Shut up... you're the big baby.

A tiny person came to my house the other day. It appeared to be between zero and five years of age. I was making dinner, so I asked the other adults around if it could eat food. This got me an "Of course he can eat food!" but it's a totally legit question. The tiny person was wearing a diaper but used the toilet. I'm like, Bro are you a baby or not? He was confused about me too, so my mom tried to explain how I was her daughter. His takeaway was "You big baby."

Things I Never Thought I'd Say

You know how people compile those lists of Things I Never Thought I'd Say once they have kids? Well I'm collecting a good share of my own from living with my crazy mom:

"Valentine's Day just means you can wear red with pink. It doesn't mean you can wear earrings on your shirt."

"Good job not doing the dishes! I know that was hard for you."

"Babies can't smell soft. That's not even possible."

"It'd be nice if you wouldn't nag as a greeting."

"Please don't buy any more turkeys."

The difference between outrageous and extremely outrageous: pickles

I'm planning to host an international student for a term, but I'm a little concerned about how our delicate rental management company is going to take the news. I noticed in our lease (18.1.c), we could be evicted with merely 24 hours notice for committing "any act which is outrageous in the extreme." 

One time my brother and I spent an evening dipping everything we could find in peanut butter and eating it. (Note to Bright Apartments, in case you are reading this: This did not happen in your rental! This was a long time ago!) According to Merriam-Webster, "outrageous" could mean exceeding the limits of what is usual. People don't usually host international students. And so you see my concern.

Not Otherwise Specified

I'm down to just one job now, which is why there are sadly no more pictures of ridiculous products. And no more people shooting at me. So far.

I had to cut back to part time for health reasons. A few months ago I discovered something called Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I recognized myself in all of the diagnostic criteria, and finally the last fifteen years of my life made sense: All the bad decisions that seemed logical to my malfunctioning brain... all the times I inexplicably couldn't keep up... all my bizarre behaviors that I couldn't even explain to myself. This whole time I thought I was just stupid and lazy, ineffective, couldn't get it together. So it's a relief to finally have a name for this vague, constant feeling of swimming upstream. And it's helpful to accurately identify a problem before going about solving it. That's the good part.

The bad part is CPTSD is not included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, so my problem officially doesn't exist. The closest match is Disorders of Extreme Stress Not Otherwise Specified... you know that's going to be taken seriously. Anyway, I no longer meet all the criteria, so I doubt I will ever have the luxury of a diagnosis. Is it possible to be diagnosed retroactively? So far I haven't found a therapist who will even stray from the term PTSD, so how can I be effectively treated? And if mental health practitioners don't recognize a real problem, how can I expect anyone to understand?

The bad part is CPTSD is like an autoimmune disease of the mind (although it's an injury, not an illness). I have to guard against sabotaging myself. My brain is wired to see the negative in everything. Even when I make progress, it seems like I'm not making any -- but even that thought is symptomatic!

The bad part is that I don't know where to go from here. I don't know how I can even have long-term goals anymore. How will I ever raise a family when I can barely take care of myself? How could I have a career when I am so unstable? For that matter, how can I even plan for the weekend when I never know how I'm going to be feeling by then?

Not that I haven't been making plans for the last fifteen years, but I used to think I just needed to try harder when I wasn't able to follow through. I used to think "this day was just bad because I didn't sleep well last night" or "this year was off because of blah blah blah," unable to accept that insomnia is a chronic problem for me and the "off" times had long stopped being the exception. Now I realize that I will always be in survival mode, and coping well is the best life I can hope for.

Math, people. Math.

I recently attended a women's event with my church, and was told by one lady, "You're so beautiful!" immediately followed by, "How are you still single?" This is like asking, Why doesn't one equal two? I made the one extra big!

(1 + x) = 2

Answer: Because we ran out of numbers, so we had to start using letters. We're supposed to be solving for x here! Why are all the single men in my life still single? Doesn't it make sense that a quality woman might be more likely to be single because the available selection doesn't tempt her?

At these ladies' events, the first two questions that always get asked are, "Are you married?" and "Do you have children?" I'm just going to start countering with, "Are you published? Why not? Do you have any degrees? How many? What are their names?"

How to Get Girls in a Post-Dating Society, Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

Don't Wear the Pants*

First of all, if your name is something boring and respectable, adopt some kooky nickname, like... Mookie. That will be her first whiff of your utter manliness. Once that's settled, do everything you can to make her the man in this situation. Go ahead and ask her out to dinner, but when she accepts, twist it around so that she was somehow the one to ask you out. The key here is mixed messages. Tell her you'll make the arrangements, but by that you mean you'll give her some options. When she expresses confidence in your ability to plan the date, ask what kind of food she likes -- but when she answers you, don't just select a restaurant like some kind of patriarchal dictator! Give her some choices anyway. Whatever you do, don't make a decision. What if something goes wrong? You want to make sure it's her fault. If the whole business of planning the date takes fewer than three days, you're doing it wrong. This is best achieved by conducting the entire conversation through texting. (Bonus points for using ellipses to end every... single... message...)

Afterward, when if she indicates that she is not interested in a second date, deny that the first one was even a date.

Shame Her Into It

The goal here is to show the woman what a problem she is, in order to present yourself as a solution. Just watch how Felix does it. (Pro tip: Pay attention to his exquisite use of filler.)

"Blah blah blah how old are you? Blah blah blah you're single right?" Now step it up a notch: "Blah blah blah I know it's hard, being a single woman in this society..." (Show how understanding you are by offering your sympathy -- nay, empathy -- for how pathetic she is. Trust me, she will be shocked.) "...blah blah especially getting older..." (Never mind that you are just as single, and older than she is, and not a woman at all. Having a vagina is practically a disability -- one that you are totally qualified to represent because blah blah.) "...blah blah social status..." (Remember, "marital status" is synonymous with "social status," so choose the latter for the sake of clarity.) At this point, if she's not falling for you -- she never will.

*Figuratively speaking, I mean. If you're chasing women without wearing pants, this lesson is too advanced for you.

This is a ridiculous and embarrassing problem.

My current roommate is my mom (and for the record, this is not like last time when I moved in to her place; we actually got a place together). When I lived with her before, it was horrible because my mom is a hoarder and all her crap was everywhere. And she would get mad at me for being too loud at night and freak out when I had people over without telling her (even though I did tell her but she forgot... but I digress).

This time, she has to put up with my art and my fruit-bowl-made-of-chopsticks, and maybe she thinks this is payback time because I find myself nagging her to be quiet after 10 p.m., and clean up your mess, and no more friends over until you finish your chores. You keep on like this, Mom, and you'll be grounded till you're sixty-five.