Sham...Wow

I know it's generally not a good sign when you're taking life advice from Rihanna's clavicle, but I decided to adopt "never a failure, always a lesson" as my mantra this week. Because I have learned me a whale of a life lesson. Specifically, if you eat Chinese food that's been sitting out on a counter for 24 hours, you will get food poisoning. And it will be Christ awful. And you will spend days on end alternating between handling "explosive bathroom scenarios" and watching two seasons of "Lie to Me" on Netflix while trying to find a position to curl up in that doesn't make it feel like you're about to vomit your spleen.

I'd like to tell you that I didn't refrigerate said Chinese food because my fridge was broken and I was desperate for food or some shit that would even remotely make sense, but honestly, my fridge was full and I really didn't feel like cleaning it out. So I just left my leftovers on the counter. And then the next afternoon when I was hungry and walked past the kitchen, I saw the food and was all, "WELL HELLO, OLD FRIEND," and dove right in, same fork that had been stewing in the bowl all night and all. And you know why? Because I'm not that intelligent. I'm just not. I can bullshit an A+ paper on literally anything and get through school with flying colors, but I have all the common sense of an Autistic toddler. I swear to God I'm not making this for comedic effect, but I walked face first into a door not 20 minutes ago. Talia once summed me up perfectly when she said, "Meg, you are the dumbest smart person I have ever met in my entire life." Fair. Fair and astute.

So, yes. I'm feeling better, but still sort of like I might explode at any given second. I think it's going to be a long, long time before I eat anything with ginger or snow peas in it in again. Jesus, Mary, mother of God, I wish I hadn't just said ginger or snow peas. Twice. I could seriously burst into tears right now. OK, LET'S RAPIDLY CHANGE THE SUBJECT, SHALL WE? I'm at my parent's house and this is sitting on their coffee table:

It's an informational DVD that came with a hair product my mom bought on The Q, but I spent an uncomfortable three minutes thinking it was some sort of touchy-feely learn-to-make-love-again DVD that they neglected to hide before I came over and very seriously I thought I was going to have to gouge out my eyes and kill myself. But it's not. So, hey HEY hey! Small victories.

...Well, now I'm thinking about snow peas and my parents having sex. RAPID CHANGE OF SUBJECT AGAIN! So you know how I have this ~*MyStErY hEaLtH pRoBLeM!*~, and I'm crazy like a fox, and am just generally, as a human being, broken in half? Well, that's all good and fun, but my health insurance runs out next month and I'm fucked. I need a few procedures, physical therapy, and I HAVE EMOTIONS!!!1 therapy, and it keeps me up at night trying to think of what I'm going to do about it. I could COBRA my parent's health policy, sure, but that would cost about $500 a month. I could get an independent policy, but I might as well be an 85-year-old meth addict with AIDS and a pack-a-day smoking habit for how uninsurable I am. I don't make enough money to get coverage through the Freelancer's Union, and my parents are getting mighty sick of this little HAHA-Meg's-following-her-dreams-and-we-all-help-her-out-because-ZOMG-artistic-passion-LOL! thing, as evidenced by my mom's new nickname for the blog: 2 Burdens, 1 Blog. (Which is actually pretty clever, BUT STILL.) (Slash I don't know what Chris ever did...)

I know it's easy to disregard my anxiety about all of this because I'm not exactly an orphan hustling on the streets for a crust of bread and a few shillings, but my parents—while still 100% supportive of my career—really have made it clear that they're tired of bailing me out. Which makes me feel like a total asshole and like maybe I should say fuck it, put this little dream on the back burner and get a 9-5 for the insurance. But at the same time, I can't help but to think we've come too far to quit now. I'm completely confident that one day I'll be able to fully support myself with my writing, but that day just isn't today. And unfortunately, I'm a hot fucking mess today. I need health insurance. It's time to get creative. And that's when Pete, of sexual-misadventure-essay winner Pete, shot me an email to see how I was feeling and casually mentioned that if I need health insurance, he would marry me.

Now...I'm 99.9% sure that Pete was just kidding, but I'm also 100% sure that I was not kidding when I responded: yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I genuinely think a sham insurance marriage is an amazing solution to my problem. And Pete seems cool. He bought some merch and hooked up in an AU formal lounge once. That makes him good enough to marry in my book. Unfortunately, I think my "WHEN'S THE SOONEST YOU CAN MEET ME AT THE COURT HOUSE I HAVE A WHITE DRESS FROM HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION THAT IF I DON'T BREATHE I CAN STILL FIT IN MAYBE I SHOULD BUY SPANX JUST IN CASE EITHER WAY I SHOULD BUY MY BUS TICKETS RIGHT NOW IF I TAKE AN 8AM BUS AND GET IN AT 12 WOULD YOU MAYBE WANT TO GET LUNCH???" response thoroughly scared him away. Drag.

