because, I mean, it will.

And I should get to have something, right? I'm not boozing it up every night, I'm not going on shoplifting sprees at Barney's, I'm not bedding anonymous men, I'm not hollering at random couples in grocery stores...I'm just, you know...running away to L.A. and forcing two of my favorite people to watch the world's worst television with me. 

I think that's pretty fair. 

Video Treat: Ben Folds Five and Fraggle Rock "DO IT ANYWAY" [Official Video]

Since the great "I Stopped Reading Your Blog When All You Did Was Post Videos" - Said Amber's Mom of 2009 debacle, I try to be really selective of which videos I post. Anywhere. I know this could either be about my preference of text vs. video or a deep statement of our insta-gratification culture, but doesn't it seem like it's kind of a commitment to watch a video on YouTube? Like when someone posts about a video they want to watch, they really have to buy you in, right? Because that's five minutes of your life! Of just sitting there and watching something that could either surpass or be on par with the hundreds of commercials that you consume every week. 

Anyway! So I'm not going to post just any bullshit video on here. But this one makes it because -

1) Chris Hardwick of The Nerdist is in it
2) It's a Ben Folds Five song from their new album. A song that also sounds like it has potential to become a new life theme song.
3) Um, it's got the Fraggles in it, everybody.
4) There are other awesome people in it, too, like Rob Corddry and Ana Kendrick.

You're sold on it, aren't you?

I knew it.

Keeps You Running.

Photo courtesy of Erica, taken during our Bachelor-like stroll down the beach.
So, break-ups.

Seriously, have you guys tried this stuff before? It totally sucks, right?

There's no good way to talk about it. I've tried writing a post about it three times now, each with their own separate angle...the classy "It was amicable, it was the best thing for both of us" angle...the self-deprecating "Haha, from single to insta-family to single again, HAHAHA!" angle...and the one that we always want to write, even when we know it's wrong: The feel-good, get-the-poison-out, "He was a FUCKING ASSHOLE and I'm so much better off WITHOUT HIM!" angle.

But none of those are entirely accurate (especially the last one - I would never call Chris an asshole) or fair, or do justice to what happened.

So instead, I will just say this:

Things changed. We had this amazing relationship and we really, really loved each other. Neither of us feels, still, that we moved too fast or made the wrong decisions in the beginning - everything we did felt right at the time, and looking back, it still feels that way. And things hummed along swimmingly for a long time. But we - separately and together - had a lot to overcome, and after a while it felt like we had to overcome everything all at once.

We both did our best.

We both hurt each other.

Life is easier and harder without him.

And there's always more that can be said, on both sides. But it all comes down to the fact that the things I am unapologetic about wanting from life are things that he is unapologetic about not wanting from life. So there's no going back, and that's that.

And so I just don't want to say anything about it anymore.

Instead, let's just talk about me, mmkay?

I've been running on adrenaline these past couple of weeks, trying to get everything sorted and figured out and framed into some sort of new future. And let me just tell you: Being heartbroken and effectively homeless is probably both the most devastating and motivating experience I've ever had in my life. I am very, very lucky and so, so grateful to have a group of friends who circled the wagons as soon as they found out what had happened. They ushered me into their homes, cleared their schedules, opened their bottles of wine, and just let me...be. They let me talk when I needed to talk, and they let me be quiet when I didn't want to talk about anything. They kept me busy and distracted and left me alone at just the right times. They respected my wish to keep it quiet and private from others, and my wish to not drink in public for at least a week so I could save both them and myself the whole "crying into a glass of wine in public" classic scene of every break-up movie.

And you know what? While not knowing what I was going to do and having no real space to dissolve into a wet mass of tears for three days in a row was really hard, it was probably the best thing for me. For instance, the tenants of good guest behavior sometimes does not include buying a pint of Ben & Jerry's and camping out on your best friend's couch to cry, stuff your face, and watch Twilight movies...and while at the time that seems a real drag, it's also kind of great, since you have to find other stuff to do with your time instead and those things usually include something productive and cathartic.

Like, let's say...figuring out what you're going to do with the rest of your life.

Right now I'm in L.A. I flew in yesterday morning, and Erica took me straight from the airport to the ocean. My original plan was to come here so I could sit on the beach and figure out how to become a new person, but as I stood in the sand with Erica, taking pictures of us staring thoughtfully into the horizon (ala "The Bachelorette Money Shot"), I realized I already knew. So I'm going to tell you about how I got there.

Which sounds boring, kinda. But it's kind of fun and weird and magical, actually.

Yet, since there is nothing worse than a monstrously long break-up blog post, you might have to make this a regular hang-out to hear about it.

Because the blogging's back, bitches.

And I mean back. 

