Dear Darling Ones,

I am frustrated. I’m nearly 50* and not only do I still get crushes on men, I still get all sad and stuff when those crushes start seeing women who are not me. It sucks. Isn’t this a stage of life I should have outgrown by now? Why does this keep happening and when will it all end?

God, why does being attracted to someone and having feelings have to be so embarrassing all the time? I hate it. I need my ice-robot heart to re-engage and save me from this humiliation. I’m blushing as I type. This is all so gross.

To make matters worse my stupid brain keeps singing those two lines from The Replacements’ “Valentine” on repeat. Are you strung out on some face? Well, I know it ain’t mine.” Sometimes my brain is a real jerk. I get it, brain, he does not like like me. Thanks for being an asshole about it.

I’m not shattered by this development. It’s not a cry your eyes out while listening to “Someone to Pull the Trigger” situation. It’s more annoyance. I don’t even want to date anyone right now. At least I don’t think I do. I keep telling myself that I will investigate that portion of my life once I finish revising The Beast. And yet here I am, low key angry that he doesn’t want me back. How dare he find someone more appropriate and who knows what they want and is not me? Rude. How dare he not want to spend his free time making me feel good about myself and listening to me talk about the new Liz Phair? Disrespectful. How dare he give up the opportunity to make me feel less alone while I spend my time figuring out if I want to be in an actual, factual relationship? Barbaric.**

Ugh. I am burning with so much shame I picked up my phone to see what the temperature was because it suddenly feels very warm in here and I kind of need the AC to kick in ASAP.

Today I finished reading a biography of Truman Capote and at one point after he breaks up with a lover Capote says something like, no matter, to really write one must be truly alone. I keep trying to hold the idea behind the sentiment in my chest, but then my fucking brain keeps singing Are you strung out on some face? Well, I know it ain’t mine.”

All I want in life is to have two contradictory things at once. Also, someone to figure out what to have dinner every night for the rest of my life. And also, to go back in time two hours ago when I returned that biography without finding that passage and writing it down.

In happier, unrelated news, I got another new shirt. This is technically my third new shirt. First was Stevie Nicks, then Joan Jett, and now the wise old owl. I’m digging wearing clothes that were made for women and have some character. I am not digging how expensive clothes for women are. I think the last time I bought shirts they were from the Big & Tall Men’s store and I got six of them all in black or navy blue for like $40.

Also, as you can see, I’m still knee-deep in my yellow period. What you can’t see in the photo above is that my underpants are also yellow. That wasn’t planned. It was just a happy accident.

In fact, I’m so deep into my yellow period that when the plant store that I ordered my birthday tree emailed me to say they were out of yellow pots I had to have a long, frank discussion with myself about whether I should choose another color or cancel the order. I decided the tree was more important than the pot so I chose another color, but I wasn’t thrilled about it.

Bleh. I’m gonna go eat some ice cream and try not to think about stupid crushes and being embarrassed by being so stupidly human all the time.

Jodi

P.S. I am for sure eating a Tootsie Pop while wearing a Tootsie Pop shirt. Much like the yellow underpants, it wasn’t planned, just a happy accident. After I popped the sucker in my mouth I was all, “Oh, I’m gonna take a picture.” I keep a small jar of Tootsie Pops on my kitchen counter because I’m a grown-up and I can.

 
*I’m only eight days into being forty-nine, but I’m just gonna play up this FIFTY thing for an entire year. Deal with it.

 
**I spent a lot of time writing today and with the thesaurus because I tried to use the word “pain” thirty-nine times in one paragraph.

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Dear Darling Ones,

I am not a joiner. Like Groucho Marx, I don’t want to be a part of any club that will have me as a member. Some of this comes out of self-preservation, rejecting people before they can reject me. Some of this comes from snobbery. I tend to think anything that is wildly, insanely popular across a broad range of people is bound to be mediocre.*

Because of this I rarely take part in the reindeer games that flit across social media. I don’t quote tweet and answer a lot of those questions designed to get a lot of tweets. I don’t share every astrological thing that personally victimizes me by being so damn accurate. I don’t share pictures of me as a child fashion icon or the last pic saved to my phone that’s an accurate representation of my mental health or the last meme or whatever.

I also try not to judge the people who do all those things all the time. I constantly have to remind myself of two of my life’s mottos:

1. You can go ahead and shut the fuck up.
2. People are not required to use social media/conduct their lives the way you want them to.

It’s surprisingly hard not to be a total dick all the time. I have deleted so much snark it cannot be quantified. A lot of times typing it out is enough for me because by the time I get ready to click post my “Go ahead and shut the fuck up” directive has kicked in.

So last night I went against my better instincts and played the latest Spotify reindeer game. This one involved them telling you about your unique musical tastes. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing, and when my niece shared that her #OnlyYou Unique Artist Pair was Liz Phair & The Weeknd.** My heart exploded and I wanted in. I mean, come on? LIZ PHAIR! That’s all me, Darling Ones. My influence. Mine.

