Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff's Top 10 Online Dating Tips

This other lesbian whose blog I stumbled upon was doing a Top Ten Lesbian Dating Tips the other day. I was going to comment on it, and mention that I would soon be expanding on her concept with my own Top Ten Online Lesbian (and Other) Dating Tips, but she’s one of these blogspotters who doesn’t allow non-blogspotters to comment, so she will forever be in the dark. Sorry, man.

Some of you may ask: “Roro! Where do YOU get off offering online dating tips when you went online ONCE, found Ms. Right, filled out a profile specifically tailored to catch her attention, bought some credits to e-mail her with and 12 weeks later signed mortgage papers with her and a lawyer named Howard Stern?”

I would answer thus: “Just because I opened the door to love doesn’t mean I closed the door to judging others.”

Tip #1: Don’t mention your many cats and your myriad large bottles of lube in the same sentence. If/when we meet, I’ll be nervous enough already without constantly thinking about that Steve Martin sketch that ends with the line “That cat was the best fuck I ever had.”

Tip #2: It’s totally cool if you’re on medication. Half the people I love get by with a little help from pharmaceuticals. But if I know that you’re on medication because you mention it in your online profile, then I also know that you have disclosure issues. Thanks for the heads up.

Tip #3: Spelling. It’s the hot new thing. Look into it.

Tip #4: If you are bisexual, you have more to choose from! Fantastic! But if you’re a woman who’s looking for “either” and you spend your whole profile talking about what kind of men you like . . . you see where this is going. Similarly, if you’re a guy who says you’re looking only for men and you list one of the five things you can’t live without as “women” . . . The moral here is to really consider your audience - and review your ENTIRE ad before you post it.

Tip #5: A tiny amount of gentle self-deprecation is cool. Using words like “desperate and hopeless” and referring to online dating as your “last ditch effort to mate” - not cool.

Tip #6: If you indicate both that you’re interested in “dating” and that you are “in a relationship", you can’t NOT address that in your ad. If you’re an ethical slut, say so! Don’t expect people to deduce it. Also, a note to the personals people: why have “discreet” as an option in the relationship status section? Why not just have “cheating” or “sneaking around"? Euphemism is for the weak.

Tip #7: Dear JustMe368: Try to choose a user name that 367 other people haven’t chosen already.

Tip #8: Defiant statements like “I don’t have to sell myself” are incorrect. If that were true, you wouldn’t have filled the fucking thing out.

Tip #9: “Collect calls” or “winks", where you let another onliner know you are interested (but not interested enough to spend a dollar to send them a note) are for pussies. Committing to buy credits doesn’t mean committing to sign mortgage papers with Howard Stern. Get over yourself and make an effort.

and, finally

Tip #10: If your tag line is “chicken necks", choose your photo carefully.

I could go on. But instead, I turn it over to you folks. For you veteran online daters out there, please feel free to contribute your own tips - or post them on your own blogs! Knowledge is power.

Comments:

1. Thanks for the heads-up! I would’ve looked pretty stupid!

   Comment by JustMe369 — Friday, September 2, 2005 @ 7:36 pm

2. I do what I can, JustMe369 - I do what I can.

   Comment by Rose — Friday, September 2, 2005 @ 8:31 pm

3. thanks for the tips, rose. i used to have to go through the horrors of internet dating. the winks, the nudges, the misleading photos. now, i needn’t worry about such things. murray provides for all my needs. join us, roro, that’s an order.

   http://www.joinmurray.org

   in my pre-life i was known as chris, but now i am samson murrayflame.

   Comment by samson murrayflame — Sunday, September 4, 2005 @ 1:03 am 

4. Love the idea of people not being “discreet” and telling the truth.

   Comment by Lady Marianna — Wednesday, September 21, 2005 @ 6:55 am

Creampuff Didn't See This Coming

Baby Naming Update: You will all be surprised to learn that my friend Sapa didn’t go with ‘Finnegan’ and ‘Fergus’ for her new twin boys. She called the other day while I was out and Katr got the scoop on the names before I did.

Me: Ooo, ooo! What did they call them? Did they go for Finnegan and Fergus?

Katr: Apparently not. They named one baby William Gordon and the other one Edward Joseph.

Short pause.

Me: Soooo . . . they named the babies Bill and Ted?

