But I was raised by women, don’t know how to pee standing up and have monthly mood swings, so maybe this is worth looking into.(Also, I have manboobs, but thankfully never got my period. whew.)
So I have three days to kill, Labor Day weekend. Saw a queer walking in Caesers in white pants and his arse pushed in and made a comment that I only had two more days to wear my white pants. My escort, surprisingly a smoking hot 34 year old (female!) thought it strange that I owned white pants (I don’t) but didn’t know the rule about Memorial day to Labor Day. My feminine nature marvels me, and therefore needs some tuning up.
So a hypothetical question, while listening to self-loathing Alice in Chains my favorite band: What would I do this weekend if I loved myself.
There was no answer.
Then I have to wonder, do I really despise myself that much? Oy.
What would I do this weekend if I hate myself? Wonderful. I can answer that question six ways til Sunday (or Monday, as the case may be). Drink, skip church, try and get in some girls pants, drive too fast (that’s open for debate, till you find out where I do this), play 72 hours of video games and not touch my guitar, blow off work, don’t answer my phone, etc.
So the way to answer the question intellectually but without feeling is do the reverse of this longer list. that’s a poor excuse for loving myself. Is it really that important? Denis Leary made my favorite tv show “Rescue Me” based on self-hatred, and friendship through non-shmoozing. What to do?