Dear Darling Ones,

When I stepped out into the cloudy afternoon light from the darkness of a mid-afternoon nap, I had only two things on my mind: people who are wrong on the internet and people who are puzzling on social media.

I am the physical embodiment of the xkcd comic. I loathe letting people be wrong on the internet. There was a time in the distant past where I would not allow that to happen on my watch. I’ve spent probably years of my life correcting people on the internet. It’s an offshoot of dying on all the hills.

Right now I accidentally read a comment on an article where someone said, “Sorry, Poland. You’re in Eastern Europe. Just because you’re insecure about it doesn’t change history and geography.” And I’m all THE FUCK IT DOES. Poland has always been in central Europe and just because US History and Geography classes have failed you, dumbass commenter, doesn’t make Poland Eastern Europe. Consult a map, numbskull.

There, I feel much better now.

Now onto the puzzling thing. I’ve been thinking about this for much longer than it warrants, and yet my brain can’t let it go. I’m also willing to admit that my annoyance with this phenomenon is due to me being an aging asshole. And yet, and yet, I just want someone to explain things to me.

Here’s what’s been stuck in my craw lately: ladies, usually thin, white, and pretty, who record themselves talking to their phones all the time and then post stories on Instagram (and probably TikTok) about how quirky/funny they, their husbands, and/or their children are. Usually these videos involve a short set-up, a punchline, and then the woman looking at the camera like Jim Halpert from The Office.

What is this? What is the point? I really cannot figure it out.

• Is it an attempt to be relatable because the person feels like maybe they’re famous?
• Is it an attempt to be actually famous?
• Is it an extension of personal branding (barf)?
• Is it an attempt to be likable so people will fall under your influence and/or buy whatever it is you’re selling?
• Is it weird performative nonsense meant to foster some sort of community that doesn’t mean to come off as phony and contrived but totally does?
• Is it the continued evolution of wine mom culture and that’s why I don’t get it?

Perhaps they really want to share genuine pieces of themselves in an attempt to feel less alone in this crumbling empire. I get that, because same.

It’s just really hard to come off as genuine when there are fifteen other videos almost exactly like yours covering the same topics in the same manner by people who look pretty similar to you. Maybe the problem isn’t so much that so many people do this, maybe it’s that they’re bad at it.

There’s one woman I follow on Instagram who has done this sort of talking to her phone’s camera for ages, but it’s genuine and wholly original. It’s literally her riffing into the camera about whatever’s on her mind.

This comes off more judgmental than it should. I’m mostly curious about their motivations more than anything else. I always want to know what someone’s end goal in doing something is. My end goal is to be beloved by dozens and for some devilishly handsome tallish man to be so charmed by my words he sends me an email and then we fall in love the old-fashioned way, through electronic correspondence.

I’m also curious behind what motivates people on Twitter to steal someone’s two-week-old joke and try to play it off as their own. Also, plagiarists in general fascinate me as do con people. Also, men who only surround themselves with art made by men and does it feel kind of homoerotic to them for doing so? Also, most everyone all the time about anything.

Anyway, this has been what’s been swirling around in my brain this weekend. This, and how I think I’ve already unlocked the secret of #BarsOfSummer (1 cup sugar + 1 cup light corn syrup + any sort of thing you want to stick together in bar form).

Contemplatively yours,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

I’m not doing very well. I’ve fallen into a swamp of seasonal/situational depression and I haven’t found my way out of it yet. I’m labeling it depression though that doesn’t feel right. Mostly I’m cranky all the fucking time and out of sorts. I don’t know how to get back into sorts. Nothing I try is working. Patience seems to be the only cure for what ails me and there’s nothing I hate more than being patient.

Thus far I have tried not saying anything because I have nothing nice to say; shouting my displeasure to friends and the universe; eating a lot of ice cream; tons of masturbation; French fries; healthy salads; not showering; showering; naps; throwing myself into work; ignoring work tipped over on the couch reading a mystery; cookies; and Hawaiian Punch.

Nothing works. You know how Pigpen has that cloud of dust that follows him around? That’s me, but my cloud of dust is on the inside and it’s not dust it’s rusty thumbtacks and thistles.

Some lovely things have even happened.

I got a sweet text from my niece. The “I thought of you” message is my favorite genre.

I started planning the return of the Annual Minnesota State Boys High School Hockey Tournament party with BFK. The Hockey Tournament starts next week, and some place deep inside this excites me.

Neko Case wrote about Sinead O’Connor and teased that she’ll be writing about “Emperor’s New Clothes” specifically next week.

As soon as I click publish I’m going to make cheddar, bacon, scallion waffles and eat them while watching the season premiere of my favorite TV show, Top Chef.

All this and yet, my insides are still a floating cloud of pokey things. I know this is temporary. I know it. I know it. I know it. However, that doesn’t make this kind of mood easier to bear. It’s a fucking drag and I hate it.

Impatiently yours,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

I am writing under the influence of nachos. Despite having a very late lunch with BFK for CSA Thursday, I decided at 7:30 if I didn’t have nachos I would probably perish from this Earth. I went full on with these fucking nachos too — chorizo and two kinds of cheeses, refried beans and jalapeños, sour cream and extra salsa. When I make nachos I do not mess around. Remarkably, I had all this stuff in my kitchen (thanks past Jodi for freezing all that leftover taco meat).

Now of course, I’m slipping into a nacho coma and my stomach hurts a little bit. But there’s a Kenny Rogers special on TV right now and I wanted to write about my fucking period.

