Funny Asshole

Something happened to me today. Something I didn't know I was waiting my whole life to hear.

I was kickin' it with my podcast girls, guesting on Grumble Mountain's podcast on UtahFM. Grumble Mountain is a podcast done by three comedians. Comedians. Three of them. Whenever I'm in the same room as a "professional" comedian, I get sweaty and intimidated. I feel pressure to be funny. Not try-too-hard funny, but just right, casual funny. It's a very stressful situation.

About halfway through recording, one of the girls turns to me and says, "I wish I was as funny as you, Joss."

I wish I was as funny as you.

I wish I was as funny as you.

I wish I was as funny as you.

Holy balls, I didn't know I was looking for that kind of validation. Me? Rebecca? A lady? Funny? So funny, apparently, someone wishes for my wit?

I admire the shit out of female comedians. I long to be one sometimes. Only sometimes, I don't have the dedication to be funny 110% of the time. So, for someone to acknowledge that I am indeed funny, stirs strange emotions within me. Emotions like validation and giddiness. Also though, I'm going to feel like I'm in the room with another comedian all the time. Don't be too funny, Rebecca. Just casual funny.

But I'm doing this dance on the inside.

You're a douche. Let's be friends.

What is it about douche bags that keeps me hanging on so tightly? When I was younger, I had a friend who I thought was the coolest guy. He was funny, knew things I didn't know, liked movies, kept up conversation for hours. Now, as an adult, I realize we was a total asshole. A huge douche bag. I made an effort recently to reconnect with him. I sent him a text, trying to strike up conversation. True to enigma fashion, he would only respond with one word texts. Short, brief, texts. "Meh," I said, letting it go, moving on with my life and accepting that sometimes, things never change. That night, at one in the morning, tried to start conversation. Like he always used to. Still a huge douche. No, some things never change.

But in the back of my mind, I'm still desperate to talk to him. I still want him to want to have conversation with me. Please tell me more about your super awesome job and how you are so much cooler than I. School me in the ways of philosophy and John Cusack movies.

I have a new douchey friend. He only talks about himself, conversation is always one-sided. Film is his fine wine. The holier-than-thou stench travels through the internet and through my speakers. I get so pissed off during our conversations I literally have the thought process, "how do I tell him he's an asshole? Do I just say it or should I subtly say, 'hey I have a douchey friend, how should I let him know?'"

Conversation ends and...I'm still thinking about him. I'm thinking "wow that guy is an asshole" with a subcontext of "maybe I can get him to change his douche-ways." Maybe I can give him a My Fair Lady treatment and release him into the wild, ready for the ladies.

Is that not the reason girls go for the asshole? Because maybe we can be the one girl who changes him? Why is it so difficult to find not just a guy, but anyone who isn't a total asshole to some degree? I know plenty of girls who are douches in their own right. "Don't get that beer. It's only good in California." I don't need more granola-people telling me that organic is the only food they'll eat, or that biking is the only way they'll get around. I don't need your 'tudes. But goddammit do I eat it up and find myself begging for more.

SCHOOL IS HARD.

This isn't my first time taking Math 1010. It's not my second time. I literally don't even know how many times I've attempted this course.

It feels impossible. I can't grasp it. I feel embarrassed when I sit in class and I feel like everyone else is getting it and I'm not.

Today I was reassured when everyone around me was groaning, confused and frustrated. Yessss!

Hopefully I pass this time, God dammit.

Hello, Sweetie! Podcast Episode 33

Hey, I happened to make a very special appearance on this week's Hello, Sweetie! Podcast. I get nerdy all up in yo' business.

LISTEN HERE

Lazy Asshole Approach To Fitness

(Language. You've been warned.)

I have a weird style of working out. I will go for a week, then I decide that the one week was enough for two weeks, then I stop going. Rinse, repeat. Not really "rinse" repeat, I shower daily. Just kidding, I don't shower daily.

