Guilt-Shaming for Charity

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Let’s talk social media. Not the Russian infiltration or the zombie screen-starers it has made of all of us. I want to talk torture by my friends, wonderful people who ought to know better.

First, I have a confession to make: I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. You and I don’t have that kind of relationship.

I do celebrate the day you were born – you wouldn’t be my friend if I didn’t feel that way. But we don’t have the kind of friendship where we get each other birthday gifts.

So, why, I have to ask you, did you think I would send money to your favorite charity in lieu of the gift I was never going to get you?

If you’re like me, your social media feeds are filling up with virtue. This friend and that friend are saying that, for their birthday, they are raising money for their favorite charity. Well, bully for them.

I have my own charities. They’re meaningful to me because of the things I’m passionate about. Animals. Children. The environment. And when I am feeling charitable, I give to them. But I’m not expecting my passions to be yours. You do you.

And, while I’m at it?

No, I won’t post photos of book covers or album covers. I know these people mean well too, but honestly, life’s too short for me to play these reindeer games of tag-you’re-it online.

And that goes double for prayer chains, angel chains, cut-and-paste-this-content posts and the WORST – the self-pitying “I’ll bet you won’t read to the end because you’re not a real friend.” No. Just stop.

You may believe in prayer. Cool. I believe in energy and sending good, loving energy and that’s probably pretty close to prayer. And I will send positive energy out for loved ones or even friends’ loved ones who are in trouble. But don’t blackmail me into it. Don’t guilt me into prayers, because that kind of thing? It’s bad energy, and it’s the opposite of prayers.

And, as long as I’m being cranky, here’s my final plea. No more photos of abused animals. I think people who abuse animals should be sent straight to hell, stopping only long enough for some in-kind torture along the way. But I can’t bear the photos. They don’t help the animals, and any monster who tortured an animal in the first place? They’re beyond the ability to be shamed on social media.

My birthday is in March. But you can give me my gift now. Do something nice for yourself. If that means giving money to charity because you enjoy the endorphin rush of helping others? Go for it. Just don’t tell me about it.

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Laughing Matter

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What makes me laugh won’t necessarily be the same thing that makes you laugh.

There is humor that is infantile (remember bathroom humor when you were little?) and some so intellectual that you need a PhD to get the pun.

Maybe it’s an only child thing, but I have never understood the kind of humor that belittles someone. I think that kind of humor may have its origins in sibling rivalry and those with the tougher skin from brothers’ or sisters’ pokes and prods certainly seem to enjoy that humor more than I do.

I’ve been thinking about humor a lot lately because, as we wind up the most divisive Presidential election in my memory, my social media is filled with people offended by the humor of others, and those others protesting at the lack of humor of the “politically correct” who are offended.

This week, a friend of mine called out a man at a bar dressed for Halloween as a bottle of Rohypnol – roofies. She tried to have a conversation in which she helped him understand why, in a country where one out of five women have been sexually assaulted, a costume representing the “rape drug” isn’t funny. The response was that the man was a feminist and his costume was satire. She was not amused.

I was not amused either.

The kind of comedy that makes me laugh is comedy that laughs with, not at. The rueful observations about the maladies that befall us all. The kind of comedy that makes you feel at one with the comedian in bemusement, not attacked or belittled, and not watching someone else feel that way either. Comedy that unites about this crazy old world, not divides the world into even more craziness.

I know that people under stress will cope with gallows humor. As a reporter, I did it all the time. I know doctors do too. But we all knew it wasn’t really funny, it was just an escape valve to let off the boiled-over emotions in laughter, which was far better than the alternative.

There are those who will still laugh at the racial slur, who will snigger at a Presidential candidate flailing in mimicry of a disabled reporter. Who feel that those who disagree with their politics must be idiots, and who then make jokes at their expense. It’s not a Right Wing thing or a Left Wing thing. It’s just a thing.

Is it politically correct to want that to stop?

Or is it just grown up?

Maybe it’s time we stop confusing the nervous laugh of discomfort with humor. Maybe it’s time that we learn how to use humor appropriately.

Sure, I used to laugh hysterically when someone would blurt out the word, “poop.”

I was two at the time.

5 WAYS TO KNOW IT’S TIME TO FIRE A FRIEND

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Sometimes, you just have to let a person go. It happens all the time in the corporate world and the metrics are fairly clear: the person didn’t make the sales goals, never showed up on time, stole money.

But it’s much harder to know when to let a friend or lover go. We want to hold on and make it work, against all odds.

When is it time to move on?

  1. You spend a lot of time making excuses for their behavior

Maybe they’re just always like that when they’re drunk. Maybe they’re mean to waiters. If you spend a lot of time explaining that he or she has a good side, too, it’s time to move on.

  1. You can’t get them to see you for who you are now, instead of the tubby/goofy screwup you used to be.

You’ve spent a long time improving yourself, and your new friends know you as a fairly competent person. That’s why it’s so hard when an old friend downplays your every achievement by reminding you that you’re still that same fat, clumsy screwup you always were. There’s having friends who ground you, and having friends who bury you. Move on from the latter.

  1. You know every detail of their dramas but they know nothing of yours.

Every friend goes through hard times and needs support. But when the whole friendship is an endless loop of her troubles and she never asks about your life, there’s an imbalance. When you’re tempted to put the phone down while they ramble on and on about their sad little lives without stopping for breath, it’s time to move on.

  1. You need a drink or a nap to recover from time spent with them.

Some friends are exhausting, and not in a good way. They’re like emotional vampires and you need recuperation after every visit. Let them go.

  1. You hate yourself, just a little, for the person you are with them.

Some friends or lovers are just a whole lot of fun. But maybe they’re catty bitches, inviting you to snark along. Or maybe they’re always filling your glass a little too much. Whatever the reason, you leave them and feel like you’ve failed yourself somehow. Time to move on.

It’s understandable that we feel loyal, or we want to fix someone. But sometimes, you just have to tell a loved one that it’s just not working. And, unless there’s a divorce in the mix, there will be no severance package because, don’t worry, this is no wrongful termination.

Firing a Friend

#FirstWorldProblems

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I used to read books by and about heroines.

Anne Frank. Nien Cheng. Women who survived horrible torture and privations of war with the kind of spirit that just kept pushing up like a crocus through the snow.

And I wondered…would I show the same kind of tempered steel fortitude if I were thrust into the same circumstances?

Well, I have had a couple of weeks of really annoying life problems. A sick dog who almost died and now needs a period of intense babying, which she is taking as her royal due. Mysterious leg cramps that kept me up all night (WebMD urges me to eat a banana). Too much scheduled into too little time. And a muse who is balking at showing herself during this overscheduled time.

All what they call #FirstWorldProblems. The kind that would make my religious aunt tell me how blessed I am. The kind that would make my best friend tell me to put on my big girl pants. The kind that make me realize – I’m no Anne Frank. Some days I feel more like Frankenstein. I think I blunder on through like the big monster more than I survive by any courage.

So, I wonder…what are the First World Problems that bring you to your knees?

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