I’m sure that someone has pointed this out to Sapa and Chdu, but when I spoke to a thrilled and exhausted Sapa yesterday, it seemed inappropriate to bring it up. She kept calling Bill ‘Liam’ and Ted ‘Edward’ but . . . come on. I think those kids’ll be spending a lot of time at the beach. Sleep well, babies - I look forward to witnessing your excellent adventures.

Comments:

1.  Holy fuck that’s awesome.

God gave rock and roll to you, little babies. lol

Comment by ers — Monday, August 29, 2005 @ 8:07 pm

Creampuff Has a Slim Purse - And It's the Only Slim Thing About Her

My little embroidered “wallet” bust its zipper the other day (diagnosis: too many club cards) and after nearly a week of dumping the large collection of contents into my bag every time I wanted a bus token, I decided that today would be the day to buy a new wallet.

Being of limited means (an Alanis Morisette-variety irony not lost on me) I (sigh) went to Winners for this purchase. Somewhere out there, my friend Sahi read that sentence, wiped away a tear and said to her man friend “Oh, honey. Little Roro’s becoming a woman.”

Winners is not my favourite place. You’ll often find 25 of the same extremely ugly pink faux snakeskin wallet with the Guess logo all over it and then maybe one sort of nice wallet. Then you might reach out to pick up the nice wallet and then the blonde shopping barracuda next to you might snatch it from under your fingers in case SHE wants it because it’s Winners and this is the only one.

I was willing to let this go, because really - I just wanted something functional. And you should have seen the Flo Jo set of talons on this babe. But as the barracuda picked over the wallet shelves, I noticed that she was taking ALL of the good wallets (three). And then she started walking around the store with them.

I tried not to let this bother me, but as I picked over the barracuda’s leavings, I grew more and more incensed. No one needs three wallets! She couldn’t have just decided which one she liked and left the other two for me? And why are the rest of these SO FUGLY? She doesn’t have a basket, I thought to myself. She HAS to put them down sometime. She won’t notice if a creampuff with a duck purse and a covetous look in her eye follows her around the store.

So that’s what I did. I followed this woman through the purse section, the sock area, the lingerie racks, the shoe shelves . . . I even followed her when she pointedly entered areas that didn’t apply to me (like “Petites"). I looked at size 4 sequined halter tops half a rack down from her until, in the housewares nook, I saw my chance. She had leaned down to pick up a large planter and found it was too heavy to lift with just one hand. She balanced the wallets on the shelf above and that’s when I made my move.

As the barracuda turned her back and bent over the planter, I sidled quickly up the aisle and snatched the wallet I wanted. Pausing briefly to check out her ass, I beat a hasty retreat to the cashier, weaving through the children’s racks and the clearance bins, being careful not to look back, as I know, from watching the Discovery Channel, that barracudas always go for the face.

The drama ends there - I bought my wallet without interference and emerged triumphant, blinking a little in the sun, feeling like I’d just won a race. I pranced my way to library for my research session, occasionally fondling my new wallet on the way.

So, now, I don’t know about this whole Winners thing. It’s still not a place I’d choose to shop but . . . if I was looking for a little action, a little DANGER in my life, I might consider going in again. Maybe the shopping barracuda has reminded me of something we lesbians have known for years. A little snatch can be really exhilarating.

Comments:

1. I AM proud of you! Especially the way you put those stalking skills to good use……….

   Comment by Sarah — Thursday, August 25, 2005 @ 11:40 pm

2. Thanks, man. I knew you’d be impressed.

   Comment by Rose — Thursday, August 25, 2005 @ 11:44 pm

3. I forgot to thank you for the info on Miss Chatelaine. I have been wondering that since I got the k.d.lang CD. So sorry for taking so long. But, this is hysterical. So, Winners is like a (shudder) Wal-Mart? Some take a litle longer learning about the snatch. I knew right away…

   Comment by Kristi Shupp-George — Friday, August 26, 2005 @ 7:05 am

4. Glad I could illuminate the Miss Chatelaine issue for you! And Winners - how to describe Winners? It’s simultaneously higher end and lower end than Walmart. They get odds and ends in every day, hence the “new store every day” slogan. I think they should change the slogan to “Come for the ‘bargains’, stay for the snatch.”

