If You Don't Like It, Don't Read It

To which I say, fuck that. Seriously. People say all the time that if you can't relate, don't understand, or don't like something, you shouldn't read it online. I do not understand this.

Here is just a smattering of the blogs I read:

Pat Stack - we have absolutely nothing in common, and I barely understand over half of what he writes about. I highly doubt he reads my blog.

She Walks - she's a married mother who likes to drink wine. I'm single without kids and don't drink alcohol.

Kingdom Twindom - this woman lives ... in New Mexico? I'm not sure. She's republican and very religious. We believe opposite things, basically. To be completely honest, I can only read her blog in small doses.

Jessie Sholl - again, pretty much nothing in common. She wrote a book, I read her book, now I read her blog. I'd read her food-shopping lists.

Noraebang - he is a guy born in Korea, adopted in America, who lives in a part of Florida where I once got horribly lost and cried. I am always excited when I understand even half of what he's written about, and have spent fascinating hours reading all sorts of articles about adoption. I was neither adopted, nor do I plan to adopt. Um, nor am I Korean.

Shelby Fero - she's a freaking teenager! Tweets about her prom and everything! I just read her because she's a funny kid. <---- understatement.

People say if you don't like it, stop reading. I say if you don't like it, challenge yourself to keep reading. Find a piece of that person you relate to, that you can understand. There's a blogger who posts what she'll cook for dinner each night. Most of her meals don't appeal to me, but there's always at least one that intrigues. Wide Lawns has more than double the formal education I do, but we like some of the same books. Should I have "stopped reading" because of a couple of blog posts about her cat, since I'm a dog person? No!

So I challenge you. I challenge you to read something even though you don't relate to the author at first glance. I challenge you to dig deeper. To expand your mind and learn about someone you don't think you'd have for a friend. Learn something you didn't know before. Learn to think about something in a way you never did before. Push yourself to see something from a different point of view.

Dirty Secret

When I first moved to Florida, I was living in my grandparents' apartment, had no friends, and was bored. So I did what any Jewish girl from New York would do, and went shopping. A lot. I lived near about three different malls, one of which was an outlet mall, so there were plenty of choices. The truth is, I got a lot of shit I didn't need. The truth is, I got so much stuff that I couldn't properly utilize it all. When I moved to my own place, it wasn't just a walk-in closet. It was a closet that could comfortably fit a bed. A closet I could easily do a cartwheel in. Well, if there weren't so many piles of bags and clothes.

At some point, I confessed to my brother how bad it had gotten, and from the opposite end of the East Coast, he gave me one of the best presents I've ever gotten. He hired someone off Craigslist to help me clean out my closet. Now, unfortunately for this poor girl he hired, despite the fact that I honestly explained how bad things were, she agreed to work for a flat fee. I'm not sure how much Golden Boy paid her, but she knew it was a present for me, and you could see all over her face when I showed her my mess, that she was upset she'd agreed to the price. I wound up giving her like $60 or so, calling it a tip. Plus a few bags of clothes. But I'll bet you she never again agreed to be paid something without seeing what she was walking into after that.

Anyway, this girl, I want to say her name was Clarice, but it wasn't, but it was something like that, was great. Golden Boy sure knows how to word a Craigslist ad. And sift through responses. Clarice and I spent three days sorting, tossing, donating, washing, folding, and ironing. At the end of the experience, I promised myself I'd never let it get that bad again. I've kept my promise. That was the closest I've ever come to being a hoarder.

At the time, I didn't know that word - like the word introvert, it would be a word I'd learn after moving to California - but I was well on my way to becoming one. It was something I didn't want to become, and each time I've moved, I've gotten rid of stuff. You know that little high you feel when you find something in a store to buy? I get that high. But I also get a high when I've created space in my home by getting rid of things also. Time to confess: what do you hoard?

I'm not sure how I stumbled across Jessie Sholl's Dirty Secret book. But I did, and I reserved it from the library. I can't watch Hoarders anymore. It skeeves me out to think of the bugs that must be there. Because I have bugs where I live. Not because I hoard, since I don't, but because I just live in a shitty place. It grosses me out so much that I have hives, daily. So I can't watch Hoarders anymore. I wasn't sure I'd be able to read the book.

Shouldn't have worried. Jessie Sholl could write a fucking phone book and I'd read it. She is funny and light and deep and interesting all at the same time, which shouldn't even be possible. She throws out hoarding statistics that you'd think would get really dry, but somehow they don't. She psychoanalyzes her own mother, publicly. I can't even imagine how difficult that must have been.

Jessie Sholl gave so much background about her mother, the hoarder, that as frustrated as you'll be on Jessie's behalf, you also feel sympathy for her, and understand why she does it. There was a slight touch of Eat, Love, Pray about the book that made me wary, but right before Jessie could have slid down the Italian rabbit hole she stopped and went in another direction.

Also, here's a Surprise! Bonus! At the end of the book she has her Acknowledgments section where she thanks people. You know who she thanks? You know Alice Bradley? That slippery lady? Yeah, me either. But they are friends! Like with each other! How cute is it to find out two awesome writers are friends?

So yes.
Dear Jessie Sholl,
Your book was great. Please write a phone book. Tomorrow.
Thank you,
Green Yogurt
P.S. An Ikea instructional manual would be a fine substitute.

Please Weigh in on a Fat Problem

(And that will conclude the fat jokes for this blog post.)

You are me. You are friends with someone who lives nearby, and is, shall we say, zaftig. She has invited you to parties she's thrown, you've attended twice and had lovely times (when you are not surrounded by jewish people, to all of a sudden get to hang out with one brings out very good feelings, but that's not the only reason you like her). You have not reciprocated because you have not thrown any parties, but if you had, you would have.

Now you've found yourself volunteering for an event, specifically for zaftig ladies. You think she would enjoy it a lot (I almost typed tons, but then re-read my first sentence). You think of inviting her (to partake, not to volunteer).

Then you realize what you'd wind up saying is, "Hey! You're fat! Wanna go to this fattie event I think you'd dig?" You realize that if the roles were reversed, even though clearly everyone can look at you and see your size, to be actually called out on it would mortify you, and you'd promptly move to the mountains of Kentucky where you know noone. Yet on the other hand, you do realize that you are a delicate and overly sensitive flower, while not everyone else is, so perhaps you should not put your neurosis on others.

You are socially savvy. Tell me what to do.