Sometimes, "Go Fuck Yourself" is the best philosophy you can have.

Every once in a while, I'm faced with this same dilemma:

Do I continue to take the high road, or is it finally time to set the record straight?

This kind of dilemma tends to come up with that one person who is intent on constantly poking at you. Who purposefully tries to aggravate you. Is fucking asking for it.

Or when a friendship or a relationship breaks down, and your wish to keep things private are circumvented by their wish to sell their sympathetic side of the story. To everyone. 

Or when someone is just a straight-up asshole.

For the later part of my adult life, I've chosen to take the high road. At first, it almost hurt to do so - it was like letting a mosquito buzz in your ear for hours without giving in to the instinct to raise my hand and swat it away.

But I knew it was the right choice, especially in situations where I knew the truth about what happened, the people who mattered did as well, and it was inevitable that person was going to find their own path to destruction whether I opened my mouth or not...so why should I take time out of my busy Real Housewives-watching schedule to pave it for them? 

Sometimes, though, it got a little ridiculous. And it became more difficult to keep my mouth shut. When, four years later, someone is still intent on defaming your character with a ridiculous story meant to deflect their own fault and responsibility in the demise of their former life, it can take everything you have not to whip around and finally tell them to shut the fuck up. Turn the car around, write a strongly-worded post on the blog, and exorcise them once and for all.

But here's the funniest thing about it, and it honestly never fails - the more the other person talked and the less I did, the sooner people stopped buying what they were selling. Their story became a loud clanging symbol, meant to distract everyone from seeing what was behind the curtain. And the more you bang that shit in someone's ear, the more they're going to suspect that you're hiding something pretty bad. And in one particular situation, it got to the point where this person was so desperate to deflect blame that I had people I didn't even know coming up to me and telling me that they knew what this person was saying about me couldn't be true. And you know what 90% of their reasoning was? The fact that I never said anything about that person. That even though it had to be obvious (and it was. Subtly is not their strong suit) that this person was talking a mountain of shit about me, I continued to keep my mouth shut, and my only acknowledgement that I knew this person was simply a polite smile when their name came up in conversation.

So today, I'm declaring "Go Fuck Yourself" as my new and permanent philosophy. And I think you should think about making it yours, too. Because really, those types of people in our lives can and should go fuck themselves...they don't need any help or assistance from us to do so. And it might seem that this new philosophy doesn't really jive with the meditation stuff and living with love, etc, but really, it does. Go Fuck Yourself is, quite frankly, sometimes the most loving approach you can take towards a person. And it's what I've done with one person in particular - I've forgiven them, I've moved on, and now they can go fuck themselves. I won't bad-mouth them to people, I won't try to ruin their life, I won't even think shitty thoughts about them when I see their face in a bar or their name on a page. All their bad roads and poor experiences are now entirely up to them. Because, kids...when it comes down to swimming in bullshit or choosing love, I choose love. And I love them just as much as I love strangers walking down the street - I love you because you are human and part of this world, so I don't want to see you get exploded in a building or have your face eaten by zombies, but I'm also not going to give you a hug or money or set you up with my best friend. You just exist, and I'm okay with your existence. I don't need to expend my precious energy setting the record straight, because what you have to say no longer matters to me or has any real bearing on my world. So! Kindly go fuck yourself, and please enjoy the removal of my energy from your sphere.

See? Kind, effective, easy.

Aaaand...it'll probably look great on some American Apparel t-shirts, too.

About Today.

Here's what I know for sure about today: Life is fast, and it is fleeting. You don't have all the time in the world to tell someone that they matter to you, that you care about them, that they mean love to you. And so while self-preservation might be the name of the game, it is ridiculous, it is pretentious, and it is foolish. You should be good to yourself, and always. But never do something out of the spirit of depriving someone of love. They literally could be gone tomorrow, and the things left unsaid are the very things that will haunt you until the end of your days.
So the real spirit of protection is this: when you love someone, tell them. When you care about them, say it out loud. Say it LOUD. Make sure they hear it. It will be the one thing that will hold you at the end of every disaster...that those you love knew you loved them, because you told them when you meant it, and you told them every single time. Because that's all that matters, in the end. The people who love you, and who say it. Without bashfulness, without hesitation. I love you. 
And when you find someone who loves you, who loves you against all odds and loves you just as you are, don't you dare give that up. Fight for it with all your fucking might. Don't scrap your chances like so many raffle tickets, because lotteries run out and you've only got so many numbers to play. It's not enough to live for a job, or an apartment, or the freedom to go to Happy Hour every week. Those things will not be holding your hand when you're lying in a strange hospital at the end of your life. It's only enough to live for love. Don't waste your life on anything else.
So tell the ones you love that you love them.
Today's the day.
Today, tell them.