Category: Megalomania

The Dating Game: How Do I Play Again?

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I’ve been single for quite a long time now and even though it does have its advantages, I’m kind of getting bored with it. I’ve actually been thinking for awhile that maybe I should try dating again. What with all of the dating apps, it seems like there might be more opportunities to meet someone.

There’s just one thing.

How the hell do I do this dating thing again? ‘Cause I don’t think I ever knew.

I’ll be honest. My dating life wasn’t exactly active as an awkward, introverted, mentally ill woman back in the long, long ago of my twenties when I was younger, thinner, and had my whole life ahead of me. Now that I’m twenty years older, fatter, with even less life ahead of me, but still awkward, introverted, and mentally ill (though the mental illness is better understood and controlled), I’m sure my odds of having any success are about the same as me winning the Powerball, and I don’t play.

But what the hell? It’s not like I have anything better to do. And yes, trying to do this during a never-ending pandemic might not be the wisest move, but I’ve never really been known for my stellar decision making skills.

I’ve been researching dating apps. I did online dating back in my twenties when the internet and I were young. It was…an experience. I didn’t actually go out with anyone I met on those old dating sites, though I did interact with several men who would have been happier on Tinder and/or Pornhub and at least one with a very specific fetish. Having heard stories from other women’s experiences with dating apps, things haven’t changed that much. I’m at least hopeful that I’ll get some interesting creepers and new fetishes.

I’m also thinking that dating apps might be the best way for me to meet women. I am, after all, bisexual and there’s no reason I should only be horrified by the behavior of cis men. And I’ve had even less experience dating women than I have dating men. I am attracted to women. I should really explore that aspect of my sexuality more, and I’d really like to. And it’ll give me a better shot at meeting someone. God knows I need all the help I can get.

Because I’m not exactly a catch.

I’m a failed adult. I have done nothing with my life and I can’t say that I’ll ever be anything close to functioning like a real grown-up.

But I’ll pay my own way. I’ll show up. I’ll be supportive and caring (in my own broken way). I’m can be fun and funny and sometimes I give good advice. Just don’t expect me to make anything of myself. I’m someone that I think the right person could have a decent, solid, enjoyable relationship with, but you probably don’t want me to co-sign a mortgage.

I concede that’s not what a lot of people -women, men, non-binary- are looking for because they’re already grown. They have kids and careers and things. Throw in that I’m fat and over 40 and you might suggest that I just resign myself to being a cat lady. Well, the joke’s on you because we have five cats in the house and none of them like me. So I might as well give dating another shot.

I realize that it’s late in my life (probably too late) to be doing this and honestly, I’m not expecting much. After all I can’t expect to win a game when I barely know the rules.

But on the other hand, I can’t get better at the game if I don’t play. And even if I don’t win, I might have some fun.

Now to just put all of that into a dating profile and make it sound like something worth swiping right on.

The Anxiety Podcast

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I like podcasting. I’ve been doing it for a few years now and I’ve decided that it’s something I really like to do. I like guesting on other people’s podcasts and I like running my own. I like the excuse of talking about things I like and the excuse of talking with my friends about stuff we all like. It just happens to be recorded, edited, and put out there for other people to listen to.

Knowing that other people listen is cool and all, but I don’t obsess over my numbers. I don’t concern myself with growing my audience or anything like that. I do a little promoting for Book ’em, Danno and appreciate whatever listens I get. For all I know, those numbers aren’t even people. They’re bots. I hope they enjoy my ramblings. Beep boop.

So, even though I enjoy podcasting and do it primarily for myself, there is one drawback to it, and no, it’s not editing (though I would love it if I could be less persnickety in my editing).

It’s the anxiety fallout after I’ve recorded.

I don’t have much anxiety when recording my own podcast, but I admit that it amps up when I’m guesting on someone else’s podcast. Sometimes the anxiety is bad, but for the most part, it’s not. And the more appearances I make on someone’s podcast (for example Eventually Supertrain), the better the anxiety is because I know what to expect.

However, be it my podcast or someone else’s, as soon as we’re done recording, my anxiety goes through the roof. I second guess everything I said. I ruminate over things I said and things I didn’t say. I think about what a fool I made of myself no matter what I said. And the thing is that I know whatever I said, it was fine. But my brain, at least for several hours afterward, disagrees with that.

When it comes to Book ’em, Danno, I have to wait to edit the episode. I can’t listen to it for at least a week. I’ve got to let that anxiety die down before I can manage it.

