Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Fine. I'll re-publish my blog share entry. My Lord, you people are relentless. If we get in trouble for this I'm blaming you. And the maid.

In all seriousness I did consider whether or not publishing this would lay waste to any other participant's anonymity and I couldn't think of a way it could. I mean, I guess someone really motivated could figure it out using some sort of magic, or maybe math, but I figure most of you have lives and/or would never expend that kind of energy. I am confident in this. Plus I took down the list of participants.

So here it is, my contribution to Blog Share III. Promise to still love me in the morning.

I had a hard time coming up with a topic this time around. The first time we all did this I told a funny dating story; the second time I slogged through some mommy issues. Yada, yada. This time I thought and I thought, and then I forgot about it for a long time, and then I got an email from –R- which reminded me that I didn’t have a topic so I thought about it some more again. I just kept asking myself what else could there possibly be that I haven’t or wouldn’t talk about it on my own blog?

And then it dawned on me. (Picture a light bulb over my head. You can make up what I look like since you don’t know me. Just be sure to imagine me pretty.)

Anyway, it dawned on me that I’ve never told my secrets. You know, the low-down-and-dirty on me, the things I only share with a select few, the other things that I share with no one. I quickly assembled a mental list and it was much easier than I expected. Apparently I’ve got some secrets.

Unfortunately for your own inner Mrs. Kravitz, you won’t find the list in this post or anywhere, ever. I simply can’t publish it. My IRL friends would easily identify me from half of the things on the list, and then they’d read the other half, and that just can’t happen.

This fear, the fear of the list going public, made me take a closer look at the list, to analyze it, to look at it as a collective body of secretive things. As I suspected, each of my secrets are fairly innocuous when viewed individually, but their innocence fades in a group setting. It would seem that I’m an aggressive, narcissistic sociopath.

It’s important to know that the Internet was my only source of information and I am not a mental health professional. I am not qualified in any way to diagnose a mental illness. That said, the evidence was quite clear. Shall we take a look?

What follows is a list of personality traits shared by Malignant/Aggressive Narcissists, Sociopaths and people with Antisocial Personality Disorder. For your edification and/or entertainment, I have cited examples from my own life that qualify me for acceptance into their club.

Glib with superficial charm: Um, have you met me? Oh that’s right; you don’t know who I am. Well, let me tell ya’, I am C-H-A-R-M-I-N-G! Enough said.

Manipulative, a con artist: As part of my profession I negotiate with people which is plain and simple manipulation. Daily I “con”vince other people that they should do what I think is best. Not only that, but I am motivated by money to do it. And I’m good at it. When it’s all said and done, they believe in “their” decision.

Grandiose sense of self/a belief of being special and unique: Funny thing, I am actually wearing a t-shirt right now that has “I’m awesome” printed right across the bosom. Not kidding. A friend today suggested I include a picture of myself, in the shirt, holding today’s paper. I glibly reminded her that this is about anonymity.

Pathological lying: I’m not really wearing a t-shirt that says I’m awesome right on it. (Yes, I am. Really, I am.)

Lack of remorse, shame or guilt: I don’t feel bad about lying about the t-shirt, but mostly because I didn’t lie.

Callousness/lack of empathy: I think most people are stupid assholes who put themselves in bad situations by making bad decisions. To them I say, “Own it, shut it, and move along.”

Poor behavioral controls, impulsive nature: I’m always irreverent and generally one level louder than the situation demands.

Early behavior problems/juvenile delinquency: In 4th grade I stole a stack of textbooks out of the coat closet so I could play school. I lied and got away with it. In my defense, one of them was a teacher’s manual and it was really awesome.

Irresponsibility/unreliability: At least once a year as an undergrad I’d have to beg one professor or another for a second chance to take a final exam because I couldn’t get the scheduling right in my head. Also, I am currently late for work every day.

Promiscuous sexual behavior/infidelity: I was a slut in college. There are guys whose names I don’t remember. And while I never went to home plate when I cheated, I did make out with someone else at least once while in each committed relationship I’ve had.