   Comment by Rose — Friday, August 26, 2005 @ 5:42 pm

5. Good God, I just had a Winners Wallet Epiphany myself! There must be something in the air.

   Though I worry. My wallet experience has actually led me to believe that there’s nothing wrong with Winners, whereas before, I felt like it was much like shoping at Goodwill, only everything was expensive.

   I’m starting to see the appeal. But maybe these skills would be better spent at Goodwill where my dollar goes a little further.

   Comment by Xara — Friday, August 26, 2005 @ 5:59 pm

6. You are a mistress of stealth.
   I’m glad le duckie purse is getting a workout.
   I hear what you’re saying about the pink snakeskin trend in wallets. I had to dig for, like, an hour to find the not-quite-lime green treasure I’ve been hauling about lately after the skinny little black one I got from my Grampy fell apart. And there was a lot of pink in the assortment, I noticed. And cranberry. The yellow was pretty anemic, too. And I was in Chicago. Marshall Fields, probably. The land of choice! I should have stayed home and gone into the back rooms on Canal Street to get the Faux-y Vuitton number with the cherries and whatnot.

   Comment by Chezza — Tuesday, August 30, 2005 @ 4:57 am

7. Cherries seem to be a big trend in purses these days. I stay away from fruit-related prints, in case I try to lick them in public.

   Comment by Rose — Tuesday, August 30, 2005 @ 6:59 am

Creampuff Has a Cold

Well, my mother always said that if you went to bed with wet hair, you’d get a cold. Actually, I believe her exact words were “you’ll DIE OF PNEUMONIA", but you know - same diff.

I must say that I find it extremely unfair that I’m coming down with a cold this week. This week, I am all excited about cooking at home instead of succumbing to take-out, finally getting back into working out, doing research for a new show and other good intentions. The ideal time to get a cold would have been last week, which I spent nearly half of sitting on the couch, eating pie and watching the entire 5th season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer into the wee hours of the morning.

Tip for you Buffy fans out there - don’t watch the Queller demon episode by yourself at 3 a.m. when your partner is on the other side of the country for work. If it wasn’t for the soporific effect of excess pie, I might never have gotten to sleep. And then when I DID get to sleep, I had nightmares about the Queller demon going for my pie.

It was actually another nightmare that tipped me off to my impending cold. For some reason, ever since I was a kid, I have the same dream whenever I am getting sick. I call it the “Giant Vacuuming Dinosaur Dream” and basically, it’s this dream where this giant dinosaur is trying to . . . .vacuum me. Presumably for the purpose of consuming me.

What’s funny about these dreams is that they’re not set in the jungle or in prehistoric times, or anywhere you’d expect to find a dinosaur. The dream takes place wherever I happen to be living at the time. I’m going about my daily business, having normal conversations with people, but I’m holding on for dear life to doorknobs, counters, bedsteads, major appliances, to keep myself from being sucked into this dinosaur.

On the rare occasions where I realize that I’m having the Giant Vacuuming Dinosaur dream while still IN the dream, I’ll let go of the jungle gym, desk or radiator, because I know that the sensation of flying through the air will wake me up and the dream will be over. Last night, though, I was distracted from this simple solution by the fact that I was being sucked into this dinosaur while guys in cowboy hats were robbing our condo. And let me tell you, it is HARD to get to the phone to call 911 when that dinosaur is sucking at your feet. From now on, I’m keeping my cell phone by my bed.

Anyway - I’m getting a cold. But I’m not going to give up, eat licorice and watch Buffy all day!! No, I’m not! I’ve got things to do, proposals to write, vegetables to crunch! I’m taking my Cold FX and I’m going to beat this thing!!

Right after my nap.

Comments:

1. Oh, the Queller demon. I like that episode about as much as I liked the X-Files episode where there was that creepy guy who went on blind dates with women and then killed them by putting some kind of slime all over their faces and like, ingesting all their fat cells or something. Which is to say: NOT AT ALL.

   Poor Rosie. No wonder you were having nightmares.

   Comment by Chezza — Wednesday, August 24, 2005 @ 3:10 am

2. Oh man, Chezza. I’d forgotten about that sick, sick X-Files. Must think happy thoughts . . . to avoid . . . nightmares . . . puppies . . . cute puppies . . . and ice cream and cotton candy and kittens . . . happy kittens with no fangs . . . kittens with fangs!! No!! Aaaaaaaaargh!!

