Yadda, Yadda, Yadda…

Wow, I feel like I have so many things to talk to you about today. I know they say nobody likes a Chatty Cathy, but I’m pretty sure that’s the general point of blogging…right? I got a new phone, I’m trying (mostly unsuccessfully) not to eat meat or dairy (pie doesn’t count right?), the weather is…I can’t even talk about the weather, what is this, a first date? Anyone in North America knows the weather is drunk and needs to call it a night ASAFP. Possibly other parts of the world too, I dunno…I don’t sit around watching the Weather Network so I’m hideously uninformed about what’s happening in other parts of the globe, weather-wise.

So I broke down and started a Facebook account, a page, and a Tumblr account. I’m on a roll. I’m fighting with Facebook already because they won’t let me name my page after this blog…apparently the title isn’t an accurate reflection of the page contents. Um, what? Ok, so maybe I don’t strictly confess stuff in the most true sense of the word, but I think I admit to a fair amount of nonsense online, and I think I should be the judge of whether or not I’m a basket case, and I most definitely am middle-aged. So what’s the issue here? Maybe I should just spam my own page with actual confessions about all the weird buffoonery I get up to, maybe that would make Facebook happy and boost my follower base; I’m not handing over my “payment info” anytime soon, so I gotta figure something out. I feel like I need to tread a bit carefully though, since Facebook pretty much owns the universe; Marky-Mark and his Techie Bunch can probably figure out a way to collapse my house of cards just for saying the word Facebook without proper authorization. And for calling him Marky-Mark. GULP! Stay tuned peeps, I feel like shit’s about to go down. And by that I mean that I’ll probably just post a few random confessions and then passive-aggressively accept my fate when The Book says I still can’t have my page name…

🎶…makes me that much stronger…🎶 ok, maybe jumping the gun a bit there. I like to pretend that my life has a soundtrack; I don’t think I’m alone in that either so don’t give me that look.

Hey! I have a crazy idea – maybe y’all can join me! It feels good to get stuff of your chest…and people must like doing it because, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I don’t think that the hashtag #basketcaseconfessions was a thing until I “hashtagged” it and now it seems to be getting some use so…wow, I feel like a pretentious ass saying I created a hashtag…is there a non-asshat way to say that? Sadly, I don’t think there is. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t pretty sure about it though…just know that I know that I sound like an ass. Anyway, maybe if you guys mosey on over to my page(s) and “confess” some of your own shenanigans, you could help me fight the good fight…what do you mean, I’m unabashedly plugging my own social media accounts? For shame!

Ok fine, maybe I am. Sorrynotsorry. So what else is new and exciting? Ummmm, well I got a new iPhone…I’m actually not overly thrilled about that to be honest. I was so excited because I thought that I was going to run out my contract for once and not have to pay an upgrade fee because I’m impatient and can’t go two whole years with the same technology, and then I dropped my phone with less than 5 months to go. Now a cracked screen I could deal with for a few months, but whatever happened to the phone when I dropped it messed up the inner workings too. It wouldn’t connect to my home wifi, and it would pretend to be connected to the cell network but wouldn’t actually load anything. Considering the number of social media accounts I now have to keep up with, that just wasn’t gonna work for me. So I had to early upgrade again, and there were no current promotions to get a zero-dollar iPhone 8 or X, so I had to settle for the 7 Plus (which is still technically an upgrade from the 7, but not the significant upgrade I was looking forward to). Wah, wah, wah right?? Po’ baby had to get a new phoney-woney and it wasn’t the one she wanted, boo-freakin-hoo.

Anyway, for those of you who may be wondering, the Plus line is HUGE! For reals. The phone’s like Sputnik; It’s a virtual planetoid – has its own weather system! Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m done. Ah, I kill myself…don’t let my shrink hear that, I’ll be back in the bin faster than I can say “Orange on a toothpick”. Now that was offside wasn’t it? I’ll be crying myself to sleep tonight on my huge pillow…seriously though, it’s ginormous. I have small hands, so that doesn’t help matters – no, I don’t smell like cabbage – okay! I said I’m done! I’m actually LOLing right now, if you guys find me even half as funny as I find myself then I think it’s safe to say I’ve found my calling.

So the phone is very big, it’s taking some getting used to. I like that it has a better camera, and the speakers are definitely louder. I’m struggling to figure out what to do with it when I’m out…I stopped carrying a giant sack of a purse some time ago, I’ve been surviving with a small clutch and my pockets but my pockets can’t hold this beast. How many dudes say shit like that; I actually mean it though and I’m a chick. Bazinga.