Lack of realistic life plan/parasitic lifestyle: Sadly, I’m a materialistic whore, born to a common life without a trust fund, so I do actually have a job. See “Manipulative and Conning” above. But, if I were independently wealthy I would totally emulate and try to hang out with Karen Walker.

Difficulty with authority: I completely disagree with this one. I don’t mind taking orders as long as they aren’t retarded.

Lack or regard for moral or legal standards/repeated acts that could lead to arrest: I’ve been arrested twice, once at age 20 and once at age 30, each time for the same offense. Logic would dictate that I don’t have any regard for that law, yes? Further, as a general rule I drive too fast and talk on the phone while doing it.

Need for stimulation/Inability to tolerate boredom: Am I done with this yet? Yeah, I’m jacked in the head, you guys get it. Can I move on? New topic, please. I have to go. I’m so bored with this I can’t even . . . wait. Before I go I just want to make sure you understand . . . I could have never posted this on my own site. I’m a narcissistic asshole of a level so jerky that my readers would abandon me if they knew my real identity. You guys might get pissed off and leave nasty comments, but what do I care? I’m so awesome, I don’t need you.

UPDATED TO ADD: Whiskeymarie's comment made me realize that you don't have access to the comments I received. You can go here to see the original posting of this controversial piece. Like you care, but I want you to have options. For the most part the comments were lovely, and I'm not even upset about the two that expressed concern for me. I just think it's funny that they failed to see I was employing hyperbole and tongue-in-cheek humor, because I thought it was obvious.

Hey, gang! Just a reminder that today’s post is part of Blog Share. Today this space is a vessel for another blogger's thoughts and words. To the right, in the sidebar, is a list of the participating blogs. Be sure to check them all out, you know you're nosy and want to read everyone's secret stuff.

I have things to tell you without the inclination to tie them all together in a coherent way so you get more bullets today. Deal with it.

• Girls, girls, girls. I had a nice, quiet weekend centered around food and spending time with the girls. Friday night some gals and I were slated to attend the Maplewood art fair but a thunderstorm and laziness led us up the street for dinner instead. It was a good time that included wigs, hats, drinks, bad mussels and bread pudding. Saturday was quite similar in that we all met at a friend's house for Dinner Club. Dinner Club is a once-a-month event to which I don't actually belong but was invited this month as the regulars were all busy. Our lovely host served Mar-a-Lago turkey burgers and we all brought a dish. I tried a recipe for potato salad called Salt and Vinegar Potato Salad. I was skeptical while I was making it but it was delish.
  
  
• Much of the rest of time this weekend was spent cleaning house. My God, did this house need cleaned. I'm still reeling a little that long-time reader and new friend Amy was in the neighborhood and popped in late Saturday morning. First, I was still in my pajamas. Second, all I had accomplished so far was making piles and preliminary demolition for a weekend of cleaning. I quickly put on clothes, brushed my teeth and made my bed after she called, but this place was in no condition for visitors. Add to that Skyler was behaving terribly, acting like he was going to pee on the guest bed. This household, I'm sure, made quite an impression. (Hi, Amy! You are welcome to re-pop-in anytime now, the house is clean! Altho, I do still need to cut the grass and weed the garden beds, so maybe after Weds. would be best.)
  
  
• I watched 10,000 B.C. last night. I enjoyed it but only because I wasn't interested in any sort of accuracy or realism, I just wanted to see animated prehistoric creatures. Anyone looking for realism would be sadly disappointed: woolly mammoths were being used as pack animals to build pyramids, there were paper maps, men rode horses, the list goes on and on. If you can watch without being bothered by the anachronisms, it was a nice prehistoric love story. I agree with the critic who called it "sporadically entertaining."
  
  
• On Saturday I spent an hour or more cleaning my office and shredding old documents. I felt like an Enron executive, happily jamming to The Cure and shredding, shredding, shredding. Next weekend I think I'll complete my conversion to Republican and shoot one of my good friends in the face.
  
