No Essa, you’re not being honest – you’re being an asshole

I use this blog a lot to call other people out on their behavior. Whether they’re complaining about not being addressed by their chosen pronouns, or anti-vax bullshitting on Jonas Salk being worse than Hitler, I’m always quick to put people on blast when they’re being stupid. But like most humans, I tend to treat myself like I’m somehow infallible. Somehow, I’m immune to my own objective opinion, no matter how stupid I act or how shitty some of the things I say are. But if I’m truly, truly an honest person, that means looking at myself. It means holding myself accountable for my own actions. And doing that is uncomfortable because it forces me to look myself in the eye and say “you know what, Essa? You’re kind of an asshole.”

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Tonight, I took the opportunity to look back at some of my old writing, at some of my blog posts and saw myself being incredibly mean. I said many intentionally offensive things in the past and I brushed those things off with a phrase that makes me cringe.

“I’m not being mean. I’m just being honest.”

I had this idea that somehow, me being brutally (and I mean brutally) honest all the time made it ok to also be an asshole all the time. To explain how I feel about it now, I’m going to quote from the finest movie ever to grace the silver screen – “The Shawshank Redemption”.

There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then: a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try to talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone, and this old man is all that’s left. I got to live with that. Rehabilitated? It’s just a bullshit word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time. Because to tell you the truth, I don’t give a shit.

OK, so not all that applies but I love that damn speech and couldn’t bear to cut a single bit of it. Seriously, I have never wanted to bang Morgan Freeman as hard as I did during that particular moment.

Now that’s a good example of honesty because in that statement, I was being honest without simply using honesty as an excuse to be cruel. Sure, it’s a cringy statement. No one wants to think of my chubby ass going to town on Morgan Freeman, but it was honest in a good way. It was me admitting a vulnerability without shaming someone else for it.

Because that’s the problem with the “I’m just being honest” statement. You’re shaming someone else and then acting like they’re wrong for being offended. When I used to say it, it was because somehow, I got this idea in my head that being honest and being cruel were mutually exclusive. If you were being honest, it meant people couldn’t call you out on being cruel.

That’s a stupid, stupid thing to think.

If you honestly tell your mother she’s fat, it’s not going to make her lose weight. It’s going to make her cry. If you honestly tell your partner you want to fuck their brother, it’s not going to make them feel more connected to you. It’s going to make them worry about you fucking their brother. If you honestly admit to committing a felony, you’re not getting away with it. If anything, it’s more likely to send you to jail.

Honesty doesn’t undo the bad you do with your actions. The statement “I’m just being honest” is, ironically, you lying to yourself. You’re trying to convince yourself that being honest means you’re not a complete fucking asshole.

My point, past self, is sometimes you need to say, “fuck being honest” and keep your opinion to yourself. You’re not so god damn important that everyone needs to hear your honest, useless opinion 100% of the time – especially when that opinion will hurt them unnecessarily. There is a way to say things without being a dick. If there wasn’t, diplomats wouldn’t exist.

Past Essa, this is future, wiser and slightly less intoxicated Essa saying to you, you’re not “just being honest.” You’re just being an asshole. Stop it and grow up.

First World Problems – Hypergamy with Destiny

So in case you’re wondering, the word hypergamy means “the action of marrying a person of a superior caste or class.”  Generally, it’s a word used by pick up artists, men going their own way and a wide range of other bitter a-holes who can’t get laid, to explain why they’re still single and why that’s not their fault. As in all the evil women want to trade up and because of that, no man can ever truly be happy in a relationship. I think a lot of the reason that it’s attributed as primarily a female trait is that girls don’t ask guys to marry them.  We know better.

Anyway, that’s not what this post is about. Instead, it’s about an email I got today from a potential agent. During my hiatus from my blog, I was working on my Masters. My thesis for my Masters was a novel and after the program ended, I figured “what the hell, let’s submit it.”

So I dug up a list of five of the fanciest agents I could find. I received four rejections and one request for a partial. I sent it, checked my email every 15 minutes for about two weeks, then got drunk and forgot about it.

Until this morning, about seven months later, when that last agent contacted me and asked me “are you married to this MC?”  They liked the story, liked the world building, liked just about everything but for the main character. I wrote her as a straight woman in her early forties.