So I guess that brings us to my no-dairy, no-meat, no-fun lifestyle change and my raging success with that. That was sarcasm, in case you missed it. Heavy sarcasm. I did pretty well until the weekend…it’s dance competition season, so weekends can be pretty hectic. I found out the hard way that trying to be vegan on the go is no easy feat – kudos to all the real vegans out there who can actually make it work. I’m going to stick to using descriptors like “plant-based” and “mostly”; I feel like I’ll be much more authentic that way. It didn’t take long for me to tire of asking about vegan menu options and non-dairy dairy replacements – it only took me until my morning tea actually, because tea with almond milk is gross* – and we all know that I’m about as energetic as a sloth, so preparing ALL my meals beforehand and dragging them around with me just isn’t going to cut it. And so we’re back to “mostly”. I can’t tell you if I feel better or not because all the meat and dairy slugging through my system from the weekend is definitely clouding my judgement, coupled with the crushing guilt from my horrific failure to last even one whole week, and adding frustration from the colossal effort it takes to plan even one meal that’s not just a fancy salad. Throw all that together and I can’t say with any amount of honesty that I have even the foggiest of ideas what it’s like to actually be vegan. Other than endlessly disappointing. I am trying though, for serious.

🎶…give me tiiiiiiime….🎶Nah, I’ve already realized my crime. Snubbing meat and dairy. That’s my crime. Don’t worry, my digestive system is already punishing me. So I think that’s it for today, I wasn’t planning on such a massive information dump but maybe my brain is taking it’s cues from my intestines…

🎶…it’s my potty and I’ll-

Ew.

Fine I won’t. Ok I’m gonna go now, while I still have a semblance of a following – shout out to my Mom and Hubby – plus it’s getting late and I have to figure out how to make spaghetti without pasta or meat. So basically like a hot salad in the form of a sauce. Ge’ in mah bellay, Ah can’ stop eatin’. Ah eat because Ah’m unhappy an’ Ah’m unhappy because Ah eat. It’s a vicious cycle….FACK, sorry. Seriously, I’m done now. Muahaha.

Eat well peeps,

M

*If you have to use a milk replacement for hot beverages, I recommend oat milk. It’s the closest one to actual milk, in my humble opinion. Besides, nut milk sucks – it’s milk made from nuts, whaddyou expect??

Through the Insta-Glass, and What Manda Found There

What’s up docs? It’s been awhile, I know, I know…I could lie and tell you that I’ve been super busy and productive and just haven’t had time to pop out a quick post, but that would be untrue, and I’ll be damned if I’ll lie to you my people…unless it’s about where I was last Thursday at 2:37pm. I was not in the conservatory with the candlestick – or was I?? I’ll never tell.

For reals though, I haven’t really been that busy the last couple of weeks. I (mostly) kept my promise to clean up my Hoarding Room, binge-watched five and a half seasons of Scandal, did some laundry, played some Candy Crush, and managed to catch myself a seriously killer cold – it’s like Michael Myers in flu-form; that shit just will not die! I realize that while having a psychopathic-murderer-cold may be a perfectly good reason not to vlog, it doesn’t excuse my serious lack of blogging. So my apologies.

Actually, me feeling like death warmed over was my inspiration for this post. Here’s the 411: the hubs and I had a social function to attend on Saturday night. Social functions naturally being an instant cause for panic, being sick on top of it made me feel like I would rather stick needles filled with acid in my eyeballs than hit that shit. (Which, incidentally, I kinda did last Saturday which was the last day I felt passably healthy – fast food straws and moving vehicles don’t mix. You can find the pic on Instagram, if you’re so inclined.) This; however, was no ordinary social function that I could beg off at the last minute. It was a one year memorial Celebration of Life party for my hubby’s BFF. So kind of a big deal. Throw in a hundred or so people who I haven’t seen in all of that time and a possible hey-how-are-ya with the ex-wife (hubby’s not mine; that’s one thing I didn’t experiment with in college, pity) and you have yourself a serious case of Lorazepam withdrawal.

So what do I do? I decide that Friday night is the time to experiment with another thing I never tried in college – rag rolling. For those of you out there mouthing “WTF” at your screens right now, it’s not some oddly elaborate way to smoke weed. Not that I know of anyway. Try Google. The idea of rag rolling is basically just rolling your hair up in strips of fabric (I knew I kept all those mismatched pillowcases for a reason!) before you go to bed and waking up the next day with fabulously perfect curls. That’s in a perfect world. In my world, test driving a new hairstyle 18 hours before a big-deal soirée is a fine example of a fucking terrible idea. Let me just add here that I also decided to put in tape extensions, on Friday, which means I couldn’t wash my hair if it didn’t turn out. If you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, I repeat; Google.

I’m taking awhile here but I do have a destination I’m chugging towards; it’s 5am right now and I’m slightly delirious but just hear me out, ok? So it’s Saturday afternoon, an hour before I have to leave, and I unroll my fabulously perfect curls. They’re like six fat sausages; I’m channeling Shirley Temple like a Long Island medium. And then I make the fatal mistake. I brush them. Because at the end of the day, I don’t want to look like Shirley-freaking-Temple, I want to look like Mila-freaking-Kunis. What I end up looking like instead is Sideshow Bob. It was bad. It was horrible. It was EPIC. Right away, of course, I snap a pic of this catastrophe and send it to my Mom, because I know I can go to her for comfort and she won’t laugh at me. Shyeah, and monkeys might fly outta my butt. Several laughing-so-hard-I’m-crying emojis and a tentative “Can you try to wet it?” later, I’m feeling utterly DIY-defective but I have to roll with it. Long-story-not-short, my hair turned out fine (seriously peeps, Google!) and after a couple ‘pams and a beer or two (seven?) I mostly forgot that I started the night looking like I stuck my finger in an electric socket.

