Last week, I wrote an “Open Letter to Mayor Bloomberg,” informing him he had no right to tell me how much Coca-Cola I am allowed to consume. After many comments about me sounding like “a high school drama queen” and telling me to “calm down,” I felt very discouraged, and even doubtful about my writing in general.
While I did get a few positive reviews, I soon realized that many commenters did not understand the tongue-in-cheek tone I tried to embody, and I decided to carefully read through each comment in effort to learn from what everyone had to say, even the nastier toned ones. Even if you don’t write on the internet and don’t regularly have strangers critiquing your words, we all face criticism of some sort on a daily basis — here’s how I learned to get the most out of it. Keep reading »
Ugh, it’s so unfair.
What did I do to deserve this?
No one ever asks me out.
Dating — or whatever you want to call the experience of interacting with the gender to which you are attracted — can be a very frustrating experience. Generally, we meet a lot of people before a connection is sparked and then pursued. And that connection usually dwindles and dies at some point, putting us back at square one, starting the whole search for a connection all over again. Basically, dating is a universal clusterfuck but it’s something that we all, at least at some point or another, take as a personal affront, as something we have a worse time at than anyone else. Like passengers at an airport going through security, we sometimes think of ourselves as victims of a process that we have no choice to participate in and that, for whatever reason, we’re the lone person to be earmarked for an extensive, invasive baggage check. Everyone else gets to waltz through without a care in the world, while we are held back and risk missing the flight to Happy Relationship Town. Keep reading »
I bounded down the stairs to show my mom my new frilly red dress.
“Oh Kimmi! You look so pretty! That is such a pretty red dress!”
I stopped mid-twirl, put my hands on my four-year-old hips, and looked at her accusingly. “You don’t like my blue dress?” I asked.
Flash-forward 30 years, and that easily hurt, overly dramatic little girl has become an easily hurt, overly dramatic woman. I’m not sure why, but I have always jumped to conclusions and distorted the truth, turning compliments into insults and finding ways to feel slighted in any kind of situation or exchange. Keep reading »