They wanted a black, gay man in his early twenties.

That annoyed me. I mean, the story is first person, present tense. Obviously, I’m writing it from a white, middle-aged chick’s point of view because I am currently, a white middle-aged chick. I know next to nothing about being a black gay man that I haven’t seen on Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

Love that show.

But after my initial annoyance, I got annoyed with myself at being annoyed. Who the hell was I to turn down a chance to get published with a Big 5? Fuck, when I started this blog 5 years ago, I was working in insurance litigation and writing articles about penile enhancement for $5 a pop in my off time.

I had this fantasy where I didn’t have to do insurance anymore. I didn’t have to talk to anyone on the phone or go to an office every day. I just got to write. Granted, in the fantasy, I was a bestselling novelist but still, the end goal was the same. No more phone calls. No more negotiations. No more getting yelled at. Just me, writing.

The dream happened, but not the way I expected it would. My first novel floundered and disappeared. Same with the sequel and a short novella. I kept writing but I switched it up to an easier to compete in category. I went with erotica and the sales came in. I hated it. I made enough money but it wasn’t money I wanted to talk about. I was writing fiction for a market I didn’t care about, creating stories that I didn’t want to continue.

Honestly, once you’ve written one sex scene, you’ve written every sex scene.

I went back to tech writing. At least with that, I can still learn something new every day. It was only the other morning I was thinking “What I wanted to happen, it happened.  I make enough money to survive. I don’t have to go into an office.  I don’t get yelled at on the phone or attend pointless meetings. I get to do what I love. So why aren’t I happy?”

The fact is, I’m not happy because we’re never happy. None of us. Humans are hypergamous by nature. Not women, not me, humans. It’s why we can win the lotto one year and file bankruptcy the next. It’s why someone like Harvey Weinstein can have the world at his feet and ruin it all with a nonsense sex addiction. It’s why athletes run through million dollar signing bonuses that should carry them into their golden years, in like four years.

We’re always looking for the next big thing. Every dream that comes true is laying the groundwork to yet another dream.

When I got that email this morning, I said to myself “this could be my big break”.  The story I wrote, that story made me happy.  The one thing I actually looked forward to writing, it could be my big break.

All I needed to do was change everything about it.

And I realized that even if I did, even if it was my big break, I’d still never be satisfied. The story would get published, disappear from the world after a year and then, I’d be in the same damn position I am now, hating myself for trying to trade up when I was perfectly happy where I was.  I’m already living my dream. I just need to realize that.

So, like any professional, I responded “new phone. Who dis?” and moved the fuck on.

 

I know what you’re searching for….

There are three topics that bring people to my blog time and time again. In order of popularity, they are;

  1. How to pass a drug test
  2. How to use the darknet (ironic, because half the reason you’d need to pass a drug test would be because of shit you bought off the darknet)
  3. When’s the 2016 Suzuki Hayabusa coming out?

Many of the people searching these terms had questions which my articles failed to address. In the interest of being thorough, I will address these questions now.

How much bleach do I need to pass for meth on a drug test?

Um, you’re fucking kidding, right? Are you asking about drinking bleach or pouring it into your urine? Drinking the bleach will definitely make it so you don’t have to take the drug test – on account of you’ll be dead. Pouring bleach directly into your urine sample will likely result in you being pulled for a higher caliber test, when it’s shown that your urine has more chlorine than the average swimming pool. Meth will stay in your system for three to five days, so just put the damn pipe down for a week and you’ll be cool. Don’t drink bleach and don’t put it in your pee.

Will meth help me pass a drug test for weed?

No, meth won’t help you pass a drug test. I cannot comprehend the idiocy which gave birth to that particular line of logic. Smoking meth to pass a drug test would be a bit like eating pancakes to cure diabetes. The only thing that will happen if you smoke meth to get weed out of your system is you’ll test positive for both and wind up in court-ordered rehab. I’m assuming that this idea comes from the fact that amphetamines speed metabolism, which could actually be counterintuitive. Marijuana has an oil base, which makes it attach to other oils like human fat. Speeding up your metabolism is more likely to release old metabolites than it is to get rid of new ones.