So where am I going with all of this? The next day, as I scrolled through my photos, I saw that my cringe-worthy “before” pic was followed by a fantabulous “after” pic, taken for perspective after I had tamed the beast and painted my face because the sun was shining on the bathroom mirror and I wasn’t sure if I had on too much blush. I didn’t. I looked picture perfect. I instantly opened Instagram to document this moment, when I hesitated. I try to be somewhat sparing with the selfies. No Kim-K up in here; plus, I don’t like setting standards I may have to live up to on a regular basis when it comes to my appearance. FALSE ADVERTISING, say it with me kids.

This is what I looked like for one night. The hideous “before” picture that my mother laughed at is what I look like all the time. And I feel like that’s a lot of the problem. Social media is a bitch. I mean, seriously…all we see are the picture perfect moments that everyone posts. Nobody posts the before. All we see is the after. Do you ever scroll through Instagram or Facebook and think “Where did I go wrong? Why is everybody else’s life so goddamn perfect??” Well peeps, I’m about to let you in on possibly the worst-kept secret since Brangelina: it’s actually probably not.

Flawlessly filtered selfies, yoga on tropical beaches, table settings and holiday decorations that would make Martha Stewart herself hurl politely into her designer handbag. DIY everything, no fails allowed. Perfect husbands, perfect children, perfect jobs, perfect pets for fucks sake! No wonder we’re all depressed – who can live up to that?? Or maybe a better question, who actually lives like that? Not this girl, I can tell you that much, but it never occurred to me to post the before; Christ on a camel-toe, who does that? Who wants everyone to see the real deal? The daily grind? Nobody’s posting when the shit hits the fan; when the angelic toddler you’re so accustomed to seeing on Instagram making “I Love Mommy” art is laughing with maniacal glee as they flush the wedding rings down the toilet, when the hair doesn’t turn out perfectly, when the boss says “So long, and thanks for all the fish” because a robot does it better, when asses go over teakettles on the beach doing yoga because sand, because-okay, now I’m just raving.

But why would we post that stuff? We’re given a perfect platform to showcase the very best our lives have to offer to everyone we’ve ever known – why would we not? What could possibly go wrong? How about trying to live up to to not only everyone else’s expectations, but the ridiculous expectations you yourself have now given everybody about your life? I can’t even really talk because, according to my very own social media pages, everything’s comin’ up Manda. And let’s face it, if all everyone posted about was the mundane, soul-crushing tedium of this hellride called “life”, we’d all get bored pretty damn quick. Eeyore might get invited on all the adventures, but nobody’s lurking his Facebook page, amirite?

Maybe that’s why we do it…to show that life is not a constant hellride. That our souls are alive and kicking. That we’re actually having FUN. Maybe I’m looking too much into it; some people probably do it to be uppity dicks but whatevs – if being dickish floats your boat then who am I to sink it with my righteous indignation?

A dick. I’m probably a dick if I do that.

All dicking aside, if you ever start beating yourself up or wondering if the grass is really greener on the other side of the Insta-glass, try to remind yourself that it almost definitely isn’t. Is your life truly what you portray on the World Wide Web? I know mine isn’t. So “like” that perfectly iced cake, knowing that there are probably at least 10 not-so-perfect cakes in the past that never made it to Instagram. “Love” that flawless family photo, knowing that there are probably hundreds of unposted photos buried forever in the cloud that are definitely not flawless. Comment “So cute!” on the meticulously trained puppy who probably pissed on the rug five minutes ago…am I venturing into dick territory again? I feel like I am. I blame Mercury, this retrograde nonsense is making me a tad snippy. Plus I’m hangry.

You get the drift. Saying the life that most of us portray on social media is freely adapted would be like saying that an acid-filled needle to the eyeball may cause some slight discomfort.

Here is my destination: Don’t let the ‘gram get you down peeps – it’s a rabbit hole with no bottom. Don’t fall in.

M

*Note* I’m glad I waited until I slept for an hour or two to review this. I feel like maybe I’m being overly venomous with my opinion; some people probably do have close-to-perfect lives. And that’s ok. I’m not going to not post this though. I know people who have actually suffered from depression and anxiety caused by looking too hard in the social media mirror. This post is for them. To those of you living up to your social media profiles – I salute you. To those of you beating yourself up for not “living the dream”, know that you are not alone.

The ever-quotable Dr. Suess himself once said:

Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is your than you.

And we all know better than to argue with doctors 😉

Be well peeps, xo