No, *I'M* the problem!

Always have been, always will be!

Hello! What’s up! I tried to upload a header photo and everything I have on my computer is too small so too bad for all of us, I guess! (This is what hanging out with me is like. Me: “We should go to [PLACE]! …Ugh, but it’s so far. I’m tired. Let’s just order in.” Friend: “Anne, you’re talking about THE KITCHEN.”) (YOUR POINT?)

Over the last two-three-and/or million years, we’ve been working on ourselves. I know this because I am alive on this planet, and because my friends and I have been talking a lot about how much we’ve changed, how much everything’s changed, the toxic shit we’re ready to let go of, and how much more willing we are to scream “EVERYTHING IS SHIT! LET’S GO GET SOME FRIES!” in the middle of a Nordstrom’s because pretending we are perfect and life is picturesque is nonsense and I hate it.

Frankly, it’s comforting just to revel in being . . . not a mess, but certainly not someone you would describe as aspirational or “boss bitch.” It’s also my favourite connection: I like being around people who can launch into real talk as easily as dialogue from I Think You Should Leave. My nightmare is seeming like someone you have to watch your words around (lest I be judging), and a big part of the nightmare is finding myself with someone I feel is sizing me up. (“Feel” being the operative word, though. I boast a history rich in projection, and I’m only now realizing there’s usually no subtext in “I’d love to catch up — send me your free dates!” and I’ve missed out on great hangs because I’ve been cynical.) I’m starting to understand that my life motto is simply to try and exist the way you would like other people to try and exist, and be honest about your whole vibe as you do it.

Unless you’re a psychopath, then I urge you to buy an island, move to it, and spend the rest of your days living off the land in peace.

But that being said, a big part of understanding myself/my motivations/why my voice gets louder when I’m trying to act super-chill has been to accept that there are problematic aspects of my personality that I’m simply never going to part with. I will, as a human being, always do annoying/stupid/likely not-so-good things. And, since none of them fall under murder/theft/destroying another person’s psyche/cruelty/injury (physical/emotional/mental) umbrella, I’ve chosen not only to keep them close, but to share them with you. Why? Because this is my newsletter, and I, like Natalie Portman on SNL, never said I was a role model. Also, because I know I’m not alone, and would like to hear about all the shit you do, too. Great.

(Include way too many brackets in a paragraph)
I am insufferable and I have many thoughts. This is the solution to both of those problems, and I apologize but not as sincerely as someone who would apologize and then stop.

Hate-read/creep
Look. I am a petty ghoul. I will hate-read the work of someone I don’t like, and I will creep people on Instagram I barely know because I need to know everything about everyone, all the time. Is this my shame? Yes. Do I do anything concrete with the information I glean? No, since I am (as previously mentioned) extremely lazy. (Minus maybe like, a conversation with a best friend who already knows I am terrible and has accepted me not only in spite of this, but because of it.) I just want to know. I just want to see. In doing this, I punish only myself because not a soul on this planet cares who my ex-crush’s ex’s ex is getting married to (EXCEPT FOR ME), and then I spend almost an entire night spiralling, asking myself WHAT DOES IT MEAN.

Nothing. It means nothing. It never means anything. Most of the time, I’m just nosy and I want to know what someone I hate/loathe/dislike/love/like/want to be more like is doing. You might be doing the exact same thing with this newsletter right now! And that is your right. I love this for you. Inevitably, we will all accidentally like a stranger’s photo from 2011 and question deleting our entire online presence, and that is also exactly what we deserve.

Casual cursing
Wow, look how cool I am with this one. Am I wearing a leather jacket and smoking a cigarette while I type right now? Do I chew toothpicks before starting fights in the parking lot of a 7-11? Should I make sure everybody knows that this newsie is RATED R because I am so EDGY? Yes, to all of the above, if I feel like lying (something a bad girl like me would do). But also, look: last week when I met with a prof, I couldn’t stop inserting a casual expletive into our conversation because that’s just the way it is. I would like so much to be fancy or be one of those people who visibly cringe when somebody swears (said prof did not, by the way — I think she may rule), but: no thank you. My theory is as long as you’re not swearing at a person and said words don’t have connotations that are extremely harmful, fuck it! I am a grown woman, I will not say “eff.”

Being entirely dependent on others for things I could easily do myself
I will never craft. I will never “cook.” (I say this as someone who cooks Kraft dinner/guacamole/chicken tenders/toast regularly, so I’m referring to the type of people who know how to use kitchen knives without injury.) Under no circumstances will I gift you anything I’ve made. I am an impatient FOOL who would much rather save money elsewhere than attempt to make a quarter-chicken dinner in the spirit of Swiss Chalet. I know skills are important, but I have other skills (potentially Liam Neeson’s same set as in Taken, though I haven’t put them to the test yet) that are even more vital. I can eat YOUR food, that YOU make, that you ENJOY making. I can buy your DIY projects because you are an ARTIST, and I am someone who can spend hours thrifting but will lose my MIND if I have to fold a piece of paper more than once. I am helpful in other ways! I can clean the house and organize the fuck out of it, I can write shit down in a timely manner, and I can give you MY time to listen because I fucking love a good connection/offering advice/plotting against people you hate. (If we’re friends. If I don’t know you, I will not do that.) (Probably.)

