The Poopy Diaper Theory

Again, a friend is accusing me of being negative. This time it's Lisha and this time I was simply telling her about my day. And to be clear, my day was sh&t on a hot tin roof! Whenever this accusation arises I am left baffled because I am simply discussing how something went or how I am feeling. Perhaps someone should define for me what positive means, because it sounds like it means the act of using your pointer finger to draw a happy face in a poopy diaper. I don't want to do that. I don't know how to do that. I won't do that. For me, there is a line so thin between positivity and pretending that the two are almost synonymous, and pretending makes me incredibly tired. I gotta tell ya, I'm tired of being tired. 

The Tough Questions

The other day, I got a particularly horrible Dear John letter from a company I applied to work at. It was hella harsh. I would have much rather they would have knocked on my door then shot me in the foot. 

"Damn!" Lisha exclaimed after I read her the email. "That was... direct." That is a cute way of describing it. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this letter was the written equivalent of giving someone the middle finger. 

It is times like this where I am AGAIN reminded of Penis Man. I wonder about what happened to this guy quite often, especially during my job search. Years ago, I was listening to the news on the radio and the newscaster did a report on a man who had applied to hundreds of jobs and could not get a call back. So, in a desperate state of mind, he began to send in pictures of his junk with his resume. He was arrested for indecent exposure. Too bad I wasn't working in HR back then. That kind of on-your-feet thinking would have gotten him an interview from my company. 

Can I just ask one question: what are we doing? The nation is at war, the aliens are coming, the vegetables are giving folks explosive diarrhea. What are we doing? Applying for jobs? Looking for work? Trying to make a living? Shouldn't we be dancing in the street naked before a record breaking hurricane comes and wipes us out? Am I going to be surfing Indeed when the comet hits? I guess I will ponder these questions later as I edit my resume. 

Soft

The other night, Lisha, again, pointed out that I am not "soft" in my delivery and interaction with men. She has declared that she is in her "Soft Girl Era", and that men are attracted to softer women. Hm. This sounded familiar, and I began to have flashbacks of my grandma begging me to wear more dresses and stop being so loud. I know that no situation is black and white, but I sadly tend to operate in extremes. When I think of myself being softer, I imagine myself wearing rags, cooking over an open-fire stove, while whispering to passersby that I detest my right to vote. 

Lisha then began to coach me on talking to guys. I need to ask more intriguing questions because guys like feeling like they are telling you something. She said a bunch of other stuff that very well may have been the key to the game, but after a while, she started to sound like Charlie Brown's mom. It seems like being softer just means playing dumb so that he can feel like a big, smart stud muffin. In return for inflating his ego he'll treat you like a lady. I could be wrong here, but I don't think so. 

I have never, ever been good at playing dumb. I find it's best to let a guy know I'm smarter than him right from the jump. I tried the clueless routine once, but it came to a screeching halt the day I could no longer listen to said guy's flagrant incorrectness. 

"That's not true," I said as sweetly as I could. 

"What?" he asked confused. 

"There is actually a huge difference between womanist and feminist thought," I chirped politely. What ensued was a very unfortunate exchanged which nipped us in the bud fast. It was then that I learned how rough being soft can be. 

So I won't be making that mistake again, even though Lisha claims the results could be life changing. What is the point of dating if you have to be someone else?