You know, the stuff you eat. Well, I suppose you eat it. I mean, from what I’ve heard, no one eats it. It gets shoved into the back of some cupboard, or into the corner of a freezer, and there it stays until is discovered, like an Indiana Jones artifact. You have to dig it out with a pick.
And by then, it will have acquired the density of a hockey puck.
But my questions is, if so many people hate it, why does it keep showing up on store shelves? Somebody must be buying this dreck.
And what about the people who make them?
If you stop and think about it, there’s an awful lot of fruitcake around at this time of the year, and if you can find one person who says he or she likes it, then you’re farther…
The US election campaign is winding down and there’s not much left to do except the counting. There’s been an absolute, batshit-crazy amount of talk, writing, crying, and gnashing of teeth over it. And with good cause.
For multitudinous reasons, the country that I live next to and admire is poised to possibly elect as its president one of the least qualified people they could possibly find anywhere. An orange-tinted, intellectually challenged, morally bankrupt, emotionally unstable pussy-grabber.
Yes. Pussy-grabber. It’s not my term. I borrowed it off Bill Maher, but it is lovely, isn’t it?
I’m dismayed at the depth and degree of racism, prejudice and outright anger that Trump’s presidential bid has uncovered. Seriously, it makes me cringe. And it seems that the people who follow him can’t be dissuaded by any degree of outrageous behaviour on his part. He tells whopping great lies. His idea of foreign policy is to build a wall. He makes really inappropriate sexual comments about his own daughters. He has demonstrated what borders on hatred, or at the very least, a profound contempt for women, the handicapped, blacks, Hispanics and anyone else who’s not a white male, except for Muslims of course. He has called for Clinton to be “locked up.” Some of his followers are even shouting for her to be “executed.” He has associated with white supremacists. He loves Putin. He steals. He cheats.
More than once, I have found myself speechless at his inane pomposity, sanctimony and juvenile belief in his own superiority.
A number of moons ago, no one believed that Trump would get very far. He was seen as a hard-right, narcissistic fruit loop who couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map. He was incapable of leading a trip to the toilet.
How times change.
Now he’s a hard-right, psychopathic fruit loop who still can’t find his own ass with both hands and a map.
He’s amped himself up.
And so have the rest of us. Some people are now starting to refer to him as another Hitler. Is that going too far?
Is he a narcissist? A psychopath? Someone who is just exploiting those characteristics in order to get elected? But then, wouldn’t that make him a narcissist/psychopath anyway?
Should those terms even be bandied about? The terms narcissist, narcissism, narcissist, psychopath and psychopathic have been very popularly, very loosely used over the last few years. Have they started to lose their impact, their importance, through overuse?
Is this one of those times when those words really do apply to someone and people are ignoring them because vocabulary fatigue has set in?
I’m feeling some caution here. I’m not a counsellor, psychologist or psychiatrist, but I’m convinced that I was married to a narcissist. I started writing publicly about that experience, right here, in this blog. So, from one point of view, the one that says that I am not equipped to do any diagnosing, I really shouldn’t have done that.
I follow others who also write about narcissism and its effects. They are insightful, smart, knowledgable and experienced. And me, I’m writing about it right now. Am I just part of a sort of weird cult that thinks and writes obsessively about narcissism? A cult that will eventually disappear, the idea and popularity of writing about narcissism having burned itself out?
On the other hand, I’m an intelligent, well-read person who can figure things out. And I know that I was married to a narcissist, especially now that I have some distance from that experience. I know that it’s important to write about it, to read about it, to reflect on the importance it has had in my life. I know about narcissism.
Various professional psychiatric organisations in the US have warned their members not to weigh in on Trump by giving some sort of diagnosis. And that’s how it should be, otherwise there could be a great deal of abuse.
But … I know they can’t comment, that to do that would fly in the face of every ethical precept.
But. But, but, but.
This man is dangerous. And a lot of people aren’t getting that.
I believe that at the very least, Trump probably has narcissistic personality disorder. He strongly reminds me of my ex-narcissist. So yes, I’ve just done a pseudo-diagnosis and hung another label on him. Sometimes, you just have to use a label and call him what he is. A pussy-grabber?