Even with Jaycie’s influence I still hesitated, watching the little Spotify story on my phone. But then it said something like my unique moment was playing “The Modern Leper” by Frightened Rabbit at night. Seeing that pop up felt simultaneously like someone reveling my deepest, darkest secret and also like, “hey, we see you Jodi, doing your best.”

It made me both happy and sad. I still listen to “The Modern Leper” most every night, because it helps me sleep. Doing this also makes me feel a little bit like a psychopath or maybe someone who still sleeps with their security blanket from childhood. Admitting this is weird and makes me feel vulnerable.

For awhile I tried to listen to The Marfa Tapes before bed, but the laughter and banter between some of the songs would shock me awake because I thought someone was in my room with me.

So I posted it to my Instagram and of course the first thing I see when I jump to Twitter is a bunch of people reposting some guy making fun of people for doing exactly what I did. My first reaction was, “aww man, I knew it was dumb to share that.” My second reaction was, “Fuck you, why you gotta be such a dick?” My third reaction was, “Oh, aren’t you just super cool and unique shitting on something people are having fun with?”***

This is why I hate people. They are the worst. Zero stars.

In happier news, there’s a new member of the Sadness Garden. His name is Cub (after my Grandpa St. Martin) and as you can see above he came in a yellow pot because I am still knee-deep in my Yellow Period. I put him next to Muriel (named after my Grammu) and they both live on top of the bookcase that was my Grandpa’s. I got Muriel when my Grammu died in 2003 and that means that I’ve kept her alive for eighteen years and I think that makes me the Greatest Sadness Gardener of All Time.

Masochistically yours (because I love modern lepers all the time, it’s a reference to the Frightened Rabbit song),
Jodi

 
*See: Twilight, Any singing competition, All the Law & Orders, Arcade Fire, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Lana Del Rey, that book about Crawdads, BLTs, any author whose first name Jonathan, Radiohead, National Honor Society (I only joined because my English teacher made me because she said it would look good on college applications), etc.

 
**My unique artist pair was Soul Coughing and Taylor Swift.

 
***A little too ironic, and yeah I really do think

The post I’ve Got This Disease I Can’t Shake & I’m Just Rattling Through Life appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

I need wrap up this whole answering the questions things because I made the header images awhile ago and tomorrow is the last entry in the COVID Diaries.*

Fun Fact: If all I ever wrote about was being a 6’5″ woman, Dawson’s Creek, and Tootsie Pop flavors I would be the most popular blogger in all the land. I’d be the Homecoming Queen of Bloggers. Seriously, a vast majority of the search terms that bring people to I Will Dare dot com relate to those three things. One that seems to be making a surge lately is about male attractiveness due to the The Official Matt Dillon Attractiveness Scale. Ellen Willis,** I love people who Google.

What is the best?

• Peanut butter spread on honeycrisp apples that have been sprinkled with a little salt\
• The way my cat jumps on the couch to get pet when I say, loudly, “What up, Wendell Gee?” whenever he comes downstairs
• Central Air (It’s been ass here in the Twin Cities for the last week)
• This gif
  
• Radishes
• Matt Dillon
• The 13 seconds from 2:00 to 2:13 in the PTMM version of “Can’t Hardly Wait.”
• Gin & Tonic & Lime
• Making your friends laugh
• French toast with peanut butter and maple syrup
• When anyone, but especially your niece, says, “I got that book you told me about and I love it.”
• Writing on a fresh sheet of paper
• A crowded dining room table
• Being seen
• Books
• The look you get right before someone you want to kiss you kisses you
• Top Chef
• The color yellow
• I saw this or heard this and thought of you

There are a floppity-jillion other things I could list, but I’ll stop there.

Am I too boring?

I doubt it. We all think we’re boring.

What is the only true currency in this bankrupt world?

What you share with someone else when you’re uncool.

what does badonkadonk mean?

Butt. Ass. Bum.

What is the definition of burgeoning?

Beginning to grow.

Why is Pacey better than Dawson?

Because he saw Joey as a full person and not as an extension of him.

How much money did Dawson get from Mr. Brooks?

It’s never explicitly stated, but it’s enough to pay for Joey’s tuition and room & board at Worthington, the imaginary ivy league university she attends.

How does Abby die in Dawson’s Creek?

She drunkenly falls off the pier, hits her head, and drowns.

What episode does Mitch Leery die? Why was Mitch killed off on Dawson’s Creek?

He actually dies at the end of the third episode of season five, but they deal with his death in the fourth episode. I read once that they killed him off because the actor was all, yeah, I’m done. There’s nothing else for Mitch to do here.

Who dies in Dawson’s Creek?

1. Jen’s Grandpa
2. Abby Morgan
3. Mr. Brooks
4. Mitch Leery
5. Jen Lindley

When do Joey and Pacey get together?