My next thought was to gay-marry Eileen. Not only is Eileen one of my oldest and best friends, she has a stupid good insurance policy, a decently-sized apartment in New York with a sick view, a building that allows pugs, and one time she fixed a 20-year-old VHS copy of Sound of Music while high as a kite with an eyeglasses repair kit. I mean, not to sound gay, but I could fucking create a life with that woman. It would be a privilege and an honor. There are a few problems, though: a.) gay marriages aren't recognized in New York; b.) marrying Eileen might raise a few eyebrows concerning my sexual orientation; c.) both of those eyebrows would belong to my mother; and d.) that's basically just the plot to Chuck and Larry minus the heartwarming Dan Aykroyd Speech at the end and whole widower plot line. So unless the state of New York opens its mind and Dan Aykroyd takes a break from his busy schedule of Botox and nothing, I think my Eileen plan is out. And it truly is my loss, madam.

Next idea: Tulane Chris. Status: Student. GOD DAMNIT.

Next: Alex. Status: Student. GOD DOUBLE DAMNIT.

Next: Andrew of the Great Juno Debate Fame. Status: Won't drink from the same water bottle as me, so something tells me he won't jump at the opportunity of a sham marriage. Asshole.

And every single other person I know is in a relationship, so fuck me.

So not to be creepy, but I keep coming back to Pete. And I know I responded to his jaunty little "HAHA wouldn't it be funny if?" email with a lock of my hair and the name of five public notaries within a city block of his office, but I feel like marrying me wouldn't be the worst thing he'd ever do. Or anyone, really! Maybe there's another insured gentleman out there that I'm not even thinking of! And that's why I sat down tonight and whipped up a list of 23 reasons why you should marry me:

1.) Got a girlfriend? Cool. This isn't a Shakespeare play, I'm not trying to fall in love with you—I just need a $10 co-pay.

2.) That being said, I got some tig 'ole bitties. I'm sorry, it had to be said.

3.) I refuse to move in with you, which I would interpret as a good thing considering the number of friendships I've ruined as a result of living with friends.

4.) I have a rapier wit. But I don't like to talk on the phone. And again, I won't live with you. So...here's hoping you gchat.

5.) One day you can refer to me in passing as your First Wife. That's kind of glamorous, right?

6.) Two words: JEW HOLIDAYS!!!!1

7.) I have a decent DVD collection.

8.) A very kind reader is sending me a new Brita pitcher. Yeah. Being a blogger is kiiiind of a big fucking deal and if I were you, I'd get in on this obscene fortune and fame ride as soon as humanly possible.

9.) Because this just happened:

Dad: What are you writing? Your reasons why someone should marry Meg McBlogger?

Me: Yeah, but I can't think of anything.

Dad: That's not true, I bet you have at least ten by now!

Me: Yeah, but one of them is literally, "I can carry a tune, question mark? I don't know, period."

Mom: .........You have ties to Jägermeister? Just tell him you can get him all the Jägermeister he wants.

10.) I have ties to Jägermeister. I can get you all the Jägermeister you want.

11.) The next McBlogger family vacation is this fall—time to shag ass. (Slash as of now I think they have me sleeping in a storage closet, so I also need an insurance husband to justify why we should get a house with three bedrooms instead of two bedrooms and a dungeon in the basement for old, single Meg and her hollow womb. Kthnx.)

12.) I have a convertible. I named him Kevin. I don't really consider that to be a selling point, but my dad told me to add it. So here we are.

13.) I was dicking around on Wikipedia last night and put it in Afrikaans for funzies and now I can't figure out how to switch it back to English. Again, that's also not really a selling point, but I just feel like it's something my sham husband should be able to help me with.

14.) You can have Evie as my dowry. She's small, portable, light in the hoof. All in all, not a bad deal.

15.) Mom: Instead of finding a random person or a gay guy to marry, why don't you just approach someone you're actually interested in?

Me: Because I don't want to have sex with my sham husband. It's just prostitution at that point, right?