When it comes to other people’s podcasts, well, that’s a little trickier. Sometimes I have no problem listening to them when they come out. More than enough time has passed for my anxiety to calm down and usually, I can’t even remember what I said. It’s a delightful surprise when I listen. However, there are some episodes I can’t bear to listen to (and don’t) because I know that my anxiety was up during the recording and knowing that is enough to make my anxiety spike again. I just can’t do it.

Is this all irrational? Of course. That’s how anxiety works. If it were at all rational, then this wouldn’t happen anymore with Book ’em, Danno, and probably wouldn’t happen with Eventually Supertrain.

But it does.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s annoying. And it does contribute to me sometimes procrastinating my own recording schedule because I don’t want to have to deal with myself in the aftermath.

But thankfully, I love podcasting just enough that it makes it all worth it.

At least for me.

The listeners’ mileage may vary.

“How Are You So Confident?”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A variation of this is “I wish I had your confidence!” And I’m going to talk about both of these, but first I’m going to answer the title question.

How am I so confident?

I have a tendency to walk through life with the attitude of “The Universe has questionably allowed me to exist another day and I’m going to make it everyone else’s problem.” My confidence comes from a place of pure spite. My continued existence comes from the same source. Spite gets things done.

Do I always feel confident? No. I have un-confident days brought on by hormones or mental illness or just the poison of a hateful society seeping under my thick skin. Am I confident about everything I do? Absolutely the fuck not. I am a self-doubter through and through. I manage to get by with a generous helping of ego and a little bit of faking it. And spite. So much spite.

The interesting thing about the question “How are you so confident?” or the statement, “I wish I had your confidence,” is how often they’re directed at people like me. And by that I mean fat women.

The style I rock at work tends to include patterned pants. Tropical flowers, jungle animals, black and white window pane, shiny blue mermaid scales, black and white gingham, pink cheetah print, teal plaid, black and white ditzy print. I once had a patron tell me “I wish I had your confidence” so she could wear pants like that, but she was too fat to do it. She said this, with a straight face, to my 255 pound ass. I probably would have popped off if she’d be a thin woman saying this to me, but she was definitely plus size, so instead I was just disappointed. Because the default of society is that fat women are not supposed to be confident at all. We are supposed to fade into the background until we correct ourselves enough so we are worthy of public gaze.

Confidence is generally not something granted to women anyway, but when it is, it tends to be reserved for the women who fit the narrow beauty standards of a thin-obsessed, youth-obsessed society. If any woman outside of those constraints dares to be confident then it’s considered either a miracle or an affront. In fact, “I wish I had your confidence!” has a back-handed feel when it comes out of certain mouths.

Because as I said, confidence is thought to be granted from an outside source. Of course we all know that confidence comes from within and being comfortable in your skin, whatever skin that is (best be your own, though; let’s not Buffalo Bill this), but we also all know that society has the final say of whether or not you’re allowed to be confident. That unmerciful bastard is unrelenting. The constant messages of perceived inadequacies designed to sell you the solutions to flaws that change based on what’s trendy today leaves no one untouched.

Confidence, particularly the confidence of a fat woman, is an act of rebellion.

To be confident in a body deemed undesirable is a slap in the face to a society pushing that ideal and a thumb in the eye to the industries trying to capitalize on that. That kind of defiance stings. And that confidence often gets branded in other less flattering ways. Lazy. Attention-whore. Giving up. Aggressive. Letting yourself go. Pushy. Should you be wearing that?

Don’t be like her. She’s a bad example.

Or worse. That confidence she has is unattainable. It’s a rare thing. Only a very limited number of fat women are allowed to have this confidence and they’re usually plus sized models, or women who’ve aged out and have no fucks left to give. This confidence is not for everyone. It’s not for you.

But it is.

Anyone can be confident. Anyone.

Do it out of spite.

Displaying Why I Shouldn’t Be in Charge of Displays

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Back in the long long ago of my mid-twenties, back when I worked the jewelry counter of the local Wal-Mart, one of my responsibilities was the gift wall. We’d get shipments of stuff for Mother’s Day and Christmas that I’d have to set the wall with that would almost never sell and then I’d be stuck with it until the end of time because we had no storage space over there. Anyway. We’d get smaller amounts of merchandise for Father’s Day. It was my responsibility to fill out that merchandise for a four foot section of Father’s Day stuff. Which meant that I’d go around the store and get stuff from other departments.

