Furiously Happy (34 page)

But I noticed something in common with each of those quotes. One was my ability to fuck all of them up. The second was that they were all better quotes than anything I'd ever write. And the third, and most important, was that perhaps I was judging myself by the wrong sets of standards.

I started to think about the way that I viewed success and realized that I didn't really want to lower the bar (because the bar was already so low that I kept tripping on it) but that I wanted to take the bar and throw it like an Olympic spear into the leg of Mark Twain and all of the other shiny, successful, imaginary people I was judging myself against. And then I realized that this would be illegal and would also require me to go outside and have better aim and get a lawyer and so instead I said “fuck it” and decided to stop even looking at the shiny people (who were possibly only shiny because they were hiding very dark secrets that I would pay good money to hear) and instead just change the way I define success. And you can do it too.

Are you successful? Let's see. I'm a big fan of self-tests. The ones where you end up a dog, or a tree, or a
Game of Thrones
character. Let's do one now:

The Very Important Quiz

Are you reading this or listening to this on tape? That means that you care about being a better person, or that you want advice on how to spear people in the leg. Either way, you're attempting to better yourself. Give yourself 10 points.

Now add 10 points for every time you accomplished the following:

• Didn't kill a spider. (Double the points if you helped it outside by shooing it and talking to it. Triple point score if the spider got on you and you didn't automatically smoosh it.)

• Didn't punch an asshole in the neck even though you really wanted to.

• Fell and didn't immediately yell at whoever was closest to you.

• Didn't use the word “supposably,” “liberry,” or “flustrated.”

• Took care of an animal. (This amount doubles each time you walked a dog in the rain, rescued a stray animal who was in the middle of the road, or emptied a litter box. Emptying a litter box is basically like serving as a cat's toilet. It's the best way to humble yourself ever. Add 10 more points for being an awesome toilet.)

• Showed compassion. (Double points if it was for yourself.)

• Didn't die. (This seems small but people die all the time. Cemeteries are full of them. Even Jesus died. Some might point out that Jesus was resurrected and you haven't been, but to your credit, you haven't actually died yet, so who knows. Unless you
did
die and were resurrected. Then give yourself another 10 points. Or maybe you're a vampire. Give yourself 50 points if you're a vampire. Subtract 40 points if you're a sparkly vampire.)

Now add up your results:

If you scored between zero and 8,000: You are you. You're more you than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow. Keep going. You're on the right track. Also, your hair looks great today.

In other words, stop judging yourself against shiny people. Avoid the shiny people. The shiny people are a lie. Or get to know them enough to realize they aren't so shiny after all. Shiny people aren't the enemy. Sometimes
we're
the enemy when we listen to our malfunctioning brains that try to tell us that we're alone in our self-doubt, or that it's obvious to everyone that we don't know what the shit we're doing.

Hell, there are probably people out there right now who consider us to be shiny people (
bless their stupid, stupid hearts
) and that's pretty much proof that none of our brains can be trusted to accurately measure the value of anyone, much less ourselves.

How can we be expected to properly judge ourselves? We know all of our worst secrets. We are biased, and overly critical, and occasionally filled with shame. So you'll have to just trust me when I say that you are worthy, important, and necessary. And smart.

You may ask how I know and I'll tell you how. It's because right now? YOU'RE READING. That's what the sexy people do. Other, less awesome people might currently be in their front yards chasing down and punching squirrels, but not you. You're quietly curled up with a book designed to make you a better, happier, more introspective person.

You win.
1
You are amazing.

 

Cat Lamination

The Sixth Argument I Had with Victor This Week

VICTOR:
There's cat fur all over the back of your dress. Like, it looks like you just shit out a cat and then did a bad job of wiping.

ME:
It's because Ferris Mewler sits on my office chair all night. I bought a new pet-fur roller but it totally doesn't work. I say we just nip it in the bud and laminate the cats.