But all joking aside, I believe that as a result of his NPD, he’s not fit to be president of a row-boat society, let alone a country that has a huge military and a large nuclear arsenal.
If he wins, he will be so blithely unaware that he will be open to manipulation from other world leaders and from his own government. His judgement – about anything – will be unreliable and suspect. He will be unpredictable. He will be uncaring and exploitative. He will be vindictive and petty. Once there, he won’t really want the actual job. For him, this is only a trophy. And it’s one he will want to keep for life.
Is there a sort of “narcissism fatigue”? Perhaps. Are some of us too preoccupied with this personality issue and therefore stealing some of its thunder, so to speak? Maybe.
Could this be part of the reason why people aren’t taking Trump’s obvious drawbacks as seriously as they should?
Or is it more important to people to do a protest vote than to think about its consequences?
Many people might say that all Trump is doing is saying what he thinks, and that that’s no different from what I’m doing. Hummm.
What I do know is that years of reading, writing and thinking about narcissism tells me that a Trump government will be an absolute mess, and maybe worse.
I hope that I’m worried about nothing. But then, that’s only the beginning, isn’t it? Because really, the reasons for Trump’s popularity need some serious sorting.
Recently, M and I spent a day at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary, looking at the work of some of Canada’s most famous artists. If you click on the pictures, you can get a better view of the paintings. I realise that they’re not the best photos; I took them with my cell phone. Continue reading A Day at the Museum→
As bloggers, we get all kinds of comments. They are intrinsic to the whole bloggy bit. I look forward to comments. I like making comments. They are the lifeblood of the blogging world. They range from the hilarious to the poignant. But every now and then, we can get comments that prompt a different range of reaction.
There’s the kind that sets your teeth on edge. The kind that pisses you off. The kind that creeps you out.
I publish comments that I don’t agree with. I try to address them the best way I can without being rude or offensive. Live and let live. Not everyone is the same and diversity is healthy.
The creepy ones? The ones that make you feel like you’ve stepped on a dead slug with your bare foot? Those get labelled as spam and sent somewhere.
Then there’s the kind that you don’t know what to do with.
I got one of those yesterday. It rambles and it’s contradictory. It’s confusing at times. It sounds like Sarah Palin.
It could be an honest attempt at expression from someone who struggles with that … or maybe not.
The other thing is that there are bits of it that I really disagree with, and that’s the problem.
Am I being a chickenshit? Am I being lazy? Do I just not want to deal with the layers of stuff going on in this comment? Am I saying that this is my blog, I don’t like that comment, and commentator, you can just stuff it?
Because what really gets me is that this is a comment about narcissism. And the writer ends this comment I-don’t-like with, “and I’m not a narcissist.” Which immediately makes me think that he/she is a narcissist.
But it also sounds like it’s coming from a narcissist. I feel like there’s an attempt to reel me in, to undermine, to, to, slime all over everything. Sometimes, narcissists like to troll, like to present themselves as victims. Sometimes, they do a sort of hiding in plain sight. Covert narcissists. Then, there’s the narcissist who claims to not be a narcissist. Just so they can press some buttons and laugh at the discomfort they cause.
But maybe I’m over-reacting.
This comment has made me uncomfortable. And because of that, the comment is hiding in moderation-land. And maybe that’s all the warning I need.
If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t go there.
What’s moderate? Letting this person comment and then possibly opening some floodgates to a conversation I don’t want to have? Or is it my duty to just take on the bad with the good and get on with it? Just because I don’t want to do it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.
Do you publish comments that you disagree with? That you don’t like? That make you uncomfortable? What are we supposed to be moderating? What’s moderate, anyway?
I’ve noticed from time to time a tendency on some of the narcissism blogs that I read, for people to get a little testy about the things said about narcissism, narcissists and their victims. I have experienced testy commentary a couple of times and in one case, an outright angry response to a comment that I made – an accusation that I didn’t understand narcissism, that I didn’t know what I was talking about, that I didn’t know what it is like to be a victim.
Initially, I was hurt by the remark. I took it personally.
