MetaChat is an informal place for MeFites to touch base and post, discuss and
chatter about topics that may not belong on MetaFilter. Questions? Check the FAQ. Please note: This is important.
09 January 2006
I am a fu*k up. I need encouragement. Please, encourage me. {Less inside.}
You are not a fuckup. I encourage you to recognize that you are a rather lovely person. If everything is shit now just try to hold on. And if you ever need to talk, you've got my email.
So, let me get this straight: you're asking for encouragement to be a fu*k up? As in the finer points on perfecting such a state? Wouldn't that somehow be oxymoronic? I mean, if you were a successful fu*k up, then you wouldn't really be a complete fu*k up, would you? Because by being successful, you would thus nullify the fu*ked upness of your fu*k upitude.
Given the delicate complexity of that philosophical conundrum, I suggest you carry on in your very unfu*ked up manner and leave the truly fu*ked up stuff to the professionals.
We all have these times when we feel like we're total fuck ups. You accidently over-feed the goldfish. You forget the birthday of a loved one. You go to help someone but just make things worse. Yeah, weeks like that really suck.
But then one day you look out your window in the morning. It's a beautiful day and you just know from this point on everthing will be fine again. You walk out the door with a spring in your step and a new found confidence.
You've forgotten you left the iron on and your house burns down. Oh dear...
A well-meaning friend lent me a book called "Wild at Heart", a Christian self-help book. While I'm no fan of Christian propaganda, there was a central truth to the book: That all men (and really, all people) are "posers". Each of us cultivates the image we present to the world to make others think we are with-it, successful achievers in some manner or another. The truth of the matter is that none of us can live up to the images others project because none of us really lives up to the image each of us projects to the world. All of us likes to think of ourselves as "above average", but about half of us are below.
The key, then, is to recognize that even those we look up to have their issues, and also that even with the limitations each of us has, we have something to contribute to the world and can be, in our own way, successful.
No person who has friends is a failure; therefore, you rock.
At least you aren't currently being villified on some yahoo group that was started b/c you decided you'd had enough of high maintenance manipulative passive agressive assholes who pushed you over the edge and you shut the message board down you started b/c you felt sorry for them when they needed a needy ass codependent bitch dwelling even though you didn't know it until 6 months later and now they all think you're psychotic dictator.
A well-meaning friend lent me a book called "Wild at Heart", a Christian self-help book.
You should lend him Wild at Heart, the David Lynch self-help movie.
Muddie, you may have fucked up, but you're not a fuck-up. Don't forget all the things you've accomplished. Like becoming princess of #metachat -- they don't hand out crowns to just anybody.
What if you got cross-checked and the refs didn't call it because there wasn't no blood, but later on after the consolation dinner you didn't feel so good, so you went to the crapper and there was blood, you know, in the crapper? I mean, can you get the league to call foul retractively? 'Cause there was a foul, and there was blood, just later, eh?
How do I know you're crapping blood because I cross-checked you? You could have eaten a barbed Krusty-O or something. Besides, the name Hugh Janus implies a level of poop-shoot oddness that I can't be held responsible for. No foul.
Next time you step on the ice I'm goin' all Hanson brothers on you, jrossi4r. That's all I'm saying, eh? 'Cause the league'll probabably fine me if I tell you I looked in the bowl and my crap had the imprint of your stick on it, and your nametag showed up in reverse, pal, so I got your number, eh? Tattooed on my bloody crap!
How come if you invented it, you've had Canadian mercenaries do your fighting for you for the last, oh, fifty years, eh? Philly's just a bad hematoma waiting to happen, you glass-headed fool!
*wraps arms around jrossi4r's waist, spins him down*
That wasn't no hug, eh?
*hugs mudpuppie*
Just call me Hug Janus, sweetie!
*flails wildly until refs get into it*
How the hell did we have a hockey fight if there isn't no game on, eh? This is crazy!
*hangs up skates, for now*
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
