Strangely Naked

Where we continue our series about the origins and evolution of my bottomless pit of self-loathing. If you’ve missed any posts and you’re a pity-party completist, you can go back and see any of the posts from the last couple of weeks, including the last post, all about my dog’s suicide. Doesn’t that sound like fun!?!

T-Talentless. I’m not completely talentless, but my talents aren’t the type you can monetize. My naturally born talents are useless. I’m tall but I can’t jump or do anything requiring athleticism. Those talents I work on are all pretty useless. I can write, but so can your Aunt Hildegard, but worse, I can’t plot. I can juggle, but who wants to pay to see that? My breath apparently naturally smells like olives. Does anyone want to pay me to hyperventilate on them?

U-Urban. Part of my job is appealing in writing to grant making organizations. As part of that, I have to often write “urban youth.” The stigma in society is that the word “urban” is a handy substitute for “black people.” I am acutely aware of that and try to make sure I’m using it in the way that means “disadvantaged because they live in impoverished conditions in low-income settings.” It’s a weird line to walk and I feel like I’m still adding to the problem, because, no matter how often I tell myself about the intentions of my words, the recipient can read what I’m writing according to their own, probably racist, filter. While I put a lot of time into contextualizing my use of “urban,” the reader can easily substitute the word, “thug,” or “scary poor people of a darker shade.”

V-Verbose Village Idiot. My curse is being able to express myself in vivid twists of language, but without a general filter between my brain and my mouth. Therein lies the trouble. Like everyone else, I have horrible thoughts, like, “I could grab that cop’s gun,” and like most others, I don’t act on those impulses. Buuuuut I sure do vocalize ’em! The only reason I’m married is that my spouse is so compatible with me that I said something inhumanly rude and my spouse, that exceptionally-wonderful-magic-maker laughed.

W-What are you doing? If I ever harbored entrepreneurial desires, it would be to start the business, “What Are You Doing?” It’s a filter service where people send their emails, Facebooks, tweets, etc. to before those are actually sent/posted. Simply so that, if those posts/correspondences are too emotionally fueled, a message would be returned with a voicemail that simply says in a condescending tone, “what are you doing?” No matter the response, the reply is, “Really? C’mon. What. Are ya’ doin’?”

Hopefully, learning this much about me is not so off-putting that you create a Yelp page devoted to reviews of my urinating in soups (please do that, bored people, please. I’m not a soup maker, so what do I care?).