People are doing decade reviews on Facebook. I would like to. I would like to say, "A decade ago, I knew my husband of less than a year was hooking up with men on Craigslist, and I chose to believe when he lied and said he wasn't. In 2012, I put together all of the pieces and discovered he was hooking up with men on Craigslist, hiring hookers and continued to lie about it, even after he was caught. I decided to stay with him. I waited two years more, during which time nothing changed. I separated from him, he got fired, turned suicidal, got committed and moved back in with his parents where he's been basically ever since. We got divorced in 2016 and I picked up five jobs, eventually moving to New York City in 2017 because I couldn't stand to live in Des Moines with its tiny, in-bred, petty little theatre community anymore. In New York, I worked another five jobs and met the second relationship I've ever had. We moved to Denver, where the relationship promptly fizzled out because I am so inherently unlikable that I can't actually be tolerated for more than a year unless you've got no other friends because I am such a fucking doormat. Although, he actually cheated on me after two months, so I really should have just left him then. And now I'm living in Denver starting a second job. I bought an amazing vibrator and I never, ever, ever need to have sex with a human ever again."
That's what I would like to say, to see the reactions of the people who think they know me except that they would not be able to handle any of this. Because I am either so incredibly pure and sheltered that nothing could possibly happen to me, or because I'm such a bitch that they would be glad to hear it. I don't have friends. I know people who find me useful. And the friends I do have, I'll probably never see any of them ever again.
I wonder how long you can last with minimal human interaction? Probably a long and horrifying time if you work in customer service. I am tired of customer service. I am tired of giving myself to humans who don't deserve me. People I'm smarter than. Better than. I am tired of solving everyone else's problems. I clearly can't solve my own. Well, fuck it, I don't want to. I'm very comfortable being an arrogant pain-in-the-ass with no friends.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Things Which Are Bullshit
Today, our custodian tells me that the cult who typically meets on Thursday nights is meeting on the 2nd. This in spite of the fact that I have been asking our production manager to confirm their meeting time literally since November and was told, "Oh no, they're not meeting." The custodian tells me that the information HE was given was, "Oh, yeah, they emailed me two weeks ago, I said it was fine." So, now I'm working a 13 hour day on Thursday because fuck me; no other staff is available.
Today, our resident community theatre says, "Oh, by the way, can you kick some season ticket holders out of their seats for this one performance in two weeks? We need the seats so we can film." It's not like their performance calendar hasn't been set in stone since BEFORE the season tickets got renewed, or anything.
Today, we noticed that a staff member at our satellite location (who aren't supervised by us in spite of doing almost the exact same damn job, due to a weird separation of powers that we inherited) sold a ticket a couple weeks ago to someone. They failed to capture any contact information and also failed to give them the ticket. I have no idea what's going to happen when this nameless patron shows up to whatever show they think they have a ticket to, but I've been trying to communicate that to as many people as possible.
Tonight, I'm at home, pajamas on, in bed. "What are you doing tonight?" "...I'm doing it." "No! Go do something!" "What?" "I'll give you money." "I don't want money, you tell me what the hell I'd 'go and do.'" Because I don't want to be anywhere with alcohol or other people, and those are your fucking options on New Year's Fucking Eve. Just let me be.
People fucking suck.
Tonight, I'm at home, pajamas on, in bed. "What are you doing tonight?" "...I'm doing it." "No! Go do something!" "What?" "I'll give you money." "I don't want money, you tell me what the hell I'd 'go and do.'" Because I don't want to be anywhere with alcohol or other people, and those are your fucking options on New Year's Fucking Eve. Just let me be.
People fucking suck.
Monday, December 30, 2019
When Sojourner Truth's Speech Was First Published, It Did Not Contain the Phrase, "Ain't I a Woman?"
There's a thread going around Twitter at the moment about a woman insisting that she was a tomboy, and she grew up just fine to be a feminine woman and today she'd be labelled as trans and that's wrong and leave kids alone.
And a lot of people are saying, "Yes, just leave kids alone to be whatever physical expressions they want. Maybe some will be trans, some won't, that's all OK." Which, yes.
