Where my basic bitchez at?

ugg-boots

Confession: I am listening to Dolly Parton and reading a Harlequin romance novel about a librarian titled Love Overdue.

WHAT THE FUCK

(Yes, moooost of my blog post ideas of late are just retreads of the same theme: “OMG I just realized I can stop hating XYZ and repressing myself and just like what I like and stop trying to be a hipster! MIND BLOWN!” Yes, this is another in that vein. I WARNED YOU.)

You know what else I like, other than cheeseball books and the Gilmore Girls soundtrack? PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES. WEARING FLUFFY SLIPPERS. GREY’S ANATOMY. YOU’VE GOT MAIL. LIFETIME MOVIES. TOP 40 CHRISTMAS SONGS.*

All of which makes me want to stab myself in the face.

Or at least it used to. (Still working on it.)

See, at two weeks shy of 33, I’m starting to feel old. My time is limited. My ENERGY is limited. Constantly trying to suppress my uncoolness and censor myself and gauge what other people will like and present THAT while taking a dump on whatever is uncool or “basic” — all of that is EXHAUUUSTING.

I was watching Younger and the 20-something bi girl asked her older lesbian lover, “Wait, I’m attracted to a young hot doctor. AM I BASIC?”

Lesbian Lover answered, “Stop trying to be so interesting.” (Bless her.)

Pretty much how I feel. I’m too tired to try to be “with it.” I’m all out of hipster-related fucks to give. I can be a Cathy cliché if I want to! I can drink red wine out of a goldfish-bowl-sized goblet and eat a box of chocolates and–OK, maybe typing that was hard and I’m not QUITE there yet.

But my point is, being yourself is such a very nice feeling. It means you (I) have energy for OTHER things, like making art and noticing nature and making a pumpkin pie and then eating that entire pie over the next several days.

Where does the fear of being “basic” come from?

Nobody wants to be boring or uncool. No one is immune to trends. OK, maybe an imaginary Midwest housewife who unironically embraces, like, wooden chicken crafts and puffy paint sweaters and 50 Shades. (Ugh, can I do this? I’m feeling squicky again. I WANT TO BE COOL. Please don’t lump me in with Imaginary Midwest Housewife!)

Anyway, maybe Imaginary Midwest Housewife actually has everything figured out. And I don’t mean that in a Whiz-Bang Wow How Ironic and Subversive! sort of way. I really mean it. The people who aren’t trying to be cool, who unabashedly love what they love–aren’t they the ones who have everything figured out? Aren’t they the happiest? (Not rhetorical. I honestly don’t know, but I suspect maybe.)

Life is way too dang short for self-hatred and repression. Trying to be cool is just a reflexive response to insecurity. Image is not the best basis for decision-making. (Intuition is better.)

Now excuse me. I need to find out if our bespectacled librarian heroine gets it on with the strapping Kansas bachelor in the sun-dappled wheat fields.

:: CRINGE ::

(Hey, I said I was working on it.)

*Yes, also caps lock.

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