Nothing like a scolding to make you feel like a child

Lately I've been feeling like a grown up. I'm finally making good money, my clients like and respect me, I'm good at what I do and I know that I'm valued by my superiors. I have a grown up job and I guess in most ways I'm a "professional" (despite the fact that I work at a place where I can wear leggings as pants, my boss offers to pay for a team outing to see Reggie Watts and I can roll in late with no questions asked). There's no looking back for Kelsey.

Last week I was put in my place. Any notion of being an adult at work was stripped away from me; first by my own actions and then immediately after by my supervisor's shaming of me.

We have an office mom. Against her will, our office manager buys the coffee, keeps the kitchen clean and washes the dish rags; you know the deal. When I was hired a couple years ago, I became her number 2. Sure, I don't do the dishes nearly as often as her, but I am definitely the only other person who does. And I am the only person who cleans out the fridge. I try to do much more than my share because she shouldn't have to do it all and because I was raised in a family where we all helped out. I was raised with a kitchen conscience. Unlike all of my colleagues apparently.

So we had a staff lunch meeting and after the meeting ended, we all rushed back to our desks to catch up on our email. The kitchen is on the way so everyone took their dishes in and then what do you know? The dishwasher was clean so every single one of them dropped their dishes in the sink and walked away. I looked at that pile for a few seconds and thought "I'd love to go back to my desk too. In fact, I'm the busiest one of us today... but no, if I do that then Jill will walk in and she'll have to do these fucking dishes." So I did them. I was pissed and I slammed the dishes around just to prove it. But I did them. And as I did, I thought to myself "I'm going to say something bitchy when I walk back there because I'm sick of this." I've made jokes before about how "nobody else does dishes" and my coworkers always laugh uncomfortably or shy away, but nothing ever changes. So as I walk back to my desk, I'm planning my sarcastic statement. It's something along the lines of "thanks for leaving all your dishes for me to do." Sarcastic, simple, straightforward.

But I guess I was more pissed than I realized because my short and sweet jab ended up coming out like this: "Thanks for making me do your dishes again, ASSHOLES" followed by me throwing my notebook on my desk. I regretted it instantly. When it came out, it was supposed to be a typical, sarcastic Kelsey: "thanks assholes" like I'd say to my brother when he's irking me. But you don't talk to your coworkers the way you talk to your loved ones. I felt bad, but it was done and I let it go.

Thirty minutes later, my supervisor asks to see me. We go over some business and before I leave she says "we need to talk about the incident that just happened." To make this long story short, one of my coworkers told on me. Yep, she tattled. Instead of talking to me (even by email or chatting me, which would have been fine with me), she told our boss, making me look like a dick and an uncontrollable child. Ultimately, my supervisor was worried about me — why did I snap like that? Do I need to take a break? Am I too stressed out? It was hard for me to explain that I can just come off bitchy and that I really didn't mean anything by it.

But I was pissed when I said it. And also I did feel bad about calling them assholes. But they were. And they shouldn't get to treat everyone else like their mom. Maybe it wasn't very grown up of me to act that way but it is equally not grown up of them to expect others to take care of them. The least grown up part about this whole ordeal was that I was basically told I needed to apologize when my boss said "I'll let you decide if you need to apologize." Thanks mom. I felt like my sister told on me and I was being punished. "No TV unless you say you're sorry."

So ask me what was the result of me being totally childish and inappropriate at work?
Kitchen schedule.
We had an impromptu staff meeting (where I was essentially forced to apologize to said coworkers in front of everyone because I hadn't yet had the opportunity to say sorry in my own time) and it was decided that it was time for a kitchen clean up schedule. By god, it worked! Success!

Now ask me what I learned from this experience, other than that my coworker is a huge fucking baby?
Apparently it pays to act on your emotions.
I could just be passive aggressive like the rest of them 'til the end of my days, but I hate passive aggression. I believe in saying what you mean — though I typically choose to say it with more tact. So fuck office politics. Be a bitch. Say whatever you want when you want to and you will get results. You don't think those rich execs got rich by being nice right?

No but seriously, what I really learned is that no matter how well you were raised, there will always be people surrounding you who didn't grow up with the same values. There will always be someone who takes advantage of you. And there will always be people who prove to you that you are better than them. So thanks for showing me that, assholes.

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Being a boyfriend

Being one of the boys can be great. I feel funny and special and well-liked. But I also feel like a boy. I was invited into an obscene, hilarious, elite boys club. It exists in secret on the internet. In it, I don't often instigate, but mostly react. I observe and respond to the silly things they say, delighting in the absurdity while simultaneously passing judgement at the insanity of the way a boy's mind works. This group is crude and inappropriate and most certainly every single one of us is going to hell.