I can't remember how old my mother tells me I was, but it was under a year for sure. She'd bought some dress she absolutely loved for me, and every time it was brought out of the closet, I would scream. Not even had it tried on me yet, screaming. Wearing it involved screaming, and I probably wore it about twice because that's as much as she could put up with, and about six years later sent it to her sister for my cousin, mentioning that she never thought she'd be fighting with her child about clothes before I was in my teens.
I continued to be stubborn about clothes. My Kindergarten teacher requested that I not be sent to school in dresses because I refused to sit on the floor or move or do anything for fear of getting dirty or someone seeing my underwear. I remember clothes shopping in first grade, standing in the dressing room at Richmond Gordmans insisting that I wanted to wear PLAIN clothes. (This is still a thing- girls clothes with ruffles, lace and sequined decoration still make me uncomfortable.) My dad brought back some things from the boy's section, which I was immediately OK with and my mother was horrified.
I always had long hair, but so did my dad, the only adult I knew with long hair, so I often wonder if I don't actually think of that as a feminine trait in spite of the fact that every time I get my hair cut short, I get mistaken for a dude. I don't mind. I didn't play sports, I played with dolls because I needed actors.
By the time I was 10, I was convinced I would rather be a boy. This conviction stuck around in various forms, until the present day, honestly. I'm taking continuous birth control so I don't get periods or cramps, but I still have awful emotional PMS, and if I could stop that with anything short of surgery, I would. I hate to buy bras. I still don't wear make-up. I have no interest in a lot of traditionally feminine activities. I know a lot of guys who are much more feminine than I will ever be.
At the same time, I was a Girl Scout. And I enjoyed it. I remember this coming up in my need to reconcile being a girl- I was a Girl Scout, and I liked that, therefore, I must actually BE a girl. I eventually decided that I was me, and that was clearly fine, and I got to define what that meant. To this day I don't really know what I do that's all that feminine- most of my least female friends eventually picked up feminine habits like fancy underwear or being mothers or wearing make-up or jewellry, and I never did.
A gender fluid friend once posited on Facebook whether we would change gender for $10,000, and I was like, "Absolutely." Not only would I get $10,000, I'd start to be paid more, I'd be ignored when I went to the grocery store, and I suspect I'd be taken more seriously than currently. A lot of other women added that they would have the added bonus of not being harassed by men in public. My ex has been harassed by men in public more than I ever have. Which is another way I know I'm not a woman anybody pays any attention to. The only time I ever attract unwanted attention is when I wear a specific red coat I own, then I notice that I get stopped by people asking for money a lot more than when I don't wear the coat. I'm not sure if it's because it's bright red or it's suddenly obvious I'm a girl when I wear it.
So, really, while I'd probably happily change gender, I also don't really think I'm trans. I think I'm me, and while there are a few biological processes that I'd happily magic away, I don't think that's the same thing. But when I see all these women saying, "I was a tomboy and I turned into a perfectly normal woman!" I pretty much have to admit that I... did not. I'm not entirely sure if that's a problem or not. I'm me, I guess, whatever that means.
And while all of this is happening, Betelgeuse is dimming, meaning that over 600 years ago, the star was doing its red supergiant thing, and we're only just finding out about it now. In another hundred thousand years, it might go supernova. None of us will be here to see it. Our records of this moment might not even survive (this one certainly won't). There might not be anybody on this planet to witness Betelgeuse going supernova. So, that's perspective for you.
And a lot of people are saying, "Yes, just leave kids alone to be whatever physical expressions they want. Maybe some will be trans, some won't, that's all OK." Which, yes.
I can't remember how old my mother tells me I was, but it was under a year for sure. She'd bought some dress she absolutely loved for me, and every time it was brought out of the closet, I would scream. Not even had it tried on me yet, screaming. Wearing it involved screaming, and I probably wore it about twice because that's as much as she could put up with, and about six years later sent it to her sister for my cousin, mentioning that she never thought she'd be fighting with her child about clothes before I was in my teens.
I continued to be stubborn about clothes. My Kindergarten teacher requested that I not be sent to school in dresses because I refused to sit on the floor or move or do anything for fear of getting dirty or someone seeing my underwear. I remember clothes shopping in first grade, standing in the dressing room at Richmond Gordmans insisting that I wanted to wear PLAIN clothes. (This is still a thing- girls clothes with ruffles, lace and sequined decoration still make me uncomfortable.) My dad brought back some things from the boy's section, which I was immediately OK with and my mother was horrified.