Reading, writing and thinking about narcissism is an emotional and arduous task. It requires a great deal of work, very difficult work that takes time, effort and sometimes, money.
When I first separated from my ex-narcissist, I went for counselling. I was fortunate on several fronts. First, I had a health care account that allowed me to cover the cost of counselling. Secondly, I had an excellent counsellor. And last, but not least, I had very supportive people in my life.
I moved on. I started a new relationship with a man to whom I am now married. My life is good, better than it has ever been, in fact.
I also started this blog. Initially, it was only about narcissism, but as I recovered and grew, I moved on to other subjects, too.
I still write about narcissism, obviously. I still read about narcissism. I still think about narcissism. A lot.
I have realized, too, that my recovery is not complete, and that it likely never will be. I am still processing many things about narcissism, and have also come to the realization that my mom was probably also a narcissist. That means that I may be an ACON, or an adult child of a narcissist(s).
This has opened an entire other door for me. One that I didn’t consciously know was there. It was a surprise, but also not a surprise.
I knew that something was wrong, but I thought it was always my fault. I spent a great deal of time trying to “fix” myself.
But what I know now is that I’m mostly okay. I have tendencies to behave in certain ways that I learned when I was a child. I am slowly getting that some of these “behaviours” are actually just reactions.
I am taking the time to slowly process a somewhat difficult childhood that lead to some rather shitty decisions on my part. I’m finally starting to really see that I am in charge now, that my decisions are my own and my responsibility.
My pronounced childhood stutter is almost entirely gone.
I don’t take testy commentary personally any more.
Dealing with and processing narcissism is work. And like any other work, it can be frustrating, boring and tiresome. But this work also demands a great deal of intense emotional investment. It’s draining and exhausting.
So, people who are deeply processing can make comments that come out of an emotional hole. They can sound waspish and bitter, or even ridiculous and idiotic. They may be grief-stricken or preachy. And, they may be making the same comment for the 3,405th time because they still can’t believe it and still have to say it. And that’s okay, too.
Repetition can be the mother of recovery.
And recovery is what many of us are here for, right?
Rudy is my dog. Well, he’s technically my son’s dog, but he has lived with me for most of his life. Rudy readily adopted M into his pack and now hates it when M is away. Recently, he also adopted B, M’s son.
Rudy is an amazing dog. And he’s about to turn 15. We’re not sure exactly when he’s turning 15 because he was an SPCA dog. But it’s within the next three months, most likely around the end of February or beginning of March. Rudy is in excellent health and is still living a full life. His hearing and eyesight are not quite what they used to be and he’s got a little arthritis, but those things aren’t holding him back at all.
So in honour of Rudy’s 15th birthday, and in honour of the fabulous guy that he is, I’m going to share with you some of the wisdom that I’ve learned from Rudy over the years.
1. Go for a walk every day. If there’s mud, snow, or deer poo, play in it. (Actually, you can skip the deer poo.)
2. You sleep better when you’re with your pack.
3. Grow your pack whenever you can.
4. Always wag your tail and show your pack how much you missed them.
5. Be sure to use your bark sparingly, but don’t be afraid to use it if the zombies come.
6. One invitation can negate seven rejections. (No matter how often Rudy is kicked out of the kitchen, he completely forgets the moment he’s invited in for a tasty tidbit!)
7. Demonstrate your loyalty without reservation.
8. Enjoy your food, especially your vegetables. (Rudy loves broccoli, asparagus and peas.)
9. Roll over and get your tummy scratched as often as you can.
10. Be polite to the other dogs, even if you don’t like them.
11. Going somewhere, anywhere, is a wonderful thing.
12. If someone tells you you’re great, lap it up and wag your tail in appreciation.
13. Grumble if you think the humans are being unfair. They might change their minds. 😉
14. If you need to lick your butt, don’t worry about what others might think.
15. Remember that you bring great joy and pleasure to life. 💜
So I found this in my search terms, along with “narcissist bullshitter” and “the narcissist cookbook.” Could be something funny here – do you think?
Are narcissists bullshitters? Do they bullshit about cooking? Or are they busy cooking up bullshit? With Yop yogourt? Yuck. Now there’s an unattractive visual. Maybe the searcher was looking for Gordon Ramsay’s cookbook.
