Haters Gonna Hate, But I Can’t Shake It Off

In 100%, genuine honesty, I think that I am a relatively decent human being. I very rarely think to myself; “oh you’re sh*t. Just go back to bed, maybe try again tomorrow or don’t, who would really care anyway?”

I mean, yes. I know that I can be egocentric and sometimes hard to deal with, but in the times that those occurrences happen, it’s usually around my mom or my best friend who just understands that it’s a mini-phase that I will get over quickly; and then be back to my merry self.

In my every day life, I try to be humble. I try to be funny and fun and full of energy. I try to learn about the people around me and what interests them or at least something interesting about them. I try to make friends and enjoy being myself. At the risk of sounding egotistical, it’s usually pretty rare that I come across a person who dislikes me from the get go. But it does happen. And it has happened quasi-recently. I met someone who decidedly dislikes me as a person. And while I’m okay with the fact that they dislike me, what I don’t like is the fact that I don’t know why.

I have tried and tried to wrap my brain around why this person seems to have a general dissatisfaction with me, but I keep coming up blank. I’m not trying to be perfect or defend myself or make myself seem like a victim. Because trust me, being a victim is something that I will ever allow myself to do in this lifetime, but I can’t seem to recall saying more than three sentences to this person directly and there they are, constantly putting me down. I genuinely have no idea what I have done to be the recipient of such harsh comments and it really bothers me.

I could normally brush off a “hater,” but that’s usually because I know what I have done to receive their harshness. In this case, I feel totally in the dark. I hate that it bothers me so much. I hate the fact that I have no control in this situation and that I am seriously clueless when it comes to the reasoning behind the negativity. I hate it. I just absolutely hate it.

I know that it’s not one of those situations where this person is picking on me because they don’t know how to be my friend because, obviously, we’re not in grammar school anymore. We’ve outgrown that phase.

I just wish that this person could be adult enough to say, “You know, I have an issue with you because of reasons A, B, and C.” I would feel better knowing that there were legitimate reasons or things that I could potentially correct or apologize for, rather than being in this spate of unconsciousness to the problems that remain.

UGH. Seriously, drop me a hint, because I am certainly not a mind reader, and I don’t pretend or try to be either. Let me know how I can make this better. Maybe not for you, but for my own brain to rest at least.

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The Burden of Being an Over Thinker

I read. I read a lot. I am almost constantly juggling four or five novels at once. I like to get all wrapped up in a good story. So, it makes sense that I have come to adore certain quotations and novels more than the rest. A certain quote that has stuck with me through many years and countless stories is from the novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by author, Jonathan Safran Foer. The quote reads:

“I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.”

A truer quote or novel about being an over thinker never did exist.

Thinking is necessary. Overthinking is a burden.

I am what you may refer to as a chronic over thinker. I am a giant “what if?” person, and I would say that in normal daily functions, I can control it; a few times in a calendar year, I will go into an overthinking frenzy.

I can start by thinking, “what if I cancel and reschedule my dentist appointment?” And end up at “what if they detected mouth cancer and if I had gone a week sooner I have a better chance to live?”

I can decide that, “I want to take an elective because it’s easy” and think myself into the fact that a “grad school will never accept me because I look like a slacker for taking yoga, then I’ll never get a job or make any type of money and then I’ll be homeless and have no teeth.” But I guess that negates scenario one, so that’s a win, I suppose.

I can work in the opposite way too. I can spend $2 on a scratch off ticket and before it’s even touched by a coin, I will have thought; “what if I win the grand prize? Now I can pay back all my student loans, buy a car, take a trip around the world and open up some coffee shop where all of the items on the menu describe your personality instead of an actual drink (I.E. I’ll have an “I’m a Morning Person Naturally” which is a decaf coffee with cream and a dash of sugar; or an “I Pretend I’m a Morning Person Naturally” which is a regular coffee with two shots of espresso, some cream and four sugars).” But then, when it comes back that I actually won nothing, I think; “now I’ve now wasted $2 and that money could’ve been pivotal in whether or not I’m able to pay my rent this month.”