Every time I’ve tried to bake in the last three years, I have failed to the point where even my kind, good mother will say “It’s okay, it doesn’t have to be for you.” And she is RIGHT. This is why I watch the Food Network 24/7. I think it’s amazing to watch people who know what to do with groceries that require more than just “open this and eat it” directions.

Knowing my limits
Oh, I know my work limits. I know when to ask for an extension or to admit that I’m going to hand in something late. I know when to go to bed, and I know when to stay in and chill out instead of going out and getting sick with what I know will be a doom cold. I know all of this. But I don’t know when to stop eating a snack I love. I don’t know when to not spend $6 on a sticker instead of putting it towards the mountain of debt I live on. I don’t know when to turn off a song I love before I play it so much I hate it beyond decipherable words. I have no limits when it comes to the stupidest shit on the planet a.k.a. buying books I can’t afford and won’t get around to reading until next September. My dad, watching me curl up in agony after consuming a family-size pack of Sour Patch Kids (which he referred to as Sour Babies) in a single sitting, would always say, “More is more with you! You never learn!” And he is right.

My physiotherapist/doctor/therapist have coined the term “Anne-ing It.” And it refers to doing the most when you absolutely do not have to, and suffering for it in extreme ways. And what of it? Why not live on the edge? I may take care of myself in some ways, but I will absolutely destroy myself in others. Orange juice? Pour me a PITCHER because despite it making my stomach upset, I love it and will DRINK IT ALL.

As an aside, I’ve completely ruined Beyonce’s “Summer Renaissance” for myself, and I’m doing the exact same thing with “Pure/Honey.” This isn’t even a cry for help, it’s just the way my life unfolds.

Trying to figure out a mystery that DOES! NOT! MATTER!
For the record, this is outside the confinements of creeping. This is learning something, then thinking “Oh HELL YES” as if it has enriched my life, and filing it under the most important heading, “I Love Knowledge.” It, 99.9% of the time, has only to do with celebrities I do not know and will never meet, and it has a 0% chance of subsiding because I love to analyze people who do not know nor care about me. I need to know who the blind items are about. I need to then drop those blind items into casual conversations with random people I interact with, hoping they will drop a bomb that will lead me to a revelation. Has this happened before? Certainly not. But I am the reason Deux Moi exists and I’m SORRY, I just NEED TO KNOW WHAT EVERYONE’S DOING mainly because — and say it with me — I am very happy to not do very much.

Pretend I am a seasoned detective while watching/listening to Unsolved Mysteries
Do you know that Unsolved Mysteries (a show) is also a podcast? Probably, because it’s pretty mainstream and even my cat knows what it is. It’s not wonderful, and I think maybe one or two of those mysteries have since been solved, but Jesus Christ: I need it weekly or I will die. I have absolutely no theory on anything I’ve ever seen or heard via the Unsolved Mysteries avenue but that doesn’t stop me from buying into my own delusions and assuming that if somebody would just give me some EVIDENCE, I would be able to decipher whether or not somebody was really abducted by aliens (or whether they were experiencing sleep paralysis). WHY DOESN’T ANYBODY LISTEN TO ME.

(Is this just a really long newsie that leads to me deciding to become a private investigator? Because I can tell you right now: I will drop any case as soon as I get bored of it, which will absolutely happen within roughly two days.)

Assuming you want to know any of this
Who am I to assume that reading this is a good way to spend your time? Who AM I, exactly? Just a broad on her computer, half-listening to CP24 and learning all the commercial jingles for lawyers who WILL FIGHT FOR YOU. (I have a theory that Fran the Neighbourhood Cat is a Diamond & Diamond lawyer in her down time. I’d say this is a problematic trait in and of itself, but it’s not because have you seen a photo of all those lawyers? There’s for sure a cat somewhere in there.) I live in a reality in which I think “Oh, I’m ABSOLUTELY going to SMASH IT with my admissions of whatever-the-fuck!” via Substack Dot Com! And that reality is so rich that after writing said admissions, I will mass email it to all of you so you can read it and think, “Okay, but like . . . does she know you don’t COOK guacamole?” (YES I KNOW.) (What else do you call it? “Preparing?” Okay, Giada. Calm down.)

But also: it’s been a real week. And while I’d love to write about something substantial or deep, my brain is at the point that if I were to be sent something like that, I would delete it quietly and whisper, “No.” So this is for everyone, I guess, whose brains are stuck in commercial jingle mode and have accepted that they will hate their favourite song in three hours. Share with me your own bad traits! I’ll post them here! (Unless you don’t want me to — but like, I won’t use your name, so what do you have to lose?) And maybe, one day . . . if we all work hard and hope for the best, I will find the strength to find a photo big enough for an official header. But until that day comes, you will receive a newsie that looks like something you’d find printed out and posted on your communal work fridge.

Talk soon!

- A.