Fred Colton strikes again.
I’m about to wax philosophical and somewhat nostalgic and it’s going to be boring as fuck. And pointless. I don’t really even understand why I wrote it.
So take a look at that little x on the top right (or left, for rich Mac-owning bastards) of your browser that’s been hovering in the corner of your eye like a tractor beam, and go ahead and click that mother fucker. Do it. You won’t regret it. This is five minutes of your life you could spend looking at online porn.
Or maybe go read Fred’s post. It’s definitely worth your time and not near as long-winded (plus he’s hot, so you’ll at least get a little eye candy out of the deal).
Anyways, for starters, I think it’s interesting how different our childhood dreams are person to person. My husband wanted to be as rich as Donald Trump (I have his elementary school essay to prove it – luckily he’s too good a person not to want to burn that essay now – too bad he’s married to a stubborn girl who likes to tease the living hell out of him with it), Fred Colton wanted to be a good looking man with money, a hot girlfriend, and good friends abroad, my sister wanted to be an actress, a few friends just wanted to get married (puke)… It’s amazing the diversity.
Me? I’m always baffled by people who dreamed about being rich or good looking as kids. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – we’re kids, we’re stupid, and we’re indelibly influenced by society. Really, it’s shocking we don’t ALL dream about being rich and good looking as kids. And, actually, I’m far dumber now because I’m all but obsessed with being good looking. But money was always tight in my family so I don’t think being rich was ever a consideration. And I was a woman. God forbid a woman should want to make lots of money. Unless she’s a gold-digger, of course. Which we all are, naturally.
I’m straying from the point. I really I only wanted two things:
(1) to be a perfect Mormon and go to superduper awesome Mormon heaven
(2) to start my own business
We’ll just leave number one alone for now, because clearly I blew the living fuck out of that one. #noregrets
But as for number two, that dream never left. I still recall my favorite book as a 12-year-old, “Better Than a Lemonade Stand” which listed of all sorts of great ideas for businesses you can start before the age of 16, none of which I had the confidence to chase, but they made for great day dreams. And I was REALLY good at accomplishing things in my imagination.
What was my point in all this? Oh yeah. Fred’s post actually has nothing to do with fulfilling your dreams and everything to do with how we tend to take ourselves so goddamn seriously. He’s attained his goals, as have I (well, one out of two isn’t bad, right?) and yet it’s still not enough. It’s never enough. There will always be something that our perfect, privileged, white American lives will not be able to attain.
And I ain’t going to lie, it was hugely relieving to find out that one of the things Fred wants these days is the same thing I’ve wanted ever since I had kids, got buried in work, and became an attention-starved psychopath: I want the world to love me. I’ve been fighting this desire for years, but you know what, fuck it, it’s true. I want to be adored by every single person who ever happens across my holy and worship-worthy path under any circumstances. I want them to think I’m hilarious, and charming, and perfect in every way. And I’m not even a millennial! Maybe it’s some latent Mormon perfectionism that hasn’t quite worn off, who knows, but I pretty much hate this characteristic of my personality and it’s nice to know that someone else has a similar cross to bear.
Except that Fred actually has blog followers who give a damn what he has to say. Which means I hate him. But not enough to not want him to eternally laud me like everyone else should.
That’s freakin Jane, winning the world over one person at a time…
Told you, you should’ve hit the x.
When I was a kid all I wanted was to grow up to be an attractive man with money and a beautiful woman and friends in foreign cities to get drunk with. I got it all and of-fucking-course it’s not enough. Now I have this rabid lust to also be the most interesting and hilarious man in the world; any outcome besides that makes me a failure. My mind works as such: I make you laugh, and then hate myself for not making you laugh twice. I should get back into therapy.
Saturday was the last Big Night Out in Seoul. Rooftop drinking, good crowd. I knew the next-day photos were gonna be good for a combined gross of probably a thousand Facebook likes. It was my own goodbye party but I like being late to shit so I went out and spent 45 minutes buying wine before dipping back. It…
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