I also have a weird style of skating. I call it the "lazy asshole" approach to roller derby. I will come to practice, I will participate, but I don't push myself. The only time I push myself is when I'm jamming and I have to tell myself, "it's only two minutes of hardcore cardio, just two minutes." Then I get tired mid-jam and I have to mentally tell myself, "BUFFY WOULDN'T QUIT MID-JAM!" 

Basically, what I'm trying to say is I lack discipline.

Sometimes, I pretend I'm a superhero in training. I do this when I'm working out or when I'm skating. I want so badly to stop halfway through whatever I'm doing but I have to tell myself that I can't save the city if I can't finish a 30 minute elliptical workout. Can I fight crime on skates? That would be so much easier than running. However, how do I expect to stop alien invaders if I don't want to practice endurance skating? 

But I'm not a superhero. I'm just a girl who wants so badly to fit into spandex and look good wearing it. I want to kick ass for hours. 

I recently started reading comic books to help satiate my superhuman desires. Currently I'm reading Civil War. I've got a thing for Captain America (I'll get into it later) and while reading Civil War: New Avengers I was introduced to Luke Cage and Jessica Jones. Boyfriend was like, "Read Alias when you finish New Avengers." 

So, I read Alias and fell in love with Jessica Jones, the girl who uses the lazy asshole approach to crime fighting.  OK, she's not a lazy asshole. She actually gets shit done as a private investigator. But I found myself relating to her. She has so much potential to do more and she knows it. But she doesn't. She focuses her energies into private investigation. The powers get utilized when necessary, but other than that? It's not her thing.

I'm still trying to sort through it. I have potential to do more. I know I can go farther as a derby girl. It is my thing. Why don't I work harder at practice? I don't want to be a lazy asshole. I want to push myself and do what makes me happy. Reverse Jessica Jones. I have untapped power, let's fuck shit up.

A Real Person!

I'm in the process of becoming a real boy. Trying to be more honest with myself and those around me is foreign territory. Cut the strings and dance by myself. It's been a long process, and a never-ending process if you really think about it. We all have to work on ourselves every day.

Actually, maybe I don't have to. The doctor today was, dare I say, surprised with how awesome all my levels were. She said I have one of the best cholesterol numbers she's ever seen. I don't know what any of this science mumbo jumbo means. I just heard, "Wow, everything looks really good." (Wait...was she hitting on me? "You've got really nice levels.") Basically, I'm a perfect human specimen and you should all start to worship me.

Back to my main focus of this blog, I'm closer to being a real emotional person. All through my formative years, I was never a hugger, never a feeling-expressor, always a joke-cracker. We don't really express emotions in my immediate family so this whole "cutting the strings" thing is new to me.

I'm two for two this week! Two examples of me saying, "Hey, that hurt my feelings. Just wanted to let you know."

Example 1: I'm a bridesmaid in a friend's upcoming wedding. I had it in the back of my mind that she wanted to go to Vegas for her bachelorette party. I knew her maid of honor was putting that together so I waited for an email to come with details. An email never did come, but Facebook posts started to show up on my feed. Vegas? Already? Wait...I'm in Salt Lake. Not invited?

Typically, I don't get butthurt about anything. Seeing these girls post from Vegas made me revert to Captain Hammer after being hit with Death Ray shrapnel, "I think this is what pain feels like!" I stewed on it for a few days. I learned a lesson that I shouldn't repress anything, to let people know that their actions triggered hurt feelings in me. I decided to let my friend know that, while I understood it was a sorority sister thing, I still would have liked a heads up about their plans. I actually may have seriously stammered through texts, but it was enough for me. I expressed something.

Example 2: Boyfriend got a new job, and I'm so happy for him. He loves it. It's all he can talk about. Seriously. It got to a point where he would call me after work and tell me about his day, which I'm happy to hear, but suddenly it would switch to "ok goodnight!"

Wait, I had a day too. Hell, I got a tetanus shot! I got a pedicure! She painted a flower on my big toe!

So, I told him how I felt. It was all very girly and, "I want you to want to do the dishes!" and yucky. I didn't care if he apologized or not. I got my feelings out there and that's what I cared about. I got words out of my mouth and they reflected my insides.