I always had long hair, but so did my dad, the only adult I knew with long hair, so I often wonder if I don't actually think of that as a feminine trait in spite of the fact that every time I get my hair cut short, I get mistaken for a dude. I don't mind. I didn't play sports, I played with dolls because I needed actors.
By the time I was 10, I was convinced I would rather be a boy. This conviction stuck around in various forms, until the present day, honestly. I'm taking continuous birth control so I don't get periods or cramps, but I still have awful emotional PMS, and if I could stop that with anything short of surgery, I would. I hate to buy bras. I still don't wear make-up. I have no interest in a lot of traditionally feminine activities. I know a lot of guys who are much more feminine than I will ever be.
At the same time, I was a Girl Scout. And I enjoyed it. I remember this coming up in my need to reconcile being a girl- I was a Girl Scout, and I liked that, therefore, I must actually BE a girl. I eventually decided that I was me, and that was clearly fine, and I got to define what that meant. To this day I don't really know what I do that's all that feminine- most of my least female friends eventually picked up feminine habits like fancy underwear or being mothers or wearing make-up or jewellry, and I never did.
A gender fluid friend once posited on Facebook whether we would change gender for $10,000, and I was like, "Absolutely." Not only would I get $10,000, I'd start to be paid more, I'd be ignored when I went to the grocery store, and I suspect I'd be taken more seriously than currently. A lot of other women added that they would have the added bonus of not being harassed by men in public. My ex has been harassed by men in public more than I ever have. Which is another way I know I'm not a woman anybody pays any attention to. The only time I ever attract unwanted attention is when I wear a specific red coat I own, then I notice that I get stopped by people asking for money a lot more than when I don't wear the coat. I'm not sure if it's because it's bright red or it's suddenly obvious I'm a girl when I wear it.
So, really, while I'd probably happily change gender, I also don't really think I'm trans. I think I'm me, and while there are a few biological processes that I'd happily magic away, I don't think that's the same thing. But when I see all these women saying, "I was a tomboy and I turned into a perfectly normal woman!" I pretty much have to admit that I... did not. I'm not entirely sure if that's a problem or not. I'm me, I guess, whatever that means.
And while all of this is happening, Betelgeuse is dimming, meaning that over 600 years ago, the star was doing its red supergiant thing, and we're only just finding out about it now. In another hundred thousand years, it might go supernova. None of us will be here to see it. Our records of this moment might not even survive (this one certainly won't). There might not be anybody on this planet to witness Betelgeuse going supernova. So, that's perspective for you.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
Now What I'm Gonna Say May Sound Indelicate
A friend on Facebook asked, generally, what the word pith or pithy meant to us. It means the core, or essence, and the word's also used to describe the central fiber in some plants- orange pith is the white stuff that goes down the center of the orange and around the segments under the peel. Pith helmets, the khaki vented hats on European jungle explorers and British people in India, were made from the pith of... I can't remember which plant, but, that's where they get their name. To be pithy means to be able to describe the essence of something.
The rest of the replies were that the word is a synonym for witty or dry humour- which is because of Oscar Wilde, I think. He's a wit, but he's also pithy. Stuff like, "There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." It's a succinct description of life as well as an exact description of a Greek reversal, which is the crux of tragedy: discovering you do not want the thing you wanted. It's not particularly funny and it's not witty, unlike Wilde's alleged last words, "This wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go." Implies the wallpaper is hideous, implies Wilde is gonna die real soon, and the wallpaper is so hideous it might actually be the thing that kills him, trivialising the meningitis. That's witty. But, sure, whatever people, keep liking all the wrong answers.
This is me in a nutshell, basically. All I'm good for is correctly providing answers and explanations to things people don't actually want to know because most people prefer confirmation bias. I'm a living, "well, actually." I don't necessarily *need* to be right, it bugs me more that other people are OK with being wrong. It's not like I go out of my way to learn a bunch of bullshit- I'm interested in things and I remember them.
We got new keys at work, and they're stiff in the locks to the point they don't go in or turn easily.