VICTOR:
That's … probably not a good idea.

ME:
But we'd leave their heads and paws and buttholes free, obviously.

VICTOR:
Obviously.

ME:
And a patch of skin so they don't go all
Goldfinger
on us.

VICTOR:
So they don't
what
?

ME:
You know … that lady that they painted gold in that James Bond movie and she suffocated because her skin couldn't breathe?

VICTOR:
Yeah, that's an urban myth.

ME:
Well, even better, because that means we can laminate the whole cat and not have to leave a small shaved patch of cat hanging in the breeze. Because that shit would look weird.

VICTOR:
I don't even know where to start disagreeing with you on this one.

ME:
Does Kinko's do laminating? Do you think they would laminate a cat?

VICTOR:
No. Plus, I'm not sure Kinko's even exists anymore.

ME:
Probably because they refused to do cat lamination.
You have to move with the times, Kinko's.
Change is coming. And by “change” I mean “my cat.” My cat is coming to get laminated. Open back up, Kinko's. I'm about to save your business.

VICTOR:
No.

ME:
Then how about Saran wrap? DIY.

VICTOR:
Are you trying to punish me for something?

ME:
TINFOIL! Because they'll be cool, and they'll look like they're wearing armor or like they're tiny robots that run after laser beams. Plus, if we make them tinfoil hats the government can't read their cat thoughts. EVERYONE WINS.

VICTOR:
Huh.

ME:
I mean, except the government. They'll probably be concerned when three cats suddenly disappear off the grid. It's gonna be like
The Matrix
. But for cats.

VICTOR:
Right. I'm going to sell you to a carnival.

ME:
Someone bring me some tinfoil and duct tape.

Winner: The government, I guess, because the cats stubbornly refuse to keep the tinfoil hats on. It's like they
want
the government to read their minds. Which they actually might, now that I'm thinking about it, because they might be sending messages to the government asking to be removed from this house before they get laminated. I can see their point.

 

That Baby Was
Delicious

I don't even remember the first time I did meth in front of my child.

This is mostly because I've never actually done meth. But it's a good way to start out a chapter about how you fear you're failing as a parent because it sets the bar of child-rearing very, very low and everything you do that
isn't
meth in front of your children seems incredibly impressive by comparison.

My daughter, Hailey, is now nine and so far she shows none of the anxiety and crippling shyness that I'd already begun perfecting at her age. When people who know me spend time with her they are always shocked at how well adjusted and happy she is. This is an incredibly insulting compliment, but one I have a hard time arguing with, so I usually just say, “Thank you?”

Frankly, I think parents have very little input in creating the positive aspects of their children's personalities. My sister and I were raised in the exact same way and we could not be more different. This is not to say that you can't fuck up a kid by being an asshole, because children are small sponges and will mimic all of your worst behaviors at the least opportune time. But I believe that usually your kids' positive qualities come less from your making them awesome and more from just not intentionally squashing the random things they're inherently born with that
make
them awesome.

Some people think this is a cop-out that people like me use in order to justify the fact that I don't have my child enrolled in 287 different extracurricular activities and lessons, and those people are right. I'm sorry. You were probably expecting something defensive and brave right there but the truth is that I'm terrible at being one of those moms who can sit in the bleachers or dance studios and make forced small talk with parents who all seem to know (and secretly hate) each other and who never seem to show up in pajamas or mismatched shoes. I'm continually saying something awkward and inappropriate, like “I thought this was just for fun” or “No, actually I don't think that toddler is too fat for ballet.”

I believe it was Sartre who said, “Hell is other people,” and I suspect he wrote that after spending an hour with overinvolved parents who won't stop yelling at coaches, instructors, or crying four-year-olds who really just want a snow cone.