One year, for shits and giggles, I put condoms on the gift wall for Father’s Day.

Not one member of management said a word. I don’t think they even noticed.

My coworkers loved it, though.

And so established my reputation as someone who should not be allowed to create displays without a strict mod to go by.

Had this reputation preceded me to the library, perhaps I wouldn’t have been put in charge of the main floor and periodicals displays when two of my coworkers left.

In a nutshell, my job is to create one big display, one medium display, two small displays, one front display, and three DVD/Blu-Ray displays. I make the selections, create the signage, all that fun stuff. They get changed out at least once a month, so I have to come up with themes/subjects. Sometimes the themes are easy to come by: Women’s History Month, Black History Month, Halloween, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, etc. Sometimes I have to get more creative: National Nothing Day, Christmas Creeps, Pumpkin Patch (all of the covers were orange), National Hobby Month, Count von Count’s birthday, stuff like that.

And sometimes I get really clever.

For example, one February I did a love/hate flip side display with romances on one side and romantic murder mysteries on the other. I also put out a display of true crime books, just for good measure. Feel the love.

Speaking of true crime, both my Mother’s Day and Father’s Day displays included true crime books. My supervisor gave me shit for it, but they were the first ones off the display both times. I know my audience.

Which is why I push limits with some things. I live in a red county. How long before the locals complain about my Pride Month displays? Or complain about how it’s not fair that I’m doing big displays on Black History, Women’s History, Native American Heritage, and Asian Pacific Heritage, but not on White History or White Heritage.

(We did have someone complain about “Black History” books on display after February once. It was literally a new book on the new book shelf. Turns out that books by and about Black people don’t come out in just February. Who knew? Not this jackass.)

Some of my displays do better than others and sometimes I’m surprised by how well some displays do. For example, I was surprised my Christmas Creeps (Christmas horror) display didn’t do that well, but the Winter Solstice display did much better than I thought. I try to take note of that to see what people are looking for.

The library goal of my displays is to put books and DVDs/Blu-Rays in front of people that they might not otherwise look for on their own. Get patrons to expand their horizons.

My personal goal with the displays is to find opportunities to be as aggravating as possible, even if it’s just to needle my coworkers. Or to see what I can get away with. Like the time that I kept Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly out on display three months in a row, just to see if I could.

I could.

I don’t think anybody noticed. Which is very encouraging for me when I think about the things I could do.

There is a pun display in my future. Oh yeah. I can feel it.

I should never have been put in charge of displays.

The Thing About Getting Older–Birthday Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

The past two years I’ve taken the week of my birthday off. The whole week, plus Martin Luther King Jr Day. Comes to nine days off in the name of my birthday.

Some people may call this excessive. There are many loud folks who criticize people for celebrating their birthday week or birth month. And to them I bid a respectable fuck you. I spent too many years not celebrating my birthday, and not because I dreaded getting older like so many women.

Part of my not celebrating comes from having a birthday close enough to the holidays that people are fatigued of celebrations by the time they get to the anniversary of my birth. They are partied out. And I can relate. I’m usually at the end of my of my holiday rope by then, too. But still. It’s my birthday.

Another part comes from the fact that several of my “big” birthdays -sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one- were rendered insignificant for one reason or another. There were a couple of times that my birthday was used as an excuse to get together only to have that gathering have nothing to do with me. Clearly just an excuse…or worse, an after thought. This string of disappointments hurt. I’m not going to lie. To prevent myself from experiencing that disappointment again, I became one of those people who didn’t like my birthday.

My birthday? Pfft. No big deal. It’s nothing. Just another day. I didn’t do anything for my birthday outside of any sort of family celebration that might be happening. I rarely made plans. It got to a point where I didn’t expect anything, not even from myself.

However, I was not meant to be a person who hated their birthday. I have far too much ego for that. And over the years my intent to not celebrate became me celebrating for myself. It was my special day, even if it was a secret. Even if I was the only one who did any celebrating.

Sometimes I’d do things with my friends, but many times I was alone. Hell, for my 40th I ended up going by myself to see Knives Out. Coincidentally, that was the last time I went to a movie theater.

My 40th landed on a Sunday and I had planned to take the weekend off for it, but wasn’t able to.

I fixed that for 41. I took the whole week off and was gifted with the King holiday as a bonus. One of my coworkers asked me what I was doing for my birthday, thinking I was taking a trip. In the middle of a pandemic, not so much. So, I told her I was doing whatever I wanted. And I could tell that she thought a week off for my birthday was a bit much. Particularly for a lowly part-timer. Tough shit.