Their first kiss is season three episode seventeen when Joey goes to visit AJ and discovers he already has a Joey. Our Joey calls Pacey to come and get her, and eventually his kisses her. However, I wouldn’t consider them really together until episode twenty-three when she ditches Dawson to join Pacey and Dawson makes this face.

There were a bunch of questions about Tootsie Pops but I don’t feel like answering them, unless of course Tootsie want to ply me with a lifetime supply of Dots & Tootsie Pops. Don’t tell too many people, but I will work for candy.

See you tomorrow for the covid diary farewell,
Jodi

 
*You when the COVID Diaries are over.

 
**I don’t know about God, but I do know about Ellen Willis and she is my deity of choice.

The post The COVID Diaries: Answering Googlers’ Miscellaneous Questions appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hey Darling Ones,

Did you ever watch “The Good Place?” It’s a really good show about philosophy and the afterlife. If you’ve never seen it you should watch it now and thank me later.*

There’s a great scene in the season two where the nerdy, super smart, and indecisive Chidi explains that his brain sounds like a garbage disposal with a fork stuck in it all the time. It’s always grinding away at things he’s afraid of or things that he wants or wants to want. . . it goes on.

When I first saw that scene I felt the warm glow of recognition you get when art puts to words something about yourself you could never describe before. I too have garbage disposal fork brain. My brain is always churning, churning, churning, usually through myriad** topics. Occasionally it will get stuck on one topic, which is the worst because then the churning feels obsessive. I much prefer the aimless churning to the obsessive churning.

Today I’m obsessing because the shopping cart on a client’s website went kablooie and I cannot fix it on my own. This problem is driving me bananas because it’s requiring the two things I hate the most: patience + needing help from someone else. Yuck.

Of course my brain is constantly churning away at the problem telling me if I do this or that (which I have already done) maybe I’ll stumble on a solution. My brain is so focussed on this one thing I can’t even read the Sylvia Plath bio, and I miss her. I’m at the part where she’s in a class with Anne Sexton that’s being taught by Robert Lowell!

At least my yellow yarn arrived today. I’m hoping to reach a meditative state by crocheting while watching cartoons.

I am in misery,
Jodi
 
*This is the part where I go into Jack Black as Dick in “High Fidelity.” In my head, I’m doing the whole I’d think that you’re a cinematic idiot and feel sorry for you. I can do the whole scene, the Rob Gordon parts too.
 
**That’s good, but Heather would never use the word myriad.

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Hi Darling Ones,

I got the yellow headphones and as I suspected they have fixed all the things. I’m unendingly content and frequently experience bursts of unmitigated joy. My loneliness has vanished along with my self-doubt, shame, and guilt. My hair is shinier. My muscles are stronger. I sleep the gentle slumber of the righteous and the just. My food tastes better, my plants are greener, my orgasms more fulfilling, and men are forming a line to be my true companion.

Told ya so. If there’s an end to hunger, war, and pestilence tonight it’s because I put those yellow sheets on my bed. You’re welcome, humankind.

Even though I have tons of guilt over buying the headphones, I cannot deny they make me grin with happiness when I catch their reflection in Gladys’ screen. They’re so shiny and yellow! It’s a beauty crowds me until I die situation.

The guilt is a side-effect of growing up in poverty. Whenever I spend more than $20 on something I don’t actually need* I fall into a shame spiral. What if I can’t pay my electric bill next month because I bought those headphones? What if I can’t afford food next week because I bought the headphones? The repercussions of poverty are long-lasting.

Well, that turned into kind of a bummer. I’m struggling with the words this week, Darling Ones. Everything I type feels forced and phony. My mind is not in the game, so to speak. I started an 1100-page biography of Sylvia Plath. I’m a bit obsessed and also angry that I cannot read the biography while simultaneously re-reading The Bell Jar for the fourth or fifth time to see if I like it yet. Also, I’m spending a lot of time thinking about being an Art Monster with a dash of Rickie Lee Jones’ “Do women have an impact on men or is it only the other way around? Well, depending on which men you read, I suppose the answer is no, men alone influence women. What a crock of shit.”

And on top of all that, I suddenly have to work like a real grown up, which significantly cuts into my daydreaming/pondering time. My brain is not used to this kind of discipline so it’s a little slow going. I’m so out of practice that I’m having troubles switching between web design/copywriter brain and witty, imaginative writer brain. It will be much easier once I get back into the routing of daily work and writing. But damn, if finding that groove isn’t proving to be a pain in the ass.

The groove is not in my heart at the moment,
Jodi

P.S. If you’re wondering what happened to the blue mullet, it disappeared. While I loved the way the blue looked on my grey hairs I did not love the way it looked on my non-grey hairs. I’m gonna try copper next to see if that’s more my jam.

 
*Books and records are things I need. I would, in fact, probably die without them. I’ve pre-ordered so many records lately that I can’t even remember what I ordered and expect to have a summer filled with delightful surprises.

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