Mom: 'Eh, everyone's a prostitute. As the old saying goes, "when two people are having sex, someone's getting fucked."

16.) I'll have sex with you.

17.) I have zero qualms about having a child, putting her in pageants, and spending her prize money on Bartles & Jaymes and chicken kickers.

18.)
This box was in my parent's kitchen tonight and I pointed out that you could use it to make a sick robot costume. I'm full of amazing ideas like that!

19.) Then Evie crawled in, it was adorable, and I started calling her R2Eve2. Bee-bop-boop:


20.) Richard and Diane would be your in-laws. They obviously insisted I add this one, but let's also not pretend like I'm not sitting in their house right now on a Wednesday night for no God given reason when I have an apartment of my own.

21.) My dad volunteered to cover the expenses of a modest City Hall ceremony. Why? Because even when desperately trying to pawn me off on a stranger, I'll always be his little girl.

22.) We can get one of those $400 divorces you always see advertised on billboards in se habla Español neighborhoods. Because I am in no way trying to put airs on here.

23.) Beautiful, beautiful blog fodder.

In the immortal words of Kenny Ortega and Zefron, "this could be the start of something new." meg@2birds1blog.com.

Queer Abby: This is too much for a Monday.

Woooo! So, it's currently 12:40am on Monday morning and I've been helping with merchandising at work since 3:30 this afternoon, which sucks because I have to be back in for my next shift later this morning. (Later this morning actually = noon. "Later in the early-to-mid afternoon" just didn't have the same dramatic effect. ) Needless to say, I'm extremely cracked out at the moment, so I'm going to ask you all to bear down and bear with. Because at the moment I feel like Apu when he worked a 96-hour shift straight and convinced himself that he was some kind of hummingbird:

So. Queer Abby. Weekly advice column. Amy answers your questions for reals. I give you half-baked, cracked-out advice that helps no one. LET'S GET IT ON!

dear queer abby,

well. my roommate and i lived together through most of college and have lived together for two years out of school. we were bffl^maxest in college and for awhile after. however: just after we graduated, she started dating this guy who is an idiot. she acts like an idiot around him bc she doesn't want to emasculate him in any way. she's gradually become Obsessed with talking about life goals and what everyone wants out of life, and figuring out what it means to be a "twenty-something" in this really limited vocabulary that sounds like a middle school assembly presentation on teenage self esteem. she spent the first few months out of college unemployed and then got the job that is perfect for her, which is great(!), but she's still really insecure and constantly talks up her position to the point of lying about her responsibilities and making it sound like she's running the company. recently, a friend was talking about his promotion to a specific position, and my roomie's response wasn't congrats, but rather, me too! (not in a 'just kidding' way), when she definitely was not promoted and her company doesn't even have that position.

so. needless to say at this point, we're not renewing our lease because i basically started freezing her out a few months ago when i just couldn't deal. i tried talking with her about the more superficial problems, but it didn't really fix anything and she was clearly really hurt by it. we used to be such good friends, and i feel bad jumping ship (like many of our other friends have), but i just feel like we're speaking different languages these days. is there anything i can do to salvage this friendship? is this what growing apart is? can i help her somehow? what if i'm the crazy one?

thanks! you and meg (and tulane chris) are the best!

- short a bffl in dc

Dear SBD,

Yea, I think it’s safe to say you two are growing apart. You might totally grow back together eventually, but you can’t make that happen, you have to just let time sort it out. Trying to force things only creates friction. So, at this point, the best thing you can do to salvage the friendship is recognize and accept the limitations of it. You have to let her be who she is and, likewise, you have to do your own thing.

Not living together should help a lot. That’s not to say you’ll all the sudden be besties again, but you’ll resent each other a lot less if you aren’t forced to spend more time with one another than you’d choose to. Obvi, anyone can change, so you don’t have to write her off completely— in fact, you can still be a good influence on her if you remain friends and offer support and positive reinforcement when it’s due. But, for the sake of both of you, only be as close with her as you can without getting too aggregated, and don’t count on her changing in all the ways you’d hope. You may grow back together, or you may continue to drift apart, but if you can be cool and realistic about it in the meantime, there’s a much better chance that, either way, you won’t end up totally hating each other.