Gross, this is all weird stuff. I feel lighter though. Better than biting my tongue and wondering why people can't read my mind.

But I can read yours. Because I am a perfect human specimen. I am that guy at the beginning of Prometheus. Don't let my flab fool you.

Startled.

I had a pregnancy scare this week.

I actually wouldn’t call it a pregnancy scare. The experience was more of a pregnancy rumination. It certainly lit a fire under my ass.

I visited a psychic this week. She’s an angel reader. I met with her for a couple of reasons. One, I was frustrated with my relationship. When we were discussing my relationship with boyfriend, she laid things out for me that I would never have picked up on by myself. She reassured me that, yes, we are great, however I need to retool my thinking and actions.  

I was also frustrated with myself. I often find myself thinking, “Seriously Rebecca, what the hell are you doing?” I have been feeling beyond lost in my life. If I look at my metaphorical paths before me, there are options. Too many options. I want to do everything, experience every path and open door life has to offer me. I recently have been trying to force myself into writing again, but my foot was stuck. How hard must it be to sit down at a computer and type words? How hard is it to sit down and focus in school? Really damn hard.

I asked her, “can you tell me what I’m going to be when I grow up?”

“How old are you?” She asked, her eyes closed and fingertips tenting.

“23.”

“Oh, honey, you won’t know until you’re 40,” she joked. She kept her eyes closed for several moments, and opened her eyes, smiling.

“All I’m getting is ‘mom.’ And it’s going to happen a lot sooner than you think.”

Mom.

Mom...

Mom?

Oh, hell no. And HOW SOON? Oh, balls. I started to have a mini heart attack. I won’t get into details, but I haven’t been on birth control and I wasn’t exactly careful. I asked her if she was sure. She delved into my future as a mother to possibly four (!) kids, and how with the first baby I would fall in love with being a mother and I would want to dedicate myself to it.

No, no, no. Firstly, I want only two (two is even pushing it, but boyfriend and I are both only children and we know how it sucks). Secondly, no way could I have a baby right now when I still live in my parents basement.

I left absolutely petrified. Sure I was bloated, but I also hadn’t been to the gym in a week and eating really poorly. I was also PMS-y so, you know. Those symptoms mimic pregnancy symptoms. Feathers ruffled, I pulled into a pharmacy parking lot. I had never needed to buy a pregnancy test before, what was with all the options?? I chickened out and said, “maybe the next store I go to.”

The next day, I told myself to man up and bought one. Unfortunately, I was on my way to work so I had to wait all day before I could pass or fail. While I was at work, I texted boyfriend.

“Um, don’t freak out when I tell you this, ok?”

“...ok?”

“The psychic has me really freaked out so I bought a pregnancy test.”

“And?”
“Well I haven’t taken it yet.”

“You know if you are she legally has to tell you.”

We talked like this all day, cutting tension with jokes. I was increasingly ancy. He was surprisingly reassuring and supportive. I drove home calmly, sat down and peed on the stick. One horizontal line for negative, a cross for positive. 3 minutes passed and no vertical line. Negative! I got out of the bathroom and shouted (internally), “SOMEONE GET ME A BEER!” As if the universe was on my side, I got my period two hours later. Beer for everyone!

It wasn’t a scare. Not even a possibility. But of course I am still thinking about it.

We went to the movies, surrounded by kids. I kept thinking about how I would hold my daughter’s hand through the crowd. How I’d tell her “shhh” during the movie. How I would watch her light up during the funny parts.

We went to the Arts Festival. I imagined her awe at the beautiful art, reaching out to touch the sculptures, reminding her to drink her water and keep on her hat.

What am I doing with my life? I don’t want to be mom right now. But if it happened...I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’ve got so much I want to experience. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk, I don’t want to be stuck in anything. I need to do what I was supposed to be doing this whole time. Writing. Experiencing life and writing about it. Experiencing everything. This ordeal has given me drive to get out in the world and make every day a discovery.

You, little one, have given me something to write about. You, little one, have given me some drive.