But sometimes hell is worth an invite. The first girl; what an honor. There has since been another lady inducted, but she's a foreigner so she hardly counts. I'm sure there was immediate behind-the-scenes backlash from the group when a "fucking girl" got invited into the boyfriends club. But I'm in and as silly as it seems, being in makes me feel like a cool kid. I grew up with brothers and a very strong mother so I've always been tough and outgoing. I'm vulgar and crass and much of my humor makes at least somebody in the room uncomfortable. I can make anything into innuendo and I can usually make anyone (save for the total prudes) laugh, if not with actual hilarity than at least out of sheer discomfort at hearing a woman talk like that.

It's fun being funny. I've even been told I'm "not just funny for a girl, but actually funny," which is possibly the biggest compliment of my life. Luckily, I'm the worst feminist in the world because I knew what it meant, I agreed with it and I felt honored to be better than a girl.

But I am a girl. I don't actually try — or even want — to be one of the boys. I'm not a tomboy, I don't like sports and damn it, I still cry when my feelings are hurt. I want to be loved by a man and I want to be taken care of and I want to wear makeup and go out dancing. Being a girl like me can be hard. I'm told I'm intimidating, which cracks me up because I don't think I'm hot shit at all. Usually I hate most of the things I do. The story goes that men are afraid of strong women, of being put in their place and probably of funny girls because they think they should be the funny one in the relationship. I do believe that gender roles are changing and that what's traditional is no longer typical. But I also know from experience that men, even the very progressive ones, usually end up with a lady, while girls like me make awesome friends. I'm on a search for a man who won't be threatened by my wit or my obscenities or the fact that I'm friends with a lot of guys. I'm looking for the guy who is not only comfortable with, but enthusiastic about dating a boyfriend.

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Lessons in impermanence

When you become an adult, you think your friendships are safe. You've finally reached the point where you are who you are and the people around you accept that and they choose you because they want you, not because you are a part of the path they are taking to become who they will become. This is it. These are them. These are my people. Never again will I have to painfully watch a friendship die. Not like when I was young.

Childhood friendship can be rough. When you are young, you are friends with whomever your parents place you next to. I lucked out that the girl I was next to as a nine-month-old in a backpack turned out to be my best friend. The rest of them — the ones from school and from day care and who lived on my street — they were just convenient. And in middle school, they were just placeholders. They sat next to me in class and cruelly made fun of the same lonely introverts and passed flirty notes with the boys and agreed that learning to smoke cigarettes was necessary and that piercing our ears with needles would define us and that we knew everything. But high school came and our interests changed; the boys we liked didn't look the same, the music we listened to was wretched in completely different ways, the parties were too insincere and the tears we shed, we shed alone. And then we moved away to college or just to explore and we made new friends. It was with them that we discovered things about ourselves and about the way life actually is. The ones that helped shape us — they stuck. They stuck even once we left our college towns and joined the world. They're the ones who still call and check in. They are the ones who can't wait to meet all the new adult friends who have joined our tribes. And together, they are all the ones who will be at our weddings and our dinner parties. And they are the ones we will never lose. Because finally, we are who we are and they have chosen us because they love us, not just because we are there.

But what about your closest friend who you lose because she married your brother and then she left him? What about the friendships that die, not because of you, but because of life? Losing a friend when you are young is tough because your self esteem is engulfed in it. You blame yourself and you obsess about what you did wrong or who you should have been instead. Losing a friend as a grown up because of what life throws at you is a whole different kind of pain.

I lost a lot when I lost her, not just her friendship. Until then, I believed that I was safe. That my life was heading in a direction that I had complete control of. I was learning to trust in others and the world. And then it blew up in my face. I had this part of my life planned out and in an instant it disappeared. I guess life was getting too comfortable and so for many months after it fell apart, I was angry and terrified of the world that I thought I had control of.

It's probably a good thing for me. I struggle to depend on myself for happiness and not on others. This lesson was good even though it tore me up. I cannot expect the people or the events in my life to go as planned. It's naive and it's detrimental to my heart. Frankly, it is foolish. I will continue to put love and faith in my friends. But my guard was so completely down, I didn't know how bad it would hurt. I have been lucky to have had very little loss in my life. I learned this year that when it hits you, it hits you hard. But despite every instinct, you can't let it swallow you. The hole she left in my heart now has so much more capacity to be filled; in the seven years I knew her, I was learning so much about myself and about my desires. I will fill it with the love of all my other friends and with the joy I find around me. But I know myself. My steadfast nostalgia will always keep a part of it empty for her.

