Hey, it’s Friday and everything’s cute, fuzzy animals today, but I have a quick question for you. Do you really think Michael Bublé’s standing there sincerely in awe of this beautiful ass (which, yes, is gorgeous)?
Now, if you’re over there nodding your head “yes,” I have a follow-up question.
C’mon, indulge me….
If Bublé is for reals standing there, in awe of beauty personified in a single ass, why does he look like he’s trying to stifle a snicker? Look, if you honestly believe that he and his wife (i.e. accomplice/cell-phone photographer) are in fact simply admiring that shapely, ample, and anonymous ass, there is nothing my words can do for you. This website, my blog, none of it will ever be of any use to you, so just go. Now.
For those of you that are still here:
Accept when people are being assholes and learn to work around it. Alternatively, if you’ve got really lofty aspirations, find ways to show others that it’s OK not to laugh along with the mean kids—even when those kids are famous and cool. Being a prick isn’t cool, not if you won’t let it be.
What I’m getting at is that everybody cries all week long about wanting a better world and a nicer place to inhabit, but then, when those same people are faced with the options of being a mindless prick that laughs with the right people for the wrong reasons or not laughing at all, they choose to laugh because it’s easier—because it doesn’t require thinking. So, if everybody’s laughing, who then is left to build this utopia of happy-fun times we call a “better place?”
Look, most of us like feeling better than other people, it’s what velvet ropes were made for. This alone doesn’t mean we’re horrible people, we’re just human and we want to be valued, more than others because we’re special—WE’RE FUCKING SNOWFLAKES OF AUTONOMOUS GLORY. I get that, what I’m saying is, we don’t have to be dicks about it.
I’ll be real with you. I used to do dumb stuff to make myself feel better than others all the time. I used to go to The People of Walmart site for laughs, I’d make catty comments to my girlfriends about another woman’s poor style choices and I’d laugh at bad jokes meant to skewer an unwitting participant’s outfit on Fashion Police. I did all that and much more because I know all too well what it takes to be mean. But then one day, not too long ago, everything changed.
I was out with my husband and we were having lunch somewhere in Silicon Valley. Much to my delight, we were seated outside. I love outdoor seating because I love people watching and you can do plenty of that while you wait for a meal at a busy restaurant. Not long after we had been seated, I zeroed in on a doozey.
Some woman wearing an outfit that was literally sparkling, was sitting on a nearby bench. If we’d been in the Pacific Northwest, I’d have thought there was a young-adult vampire in my midst, but alas it was just shiny jeans. This woman had all manner of reflective surfaces affixed to her pants and there was so much going on, I didn’t know where I was supposed to look. I’m guessing the object was to have people stare at the jeans, because the face was made for radio. I take that back, I don’t really know if it was or wasn’t because there was just so. much. makeup. The colors on this woman’s face were so bright and overbearing that I couldn’t even make out the shade of her eyes. Her hair was over-processed, fizzed out and unkempt. It, much like the rest of her outfit, was a nonsensical mess.
I was about to make a smart-ass remark about the lack of cohesion in my new friend’s ensemble, to my husband, when I overheard another lady’s comments. Whoever was seated behind me had thought of a way better zinger and her table was laughing heartily at this prickly observation. I was amused and curious, so after catching what she’d said, I gave it a few beats and turned around slowly to see what she looked like. When I caught a good glimpse of her it all fell into place.
What I saw was an unflatteringly exaggerated, inauthentic, vulgar mess basking in the knowledge of her superiority to Shiny Jeans. Instantly, I felt bad for Shiny Jeans. Almost as quickly, I realized that some chic bitch was likely shaking her head right now at my accessory choices and looking down upon my unimaginative bag/shoe combo. The meta was too much for me to handle on a weekend day and so I flagged down a server with an awkwardly urgent wave and ordered another mimosa only to realize that not only am I a mean girl, but I’m a basic bitch too.
Perspective changes everything and yet, a dick move is—regardless of light-hearted nature and/or intent—still a dick move.
The universe is a mystery and a paradox. Have fun swimming in its contradictions. Happy Friday and see ya on the other side.