the snarkler

I have a new blog.  Please enjoy: The Snarkler

death, poop, and love

Many a comedian has made jokes about how public speaking is people's number one fear and death is second.  What is a fear of death is really a fear of uncertainty- we don't know what's going to happen.  If there was a way to know that after death we got to go to heaven and party like rock stars for eternity, we'd look forward to it.  But we don't know.  Uncertainty is scary- that's why people resist change. 

The fear related to public speaking is the fear of vulnerability.  People don't like being in the inferior position of power.  When I taught public speaking, instead of telling my students to picture the audience naked, I would tell them to picture the audience pooping.  Pooping is the ultimate vulnerability.  Not only do you have the nudity aspect, you are trapped.  You are a slave to your body's physiological function- not to mention a function that is kind of stinky.

Those are our two ultimate fears- vulnerability and uncertainty.  And that's why love is such a scary proposition.  It's those two things together- you are allowing someone to have some control over your fate, your happiness, and you have no idea what's going to happen.

I personally don't enjoy feeling feelings.  Moods are okay.  I like being happy.  But feeling emotions is a bit uncomfortable, even if it's joy.  Therefore, I'm a commitment-phobe.  Besides my dedication to Verizon Wireless, I can't keep a commitment to anything.  If I live in an apartment for more than 2 years, it's like a long-term home for me.  I've never had a "real job" and definitely not a career.  And boys- well, they are like buses.  You miss one, and there will either be another one, or that one will come back around.

I'm not advocating this mindset by any means.  I'm sure that there is a lot to be gained by being in touch with your feelings and open to love and willing to poop in someone's presence for the rest of your life.  But I'm going to stick with my shallow existence for now.

A last couple notes- I haven't been writing on here as much because I've been writing on The Cincinnati Man.  You can read my stuff there and on my Twitter. 

 Also, why is poop such a funnier word than poo?  Any insight?

my new gig

So I think I mentioned that I was going to be writing an advice column for the site I write for - The Cincinnati Man.


Here's the genesis: Check With a Chick

Send a question or something. Read it. What have you.

Love and hugs

Trying to keep my brain alive

I got a job.

It's good news. Because I didn't have a job. And money not only makes the world go 'round, it keeps me fed and clothed. Some of my favorite things to be are fed and clothed.

On the other hand, it's kind of a soulless job. It's boring, and 30 miles away. It leaves me little time for laundry, cleaning my house, going out with friends, playing with the dog, and above all, writing.

I've still written a couple things for The Cincinnati Man, and I'll be starting an advice column for them after the first of the year. So check that out if you're in total withdrawal. Hopefully at some point I'll get to the point where the job doesn't leave me devoid of creativity at the end of the day. My brain will stop its atrophy and I'll start thinking of things I want to say.

Thanks for reading. It never ceases to amaze me that people besides me like reading this shit. Love ya.

absence makes the heart...

Hm... grow fonder? Not really so much growing fonder but the absence allows for the burgeoning resentment to recede. I'm talking about the blog, of course.

That 30-day blog-a-thon was rough. I'm not going to lie- at the end, I was really getting to the point where I dreaded having to get on here. I wrote each one live that day- so there was no backlog when I didn't feel like writing. When I couldn't get to my computer and it was more stressful than fun or insightful. It was this total pain in the ass. But in the end, I'm glad I did it. Actually, the day after the last post- I was still staying at my parents' house, the computer was still broken, and I got home from a very long, stressful day, and the idea of trying to figure out a way to get the blog done was more than I could bear. I didn't care one way or another. The next morning, I looked at my calendar and realized that was day 31. Like, I had written on it every day for 30 days (including my lame-ass one from Dave's BlackBerry at the Bengals' game). So, I had made my goal and didn't even realize it. I felt like I was still only 2 weeks in.

A commitment completed, so to speak. I guess I might eventually become a grownup after all.

i am my beloved's and my beloved is mine

We all know that I fear commitment. Besides my 11-year relationship with Verizon Wireless and the same phone number, I can't stay in the same apartment, job, neighborhood, et cetera for longer than a year or two. Relationships envy the 1-year lease I will sign to an apartment.

I pride myself on my flexibility- not physically (because I'm not), but emotionally, mentally, and socially. I have a wide variety of friends, interests, and I'm pretty comfortable most everywhere. Except funerals. I am the person at funerals making unfunny puns or trying to ease tension with a joke that is neither appropriate or humorous. But people are often surprised to meet my circle of friends. There are tomboys and metrosexuals, good ol' boys and high maintenance ladies, young and old, gay and straight- there is nobody missing from my spectrum of friends.

While I'm generally not the type to feel like I have to have an escape route- I'm not going to leave town tomorrow. I can be spontaneous, but it's usually more of a lackadaisical/ooh, you're right- that would be fun than a case of cabin fever. But I also like to know there isn't too many things or people that I have to have around. I can go with the flow. I can not answer my phone while out with friends. I can eat most anything or anywhere. I can sleep in any position. Besides a strong aversion to porta-potties and a complete revulsion to going to the bathroom outdoors, I can hang with most situations for at least a while.

Ain't nothing gonna hold me down, oh no, I got to keep on movin'...

Sort of.

I came disastrously close to not making my blog post today. I'm at my parents' house, and their computer has apparently been sleeping around, because it's got a nasty virus (I told them to cover it with a rubber sheet at night). I got to the local library 7 minutes after close. Panic was setting in. I realized I had no way to access the Internet. The Internet, where I communicate, where I work (sort of), where I pay bills and make sure they're paid. I need you, Internet. I don't want you, but I need you.

Do you need me? Probably not. But like some kind of evolutionary mutual parasitism, you can't exist without the Dales of the world. Is the Internet my only contact with humans? No. I could get by without it. It would be difficult, but it seems like even America managed to scrimmage around for a couple hundred years without it. I remember looking at Prodigy on my friend Maggie's computer in the late 80s and thinking, "this is the dumbest shit I've ever seen. Why sit in a room by yourself, talking to people you'll never meet?" And tonight, I'm sitting at my parents' little computer desk with a borrowed laptop (thanks Katrina!) in front of their temporarily useless monitor, pecking out a little blog that probably nobody outside of my social circle reads because if I didn't- well, I don't know what would happen, but I prefer not to find out.

It's an unequal relationship I have with the Internet. But it is a commitment, and that's a good first step.