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Tell your daughter she's pretty

My mom was a babe. A serious babe. When she was 13, she looked like a supermodel. In 8th grade she was voted "best looking" and in high school she was on the homecoming court in spite of being a total hippy that just wanted to smoke "spleefs" and spin pottery. She was beautiful. She still is. But being pretty affected her. It made her wary and distrusting. It made her self conscious and insecure. People don't want to be known for their looks. They want to be smart and have integrity and be looked up to. My mom is all of these things. But I have deduced that when she was younger, people couldn't see them as easily behind her beautiful face. She wanted her daughter to know them.

So she told me I was smart. And she encouraged me to sing. And she let me know she was proud of my grades and my accomplishments. But she never told me I was pretty. My best friend's aunt tells me I'm beautiful every time she sees me. It makes me uncomfortable. It's hard to hear when anyone says it, but especially coming from Aunt Jeri. Last time she told me how pretty I was, she could sense my sheer discomfort and said "didn't your mom tell you all the time growing up that you were gorgeous?" And I'm thinking to myself, "of course not." Maybe I am or maybe I'm not, but the truth is, I'd never know it if I was. When Aunt Jeri said this to me, I had to think about it. Had my mom ever told me I was pretty? One of the most basic things a woman wants to hear — needs to hear really — is that she's beautiful. And I couldn't think of a time in my life when my mom, the most influential woman I know, had ever said it. And it hurt. And it started to make sense.

I've always had low self esteem, even though I've been surrounded in people that love me. And while I'm outgoing and seemingly confident, it's usually countered with layers of self-deprecation. I have always been insanely envious of others and never satisfied with my own successes. I will not blame this on my mother. She did so many things right with me: she taught me humility and loyalty and responsibility and to accept consequences and to be fair and loving. She taught me to be analytical and strong and she taught me to be brave and to find peace despite my pain. But she never told me I was pretty. And I never believed I was. I hated the way I looked. I always felt fat, even when I wasn't. I didn't believe boys would ever like me, so I became defensive and jealous of anyone I thought was prettier than me. My own losing battle started with me hating the way I looked, and then acting tough because I had low self-esteem and then not being very fun to be around. It took me many years, many lost friendships and some later attention from boys and kind words from others, to begin to climb out of my self-loathing hole and start becoming a truly confident woman. But even now, though it can make me uncomfortable, the physical compliments put a spring in my step. That my outfit is great, or that I have a beautiful hair color or that I just look pretty that day.

I know a woman in Portland who has one of the cutest little girls that's ever graced the planet. Everyone tells her how adorable she is. And each time someone tells her this, her mom, being an amazing and smart woman, makes sure to also say: "You know what else you are? You are smart and you are you." It's a wonderful thing to see. But after a few very strong gin and tonics and a couple cigarettes, I finally had to tell Betsy that even though her parenting technique was inspiring, she better make sure she tells her that she's pretty sometimes too. It matters coming from your mom.

I finally asked my mom about it a few months ago. I didn't want to hurt her feelings or make her think I thought she raised me wrong, but I needed to bring it up because I believe it helped shape me. And that is when she told me that she never wanted me to feel like she did when she was young: that people only cared about her looks. That they didn't see her real value.

Aren't we women funny? Nothing anyone can do will make us feel whole. I want to be pretty. But isn't it better that I'm funny and loyal and smart? I know that raising your children is tough, that every word I say to them, especially when they are transforming, will matter.

So I'll tell my daughter she's beautiful. And that she has a wonderful singing voice. And that she is intelligent and a good person. But I'll try to only tell her just enough to keep her humble. And I can't wait to one day show her pictures of her beautiful grandmother in her youth. And maybe someday she'll tell her kids how beautiful I was too.

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Ya'll don't know what it's like

Being male, middle class and white. Sham on.

I had a really good childhood. I have an amazing, loving nuclear family. My parents are still married, and they still like each other. My brothers are great friends of mine and look out for me. I didn't have any abuse or turmoil in my life. We didn't have much money, but we didn't need it. I had clothes and food and friends and love.

My life has been good.

So how am I ever going to become a writer? I've never really seen myself as a creative writer. I'm an essayist, a humorist, a truth sayer. The problem is, I feel that I don't have a place deep within from which I can pull stories of bravery or dispair. I always imagine that any artist has that. A drunk dad who stole her confidence. A tragically dead sister whose loss changed his life. A military upbringing that meant a nomadic life across the globe, with new friends and new experiences and new names and faces. I never believed a writer came from small town America, where her nights were safe and her heart was full.