That’s right, I got my stupid period like some sort of young lass with a uterus that primes itself to give life. It is total bullshit. I haven’t gotten my period since February. I was six months into the menopause slide. Allegedly you are not officially in menopause until you go twelve months without a period. I say allegedly because I’ve read a bunch of stuff about menopause including The Menopause Manifesto and really the medical community knows very little about menopause and everything is just a guess. It’s stupid. Basically anything you feel after the age of forty they chalk up to being fat and/or perimenopausal. Thanks, that’s helpful

I know society wants me to fear menopause for that is when I will take on my ultimate form as a bent, old, sexless crone of little use to men and the rest of the planet. I have decided to ignore that particular form of patriarchal nonsense and really embrace aging.

I’m old. It’s amazing.

Even though I’m annoyed about the period situation I decided yesterday to really indulge in these last few bleeding sprees. Yesterday I ate approximately sixteen meals and was still ravenous. I’ve slept in and napped with reckless abandon. I spent hours zoning out in front of my favorite episodes of Dawson’s Creek, and I’ve had more orgasms this week than I can count. One of the joys of being a person who menstruates is you get really horny when you’re bloated and angry/sad/frustrated, probably peak sexiness, right?

This whole perimenopause/menopause situation reminds me of a great line from Maggie Nelson’s Argonauts, “She did not get the memo about being beyond wanting or wanted.” I’m hoping I missed that memo, because I still want and I want to be wanted. Boy, do I want to be wanted.

So there you have it. I’m old and horny and tired and legit cranky because I want to eat chocolate chip cookies but I’m too full of nachos.

Being a human is so fun,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

My intent today was to write about how much I hate being busy. I was gonna elaborate on how busy people are usually really fucking boring and how nobody wants to hear how busy you are. I wanted to say how I hope one of the things we take out of the pandemic is the ability to not be so busy all the time.

As I formulated my argument I realized how privileged I am to get to choose to not be busy. I’m able to support myself on one job that I work from home. Not everybody has that. There are people who have to be busy to stay alive. They need to work two or three jobs to support themselves. I wish they had the option to choose not to be busy too. Working full-time at any job should pay people enough that they don’t need to be busy all the time. I wish we had a guaranteed universal basic income so people could do what they wanted instead of what they have to.

So here, from my couch of privilege, I will say I hate being busy, nothing makes me crankier.* I don’t know how you busy people do it. I need a lot of time to read, to think, to tell Wendell what a fine cat he is, to daydream, and to write.

When people tell me how busy they are, I start reciting e.e. cummings poem “pity this busy monster, manunkind,” in my head. I know it by heart** because a lot of people in my demographic like to talk about their busyness. They seem to conflate busy with interesting. Busy people are the most boring to talk to. I don’t care how many meetings you have or how many activities you chose for your kids and how you need to shuttle them around for that. I do care what the last song you sang out loud was (Way Over Yonder in a Minor Key), what you had for dinner last night (a salad), and who your favorite Smurf was as a kid (Brainy).

Busy people are frequently the ones who like to be super condescending to those of us who opt out. I wish I had time to read, ring any bells? Other things people tell me they wish they had time for: cooking, writing, listening to music, and crocheting. It’s like I’m the only person on the damn planet with a hobby.

I won’t say we all have the same 24 hours in a day, because I recognize privilege allows for more choice in how to use those hours. But damn, give a slacker*** a break once in awhile. Also, maybe spend a few of your precious free minutes recognizing many of us do have a choice in busyness. It’s not my fault you choose to be super busy rather than spending time contemplating if you lived in Ancient Greek Times if you’d be a siren, a fury, or a harpy.

Probably a siren,
Jodi

P.S. Do you think busy people are also morning people? This is something I need to ponder, because morning people frequently bug me too. Like I get it, you get up with the roosters and get shit done. Your ability to be productive at ass o’clock in the morning does not make me want to speak before 10 a.m.

 
*this is a lie. A few things that make me crankier: Donuts with glaze or sprinkles, losing the remote control when I haven’t moved off the couch, bumping my head on anything, when Wendell butts up against my hand when I’m trying to blitz emojis, and Gwen Stefani.

 
**I know lots of poems by heart. Not in their entirety, but enough. If you ever want to charm me you can ask me to recite one. Or give me a donut. Or just say, “hey, what do you think. . .” My lack of busyness makes me totally easy. To charm.

 
***I’m not a slacker, but I am GenX. So. . .

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1. I already forgot what the first thing was gonna be. Oh. I remembered. We started watching Tiger King on Netflix. It is absolutely bonkers and is the first thing that captured all of our attention. We’re about 1.5 episodes in and I cannot wait to view it again tonight.

2. Speaking of tonight the boys are making homemade macaroni and cheese and homemade garlic cheddar biscuits because in my weird grocery shopping panic I ordered a stupid amount of buttermilk. And also I’m a cheese and pasta hoarder. I’m excited because I’m gonna try to let them make this on their own. Max is on biscuits and Cade’s on the mac and cheese. I’m gonna steam some broccoli because I really know how to bring it.

3. I got my period yesterday and I am unreasonably furious about this development. I haven’t had a real or regular period in like eons. However, I also have yet to go 12 months without any kind of period so I can be officially menopausal so instead the perimenopause rolls on. There must still be some estrogen in them there ovaries and really I just want to be fucking done with this. I’ve forgotten how annoy a real period is. I’m cranky and exhausted for no reason other than my uterine lining wants to exit my body. It’s really pissed me off.

BONUS THING: Today I played fetch with Wendell while on (in? how do we label these things) a Zoom meeting because I’ve decided there are no rules anymore and Supergenius HQ is a lawless hellscape.

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