STFU Fridays: Stop Judging Yourself

If I had a second middle name, it would be self-loathing. I hate myself probably more than I hate other people.

If you know anything about me, you know that’s a lot of hate.

I am constantly self-depricating to other people too, which I think is a defense mechanism because I know that secretly, in the annals of other people’s minds, I am being judged. At least where I live – in the trendiest and hipsterest community in all of Southern California – that’s just what we do. And it’s better that I be the one to highlight my malfunctions than someone else do it.

But in my heart there is the person that also doesn’t give a flying fuck. Not a singular fuck that flies. Because in that heart I know that it isn’t all about appearances and looks and set ups, so much as it is what’s inside.

So for this most glorious of Shut the Fuck Up Fridays, I would like to talk about no longer judging yourself (myself).

The Way You Look

Seriously. Shut the fuck up worrying about how big your butt looks already. And while you are at it, shut the fuck up about your hair too.

Every woman loves a compliment. You look pretty. Your hair is gorgeous today. You are more beautiful than the day I met you. And so on. Those things are vital to a healthy relationship – I am not by any means contending that they are anything other than necessary. Coming from the woman that never hears these things (and I mean that my husband has said the word “beautiful” once and “pretty” never in the entire time I have known him), really and truly we should all resolve to shut the fuck up and love ourselves. In spite of how other people think. And/or neglect to communicate.

It isn’t just about the feelings we have about the way we look, either; it’s about being comfortable. Recently I came to realize that all this happy horse shit about looking cute every day is for the birds.

For. The. Birds.

Since then, I’ve embraced my Stay At Home Mommedness and worn pajama pants and/or yoga pants and/or a bra tank top with a sweater, pretty much everywhere. I wore yoga pants out to breakfast with my husband’s grandparents. We went on vacation and 3/4 of what I took were lounge pants and comfy t-shirts. I’m thinking about wearing yogas to my daughter’s birthday party tomorrow. It’s just that life is way too short to spend the majority of it in front of the mirror. And if people don’t love you for your sloppy ponytail that you had to go with so you had time to – oh I don’t know – spend quality time with others, then they are probably not worth having in your life.

Shut the fuck up and stop worrying about looking like that perfect mom you see every time you go to the mall. You know her: she has cute jeans, sparkly TOMS, and the most amazing hair ever. That bitch has like two nannies and a professional cook at home to allow her to look so cute, and she cannot remember her children’s full names – so fuck her and be yourself.

The Things You Say

This is a fine line. A fine, motherfucking line we are walking here, people.

Sometimes the things that you say can and will alienate you from the entire universe. Or get you arrested. Or at the very least get you added onto the NSA’s top wire-tapping list.

But other times, you worry way too goddamned much about not hurting people’s feelings, or saying the right thing, or sounding eloquent, or whatever it is that you worry about – so instead you say NOTHING. Or you LIE.

Shut the fuck up with that bullshit, people. I say a lot of really raucous and blunt things. And I just don’t give a fuck anymore what people think about it.

My husband doesn’t ever come home and/or communicate with me? Of course I’m going to say that to my mother in law when we are chatting about the fact that he didn’t call me back for like four hours when we needed to ask him something while out Christmas shopping. Am I supposed to patsy around that for fear that she may think I’m a nasty person for “bad mouthing” my man?

I’m going to say something right now that you all are going to think is absolutely insane. This bitch is off her fucking rocker. Are you ready?

It isn’t bad mouthing if it’s true.

Stop judging yourself people for saying what you think, feeling what you want, and communicating what is on your mind. People will have way more respect for you in the end than they do for people that stay silent or walk on egg shells out of the big F (fear). Of course there is a way to communicate (for example, if your wife is looking rather portly lately, you should perhaps tread lightly), but I think you all get that we are talking about something much bigger here.

The Way Your Stuff Looks

Yeah, fuck you too Pinterest.

Since Pinterest and Instagram and the Internet, and a general sense of feeling like our lives have to be bigger, better, and more perfect than the next guy, it seems like the presentation of things has become more important than the things themselves.

For example, I wish I had a refund for every wedding I have attended where the food and the cake looked AMAZING, but tasted like utter dog shit. Dog shit rolled in bacon. Rotten bacon.

And kid’s parties are the worst. Maybe not the absolute worst, because baby showers, Thanksgiving, and Christmas seem to be following up at a close second. Or a dinner at home on your average Friday night. More and more, we are finding ourselves judging ourselves publicly viz a viz the Internets. By posting photos, or not posting photos just as we saw someone else post photos we think are way better than ours we have become the most judging, self-loathing people that compare our lives to others in ways that make even a sort-of Buddhist cringe.

Jus stop it already, people. All of your fucking gift baskets and cupcakes look awesome. I have a really hard time believing that you garnish your dinners with parsley on a typical Tuesday night – so quit uploading photos of you doing it, because we know it was just for show and because you judged yourself into doing it. And if the stuff you have doesn’t look amazing… if they are – GASP – just cupcakes with frosting slopped on, or bare walls without a gallery-style set of paintings… oh fucking well.