So what am I going to write about? From where do I pull the stories?

I recently met a man. An intelligent man, who is kind though often conceited. He's shy but knows how to make people laugh. He's quirky and odd, yet knows every meme on the internet. He is spiritual and in touch with his inner self, but normal enough that we can make dick jokes to each other. He's a writer and though I've never read his work, I imagine he's worked hard to make it decent. He left my life nearly as fast as he came, but before he ran away to play ranch hand in Nevada, he inspired me to put my "pen against paper" any way I can. He told me that I should start by writing my biography. I scoffed. What the fuck am I going to put in my biography? I'm a happy girl with lots of friends, a great job, and nary a sad story to tell.

But then I thought about it late into the night. A story doesn't have to be tragic if it has a point. My whole life has been filled with lessons. About how to love and be a friend and have integrity and how to be alone and be brave and be independent. And how to stand up to your brothers and be smart without being crude and be crude without being offensive and to be a woman without being a lady and to be yourself even if it isn't always who others want you to be. These lessons are all the same, they just get learned in different ways. So, I'll give it a shot. I'll tell my stories. The ones that are hard (even if they are just white girl pain) and the ones that are funny (even if I'm not as funny as I think). And maybe, just maybe, I'll write something good.

I. Am rockin' the suburbs.

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You've got the reverse issue with men

I'm describing a dream boat to my friend Erin. I won't say who he is, but I will say that I describe him as someone who is passionate about everything he likes, wants to share his personal success with his coworkers and who treats his wife amazingly.

Erin looks to me and says "You've got the reverse issue with men. You want a man that's too good." I laugh and return with "The problem is that my dad is such an awesome guy." So many girls go after guys like their asshole fathers. They seek out bad boys. They like men who treat them like shit and who make them cry and beg for love and affection. Daddy issues? My daddy issue is that I am truly and fully attracted to men who treat people well and have a lot of kindness in them.

So, the impossible search continues. Show me a guy who is passionate but sensitive. Show me a guy who's great in the kitchen and as great in the sack. Show me a guy who's fucking hilarious but also wants to talk about things.  Show me a guy who's ambitious but realistic.

Actually, scratch that. Show me a guy who loves me. That's it. The rest is just a bonus.

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Stuck in the middle

Okay, the binge is done. It's February now. I had my month of college nostalgia. My partner in red-lipped dancing crime has left me for Colombia so it's been a lot easier to settle down. For the most part I'm back to my regular, mediocre life.

But the next question, now that party stage 2012 is on its way out (save for the crazy bender I'm going on this weekend in Seattle), is "what's next?"

On Sunday I went for a hike in the NW Portland hills and I passed by these beautiful homes with spectacular gardens. This little piece of me yearned to be a homeowner and to go shopping for furniture and fancy kitchen appliances and to plant a garden and host parties and sit by my fire with a book and a love. But in a moment it was gone and I found myself suddenly jealous of my friends who were living large. Going out every night, doing blow like it's going out of style (wait, didn't it already?), banging different chicks every night and waking up to breakfast at Denny's. What is this? Some fucking movie about frat boys? But seriously, most of the people I'm jealous of are my guy friends who are not in relationships. They're the ones getting instant gratification. Honestly, I'm not actually very jealous of the friends that are in relationships, which completely contradicts my seemingly most important goal: boyfriend.

Suddenly I wonder, do I even want to fall in love? I spend so much of my time analyzing why I can't find it, why nobody wants to be with me. But when I really think about it, I wonder if I am just so terrified of losing my independence that in actuality, against my will, I'm trying not to fall in love... I think of all the things that change in relationships: the sharing of space, the constant communication, the answering to someone about your decisions and whereabouts, the need to please someone else. That doesn't sound fun at all. But then, I think about the companionship and validation. The sharing of life's important achievements. Having someone to count on. The ability to have sex whenever you want it. But then, the sex drive goes away and you don't want it. But then, you replace it with other things that make you happy like traveling and kids and growing old together. But then, the sex...

Take me back in time when I was 20 and it was all pretty clear: I'm in college. I'm going to class (sometimes) and I do homework (sometimes) and then I drink a lot and eat burritos a lot and do drugs and laugh and laugh and laugh. If a boy comes along, I might love him, or I might sleep with him, but I always know that it won't last because, well, it's college. I have the future to look forward to, but the great thing is that it's so far away I don't even think about it. I'm surrounded by friends, I get three months off for summer, my loans pay my bills and I sleep til 11 nearly every day. I'm a child pretending to be a grown up and damn it's easy.

Now I'm an adult pretending to be a grown up and it's hard because I just don't want to be.

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