   Comment by Rose — Wednesday, August 24, 2005 @ 7:25 am

Creampuff Names the Babies

So my good friends Sapa and Chdu became parents yesterday!! After months of bedrest and hospital hijinks, Sapa delivered 10 lbs of twins. 20 fingers! 20 toes! Breathing on their own! Both boys! And now, before Sapa’s really recovered, is the time for us to supply her with some KILLER baby names. Below are my suggestions - feel free to add your own!

The Irish Rovers: Call the babies Finnegan and Fergus. Dress them only in wee tartans.

The Salute to Old Hollywood: Call the babies Rock and Hudson. Always dress them a little TOO nicely.

The Down South: Call the babies Billy Bob and Jilly Bill. Encourage mullets and instead of teaching them “dog” and “cat", teach them that all animals should be referred to as “gators".

The 90210: Dylan and Brandon were LIKE brothers. Now they really CAN be! But maintaining one kid’s Luke Perry eyebrow could be time consuming.

The Outer Space: Call the babies Jean Luc and Worf. Teach one of them French and the other Klingon. Don’t let them read any slash fiction.

The Ivy Leaguers: Call the babies Prescott and Fussy (but pronounce it “Few-SAY"). Dress ‘em in those baby “Harvard” sweatshirts. Fill their rattles with loonies.

The Romantic Poets: Call the babies Blake and Byron. Get the one kid a stuffed tyger, tyger, burning bright. Encourage nature-worshipping pantheism and puffy shirts.

The Day Time Drama: Call the babies Brick and Victor. Don’t let EITHER baby fall into a well - they may come out looking like a completely different actor.

The Rimers of Eldrige: Any two names that rhyme. Paul & Saul, Mike & Ike, Mark & Ozark, - you get the idea. BUT when giving rhyming names, remember that the kids’ middle names should NOT rhyme. But they SHOULD be Latin. Mark Titus and his brother, Ozark Andronicus - has a nice ring to it, hey? Hey?

Name warnings: DON’T name one kid Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Perry Pembo. Those of us who read that book as kids remember that it didn’t go so well and people who haven’t read the book will just be confused by your kid’s name.

Comments:

1. I thought one of them had to be named Collin!

   Comment by Queen Katicus — Friday, August 19, 2005 @ 8:25 pm

2. No, no . . . twin dachsunds should be called “Colin". Or one could be Colin and the other could be “Firth".

   Comment by Rose — Friday, August 19, 2005 @ 8:28 pm

3. I keep referring people to the UTAH BABY NAMER at http://www.wesclark.com/ubn/ when it comes time to name the small fry, and then every time I look myself, I realize afresh that they are not actually kidding, and would probably think it charming if the twin boys were named Waynard
   and Welcome Exile, or Quejah and Questin. And here’s a site with the most popular names, which should probably be avoided due to their popularity, unlike the Utah baby names: http://www.ssa.gov/OACT/babynames/

   Comment by Chezza — Friday, August 19, 2005 @ 9:11 pm

4. Oh my god, Chezza, I checked out those Utah baby names and they were HORRIBLE - yet I couldn’t look away. Those poor, helpless kids . .

   Comment by Rose — Monday, August 22, 2005 @ 11:03 pm

Creampuff Carries On

I fear change.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Certain kinds of change I can deal with - for example, when I left home to go to university in a city where I didn’t know a soul, that was fun. When I was temping, I had a new job every few weeks and that was kind of fun. But when the three-digit area code changed for the part of Alberta I grew up in, I completely lost my shit.

The first time I remember being REALLY upset about change was when kindergarten ended. It wasn’t so much that kindergarten was such a gas - I enjoyed some parts of it, but I failed cut n’ paste and I was still mad at my teacher for calling me “gross". What she actually said was “Tu es une grosse fille!” ("You are a big girl!” - I was actually quite tall in kindergarten and was frequently mistaken by other teachers for an errant second-grader) but my five-year-old French ears only understood the “gross” part and I responded by eating all the math marshmallows while her back was turned. To this day, the taste of marshmallows fills me with bitterness.

My mother listened patiently while I sobbed over the ending of kindergarten and fussed over the great unknown of first grade. What if my kindergarten boyfriend Daniel and I were not in the same class (unthinkable tragedy)? Would the cowboy boot-wearing teacher, Mme. White, be as scary as she seemed? Would I be able to make it through the WHOLE SCHOOL DAY instead of just the half-day kindergarten demanded? Would there be math marshmallows?