Girl: PREACH. I've been there. And it blows. Here's the thing: when you're in college, you're in this protective little bubble of Natty Light and pre-paid meal plans and lounging around watching Buffy with your roommate in your favorite pair of booty shorts and everything is safe and fine and wonderful. But then you graduate and you and your friends are flung in different directions into the Real World and it's sink or swim time. And much like prison or a tour of 'Nam, being thrown into the Real World changes you. Because you kind of have to re-figure out who you are and where you fit in and guess what? Sometimes you fuck it up. And sometimes your friends fuck it up. Or in my case, sometimes you both fuck it up.

Exactly one year and three months after I graduated college, I sat down, did an in-depth audit of the person I'd become, and the final figure I came up with was this: OOOF. I did not like who I was. At all. So much so that I said "nuts to this", scrapped the life I had created for myself in New York, moved back home and completely started over from square one. It sucked and it was hard, but Christ I'm glad I did it. So maybe your friend will wake up one day and realize that she's a hot fucking mess who’s probably a 40 away from catching Hepatitis C in the back of a cab because it temporarily makes her forget how much she hates herself (rhymes with Schmeg and ends with McBlogger…), or maybe she'll continue being a giant douchebag and guess what you gotta do then? Act like a bulimic a the night before prom and purge.

Because sometimes friends change for the worse, dude. It sucks, but it's true. And there's no point in keeping them around if they blow and don't show any signs of changing. I'm not saying like, "Ohhh. I asked my friend to get me a Red Stripe, not a Heineken. PURGE!!!!!1" I'm saying if your friend has become a person that you don't like and is negatively affecting your life, purge her out of your inner circle. Maybe down the line you'll meet up and be friends again because life is wacky like that, but there's no point in keeping a subpar friend around when I'm sure you've got other grade-A ones. It's insulting to them.

Let’s overshare, shall we? When I was going through my "troubles" in New York, most of my friends stood by me through thick and thin. And then there was the one who didn't. Why? Because she had become the kind of person who was so concerned with being well-liked and having her life appear superficially perfect that she didn't want to risk standing up for me and entangling herself in my problems, despite the fact that we were roommates and had been best friend since 4th grade. Sucked. I took her out to lunch one day and explicitly told her that to get through what I was going through, I needed her to be there for me. Which is when she very matter-of-factly informed me that she “knew it made her a bad person, but she just couldn't.” Again, sucked. But that was the end of that and I haven't talked to her since.

If you had told me that that would have happened in May of 2007, I would have never believed you in a million years. But it happened because people change and unfortunately it's not always for the better. You can't control which friends it happens to, but you can control how much you let it affect your life. I could have kept that friend around because we had been friends forever and she was practically my sister, but...why? You wouldn't keep an abusive boyfriend in your life just because you "had you some times" and “feel bad jumping ship,” would you? Friendships are relationships just like romantic relationships are relationships and when one has turned toxic, you gotta put it to bed before Lifetime makes a movie about you starring Tori Spelling with the word “trapped” somewhere in the title.

God. That was really heavy and kind of a downer. I apologize. Hm...TURTLE RAPES SHOE TIME!!!!!!!1

Dear Queer Abby,

I am socially awkward. Painfully so. I get out of breath in social situations, I can't focus on what people are saying, and I even see paying the cashier at Safeway as a major social success. I really, really, truly want to stop caring about what people think. Because, in the end, I could care less. And yes, when I'm with my friends, that's a different story. They know me, and I can make those outrageous jokes, and I can be myself. But when I'm with others, it's like having to be this different person, even though I know we're essentially all the same. For example, the way I'm writing is not how I would speak or interact with you. I'm a fucking mess.

What's more, I'm in a Master's program for teaching secondary ed. I just met my mentor teacher today and she's very bubbly and nice, but she could see through the awkwardness. I could tell that I worried her. I have massive doubts as a to-be English teacher (because don't you need confidence to inspire your students?). Though, I'm extremely creative and my lesson plans really are fun. When I taught early ed, it was great -- I was a good, confident teacher after the first few weeks. But for years I've been all nerves. In high school, I was president of drama club and outgoing and people admired me. After I transitioned, I have no idea what really happened. Now, I'm fumbling everywhere, and I lack massive confidence and self-esteem. I'm sick of obsessing on this topic. What tools can you suggest to be less self-conscious of others? Fake it 'til I make it? Or, should I just be my awkward self and let go? How do you even let go?

