Trying Not to Take it Personally
Last week I read an article in SELF magazine about why it’s often detrimental to take things too personally. The message resonated with me and I’ve been working on not taking things to heart–except the wise advice to detach more often, that is.
Let me tell you, the whole “water off a duck’s back thing” ain’t always easy for me. I’m definitely someone who has trouble not being overly thin-skinned. Maybe I’m a sensitive soul. Or as my friend’s new agey mom once said to me, “You have leaky psychic energy, Em.” I’m not beyond believing that these airy-fairy descriptions may have something to do with why I often feel depleted by social scenarios, or hold onto a piece of offhand criticism for far, far too long.
But this article reminded me of the other root cause for taking things personally: narcissism. For implicit in the reaction: “Why did that &*^%$ at Starbucks snark me like that?” is the idea that the world revolves around you. Or in my case, me, me, me. I don’t usually waste too much time getting agro about the Starbucks barista. But I will lie up at night thinking about the tone of an email from an editor or something critical my hubby said about my (sometimes) negative attitude.
In some ways, being stuck in our perspectives is just the nature of being human—a good reason to meditate and stop the constant chatter. But I guess caring too much about what other people are thinking about you, does mean you’re spending a lot of time thinking about yours truly. I read it was one of the key traits of narcissism in How to Spot a Narcissist, from Psychology Today earlier this summer.
As I’ve been thinking about this the past week, I’ve been questioning whether this trait is nature or nurture. Probably both. Sorry to drag you into this with me, M & D but when it comes to the nurture part, I think, in ways, I was raised to believe that not taking things personally is arrogant.
Let me explain. I will oversimplify my upbringing here as: waspy, Canadian, and placatory. And in that sense I’ve often found people who bulldoze through life not caring what other people think kind of, well, egotistical. Frankly, unapologetic and unaware reactions have tended to be just the type of behavior that will get my goat. The woman on the plane last week at LAX who didn’t wait her turn to exit her row, for example, pissed the hell out of me.
But how far does facing the world from an apologetic, overly sensitive perspective get me? Frankly, it’s often a hindrance and a waste of precious sleep. So I’m working on ditching it. Or at least turning apologetic into: merely polite. And overly sensitive into: detached but aware.
If I go too far into bulldozer territory and start exhibiting traits of, say, Michelle Bachmann, let me know.
P.S. I have a new post up on HuffPo Canada, living section: Musings on Kim Kardashian’s Wedding: Why Are We Giving Favours to Our Guests? Check it out! 
Kris Jenner Takes Over Earth
“Ugh! Are you kidding me?!” I just yelled in my living room, by myself, when I learned that Kris Jenner has a book coming out this fall: Kris Jenner & All Things Kardashian.
No really, are you fucking kidding me?
The woman has an endorsement deal with Poise for (LBL) light bladder leakage and is headed to daytime TV (on The Talk and Today Show, apparently) and has a mother freaking book deal? Is this family even human? I honestly don’t know.
One thing is for sure: she’ll find a way to monetize irritable bowel syndrome, floss, and another one of her offspring before her reign is done.
Alright, I’m going to attend to me and mine and head out to Malibu with the huz. We’ve been married three years today and we both miraculously have the day off. Beaching is in order. Where is my hot pink sunhat?
My “love and sex” post this week is up on Betty. Wish me luck driving in the canyons of Malibu! Ta ta!
Gerard Depardieu Pees on Plane, Awesome
Had a laugh this morning when I learned that Gerard Depardieu pissed on the floor of a taxiing plane this Tuesday because he couldn’t hold it for another twenty minutes. While that is rather filthy of G Dog (who isn’t exactly known for his genteel behavior), I do kind of feel his pain.
On my way back from Canada last week, I was scolded by a flight attendant for booking it to the restroom while the fasten seat belt sign was lit. Let’s just say, I was about to have a rather serious lady disaster.
The surly stewardess let me in but treated me like I’d crossed the picket line, or suggested she’d left the blue eye shadow in the eighties, or ripped a sandwich out of the hand of her starving child—you get the picture.
I mean, I get airplane precautions. To a point. And I respect that my helpful flight attendants have been told not to let passengers walk around in a jostling plane for safety reasons. I respect that they take their jobs very seriously.Why, I’ve been in charge of people’s safety before, too– leading Japanese tourists through the Rocky Mountains on horseback–and I suppose it was no laughing matter. Especially when you stumbled on a bear. But what exactly is the worst thing that could happen to me with a little turbulence in the loo unless, say, the plane crashed? In which case, chances are I’m effed anyway. Besides, the possibility of dying in a plane crash is a risk I’ve already elected to take. But if I don’t die, isn’t pissing on myself while squatting in a moving bathroom better than letting go on the cushion that the next person paid hundreds of dollars to sit on? Just saying.
Anyway, I’m sure Gerard is not the first person to piss themselves on plane before. Certainly Kris Jenner’s done it. And Chelsea Handler. And probably your Grandma.
I just stumbled on this article Married, With Infidelities from The New York Times Magazine this past June. It’s worth a read and some thought. I definitely am all for couples defining their own boundaries when it comes to monogamy.
And with that, I’m off to another wedding. I’ll try and plan my pee breaks around my wine consumption better than old Gerard did.
Bank of America Cares About Me
So I returned home from a week in Montreal the other day to find a message from Bank of America. Low and behold, they’d put a freeze on my card. Since this seems to happen every time I set foot out of the state of California, I wasn’t exactly surprised.