This year I had planned to take a trip for the week of 42, but it didn’t work out because we’re still in the middle of a pandemic.

But it was still my birthday.

So, last week, I was off work and I did whatever I wanted.

And I’ll do the same thing next year, too.

Turning 42

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m kinda looking forward to being 42. First of all, I do not fear aging. It’s a privilege denied many and I’ve earned every year. Second of all, 42 is the meaning of life, the Universe, and everything, so it’s bound to be something of a magical age, right?

Okay, I kind of admit from this vantage point it’s sort of hard to see that potential.

41 was a bit of a bust.

I was hoping to do more and most of the time I barely had the energy to do the bare minimum. Like, I’ve been stuck in some ruts before, but this time I was too tired to care I was even in a rut. It’s hard to pull yourself out when you’d rather take a nap.

And while I did spent 41 giving fewer fucks, I didn’t really accomplish much else. At least I spent most of the time with either pink or blue-black hair. 41 was a bit of a drag, but I showed up.

As I said, I think 42 has the potential to be magical. What kind of magic? I don’t know. Maybe black magic. Perhaps some dark arts will be necessary to make something out of this year. I’m starting off on a sour note by not being able to take my birthday trip, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be taken eventually. Maybe all of the magic will come from finding a way to salvage things in the middle of trying circumstances once again. But the point is I should probably haul my ass out of the rut to give that magic a shot. Who knows? I might be surprised.

I mean, it’s doubtful. I’m a Capricorn, so my realism will ultimately win out. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to have a good time. Even if it’s just a new hair color.

Here’s to 42.

What of 2022?

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

In 2020, I managed to cross off a couple of items on my Big To Do List.

In 2021, I managed to redesign this blog and design a new one, as well as get a new Patreon project together in a short amount of time.

So, what of 2022?

Well, as it turns out, slogging through the second year of a pandemic is a stone drag. I have stumbled into 2022 tired and unsure of what I want to do or if I want to do anything.

Of course I will be doing things. I still have a day job. And my podcast. And other people’s podcasts. And the Patreon. And the blogs. And writing projects. And other creative endeavors. So, obviously I’ll be doing things.

But will I do things beyond those things?

Like, will I find the energy/time/funds to cross off another item on my Big To Do List? Will I be inspired to undertake another big project?

Right now, it doesn’t feel like it. The one big thing I’d hoped to do this year -go to Hawaii for my birthday- is not a thing that is happening due extenuating circumstances, namely the plague that would not cease. I suppose I could go later in the year between Covid variants. It wouldn’t technically be my birthday, but a deferred birthday trip still counts, right? It’s a big thing that could still happen. I guess.

I admit that in a selfish, petty way, I feel like not taking the trip is starting my year off on the wrong foot and now I just don’t want to do it anymore. And by “it”, I mean the whole year. Will that feeling linger? No, probably not. Come March, I’ll finally get my New Year/New Energy.

And then I’ll be ready to do something big.

Adios 2021

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

How do you send off a year that you’re not sorry to see go?

Gleefully and gratefully, I suppose.

Especially since I can’t remember most of it. It’s all just a pandemic blur to me. So, here are a few milestones I remember.

I finished Season 2 of Book ’em, Danno and started Season 3. For the first time since the very beginning of the podcast, I’m actually ahead of the game. I think I’m finding my rhythm. I haven’t gotten much quicker in my process, but being a few months ahead keeps the pressure off. So, that’s something.

I revamped Kiki Writes About and created AKA Kiki Writes to be the home of Book ’em, Danno and my Rerun Junkie content. One of the goals of this revamp was to blog more regularly, which I’ve done. Good job, me.

Murderville came to an end and I’ve got things in place for the next project. Writing, revising, recording, and editing an audio story has been an interesting challenge.

Despite my misgivings, I managed to win yet another NaNo, though I cheated like hell when it came to the actual projects. But I got a bunch of short stories done in addition to the audio story, so that’s more writing than I’ve done in a long time.

I had the joy of discovering that there are romance books that I do like. I was very sad that I couldn’t enjoy that genre, but success! If they’ve got fat folks and/or queer people, I am in. I also read a lot of poetry this past year, which I very much enjoyed and look forward to reading more of.

One of my dear friends and her family moved back to town earlier this year and it’s been a joy to see their faces more often.