Time and water, those are your options. That’s it. Time and water. There is no magic cure. If there was, no one would ever fail a drug test and probation would be obsolete.

How do I buy meth on the darknet?

What is it with you people and meth? Look, the darknet is crazy expensive for everything but weed. Weed’s cheap because of legal competition. Meth, not so much. If you’re hard up, yes you can buy it there but it’s going to cost you a fuckton and to be honest, I’ve never met a rich meth addict. Check out the Darknet subreddit to get specific info regarding PGP, Bitcoin and black markets. Just note there’s a learning curve and if you’re one of those who can barely send an attachment via email, you’re not going to be able to do it.

When does the new Suzuki Hayabusa come out?

I have no fucking clue. I wrote the article a long time ago, for some scammer who never paid me, and slapped it up on my site so they couldn’t use it. The only info I can give you about any scooter is something my dad said a long time ago.

“Scooters are like fat chicks. They’re fun to ride till your friends see you on one.”

That’s all I got. Hope I clarified a few things, because I learned a few things myself. Those things are;

  • A lot of meth users come to my site.
  • The vast majority of those meth users are idiots who I should be encouraging to drink bleach
  • The Suzuki Hayabusa is the preferred mode of transportation for meth heads everywhere.

 

 

In Regards to My OFFICIAL NOTICE OF TRASH VIOLATION

I am filled with deep shame. I came home to learn I had violated the Trash Code of Conduct and had been singled out as part of a special Trash Control Task Force (Or TCTF for short) when it was noted that I’d committed the following offense;

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Side note; this is the place where I once saw a fully nude man, but for a pair of sneakers, attempt to burn his girlfriend’s apartment building down. And this was not the first, nor the last time outdoor nudity was fully embraced by my delightful Florida neighbors.

But that is no excuse for my behavior and I am suitably ashamed of my box. Despite my usual cleanliness with it, during the winter months I have a tendency to let it get out of control.

All sexually charged apologies aside, I did need some clarification on a few of the items in the OFFICIAL NOTICE OF TRASH VIOLATION. Please clarify the following;

  • Always use your trash can

Every single day, all the time? Seems a little impractical to carry that large box around everywhere I go, but hey I’ll slap some straps on it and carry it as a backpack. So my questions are; do you have any straps, and does the box come in blue?

  • Blue bags are for recycling only

All the blue bags? Complete autonomy on all my box and bag related activities seems a bit excessive for the cost of $25 per month, especially seeing I’ve never recycled in my life. I mean you aren’t my mother, stop attempting to control my life.  I have no desire to recycle my blue bags but if you have a blue trash can/backpack, I’ll trade you.

  • Trash must not weigh more than 25 pounds

What about my large gemstone collection that I’ve grown bored with? I suppose I will have Jeeves take it to my personal vault. My question here is; How rich do you think I am that I have at least 25 pounds of stuff to throw away? What do you think I do in here, run a bakery/meth lab?

  • Always tie and bag your trash

That seems too harsh. Can I gently caress it into submission instead?

  • Not really a question but an observation: Place your trash out between 5 and 7 pm

Technically we were within the guidelines, because I distinctly remember placing the garbage out at 5 AM on Thursday, before it was picked up promptly at 7 PM on Sunday.

Finally, you guys left an area open for comments so I did have one observation I wanted to add. Have you ever noticed, when faced with a really aggressive bee, it feels like it’s singled you out for attack specifically? Like it’s a fully sentient being out for revenge, because maybe you killed its bee grandfather 20 years ago? Doesn’t that creep you out? I friggen hate bees.

 

The School of Life Isn’t Accredited – Learn Something

If there is a phrase that I hate more than the phrase “street smart” it’s “the school of life.”

A lot of people who never bothered with college use it to make themselves feel better for not going to college. Like “I didn’t need to go to college. I have life experiences.”

Yeah, you know who doesn’t agree with that? Capitalism.

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News flash, everyone has life experience. Everyone has attended the school of life. Hell, even people in comas are in the school of life. They’re like the equivalent of those kids who slept through class in high school but passed anyway.

And people who fall back on the school of life as their only education are yet another group of people who want credit for doing absolutely fucking nothing. It’s like when guys get pissed because girls don’t like them, even though they’re nice.