"Should we put WD-40 in the locks?"
"No! The lock isn't the problem, the key is. Put graphite on the key."
"Where do we get graphite?"
"A pencil?"
"That's brilliant!"
It's not brilliant. It's a simple combination of knowing that WD-40 is an oil lubricant, which will stay in the lock, and graphite is a solid lubricant which will stay on the key. Since the keys don't turn in the locks, the key needs the lubricant not the lock, so graphite is the better choice, and graphite is easily available in pencil form. Also it's what you put on the wheels of Cub Scout Pinewood Derby cars to make them turn better on the axels, to add the Slumdog Millionaire element.
This is why I get mad when that video of Justin Trudeau knowing the basic idea behind quantum computing gets trotted out to make him look like a genius. He either got briefed and he remembered what he was told, or he knew exactly two things: most computers operate on a binary system of being on or off, quantum computers operate on a system where the binary system can be simultaneously on and off, like Schrodinger's cat who is both alive and dead in the box. That's it. That's all you have to know and he simplified the quantum part by defining it as able to carry more information, which makes it technically wrong. No, it's still just on or off, there's no more information there, it's just that the computer is also working out the probability of whether it might be on or off rather than simply being on or off. Meaning that the computer, while deciding between an alive cat or a dead cat, is considering what it knows about cats and poison gasses and the amount of time that has passed to determine the odds that the cat is actually alive, and then it opens the box and the answer is whatever it decided. ...This is why quantum computers are still really not great at simple math. And I think neural nets are built around a similar idea- take what you can find from this background information and see what you get.
He knew two things, he just said them in a way that sounded like he knew more, and he got one of them basically wrong.
I don't think the problem is necessarily that other people are suddenly more stupid, or happier being ignorant. Shakespeare's audience has language exploding around them and he's repeating himself five times to get the point across. It's pretty clearly always been like this. I'm not sure what's different about me that I notice. Or care.
This way lies imposter syndrome. I think. The alternative is that I'm just that self-absorbed and believe I'm the smartest person in the room... except that if knowing things and being able to articulate them and extrapolate and speculate on the things we don't know is how we're defining smartest person in the room, I *am.* Me and Alexander Hamilton, I guess. So why should it be getting me down?
Because it's all I'm good for and it's singularly useless most of the time. It doesn't get me a better job, it doesn't make me particularly well-liked, but this is what I've got. And I don't particularly WANT to be well-liked, it's just standing out in the gulf between me and humanity going, "This, weirdo, is the problem."
The rest of the replies were that the word is a synonym for witty or dry humour- which is because of Oscar Wilde, I think. He's a wit, but he's also pithy. Stuff like, "There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." It's a succinct description of life as well as an exact description of a Greek reversal, which is the crux of tragedy: discovering you do not want the thing you wanted. It's not particularly funny and it's not witty, unlike Wilde's alleged last words, "This wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go." Implies the wallpaper is hideous, implies Wilde is gonna die real soon, and the wallpaper is so hideous it might actually be the thing that kills him, trivialising the meningitis. That's witty. But, sure, whatever people, keep liking all the wrong answers.
This is me in a nutshell, basically. All I'm good for is correctly providing answers and explanations to things people don't actually want to know because most people prefer confirmation bias. I'm a living, "well, actually." I don't necessarily *need* to be right, it bugs me more that other people are OK with being wrong. It's not like I go out of my way to learn a bunch of bullshit- I'm interested in things and I remember them.
We got new keys at work, and they're stiff in the locks to the point they don't go in or turn easily.
"Should we put WD-40 in the locks?"
"No! The lock isn't the problem, the key is. Put graphite on the key."
"Where do we get graphite?"
"A pencil?"
"That's brilliant!"
It's not brilliant. It's a simple combination of knowing that WD-40 is an oil lubricant, which will stay in the lock, and graphite is a solid lubricant which will stay on the key. Since the keys don't turn in the locks, the key needs the lubricant not the lock, so graphite is the better choice, and graphite is easily available in pencil form. Also it's what you put on the wheels of Cub Scout Pinewood Derby cars to make them turn better on the axels, to add the Slumdog Millionaire element.