I rang up my dear friends at BOA to delight in an hour of verification questions and a urine sample, and was eventually told by a monosyllabic operator that ”my card had been compromised.”
What does that mean? I said.
Well, Mizz Southwood it means that we here at Bank of America, who monitor your card 24 hours a day, seven days a week, have noticed that your card has been compromised.
I got that part, but what does that mean exactly?
Well, Mizz Southwood it means that we have received a notice that some or all of the information on your card may have been compromised. It may have happened online.
Okay, well that still doesn’t really answer my question but now what?
Well, because we take your card protection very seriously at Bank of America and monitor your activity 24 hours a day, seven days a week, we are going to cancel this card and send you a new one in five to seven business days, Mizz Southwood.
Five to seven business days?
Yes, Mizz Southwood. You can expect to receive your new, uncompromised card in the mail.
That’s not really all that convenient is it?
We are sorry for any inconvenience, Mizz Southwood but since your card has been compromised we need to cancel your old one and send you a new one.
I guess it’s lucky for me that I recently accepted on of the three hundred credit card offers you send us debt ridden folks every week.
Can I help you with anything else today, Mizz Southwood?
You could buy me a drink with your uncompromised bank card.
Thank you for choosing Bank of America, Mizz Southwood and have a nice day.
Yesterday, Gwyneth Paltrow’s latest GOOP newsletter appeared in my inbox. I glossed over it, like I usually do when the topic isn’t food, and noticed that she was providing discounts to GOOP readers. That’s me! I scrolled down to the first offer and voila—a pair of cute sporty looking shorts. This pair could be mine during this exclusive offer. They are $175 at 15% off.
That’s right—175 dollar shorts. I hear you can also procure 8 pairs for $175 at Old Navy. Thanks again for the dose of reality, Gwyn.
I scrolled down to the next GOOP sale item: cute Turkish bath towels. Only $29!!! at 10% off!! That would seem a little more reasonable if Gwyn hadn’t felt the need to boast that she bought 20 last summer, presumably for the vacation house.
I bought four towels from Target four years ago. We’re still using them. Sigh. My love/hate relationship with GP continues.
On another note, I’ve been reading about this male vibrator now on the market. First off, you will note that it looks oddly like a flat iron. Eeeks! And second off, I keep wondering, do men really need more help getting off? I though there was already a whole industry devoted to that. You know, the porn one. But I suppose I shouldn’t deny a man his right to battery-operated stimulation. For if someone asked me at gunpoint for my wallet or vibrator, I might well fork over my ID and credit cards. Still, I’m guessing this one is not going to be a best seller.
Side note: I just read this article, which states that the vibrator is intended for those with ED, “including those undergoing rehabilitation after a prostatectomy, or those with spinal cord injuries.” Now don’t I feel like an a-hole.
Just like Gwyneth would if she thought about all the poor people reading her blog.
What Not to Share With Your Boyfriend or Your Neighbors
I read this handy little list today over coffee: 7 Things Not To Share With Your Boyfriend.
To my shock and awe, I came up very short. The TMI list included sharing:
Your Bodily Functions
Your Girlfriends’ Secrets
Your Toothbrush
Your Password
Your Dislike For His Mother
Your Insecurities
Your Past…In Detail
There must be a different list for wives, right? Here’s hoping.
On another note, above you’ll see the recent collection of refuse on my corner. I’ve written about this baffling phenomenon before. Well, it continues unabated. This particular pile has been there for at least five days. I’m secretly hoping Brad and Angie will come by and nab it all for their kids. I hear they sometimes sojourn in the beautiful neighborhood of Los Feliz too.
What, people? Nobody wants this couch with no cushions and skuzzy, JC Penny lazy boy from 1990? Nobody wants these hangers, some mysterious black mesh, and a nasty baseball t-shirt that a crackhead blew his nose in?
I really don’t see why.
Study Says: Women Are Unhappy, Am I?
She looks happy. I should linger in fields with apples more...
Apparently I needed another week of sleep. Well, sort of, I’ve been pretty darn busy, actually.
In the meantime there’s been more depressing news for women over on Huffington Post.
Last week I read a post about Erica Jong’s declaration that young women are over sex.
And this week I read that women have become less happy over the last forty years. Yup, despite having more education, money, and power, women are less psyched. The news deserved a moment’s pause. During which, of course, I pondered whether or not I’m happy. Always a productive use of one’s time…
I’m not entirely sure how much stock to put into these findings. But nonetheless, if women are indeed less happy overall, my first guess for why would be because we have more to worry about. Acquiring all of that education, coin, and leverage makes for a busy life. Especially if you’re trying to raise kids at the same time. Maybe you’re raising kids and juggling a divorce while deciding which pumps to wear to your 10am. All of this equality can be a bum deal for women sometimes. We want to do it all, but it comes at a cost. The word frazzled comes to mind. But I also think a lot comes down to expectations.
Something in common between my two grandmothers is that they both had pretty low expectations. By that I mean, they anticipated life would be difficult. And it was. They expected to lose people to war and sickness. And did. But I think it’s possible that they savored the good times even more because they’d read the memo—life is challenging and ends unpredictably. So work hard and then go spend a couple weeks of summer drinking beer on your boat.
But maybe I’m just being nostalgic for simpler times. Sucks to be stuck on the houseboat if you don’t like being a housewife. I think women are happy with what we’ve achieved. But maybe we’re too frantic with the day’s requirements to answer: “I am very happy.” I certainly have to remind myself while I’m setting my next goal that life is good.
Right now.