“Yeah, I’m an overweight dude with no job and questionable personal hygiene, but I’m nice! Why don’t supermodels like me?”

For the same reason no one wants to pay you $100,000 a year to stock shelves. You don’t get extra credit when you do the bare minimum. The fact that you don’t punch a girl in the face on the first date is not something to be proud of.

It’s expected behavior.

Same with the school of life. The only requirement to passing in the school of life is not dying. Well, hell, I’ve been doing that for 35 years now….and I also managed to get a college education from a real, accredited university. Imagine that.  I’m like a double major.

And don’t bother with messages about how Einstein was a high school dropout and Bill Gates flunked out of college. For every one Bill Gates, there’s about 10,000 janitors with GEDs. The exception proves the rule. Extraordinary people don’t go to college because they don’t need it. The fact is, many people tend to think they’re extraordinary when they’re utterly ordinary.

Here’s the test to tell if you’re extraordinary. It’s one question –

In your free time you…

  1. Watch TV, play video games and update your educational status to “School of Life” while expecting people to pat you on the back for doing everyday things like parenting, not breaking the law, and going to work.
  2. Spend time in the garage that you’ve converted into a small-scale nuclear reactor in order to continue studying the potential of cold fusion

Here’s a hint. Chances are if you’re the kind of person who answers “number 2”, you’re not on this page.

You don’t get credit for being alive, so no, the school of life is not a thing. If the fact that you haven’t died yet is your biggest accomplishment, you seriously need to reevaluate your life, rather than brag about that.

Not being dead isn’t an accomplishment. It’s a status update.

You want credit, get a real education. Do something with your life. But stop saying you graduated from the school of life. From personal experience, I’ve found the people who attend that university are only experts at failing.

Everyone’s Offended All The Time

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Is it just me, or is it starting to seem like everyone is offended all the time? People are offended by a Halloween costume based on Caitlyn Jenner. People are offended by the K-State marching band allegedly forming a penis during a performance. Everyone in the world is apparently offended by this video featuring the utterly adorable Nicole Arbour

You know the common thread that I find at the start of most “I’m offended” statements?

“Well, I’m not usually the kind of person who is easily offended, but this (nipple slip/drawing of a penis/cornrow hairstyle/possibly gay cartoon/insert ridiculous thing here) offends me.”

Based on my extensive studies of wearing a lab coat while watching YouTube videos, I can tell you that if you’ve ever started off a statement about something that offends you with “I’m not the kind of person who is easily offended but…” you are actually the kind of person who is easily offended. The fact that you feel the need to justify your opinion to people who might become offended by it indicates that you are already of a mindset that requires a proactive disclaimer because you know from past history that you are easily offended and social proof indicates others will be offended as well.

Don’t know if that last sentence was a bit too complicated, but breaking it down simply?

He who smelt it dealt it.

I’m easily offended. I’m absolutely easily offended. Hell, I’m writing an article about how offended I am that everyone is offended all the time. Social justice warriors offend the shit out of me, because they make it seem like I’m too dumb to think for myself.

Case in point? Video games. There was an issue called Gamergate awhile back that went way too far, with threats and doxing and all that other silly shit you find in online troll wars. And it all started because some people found video games misogynistic. The ladies featured in them were either fighting fuck toys (Lara Croft) or damsels in distress (Princess Peach) and people were offended.

Here’s the deal. I thought it was kind of stupid to be offended. I mean, look at the demographic of gamers. Men, ages 18 to 35. Of course you throw a bunch of chicks with big tits and pretty girls needing rescuing at them! I don’t call that misogyny. I call that good marketing. When you find an underserved niche in a market, you don’t get pissed and insult the people that came before you by bitching about it. You find a way to serve the underserved market.

It’s the basis of capitalism for Christ sakes.

Let me explain with the case of Nicole Arbour. In case you haven’t seen it, she did a video called “Dear Fat People.” Sure, the video was offensive, but it was also funny. I found Nicole endearing and amusing and wondered what the fuss was about.

Then, I looked at the comments. They were all from people who were pissed. They called Nicole names, talked about how offended they were, what a bitch she was, and got into ridiculous fights in the comments section with complete strangers over how offended they were.