I like to dissect a situation. I like to get right down to its core and figure out what the problem is, then I like to rebuild it with possible solutions and ending scenarios for any turn of events. I don’t like to think of myself as either an optimist or a pessimist, but instead a realist. And realistically, nothing is certain. And uncertainty is the biggest issue for an over thinker, because uncertainty means more possible outcomes.

What if I don’t graduate college? Or what if I don’t find a job when I graduate? What if I never pick a career that interests me? What if I never make any money? What if I don’t care that I don’t make money? What if I just want to live a life as a nomad? What if I chase happiness instead of success? Am I a failure if I don’t care about money? What if I make it big? Will all the money actually make me happy? What if I give everything up and it doesn’t work out?

What if I never meet someone to love fully? What if I never have kids? What if I have a kid but don’t know who the dad is? Will my family disown me? What if I can never have children but don’t know it yet? What if I have a kid who turns out to be an assh*le? How much of that is my fault? Or what if I meet my soulmate tomorrow? Would I be ready for it? Would I let him walk away because I think I’m too young? What if he wants 12 kids straight away? What if he’s an heir to some great fortune and we can travel the world on his trust fund? What if he’s broker than me (hardly possible) and we’re happier than church mice?

What if I have pizza for dinner? What if I really wanted Mexican, but settle for pizza because it’s what everyone else wanted? Is that symbolic of my life? What if that means I’m a pushover? Will I be a pushover in every aspect of my future?

What if? What if? What if?

It’s a sick, never ending chain and it’s enough to drive a person crazy.

I don’t ask that people understand it or analyze my analysis of life. I just need the people in my life to know that when I say I’m having a hard time turning my brain off, that’s exactly what I mean. I cannot get my brain to stop what if-ing. And sometimes; what if-ing makes the computer crash (by computer I obviously mean, my thoughts, my disposition and my general outlook on life). The computer crashes, we take it in for a hardware replacement (a thick dose of reality: “you’re ‘what if-ing’ yourself out of being happy again”) and a software adjustment (normally a long chat with my Mom) and life continues as if the computer had never crashed at all.

I never asked to be an over thinker and I’m pretty sure that it came somewhere in my warrantee that it was one of my issues, but if you signed on to have me in your life at some capacity; you can’t make this problem about you because first of all, it’s about me and second of all, the self-preservation in the form of passiveness sends me even further into a “what if” and “why” spiral. (Why are they being short with me? What if they’re mad at me? What if I’m being selfish? Is being stressed and a little sad a selfish thing? Why am I feeling bad for feeling how I feel?)

This is a problem that takes time and a certain amount of “I know I’m better than this” to get over. I wish that I could say it was an instant fix, but let’s be real, I need about a solid 5-7 days to “what if” and wallow until I wake up one morning and want to punch the mirror for how schlubby and stupid I feel for having let it carry on so long. So until then; just let me what if. I recognize that I’m being crazy and that’s at least step 4 in the recovery process. So just let me be crazy and don’t try to invalidate how I feel. I don’t walk around telling you that you have no reason to be happy, so don’t tell me that I have no reason to be confused or upset. People can be any emotion they want for any or no reason at all. Let it go. It’s not your choice and it’s not about anyone but the individual them self.

A List of Questions that I Need a Guy to Answer

I have some questions for the gentlemen fanz. I know that you are few and far between, because what guy wants to hear me b*tch about PMS or see my OOTD? But still, for the ones who are out there in MazLand, please, feel free to private message me the answers, because I am dying to know.

  • When you invite a girl over to cuddle and watch a movie, is that really what you meant?
  • Do you actually hate rom-coms or do you just pretend that you do to look manlier?
  • Why do guys find it attractive when two girls kiss?
  • How often is too often to text you?
  • Why do most of you assume that girls put on clothes and makeup to impress you?
  • At what point does a girl go from someone you’re hanging out with to someone you’re dating to your girlfriend?
  • Is it cool or uncool that some of my favorite movies include X-Men, The Godfather and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure?
  • Do you want a girl to make the first move?
  • Can a girl ask you on a date or is that too forward?
  • How annoyed do you actually get when we say things like, “I don’t care. You pick.”?
  • Why do most of you dance like noodles?
  • Do you really think that all we want as gifts are jewelry, purses and/or perfume?
  • What is the annoyance to hotness ratio? Like how much annoyance or b*tchiness will you put up with if the girl is smoking hot?