I’ve discovered the goodness that is kimchi and I now make kimchi dip on the reg. And I further expanded my culinary skills by learning to make carne asada.

My patellar tendonitis that has been plaguing me for years is under control. I’m doing a lot better, though I’m still not at 100%. I still can’t squat down like I used to. My blood pressure remains too high despite the meds and diet changes and attempts to reduce stress. I just hope the inevitable stroke kills me.

I’m hoping that 2022 will be kinder to me and everyone else, but it’s already off to a dubious start. I had really wanted to go to Hawaii for my 42nd birthday in January, but with the latest Covid variant and the fact that tourists remain the selfish worst, I decided to postpone until a safer, more agreeable time. Hopefully, it’ll be before birthday number 43, but we’ll see what the Universe has in store.

Adios, 2021. You had an attitude.

Happy Holidays and All That Jazz

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

If you’re one of those people who insist that it’s “Merry Christmas” not “Happy Holidays”, then I want to let you in on a little secret.

People in customer service, particularly retail, hate you. Straight up loathe.

Here’s why.

“It’s ‘Merry Christmas’, not ‘Happy Holidays'” is never not said in anything but a condescending, snotty tone. And let me tell you, customer service people love that tone. Probably because we get a lot of it. But it’s so special at this time of year. Really holly fucking jolly.

Furthermore, you’ve chosen the most stressful time of year in which we are already straining to maintain any shred of professionalism to debate theology with us. Now is not the time to pretend that your Christianity is under attack and you’re being oppressed. You’re buying overpriced electronics and toys your children will break in a few months, you’re not being martyred. Instead, you’re aggravating an underpaid employee who’s probably already dealt with six of you that shift. There are something like 25 holidays and observances in December. Yours is not special just because it’s been commercialized.

Now, I can’t speak for all customer service employees, but I can speak from my own experience when I say that I’ve never been told that I MUST say “Happy Holidays”. And I’d wager sick time that I’m in the majority on that one. Except I’m part-time and I don’t get sick time.

My own “Happy Holidays” rule is very simple: I say to you what you say to me. That’s right. I’m a parrot. If you say “Happy Holidays”, that’s what I say. If you say “Merry Christmas”, that’s what I say. And if you don’t say jack shit, then I tell you to have a good night and get on with my life. I no longer make an effort to “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas” anyone anymore because one too many people took my holiday cheer as an offense.

Which is really the point of this whole post.

There’s a whole song about how this is the most wonderful time of the year, but some people have decided it’s only THEIR time of the year and they will ruin it for the rest of us because we refuse to accept that. Sadly these nativity scene erectors don’t seem to realize that the whole “good will toward men” thing includes them as givers as well as receivers and there’s no exemption just because they monetized a holiday that was created by cannibalizing the rituals and celebrations of other religions.

So keep in mind the next time you insist that it’s “Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays” the person you’re insisting that to would much rather tell you to go fuck yourself instead.

Ho ho ho.

Goodbye, Nez

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I woke up Friday feeling less than. The weather has spent the week switching seasons from fall to winter to spring and I felt every single front and barometric change so by the time I woke up on Friday to fog and rain, I’d had it. But, I pressed on because I had too much to do on my day off to slack because I didn’t feel well.

And then the news of Michael Nesmith’s passing came across my timeline and what little wind I had in my sails evaporated.

Three of my dear Monkees are now gone and it seems like only when they’re gone do others realize that these men have always been so much more, Nez no exception.

He was instrumental in The Monkees playing on their own songs, being allowed creative control over their music. He was a pioneer in country rock after the he left the group. He came up with the concept for MTV. He produced films and wrote books. Meanwhile, his own music continued to evolve and change as he explored his own talent. I have more of his solo stuff than the rest of The Monkees. Not so much out of favoritism (though I love his solo stuff), but because he has such a huge catalogue of it. And there’s a variety to it. The First National Band stuff doesn’t sound like anything from The Newer Stuff album, but it’s all so distinctly Nez. Coming back together with The Monkees after Davy’s passing was especially sweet. “Me and Magdalena” is probably my favorite song from Good Times.

I never felt like Nez got the accolades that he deserved. He deserved a wider recognition for the contributions that he made to music.

I’m forever grateful that him being one of The Monkees allowed me to be a fan and get to experience so much more of his music, talent, and creativity.

Blessings, Nez. Safe travels beyond the horizon.