-My Lower Back Constantly Hurts Because I'm Stressed

Drinking copious amounts of vodka usually does the trick for me…

But generally, it’s just a practice thing. I know it’s hard to force yourself into doing something you’re not immediately comfortable with, but it’s a self-perpetuating cycle; the more you withdrawal from social situations the worse it will get. So, you just have to keep incrementally pushing your limits and be patient with yourself. For example, have a few good friends that you know really well over to your house a few times à then eventually start inviting them to bring guests and then start organizing small groups to go out else where, etc. You may actually find that having a hand in the planning makes you feel more confident and comfortable... But if you don’t like that role, just join in when your friends organize something that you’re relatively comfortable with and commit to progressively engaging more people each time.

And seriously, there are things that can really help you get past some of those hurdles originally, including but not limited to booze… I‘m typically reluctant to suggest this route outright, but if it’s as bad as you say it is and you have insurance, you might consider seeing a psychiatrist. Anti-anxiety medication like Ativan, Xanax or Klonopin can help reduce the crippling discomfort until you get to a point where social situations feel a little more natural to you. And in the meantime, or if you prefer not taking meds, talk to someone about it. Whether it’s a therapist, good friend or sibling, they can support you in pushing your boundaries, or call you out if your making excuses. Also, try exercise.

Finally, don’t take yourself so seriously. The way you feel is totally natural, but no one expects you to be perfect. Besides, we usually end up remembering the stupid shit we do far longer than anyone else does. In fact, trust me, they’re usually too busy worrying about what other people think of them to pay all that much attention to you anyway. I promise.

xoxoxo,

abby

I used to be debilitatingly awkward, but I'd like to think that I've now reached a certain level of charmingly awkward. Here's what worked for me:

1.) Sweet Lady Prescription Pills. I used to take a pu-pu platter of anti-anxiety meds and anti-depressants, but I've since overcome my anxiety and now am just working on the depression. HEY-O, SMALL VICTORIES! As far as anxiety goes, Klonopin worked for me like magic. Just be careful because it can be habit-forming. And by habit-forming, I mean awesome. Specifically when mixed with a wee bit of alcohol. But don't mix with copious amounts of pot and alcohol or you'll stand up to go to the bathroom one night at the Reef, fall directly back down and blackout in front of God, your country and all of your friends. Then you'll come-to in the back of a cab with your friend Andrew and actually request that he not to let you die that night, before promptly blacking out again. Then I think there's some vomiting thrown in there for good measure and I believe at one point your roommate comes home to find you passed out on the bed while Andrew tries to take your unnecessarily complicated lace-up boots off, which is when he'll shout, "IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" and your roommate will freak out and yell at him to get out and you'll have a good giggle in your half-coherent state and woooo! God I miss college.

2.) Therapy. Because your therapist will have better suggestions that "don't mix Sweet Lady Prescription Pills with pot."

3.) Own it. I could fill an entire blog with stories of my awkwardness. And I do. Everyday. And now people ask me how to not be awkward. THE AWKWARD, BECOMES THE AWKWARDEE…? Nope. Still awkward.

4.) Like Amy said, practice. You know what really helped me become more outgoing? Bartending. I know it was only for the hottest of hot seconds, but having your income rely on being able to successfully shoot the shit with strangers really forces you out of your shell. The same old men would come into the bar everyday around 4 o'clock, grab a stool, order a drink and just stare at me, waiting to be entertained. I had no idea how to handle it at first. I'd be like, "SO. OBAMA. PRESIDENT NOW. BLACK. MAKE COUNTRY. GOOD?" But then the more and more I did it, the more I realized that it's actually not that hard to make conversation with strangers. You know why? Because people like to talk about themselves. A lot. So just ask them questions and let them do all the work. It's so formulaic, it's stupid: Ask question -> Listen to answer -> Ask follow-up question -> Relate their answer to your own life -> Bonding moment, bonding moment, bonding moment -> Wash, rinse, repeat.

Plus, the more you do it, the less scary it is and the more outgoing you'll become. Whether I'm at a party where I don't really know anyone or just talking to customers at work, I follow that same formula. "I see you went on a Capitol tour; did you like it? Where are you visiting from? Oh, that's cool, my roommate in college was from Ohio. How long are you in town for? Are you enjoying yourself? Insert joke about the weather here. OK, well enjoy the rest of your stay!" BOOM. Social success. And we both know how socially retarded I am, so it can't be that hard.

But then again, painfully awkward shit still happens to me all the time, so maybe we’re both just fucked? Welp, glad to help!

Got a question that you'd like Queer Abby to answer? Shoot an email to QueerAbby@2birds1blog.com! RIGHT NOW.