Even if you do enroll your kid in one or two lessons or clubs you're always hearing about some other, better, and more exclusive club where they learn to twirl batons while reciting Mandarin poetry. You immediately worry that if you don't enroll your child there they will end up homeless or legless or be turned into carpet or something. Whatever it is, it must be awful, because almost all of the parents I know seem to be competing to see how much shit they can pack into their child's life.

I'm not judging those people though, because it's not like I haven't tried that route myself. Hailey's done gymnastics, piano, jazz, hip-hop, ballet, tumbling, choir, but none of them held her attention for more than a year. She rather enjoyed dance classes but seemed to be setting a record for how many times she could fall. Honestly, she is smart and beautiful and kind but she could manage to fall while duct-taped flat on her back on the floor.

When she was five she took ballet lessons at one of those classes where the parents aren't allowed inside the studio (because some parents are yelly assholes and most studios recognize this) but the lesson played on a closed-circuit television in the lobby so we could all watch an hour of kindergartners not following instructions in French. Victor and I watched while the small children leaped across the floor until it was Hailey's turn and she did really well except that she was so busy watching herself in the mirror that she ran right into the wall and then bounced off the wall and fell headfirst into a large, rubber trash can. Her tiny, flailing legs were the only things we could see and we were panicked, but Hailey thought it was hilarious (after she was pulled out of the trash can). The people who did not find it hilarious were the other parents in the lobby, who were not happy about the distraction. I tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Wow. I love that kid, but she can
not
hold her alcohol, am I right?” No one laughed.

Soon afterward we moved to the one thing she really excelled at, drama classes. She's a natural on the stage and loves performing in front of hundreds of strangers. I suspect she was switched at birth.

When I was a kid in rural Texas none of this stuff seemed to exist. I didn't know anyone who took dance classes. No one knew martial arts. You could take band classes in school, but only if you could afford to buy or rent an instrument, and my family couldn't, so instead when the other kids went to band I stayed with the poorer kids and we had a class called Music Memory. It was basically a room filled with old records and a teacher who was usually asleep, and we'd listen to scratchy Mozart pieces while showing each other how switchblades worked and learning how to pick locks. This sounds like comedic exaggeration, but it's not. I felt a little sorry for myself at the time because all the cool kids had their shiny boxes of spit valves and flutes, but I learned a lot in Music Memory and I've had more occasions to pick a lock than I've ever had to play a bassoon, so I suppose it all worked out in the end.

Still, you feel shitty as a parent if your kids aren't doing what all the other kids are doing. My mom could not have been a more perfect mother, but she never took me to lessons or dedicated entire days to forced quality time with me. So, I guess sometimes the example you set is the lesson, and the lesson I took was learning that the world didn't center on me and that I was responsible for making the most of my time. But my mom read. Lots. To me, and (more importantly) in front of me. And that made all the difference. So I guess I also learned that my mom's time was important too, and that's a lesson I'm still trying to learn now when the guilt about Hailey's not having a perfectly scheduled life creeps in.

Occasionally Hailey complains of being bored, but boredom is good. It makes up most of your life and if you don't figure out how to conquer it when you're a kid then you're sort of fucked as an adult. Learning to combat boredom is a lesson in and of itself and it's one you don't have to drive your kid anywhere for them to learn. The downside though is that your kid is probably just like you, in that boredom sometimes drives them to do
incredibly
stupid things. Necessity is the mother of invention but boredom is the mother of doing bafflingly stupid shit. Setting things on fire, taking apart the TV, riding goats, accidentally eating foot powder, letting twenty-five tadpoles hatch into frogs in my bedroom because I forgot I hid them under my bed, exploring abandoned buildings, burning my eyebrows off with a lighter … these were all things that happened to me during periods of boredom and they were also all things to which I honestly answered “
I don't know
” when my baffled mother would see the evidence of wrongdoing and ask me what in the hell I was thinking. Frankly, I
still
don't know what I'm doing or why I'm doing it most of the time, but at least I learned early on that this is a normal state of mind (and also that I shouldn't be trusted with fire).