It’s time we all shut the fuck up and stop judging ourselves. I think we’ll all be much happier doing so. I know I will.

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Well we can call that “the last Oscar Party we will ever throw”…

… or how about “the last PARTY FOR ANYTHING we will ever throw?”

My husband and I used to be real party-throwers. A lot of people came. We had a lot of food, drinks, and fun. There were often themes – like the Ugly Sweater Party we threw one year around Christmas time. There were ones for no reason at all but to get together. But in the last few years, things have tapered off a little. For one, we are more busy, just as our friends and family are much more busy. As you get into your late 20s, regular partying for the sake of partying just isn’t on the top of your priority list when you have jobs, bills, homes, relationships, kids – you get the point. The last real party we had prior to now was a housewarming at our old place, which resulted in me getting so drunk I got sick and waking up the next morning with our friend Ross hugging me in his sleep.

Finally, after quite an hiatus on throwing parties, my husband and I decided to throw an Oscar Party this year. Last year we planned one but I got sick in the end so it was canceled; and we have a lot of friends we wanted to see that we now live much closer to.

Mistake One: Forgetting what I just said about how busy everyone is.

So we decided to have this party and I suppose just expected everyone to suddenly not be as busy as they normally are. We are just as busy as them, but for some stupid reason we thought it would pan out. In the end, only three people came. After the party was over with, my husband and I were talking about some of the mind-boggling shit that went down and he said “hey, they’re your people.” Well, it’s true – they are my people. “But at least my people showed up” was my response. Really, though, you’ll see that I think that between his people never showing up, my people showing up and being absolute slobs, we’re just going to stop having parties.

 Mistake Two: Posting about it on my Facebook page.

My personal Facebook page is set to private and I stupidly posted the event on my page completely forgetting that there are some people on there that I don’t actually know much about. One of them is a writer that is in a writers group I am in – the man and I have never exchanged more than a sentence: “looks like you found my goat” (in reference to my former cover picture). He does not follow my blog. He has never come to a meeting I have attended. And yet when I posted on my page about our party, he stated he and his wife would be coming.

Mistake Three: Stating that we would have food.

When the writer I had never met before and his wife showed up two and a half hours after our party began, they had not even gotten through introductions and walked in the fucking door and he said “you know what we could use: some food.”

They then proceeded to sit down and eat us out of house and home.

The wife picked up the bowl of green olives and ate the entire thing. There were two jars of olives poured in there when the party started, we each had a few, then she got a hold of them and two olives (TWO FUCKING OLIVES!) remained when they left.

They each ate – by my count – eight pieces of garlic bread and destroyed the fucking stuffed shells I had made.

I had also baked a cake. To be precise, it was a chocolate cake with two layers held together with a homemade chocolate raspberry cream sauce (pictured above). We were waiting to have cake until a little later in the evening, but as soon as this guy and his wife finished hogging down the rest of our food, he grabbed the cake knife and just dug right in. Licking his fingers and the raspberries off the side of the plate, I lost my appetite for anything, including having any parties for any reason ever again.

Mistake Four: Being Facebook friends with writers I don’t really know.

If I hadn’t posted that damn thing on Facebook, I know the guy never would have seen it. But I also think my big mistake really traces back to the fact that I’m Facebook friends with a writer I don’t really know. Writers are really assholes. Dickwads. Fuckfaces. Opportunists. A greater writer once said: “writers…they either love you because your writing is genuinely bad, or they hate you because your writing is genuinely good.” I know a lot of writers that I think are great friends, but sadly I have to remind myself of that every time the task of writing comes into play.

So after feeding time at the barnyard came to an end, and we were about halfway through the Oscars, the guy and his wife flipped the evening into being about promoting his book. They handed out bookmarks and compared it to Harry Potter. Harry-Fucking-Potter!! Then shortly after asking me for a little more information about the writers group I knew him through, they announced that they had to leave. There was still about another hour and a half of the Oscars – the reason for the party. I felt like thanking them for coming to his book dinner, since clearly this was a free meal to promote his book (in his mind). Unreal.

Mistake Five: Having faith in humanity

What has happened to this world where people are so goddamned opportunistic like this? I struggle every day to find meaning, purpose, and value in my own life. Is this what others do to achieve that? Do they show up and force themselves on others, take what they can, and then get the fuck out to move on to the next endeavor? Is this how people are striving to reach their goals? By turning everything into being about them and for them? For the remainder of the Oscars, my mind was completely boggled. My mind was already pretty boggled going in, but now! Now I appear to have lost all faith in humanity. We have become nothing but the opportunistic pigs Orwell foretold. What grates at my faith in humanity even more is that I know many of you do not even know what I just referred to.

What the fuck. I give up. And if you are my husband and actually reading this, we are no longer throwing parties.