Just a few things to think about. Please help, if you can, I am genuinely curious. Thanks a ton.

The “What the Hell Was Happening Last Night?” Blog

Have you ever had an experience that is so unreal, you wake up and you barely believe that it actually happened?

I don’t know if it’s lucky or not, but I can say that I actually have those kinds of nights frequently.

Last night was one of the weirder ones though and that’s saying something.

I was at a club called Cirque Le Soir.

And it was awesome.

I felt like Stefon from SNL would have really appreciated it. This place had everything.

I was with a group of girls for a friend’s 21st birthday and we were all ready to get weird (not in a weird way). There was so much going on all around us.

We showed up around midnight and got led through this basically sound proofed stairway and were greeted by a giant. No joke, this dude was probably 7 feet easily. He also didn’t speak English very well.

Then, we enter the actual club and there’s steam and smoke and fire, everywhere.

Legit, everywhere.

It’s a wonder that place hasn’t burnt to the ground yet.

We’re shown to our table, which was very close to the DJ. We had some dancing and some laughs, then the bottle service arrived. In the form of some sort of clear skull liquor.

My word, served in the essence of death because I think it’s primary goal was to kill us. Wow.

Then the show started.

The ring leader welcomed us to the Cirque and brought out the performers.

There were strippers dressed as angels and some in pajamas. It was so weird. But they were dancing to Beyonce and I was cool with it.

After the lights dimmed a bit and the club really came to dancing life, it was at this point that I found my way to a ball pit and was just chilling in there for a while, making small talk with the ball pit life guard. I honestly don’t understand how ball pits were so much fun when we were little. I felt to gross, like I wanted to take a shower after, that thing has to be a bacteria breeding ground. But, it still felt like a totally necessary thing to do at the time.

After the ball pit, there was a mix up with some midgets and a face painter. There was a human covered in basically a giant spandex pillow case, just contorting weirdly. One of my friends made out with the giant clown.

Overall, the whole night, it was just so bizarre.

It was most definitely something out of a dream or a night mare, I still can’t quite figure out which.

How Do I Know You Again?

A few days ago, I was walking through Regent’s Park with one of my friends. I was telling him this hilarious story about that one time back in Philly during freshman year of college, and asked him if he remembered it.

Totally spaced on the fact that I actually was friends with him in high school. Not college. He had no idea what I was talking about, he doesn’t live anywhere near Philly.

Something has happened to me in my adult life. I have become very scatter brained as to how I met people, especially when my worlds collide.

I am currently in London, but met up with my friend from high school; he is currently in town visiting his girlfriend from college at home who also just so happens to be studying in London this semester. It’s got my brain doing all kind of weird tricks.

I keep finding that the more experiences I have, the harder it is for me to keep track of what people I have met during those experiences. I think my brain will explode the day that one of my friends that I’ve made on the London trip came to visit me in Hometown, NJ. I’ll probably think that I met them in middle school and try to bring up old stories from seventh grade literature class with Miss Sullivan.

Fifty Shades of What?

So, by now, I think that everyone knows about the 50 Shades of Grey and if you don’t, well, where have you been? Basically it is a movie (actually it’s a Twilight fan fiction with the names changed and the vampirism taken out), about a couple in a very physical relationship. They are into some weird sh*t. BDSM, the whole nine yards.

This is a concept that has been visited in low-key erotic novels and crime shows like CSI (Did you ever notice that in every version of CSI, there is a case where someone is murdered at an underground BDSM brothel?). Call me conservative, but getting punched in the face or choked or whipped or having to call someone master or whatever other crazy sh*t happens, it doesn’t exactly give me butterflies. But, I digress, there are lots of people who are into it.

This all has a point, I swear! So, my friends came into town last weekend. I figured, okay, perfect. They’re coming on a Thursday, we can go down town to the Borrough Market, check out a few cool pubs before heading to a place with music and dancing. I had a really great time doing something similar a few months ago and was ready to try a few of the bars again.

I took them to this really cool place that I remembered. When I went before, there were barely any people there. The lights were dim, there were some hotties playing darts. It was a quiet place that was good to have a pint and chat.