My mom agreed with me that change could be excited but scary. She then employed the most cunning bit of reverse psychology I have ever experienced: in a tone completely devoid of threat or sarcasm, my mom told me that if I wanted, I could stay in kindergarten for another year.

This suggestion rocked me to my Strawberry Shortcake pyjama-wearing foundation. Stay in kindergarten another YEAR? How great! I would already know where the classroom was! I would work harder at cut n’ paste! I would tell my teacher on the first day that SHE was gross! But as I thought more about it, I realized that a kindergarten victory lap would have its disadvantages. My friends wouldn’t be staying in kindergarten, ‘cause their moms weren’t cool enough to let them. Grade One had longer days, but more field trips. My classmate Bo Fro’s joke about “Fart Edmonton” was the FUNNIEST THING I HAD EVER HEARD - what if he made MORE jokes and I missed them because I was back in kindergarten, grovelling for gold stars from the teacher who’d called me gross? Fuck kindergarten! I’m moving on!

“Well, okay,” my mom said, “if you’re SURE now.”

Well played, Barianne. Well played.

So our little SummerWorks show is over (thanks to all of you who came out to see it!)and again, change, exciting and scary, looms before me. This show - it was a lot of fun. We’ve been working on this thing for 8 months and now it’s finished. What will I DO with my time, now that I’m no longer helping with re-writes, buying granola bars to feed the cast, running around photocopying things, photoshopping pictures, cursing that poor guy with crabs? How long will our habit of endlessly quoting lines from the show go on? How am I going to make a living, now that I have no excuse not to get on it?

It’s at times like these that I have to pull out my mom’s sneaky move and play it on myself. Do I want to keep working on that show indefinitely? No. Do I have lots of other things I need to get cracking on? Sure. Is that MAPLE SYRUP on my chest? How the hell did THAT get there? Must have been while I was licking my waffle plate clean this morning. Mmm . . . waffles . . .and thus, with a bitterness, a little sweetness and a little stickiness, moving on occurs.

Comments:

1. mmmmm. waffles.

   Comment by Chezza — Monday, August 15, 2005 @ 11:12 pm

2. Perhaps while you’re deciding how to move on, we can fill our time watching your DVD box set of Firefly??

   Comment by ers — Tuesday, August 16, 2005 @ 6:12 pm

3. Ooo, good idea! Let’s make a date!

   Comment by Rose — Tuesday, August 16, 2005 @ 6:21 pm

4. Was that MY shirt you were wearing that now has maple syrup on it? Jeez .. you go to Vancouver for two days and your girlfriend gets maple syrup all over everything …

   Comment by Queen Katicus — Tuesday, August 16, 2005 @ 8:56 pm

5. Oh, honey - the maple syrup on my chest was actually ON MY CHEST. As in, on my skin. No shirts were soiled during the making of this post.

   Comment by Rose — Wednesday, August 17, 2005 @ 4:20 am

6. Oh. Ok, then.

   Comment by Queen Katicus — Wednesday, August 17, 2005 @ 6:03 pm

Creampuff in Training

It hit me this morning, while I was adding chocolate syrup to my strawberry n’ yogurt smoothie, that I don’t have much time left to train for the next Olympics.

I have fairly high standards when it comes to modern dance ("If I can do it, it’s not dance") and jazz music ("If I can’t snap along to it, it’s not music") but “If I can do it, it shouldn’t be an Olympic sport” just doesn’t cut it. I CAN do many Olympic sports - I ski, skate and swim - I’ve never luged, but come ON - the only difference is that I don’t do these things as well or as quickly as Olympians. Or even small children.

I’ve come to accept that I’m never going to make it to the Olympics in any of the traditional sports but I still feel there is hope. As we all witnessed with the ski ballet of yester year (see “Figure 1″, right), Olympic standards for sport can occasionally be lax. Katr and I feel the time is right to introduce a new component to the Olympic Games: The Creampuff Olympics.

Creampuff Olympic Rules

1. All competitors must be over 200 lbs. 198 lbs soaking wet - doesn’t count. Drink a malted and come back tomorrow.

2. All sports take place in an aqueous environment no deeper than 4 feet. Treading water can can lead to charley horse. There is no equestrian in the Creampuff Olympics.