  
• On Big Brother last night they gave away a green 1969 Camaro which made me think of this one that my mom had:

• I have thus far failed to announce that Blog Share III is happening this week, on Wednesday. I think it's too late to sign up, but be sure to come by and troll around the list of participants. For those of you who don't know what Blog Share is and are too lazy to click on the above link, it's a day where each of us writes a post about a topic that we wouldn't normally discuss on our own site but it's ok because it gets posted on someone else's site. For example, the post that will be published here on Wednesday will not be written by me and my entry will be up on someone else's site, thereby lending anonymity to this very public forum. Cool, no? I've participated in all of them and it's always fun.

Hey, kids! It's that time again! Time for Blog Share, the only anonymous blogging exercise that I know of. As a refresher, there are many things bloggers hold back about - work, family, secret fetishes, the REALLY terrible things we've done, things that hurt us -- but participation in Blog Share gives each of us anonymity by switching where we post. For example, the post below was not written by me and mine is being hosted by one of the other participating bloggers. Please go read them all!

And now, without further administrative malarky, I give you the prose of my Anonyposter:

Because this post is super-duper anonymous, I feel somewhat safe venting about someone I call my “best friend,” if only out of habit. I’ve been friends with this girl for seventeen years now, and I think the friendship was narrowly saved only by the fact that I moved out of state three years ago. Plus, you’d basically have to sleep with my husband, gouge my eyes out with a fork, burn my house down in the night, and kick my dog before I would end a friendship with you. And since I don’t have a husband, a house or a dog, I guess all my friendships are pretty safe.

That said, there are a few things I’d like to get off my chest about this girl. Here’s what rankles the most after seventeen long years of friendship:

-- She consistently blows me off for a boyfriend, any boyfriend (in fact, a long series of boyfriends), and only finds time to hang out with me when she’s between relationships.

-- She did this to all her friends, until she wound up with no friends. Now she has a boyfriend who travels a lot and she’s in therapy because – big surprise – she’s lonely.

-- She went through a five-year phase when she could not be on time for anything, and in fact was often several hours late. She kept me waiting in bars, restaurants, nightclubs, at shows, and on street corners, literally for hours. The invention of the cell phone and some semblance of maturity seem to have cured her of this habit. Now she’s only 30 minutes late for everything.

-- Her birthday is in July, mine is in December. Every year she gives me one gift for both Christmas and my birthday, despite the fact that I always get her separate gifts for both. And her gifts? They suck. One year she was complaining about the fact that she didn’t have enough professional-looking earrings to wear to work, and also that she didn’t have a small jewelry box to keep them in. I spent several months hunting for earrings that were unique but classy, and eventually found ten pairs of them, all quite expensive. I wrapped them in an embroidered silk bag I had bought in India and put them in a suede-lined leather jewelry box. For Christmas I got her a matching cashmere hat, glove and scarf set. And what did she get me? A single birthday/Christmas gift: a pair of earrings that she bought at the last minute at a shop next to her office and didn’t even bother to wrap. (Did I mention that at the time we both earned the same amount of money?)

-- Along the same lines, I’m currently nine months pregnant, due any day now, and she’s the only person I know who has yet to buy me a baby gift or even send me a card. (For crying out loud, I’ve had blog readers send me baby gifts.)

-- She works in middle management for a publicity company that promotes things like glassware and kitchen utensils, but seems to think her job is not only the most important thing in the world, but endlessly fascinating to everyone around her. I once wrote an entire section of a law review article while we were on the phone and she spent four hours talking about her job.

-- When I try to talk about my accomplishments, she either quickly changes the subject or finds a way to imply that what I do is unimportant. Um, I’m an advocate for third-world child prostitutes. She promotes forks.

-- She finds subtle ways to insult little things I’m proud of. I recently bought my first new car (that probably sounds strange at the age of 34, but I lived in Manhattan my entire adult life) and when she rode in it she said, “God, you can feel every bump in the road in this car.” When I proudly mentioned that my blog finally surpassed a hundred viewers per day, she nastily pointed out that there are plenty of “mommy blogs” out there that get over six thousand viewers per day.

I could go on all day, but here’s the craziest part: I still love her like a sister.