My ex-narcissist was the biggest bullshitter when it came to his cooking abilities. And everything else. But when it came to recipes for the narcissistic line, he was yops, er, tops.
What recipes would The Narcissist Cookbook contain? Let’s take a quick stroll through a potential table of contents.
1. Appetiser – The “I love you because you’re perfect” Smoked Oysters.
2. Pasta – The “I can’t live without you, precious” Farfalle with Creamy Truffles.
3. Meat – The “I really need a quick loan and will pay you right back” well done flank steak.
4. Fish – The “will you marry me” Cedar-Planked Salmon with Arugula Salad.
5. Palate Cleanser – The “you’re such an annoying person but anyway will you buy this suit for me” Eye-Watering Lemon Sorbet.
6. Dessert – The “I’ve fallen out of love with you but you still need to buy these tires for my car” Curdled Creme Brulee.
7. Cheese Plate – The “I know you want a divorce but you’re gonna have to pay me” Squishy Grape and Smelly Rotten Cheese Platter.
8. Very Expensive Civet Coffee with Petit fours.
9. Free-at-last Digestive (recipe not included in cookbook but necessary in order to recover from meal-induced heartburn. Don’t worry. It goes away.)
10. (Next day) Tummy-soothing Oatmeal with Brown Sugar, best consumed with good friend.
I don’t think it’s too serious but suffice it to say that my heart became a little glitchy on Tuesday morning. Officially, what happened is called supraventrical dysrythmia. Great name, huh? What this means is that electricity wasn’t passing properly through my heart and caused a weak, crazily fast rhythm. Would have outdone the “zoom zoom” kid on the Toyota ads.
It was a really nasty experience. Especially the medication they gave me that stopped my heart and restarted it. When they said that I would momentarily feel like I was dying, they were right.
But the EMTs and emergency people really were fabulous. Without them, I might not be here.
I even got to ride in an ambulance.
Don’t know how long I will be here in hospital, but I’m taking it in stride, even if it can be a little tedious. At the same time, I also realize that I need to be here, to rest and recuperate.
I also realize that I’m re- assessing, too. Stuff that seemed so important three days ago no longer seems very important at all.
I have been tested, poked and prodded and there’s more coming.
But one great thing is that I’ve spent some real quality time with WordPress, reading and reading while at the same time just being taken care of.
From that perspective, it’s been great.
The idea of having time has been great.
There’s nothing like an acute encounter with death to refocus you on the important stuff.
Am I hallucinating, or is it still September? Because yesterday, I went into one of the local hardware stores and what to my wondering eyes should appear but eight rows of Christmas lights, and icicles, and pre-lit Christmas trees. Just remove from box.
Standing there in my shorts and sandals, I was sure that I was experiencing some sort of flashback.
My gag reflex is working overtime but it seems I have to start swallowing some Christmas pudding already.
I’m no marketer, but are there really that many eager Christmas light buyers in September? Or is it as I suspect – that we have to suffer this nonsense every year because it’s being shoved down our throats? And earlier and earlier?
Next thing you know, Peter Rabbit‘s bunny trail is going to be covered in tinsel. He won’t know whether to crap an egg or lay a turd.
It’s nauseating. Pass the Christmas pudding.
We haven’t even had Thanksgiving or Hallowe’en yet. Ho ho ho.
And I’m offended and appalled at the idea of Remembrance Day poppies having to compete with candy canes and tiny reindeer. It’s crass, disrespectful and downright ignorant.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Christmas. But commercial enterprises are trying to turn it into a year-round, debt-inducing crusade for stuff-buying.
Do I need to learn to accept the fact that Christmas has nothing whatsoever to do with spirituality, the winter solstice, family, food and fun and everything to do with masses of lucre and just shut up and stop whining?
Or should we be making our opposition – for many of us, anyway – to this charade known? Apparently, 68% of Americans don’t want to be exposed to Christmas advertising before Thanksgiving, which in their country, takes place at the end of November. I’m sure that in Canada, the numbers are similar.
Hang on a second. Let me throw up first, and then I’ll choke down some more Christmas pudding.