Creampuff Olympic Events

*Sprinting (extra points for slow-motion faces and humming “Chariots of Fire")

*Cross-country Ski (extra points for superior leg extension and make consistent, delightful “bloop bloop” noises)

*Rubber Ring Retrieval Relay (Team Event)

*Water Ballet

*Synchronized Water Ballet (Team Event)

*Water Guitar (Last year, the Russian team took the gold with their rousing rendition of “Splish Splash, I Was Taking a Bath and then Stalin Shot Me")

*Underwater Emissions

*Cannonball

There so much to DO in preparation for this exciting move. Sponsorships must be sought (I’m thinking Krispy Kreme), outfits need to be designed by the special Creampuff Division of ROOTS Canada. Well, first ROOTS Canada has to start a special Creampuff Division - I bought a ROOTS bathing suit recently, but the thing is such a piece of shit that I’ve worn it MAYBE 6 times and already the lettering on the front has peeled off, going from a proud “ROOTS Canada” and little Canadian flag to “R OTS". Fuckers and their cheap creampuff suits.

We’ll be holding Creampuff Olympic tryouts in our building’s rooftop pool in the next few weeks. Watch this space for more details - and get working on that cannonball! I’m gonna get out there just as soon as I finish this pie.

Comments:

1. I think you could also try Synchro on Dry Land. I saw this in a show once and it was a very, very special 10 minutes. Two people waving a piece of shimmery blue fabric about 4 feet high across the stage, the synchro swimmers behind create striking poses…
   Eliminates the need for any type of holding of the breath or wearing of the unflattering noseplugs and the use of unflavoured gelatin and/or vaseline to slick the hair back. (Although I hear from my dear friend Lebo that the unflavoured gelatin has the delightful side effect of providing a deep protein treatment for the hair, leaving it silky soft.)

   I can’t WAIT to see the Cannonball event.

   Comment by Chezza — Wednesday, August 10, 2005 @ 6:46 pm

2. Okay, but can you get ski boots to fit your legs? If anyone can get ski boots to fit their legs, they are not true Creampuff Olympians and must get kicked out. Please forgive me for going off topic here, but I remember a while back you were talking about a Miss Chatelaine magazine? The k.d. lang song is stuck in my head and I was wondering if, besides the magazine, you had any background info on just who the hell Miss Chatelaine is? Thanks for any light you can shed on this subject. Now, unfortunately, I have an appointment with heat stroke and the lawn.

   Comment by Kristi Shupp-George — Wednesday, August 10, 2005 @ 8:41 pm

3. “Underwater Emissions”

   Sweet Jesus that’s the funniest thing I’ve read all day.

   Comment by ers — Thursday, August 11, 2005 @ 1:56 am

4. If you’re cross-country skiing in the water, there’s not need for boots! Silly Kristy . . . As for Miss Chatelaine - Chatelaine (chatelaine: n 1: the mistress of a chateau or large country house 2: a chain formerly worn at the waist by women; for carrying a purse or bunch of keys etc.) is a “women’s” magazine here in Canada. k.d. “big dyke” lang was, against all odds, on the cover of Chatelaine and she wrote a song about how strange it was. I think. The song (and video) are meant to be ironic. At least that’s what they told us in Performing Gender class . . . hope the heatstroke didn’t get ya!

   Comment by Rose — Thursday, August 11, 2005 @ 2:24 am

5. On Roots bathing suit: I wore mine in an exceptionally chlorinated pool in Ottawa (Berin can testify) and some of the dye leeched out- but from the lining only. Keep in mind I’d already worn this bathing suit like a 100 times in a chlorinated pool……..anyway, the black die was gone from the lining, leaving it beige……..except it left a DETAILED IMPRINT of my body in black. Showing someone this bathing suit would be like standing before them naked. Jason has named it the “Shroud of Turin.” lol

   Comment by Sarah — Thursday, August 11, 2005 @ 10:00 pm

6. Stop with the underwater emissions and you won’t damage your Roots bathing suits. It’s just logical. They weren’t designed with constant befoulment in mind.

