I am not a calm person.
I suck in a crisis. When my kid is sick, I put on a fake calm facade, smiling bravely while I dial the pediatrician, all the while internally chanting “OMG he’s gonna die, OMG he’s gonna die…”
I barely survived September 11. Was I calm? NOT EVEN A TINY BIT. I cried, lost my shit and just generally acted like it was my last day on earth. Which I thought it was.
Calm? I wish I’d gotten my hands on a Colt M16 assault rifle. I would have gone all “Say hello to my little friend” on those motherfuckers who were trampling me to death while we tried to evacuate a building in midtown Manhattan.
Hurricane Sandy was yet another opportunity to be so NOT calm. To my credit, I started out calm – after all, I have a kid, But by the third day of no power, people began ripping off the little generators that everyone had humming on their front lawns. Now I had to buy an industrial sized chain to secure my generator to the house, that pathetic generator I could barely heat up soup with.
I lost my shit and screamed like a lunatic, “This IS SOME FUCKING GHETTO BULLSHIT! I DID NOT MOVE TO THE SUBURBS FOR PEOPLE TO LOOT MY MOTHERFUCKING LAWN! I HAVE A SICK CHILD! IF YOU COME NEAR MY GENERATOR I WILL KILL YOU!”
I’ve just started playing guitar again, for the first time in years, and my fingertips are getting torn up. One of my bestest blogging buddies, who shall go unnamed, although *cough cough* she’s from England and her name rhymes with “frizzy,” suggested I put superglue on them.
Does she not KNOW me? This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.
I have a meditating frog yoga statue thingey in my back yard, and its toe had cracked off. I decided I would be all DIY and repair that, in addition to fortifying my fingertips, since purchasing a tube of Loctite 495 made me a superglue expert.
But I left the glue out without the cap on overnight, and a hard glue booger had ossified at the top. I had to pry that sucker off with a safety-pin, and when I did, a glue geyser came spurting out like the money shot in a porno flick. Glue went everywhere. I had a frog’s toe glued to my fingertips, some of which got glued together, and I was VERY NOT CALM ABOUT THIS.
It’s really hard to Google “how do you remove superglue” with your nipples. FYI.
I’ve had a couple of online friends tell me they didn’t like the way I talk to them.
I’M FROM NEW YORK. Saying “fuck you, motherfucker!” is like saying “hello!” I type “mot” into my phone, and it auto fills in “motherfucker.” Not even “mother.” It goes right to the “fucker.”
When I’m upset, excited, happy, angry, when I’m just about ANYTHING, I go BIG. I don’t know if that’s simply my innate temperament, or a byproduct of growing up in New York. And I’m never just upset. I’m DEVASTATED. I’m not hungry, I’m STARVING. I don’t have a headache, it’s A BRAIN TUMOR AND I’M GOING TO DIE.
People know that about me. Most people are just used to it. In many situations, it can be a fabulous thing. For example, when we were on the birthday party circuit, that parade from hell that never ends, I was a welcome guest. Because I never sat on the sidelines with the other moms. I dove into those ball pits and bouncy castles with the kids. Have you ever read in the news about elementary school children murdering one another in a bouncy castle in New Jersey? Exactly. Your welcome.
My kid is not even embarrassed anymore. He’s just so used to my exuberance he doesn’t even flinch at karate competitions when I scream “KICK HIS ASS!” He actually asked me to volunteer every year at his school’s field day, because I screamed and hollered until I was hoarse, cheering on all the kids. By name. Especially the ones whose parents weren’t there.
I have a big personality. This is sometimes used as code for “is annoying as fuck,” “freaks out if she isn’t the center of attention,” “has big tits.”
I may fall into the first two categories, but certainly not intentionally. I just tend to experience things very strongly, and express my feelings. I’m passionate about the things I love, the things I hate, and most things in between. I’ll stop the car to throw my kid out if he’s rude, but I’m just as likely to stop and pull over for us to look at a beautiful sunset.
My BIG personality does not translate well electronically. If I’m disagreeing with someone via text or messenger, “Fuck you, you’re an asshole! I hate you!” does not bode well with the person on the other end. Those words come off much more aggressively when typed.
In real life, I’ve used the exact same words. But the person can tell, by my body language, my tone, my intonation, that what I’m saying is, “This is getting us nowhere! Can we just agree to disagree? Now let’s go take a shower together. If you’re nice to me, I’ll blow you.”
That’s another thing. Do you want a nice calm blowjob,the kind that’s so relaxed I fall asleep doing it? I’ll bet not. And I wonder – do those really calm women, the ones who are so quiet and even tempered and unemotional (wait, are there any women like that?), do they flip a switch and go wild in bed? THAT’S a nice little fantasy. Now just make her a mute with a degree in cooking from Le Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute while we’re at it. Knock out a few of those pesky teeth that get in the way, and voila! The perfect woman.
So DON’T tell me to calm down. I don’t WANT to be calm. As much as I wish for that kind of chill demeanor when to have it would be beneficial, I’d rather be the expressive, passionate, exuberant person I am.
I can always dial myself down a little. But those calm, low-key people with the energy level of potted plants – they’re gonna have a hell of a time trying to dial it UP.
You might think I’m too much. Maybe, you’re not enough?
Do you know people who are naturally calm? Are they on something? Is my personality super annoying? Be honest.
Talk to me. I’m listening.