This is why I get mad when that video of Justin Trudeau knowing the basic idea behind quantum computing gets trotted out to make him look like a genius. He either got briefed and he remembered what he was told, or he knew exactly two things: most computers operate on a binary system of being on or off, quantum computers operate on a system where the binary system can be simultaneously on and off, like Schrodinger's cat who is both alive and dead in the box. That's it. That's all you have to know and he simplified the quantum part by defining it as able to carry more information, which makes it technically wrong. No, it's still just on or off, there's no more information there, it's just that the computer is also working out the probability of whether it might be on or off rather than simply being on or off. Meaning that the computer, while deciding between an alive cat or a dead cat, is considering what it knows about cats and poison gasses and the amount of time that has passed to determine the odds that the cat is actually alive, and then it opens the box and the answer is whatever it decided. ...This is why quantum computers are still really not great at simple math. And I think neural nets are built around a similar idea- take what you can find from this background information and see what you get.
He knew two things, he just said them in a way that sounded like he knew more, and he got one of them basically wrong.
I don't think the problem is necessarily that other people are suddenly more stupid, or happier being ignorant. Shakespeare's audience has language exploding around them and he's repeating himself five times to get the point across. It's pretty clearly always been like this. I'm not sure what's different about me that I notice. Or care.
This way lies imposter syndrome. I think. The alternative is that I'm just that self-absorbed and believe I'm the smartest person in the room... except that if knowing things and being able to articulate them and extrapolate and speculate on the things we don't know is how we're defining smartest person in the room, I *am.* Me and Alexander Hamilton, I guess. So why should it be getting me down?
Because it's all I'm good for and it's singularly useless most of the time. It doesn't get me a better job, it doesn't make me particularly well-liked, but this is what I've got. And I don't particularly WANT to be well-liked, it's just standing out in the gulf between me and humanity going, "This, weirdo, is the problem."
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
A Failed Experiment
In May, 2016 I thought I'd find out what I was capable of. I moved to New York City just over a year later. I worked for a well-known theatre company in a terrible, unpaid capacity, took five part time jobs and decided to move to Denver after a year, when I was basically out of money but thought I'd found someone who liked me.
I was wrong about that. In May 2020 I'll be single and living on my own again, with no savings. I feel like I'm basically starting over again and I don't want to make the same mistakes again. Ever.
No more people. Most people are not worth the investment.
I'm getting a second job which will, hopefully, keep me busy enough that I don't notice I won't have a life. Current financial projections suggest I'll be just far enough ahead to allow for one minor emergency a year but not enough to leave the state.
I subtracted the 6 vacation days and 5 sick days I took this past year from my pay and discovered I was exactly 8 unpaid days short of [my hourly wage]*[my weekly hour cap]*52 weeks in the year. Those are the holidays, the days we're closed that I can't make up even if I want to because it's not like I can just put an extra 9 hours on the previous or next week, due to the hour cap. Hence the second job.
So what am I capable of? Screwing up my own life, all on my own, apparently.
I was wrong about that. In May 2020 I'll be single and living on my own again, with no savings. I feel like I'm basically starting over again and I don't want to make the same mistakes again. Ever.
No more people. Most people are not worth the investment.
I'm getting a second job which will, hopefully, keep me busy enough that I don't notice I won't have a life. Current financial projections suggest I'll be just far enough ahead to allow for one minor emergency a year but not enough to leave the state.
I subtracted the 6 vacation days and 5 sick days I took this past year from my pay and discovered I was exactly 8 unpaid days short of [my hourly wage]*[my weekly hour cap]*52 weeks in the year. Those are the holidays, the days we're closed that I can't make up even if I want to because it's not like I can just put an extra 9 hours on the previous or next week, due to the hour cap. Hence the second job.
So what am I capable of? Screwing up my own life, all on my own, apparently.
Monday, December 9, 2019
A List of Stupid Things I've Googled Recently
"How to be less introverted."
"How do you make yourself interested in things you hate?"
"What is wrong with me?"
"How to behave like a human being."
"Improve self esteem"
"What to do when you're not interested in anything."
What are you supposed to do when you need to fix yourself, because you clearly can't stand the person you are, but also don't want to do any of that work because you aren't interested in being anybody else?
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