And I had to say “we get it, you’re offended. But what are you hoping to accomplish by bitching about it?”

Do you want to get her page taken down because you’re personally offended? Ok, do that. But what happens next week when your favorite comic makes a joke about Vegans, and all the Vegans complain? What happens next month when people complain that Halloween offends them? What happens next year when someone at your work says they find a woman showing her hair offensive?

Censorship is a slippery slope and we can already see its effects. When I was a kid, my school had a Halloween parade every year, and we all wore our costumes while teachers would read us scary stories.

My kid’s Halloween party at school is now a ‘fall festival’ celebration where they go to school in their normal clothes, eat gluten free, soy based cookies, and color nice inoffensive pictures of fall leaves in harmless shades of muted orange and brown. No one is offended and everyone goes home miserable.

Because making sure no one is ever offended is a good way to ensure everyone has a terrible time.

Being offended is nothing more than a human reaction something that comes in exact opposition to your personal preferences. You can either choose to try to silence the offensive party or you can go on about your day and get over it, knowing that people won’t always agree and variety is what makes us interesting.

Now, I’m not the kind of person who is easily offended (see what I did there?), but when you try to silence others based on your own preferences, by demanding that everyone else follow your own very narrow world view, I find that offensive.

Based on the rules you’ve already set, that offensive thing must go away. So you offending me because you’re easily offended? Yeah, that needs to stop.

Now finish coloring your leaves.

If You’re Here Because of My OK Cupid Profile…

This is a public service announcement, aimed at anyone who is cyber stalking me because they met me during my misguided attempt with online dating at OK Cupid. After a few days online, I quickly decided that my time would be better spent bettering myself, so I’ve elected to use my free time to go back to school and get my MFA, rather than date. It’s a matter of cost/benefit analysis. The cost in both cases is my time, but the benefit to both differs exponentially.

With a master’s in fine arts, I get the knowledge to make myself a better writer, and connections that will help me further my career. With online dating, I get STDs and the potential to wind up as a victim (or aggressor) on “Fatal Attractions.”  For me, the analysis told me everything I needed to know, so I shut down my profile and stopped responding to messages. I figured that would be enough, but it wasn’t, as several hopeful suitors have chosen to follow me out into the world wide web.

So if you’ve arrived here because you need closure on our “relationship” the following is for you.

***

Look, I get you’re interested, but contacting me on every single social media channel is getting out of hand.

I lost interest. It happens. As we have never met in person, and never even been out on one date, general dating rules indicate I don’t owe you an explanation as to why I’m not interested. I’m just not. I’m allowed to pull the whole ‘radio silence’ thing and disappear, just as you’re entitled to send ONE message, calling me a cunt, tease, bitch-whore-cuntface or any combination thereof. I get that. It’s the rules of dating in the digital age.

What you’re not entitled to do is track me down like your long lost fiancé who got amnesia following some kind of shipwreck. We don’t know each other. We exchanged like five emails on a dating site. We did not exchange vows, promise rings, or bodily fluids.

Which makes you hunting me down on Facebook, browsing my profile on LinkedIn and direct messaging me on Twitter not flattering, but creepy in a “I want to wear you as a skin suit” kind of way.

So let me make this clear. I’m not interested. Nothing against you. I’m sure you’re a great person. I’m just not interested. Hunting me like a tiger stalking a gazelle is not going to change that. It’s just going to drive me to get two things; a restraining order and a gun.

Now back the fuck off.

***

I’m putting this up here because this didn’t just happen once. Many men have contacted me off site. Many of those men didn’t even have any contact information for me. That leads me to believe they reverse googled my images, which is creepy in and of itself. No joke guys, that is not flattering, and I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish. If your goal was to creep me out, well done. If it was to garner my interest, you have failed miserably.

I’m not trying to be a bitch, but circumstances have put me in a bitch position. Honestly, I’m not that much of a catch anyway. I’m a self-centered alcoholic loudmouth with questionable personal hygiene. Trust me boys, you dodged a bullet.

But seriously? Back the fuck off. I know we’re living in a new world, but to me, courting should never involve being cyber stalked.