I never watched the movie “The Whale,” but I think the moral of the story is don’t replace sex with food, or you will get too fat to fit through your front door and will be trapped forever. In contrast to Repunzal though, who wistfully combs her hair while anticipating her prince’s arrival, the post-virginal and whale-size ensures that no suitor will post up outside your house holding up a boom box.
What’s a gal to do? True Crime shows sprinkled with HIV commercials have the power to turn any sex-positive woman’s attitude into “fine for them,” but harboring a Victorian personal stance.
I avoid the looming threat of enormity by going on a walk with my dog, a psychotic barker. I leave his poo bag on the same curb when I go on the uphill part. On Monday there was a post-it note taped to the bag that said, “Dear Dog Owner, please don’t leave your bag of dog poop on our property.”
I was offended at first, and thought, “What a miserable a-hole, I always pick this bag up on my way home.” So the next day, I left it on the curb in front of the house next door. As I was getting closer to my house I remembered, “Oh my gosh, I forgot the poop.”
I found myself immersed in a vivid montage, recalling countless instances of strolling down the hill, the poo bag in sight. Suddenly, my sister's call interrupted my thoughts, and I picked up the phone, "Biiiiiitch." Lost in her captivating story about a coworker bringing her child's homework packet to work, only to realize it had to be in the child's handwriting, I continued my walk, completely oblivious to the forgotten bag.
Now I carry the poop with me the entire time, and I forgave myself for hating the person who rightfully put the Post-it onto my poop.
I heard Peter Thiel give a brilliant response to a question in an interview. When asked, “What is a mistake you regret in your career.” He simply replied, “I do not dwell on failure, so I will not answer that question.”
I was like, “Yes bitch,” and adopted it into my life. I also learned another lovely trick to get your brain right. I went to the Austin Film Festival at the end of October and heard an amazing screenwriter explain the challenges of negative self-talk, she said when the nagging voice comes into your head that’s trying to slash your confidence, you picture a red chair, and then tell that voice, “I hear you, but you need to take a seat. We're not going to do that right now.”
This works, and then I heard Cheryl Strayed say a very similar thing in an interview within the week. I was like, “How does everyone know this but me?”
As a parent, I’m compelled to impart any seed of wisdom onto my children, so I told Kingsley, and she asked me, “Why is the chair red?” I had no idea.
My parents watched my kids when I went to Austin. They went on independent study, and Geoffrey finished his three days’ worth of work in one hour, but Kingsley told me she would do it on her trip. Well, her report card came out, and she has not been doing her work. I told my dad, and he said, “You need to tell her to stop crying and do her homework!”
My sister told me her daughter received a bad report card. I said, “Throw it in the trash. A first grader doesn’t get a bad report card.”
It’s a miracle that kids today can make it through the public school system without getting low self-esteem. I didn’t go to a notable elementary, middle, or high school, and I have maybe two memories of doing homework. It was a problem when I went to college and realized you have to do work, but I didn’t have report cards which led me to believe I wouldn’t be able to understand once I started doing it.
My daughter’s “homework” is a lesson on organizational systems. She has six classes, and usually three homework tasks that are ten to twenty minutes each, some are on the Chrome book and some are on handouts. Could she possibly be solidifying, strengthening, and deepening her knowledge in those ten minutes? No, she is being taught how to use a calendar, and folders and turn meaningless assignments in for credit.
I don’t convey this to her, but I sympathize with her because I understand why she finds it to be such a complete waste of time.
She is too old for me to throw her report card away, and tell her to keep on reading her books because she will be fine as long as she does that. No, she saw it, and I had to then impart to her the wisdom I learned from Peter Thiel, “Bitch, that report card is in the past, so don’t worry about it.” Then I added my dad’s sentiment, “But stop crying, and do your homework.”
I bought Kiki a sweatshirt on Temu that says “I’m not clumsy, the walls are out to get me” because she tends to walk into the railing, walk off of curbs, or straight into a wall. This happened the other day. She was leaving the kitchen and somehow got the math wrong, and half her body hit the door jam. She hit her forehead and was crying.
I imparted some of my wisdom. Like the broken refrigerator in my kitchen, warm and empty, I hugged her and pet her hair, as I said, “Kiki, this is all in your brain, just tell yourself it doesn’t hurt.”
Yes, my piece of shit refrigerator is broken again. So we keep all of our groceries in a wine fridge. It works just the same and has the added benefit of making it impossible to shop in such a way that I could get as big as that guy in the movie The Whale, played by Oscar-winner Brendan Fraser.