   Comment by Special Olympian Mike — Friday, August 12, 2005 @ 7:16 pm

Creampuff Offers Some Behavioural Feedback

Well, The Meeting opened at SummerWorks last night and we felt the love! Thanks to all of you fine people who came out, played Bullshit Bingo and laughed at the dick jokes. If you liked it, tell your friends! And if you didn’t, keep it to yourself. We’re trying to make back our investment. Looks like we’re not gonna get any help on that front from NNOW Magazine - I’m not going to say the name of our reviewer, but I do know a critic there whose name rhymes with Blenn Bumi and he, ah . . . has crabs.

In other, but not completely unrelated news, our last wagtail platy, Low Self-Esteem, whom some of you may remember from a previous post, died yesterday after a short illness. While the death of Low Self-Esteem the fish is indeed tragic, it struck me that the death of low self-esteem as a crippling social problem would totally ROCK. Read on.

Just a couple of days ago, I was having a chat with two lovely and talented loyal readers, Hapu and Klsp, and Hapu offered me a fitting story for today’s discussion. Her friend, Hapu said, was married to a man who was like a five year old - spoiled, comes from money, only child - you know the type. Apparently, this guy had called his wife of two years that morning to say “You didn’t tell me the milk was SOUR!!” and then hung up on her.

Klsp and I were aghast. “So the milk was sour! What are you gonna do? And who doesn’t sniff their own milk? Was he like this BEFORE they got married? Did she KNOW?” Apparently the wife of Sour Milk Man knew full well what she was getting into with this guy but went ahead and got hitched anyway. What would make someone DO something like that? Brain damage? A dismissive review from Blenn “Itchy Genital Area” Bumi? No, ladies and gentlemen, I think we can find our answer in the flush of the toilet - thataway goes Low Self-Esteem.

It might be too late for Mrs. Sour Milk, but Hapu’s tale and Low Self-Esteem’s death have both inspired me to make good on some threats I’ve been making for awhile. I have a few people in my life (no, not you) who are constantly, exhaustingly, pointlessly and frustratingly engaging in the kind of needy self-deprecation that is only born of low self-esteem. I feel like their low self-esteem is something I need to address with these people. Is it my job? Am I a licensed therapist? No. But I do know that if someone had addressed MY constant, exhausting, pointless, frustrating needy self-deprecation back in the day, instead of just waiting for me to finish and then changing the subject, I would have figured things out much faster.

To that end, I’m thinking of taking Katr’s approach when she deals with these kinds of issues in professional situations. She’ll say to the person “Are you open to some behavioural feedback?” And if her prey assents, she will then outline the problem in a helpful way, using “I” statements and constructive criticism. An example would be “I find the number of words you use confusing. By stating the same thing in ten different ways and then drawing my attention to several issues that are relatively insignficant and aren’t my issue anyway, you end up obscuring your point, weakening your position and frustrating your client - me. So, to sum up: use fewer words.” Then she gets out the flowchart.

I would LOVE to apply this technique to the self-deprecation/low self-esteem problem. I think I too would start out with “Are you open to some behavioural feedback?” People with low self-esteem often allow themselves to be bullied and I’m bigger than them, so I expect permission would be granted fairly quickly. I would then lead with:

“You’re great. You’re funny and smart and talented and, if I may say, hot. And I like you. But this self-deprecation - well, as my brother says, it’s so ’90’s. When you refer to yourself as “fat” [in this context, “fat” is synonymous with “ugly"], “incompetent", “untalented” or “useless", I understand that you are trying to bolster your self-esteem by having me reassure you that you are none of these things. But by doing it constantly , you are inviting me to buy into your own self-hatred, and after a while, I am so worn down that I will start to agree with you. Because I am mean.

I’m really sorry that you don’t dig yourself. But let me tell you, and I speak from vast experience: Hating yourself is so fucking BORING. Liking yourself is SEXY. So my advice to you is this: self-deprecation is OUT. If you haven’t gotten to a place where you like yourself yet, try to pretend like if you have. ‘Cause one day, you may wake up and realize that you DO. And then I will take you for pancakes and maybe we’ll see some ducks.”

Harsh? Perhaps. Presumptuous? For SURE. I’ll let you all know how it goes. In the meantime, guys, if you have people in your lives who are ripe for this kind of advice - lay it on them. You may make an enemy of them for awhile but in the long run, they may appreciate your meddling. OR they may give you crabs.

Stay tuned for next week’s incredibly preachy post: I’m Sorry Your Parents Fucked Up, But It’s Time to Move The Hell ON. I look forward to your behavioural feedback.