Well. This time was a bit different. There were a ton of people! I thought that it was a little weird, but chalked it up to the fact that the last time I was there, it was a Saturday at around 11:30PM. This time, it was a Thursday at about 8:30, that’s when the city really starts to come to life. Anyway, we go into the pub, we snake through the giant crowd and finally get up to the bar and order our ciders. Cool. Perfect. Great.

As we are standing off to the side, a middle aged guy approaches us. Me, being me, I roll my eyes internally and think, oh great, it’s already starting. Three young girls, and a mixed age bar, this was bound to happen.

Well, what I wasn’t expecting was that he was wearing a “GREETER” badge and for him to ask us if we were there for the event.

OH! There was like a company event or something! That’s why there were so many people that looked like they were middle-aged and just got off of work here. That makes sense!

Wrong.

We said no, and he then proceeded to inform us that the half of the bar where we happened to be standing was an ongoing event for people interested in kinky sex.

OH. MY. GOD.

What the actual f*ck?

The bar was PACKED to the brim with some freaky ass people.

And we just got our beers.

So, naturally, we sat down at a table on the other side of the pub, away from the event to finish our drinks. We were only approached two other times and hard-core stared at by this dude in a red sweater for basically the duration. One guy called us all vanilla. And we had no idea what that meant. When I Urban Dictionary’d it, it made sense.

Lesson learned: make sure you look up to see if you are accidentally taking your friends to a kinky thursday event, prior to purchasing a drink.

Cookie Cutter “What Confuses An American About London” Post

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I have moved to London. I am living in a beautiful section of the city that is jam packed with people from all over the world. Including, but not limited to, myself and fellow Americans. And while I have been absolutely loving some of the differences, for instance, the people walk around like they just walked off the runway and the streets are so clean, I would probably eat off of them (not actually, because that is super gross, but you see what I mean). There are also some things that just baffle me.

I don’t understand:

  • Why peanut butter isn’t really a thing. Because, I love me some peanut butter and it was about 4 pounds for the tiniest little jar that didn’t even really taste like peanut butter. Like, it tasted like creamed peanuts and not at all like the sugary happiness that is Jif.
  • How everyone literally looks like they stepped out of a Top Shop Advert. Honestly, this isn’t a complaint, it just confuses me that everyone looks so good all the time. I can only pull that off about two days a week. The rest of the tim I just look like a yeti on heavy narcotics. It’s not good.
  • Crossing the streets. Just in general. I appreciate when the street says either look left or look right, because I never know which way the cars are coming from, but then I get to an intersection with no pedestrian crossing signs and I basically book it across the street and hope that no one is about to swing around the curb. It’s a dicey game, there’s usually only a 50-50 shot that I’ll live to see the next cobblestone.
  • Why I haven’t seen a single royal. Like, aren’t they opposed to be locals? Where are there. I hang out by the palace on the reg, and nobody in or out, not even a single time that I’ve gone. It’s bullish*t.
  • Why they don’t refrigerate their eggs. Honestly, is that even okay to not do that? I’m not entirely sure, but they don’t.
  • Why the police and ambulance sirens are so loud. Okay, so I know it’s important that they are heard by everyone so that they can make it through the streets to their important destinations, but it’s ear-piercing, even when I am comfortably situated at my desk on the eighth floor of my flat. I still cringe. Are they trying to wake the dead too?
  • The staring. Londoners are intense starers. Like, to the point where you feel super insecure about what you’re wearing or how you’ve styled your hair. Isn’t that supposed to be rude to do? Because I am about ready to go home and totally reevaluate, even though I thought that I looked great when I left 20 minutes ago.
  • The serious back-up on the music scene. Dude, if I’ve been listening to that song since last April, and it’s just starting to get popular here, what have they been doing for the past nine months? Similarly, the clubs and bars have the best worst music ever, like we’re talking “Now That’s What I call Music Vol. 1” status. Hits of the 90’s and 2000’s into the wee hours of the morning (Honestly, no complaints on that, just confused).

That’s just the list of my top few confusions. But honestly, I have no complaints. I am in the most wonderful city with the most beautiful people (seriously, ugly doesn’t exist here). So, I’ll remain confused, as long as I get to stay.