“And now, it’s payback time. Pottery Barn is in for a world of hurt.”

I’m scattered today.  I may as well apologize now.  This series of ramblings is going to be a doozy, I can already tell.  I finished reading Reckless:  My Life as a Pretender, by Chrissie Hynde.  I loved it.  I stayed up all night reading it.  I had to take lots of breaks to look up colloquialisms from her youth.  (I can speak 1960’s now.)  I took notes because I’ve never heard of a lot of bands she mentioned, but will rectify that situation soon.  I know a lot more about drugs, now.

I didn’t know much about Chrissie Hynde before reading the book.  I knew she was cool, and I could easily conjure her image and voice in my mind.  That about covers it.  When I found out she was touring with Stevie Nicks, I was ecstatic.  I saw some footage uploaded to YouTube by fans, (thanks!)  The crowds were unbelievably humongous.  Holy shiitake mushrooms, Batman!

The book kicked me in the nuts twice.  The first time, because Chrissie Hynde described a collection as Aspergian, the second because she has no idea how wonderful and brilliant she is. I got past the first kick instantly because she was descriptive, not mean.  No malice, no foul.  The second took longer because it reminded me of how big an asshole I was back when I thought my “superior” skill at learning from books, the only taught method for both our generations, made me awesome.

I’ve since learned the difference between awesome and asshole.  You’re welcome.  😂  I feel guilty because I know my former superiority complex has a lot to do with the lack of confidence I see in many brilliant people who were told they weren’t by influential people in their world.  And worse, because all my book learnin’ doesn’t seem to help me convince them they’re so much more than they’ve been led to believe.  Sigh.

Someone who works in a different office but shares the break area informed me my Ph.D. in Software Engineering is no achievement.  I laughed (pretty hard.)  Then I said, “I know, but I have a brown vagina.”  Then he laughed and said, “Expensive liability insurance.”  (That’s precisely when it stopped being funny to me.)  I appreciate him for comprehending out loud, though.

It occurred to me I have things in common with Chrissie Hynde.  Such as, we both knew what we wanted at a young age, and went for it.  We also both know that long, agonizing moment where we first recognize we’re about to suffer a fate worse than we ever imagined.  Her books’ content covered exactly what I would have asked her, with detail in all the right places, and that just blows my mind.  I read some reviews on Amazon and was surprised to see comments by fans who wanted tabloid content and were disappointed to get her history instead.

(As a recovering asshole, I can’t help but think…  Autobiography:  An account of a person’s life written by that person.)  So anyway, I also noted Chrissie Hynde can draw, created her own style, and is the boss.  So now I know she’s cool, a survivor, a good descriptive writer, and a vulnerable human, living her life out loud despite it.  I also know she’s the mum of two young women, and she’s a 🇬🇧 Londoner.  (She doesn’t fake the accent like Madonna.  Heh.  I suspect Madonna does it because it’s hilarious.  What Madonna may lack in raw musical talent, she more than makes up for in music industry acumen.  Come at me. 🙃)

I’m just kidding, don’t come at me, I’ve already cried twice today, and I’m a wee bit dehydrated.  😂😂  (Nothing to blog home about, just a typical day in the life.)  We moved M’s dresser and a chair into my apartment.  We’re going to take this s.l.o.w.l.y.  So slowly I don’t really notice the change, (and freak out because he’s in my space, and he’s this person I can’t ignore because it would hurt him and I don’t want to hurt him, and it will be hard until it’s not, then it’ll be the new normal, and the planet will continue hurling through space… Whew, almost talked me into panicking!)  I’m off to run in the moonlight with my new dog.  Yay.  🐕

5 thoughts on ““And now, it’s payback time. Pottery Barn is in for a world of hurt.”

  • Is there a chance your colleague may have meant “no matter how brilliant or educated or unique you are, unfortunately we live in a society which operates on a set of preconceived ideas: that the colour of your skin, and your gender automatically increase risk ( therefore expensive liability insurance)” – an attempt at empathy and acknowledgement that society and systems can be an asshole ? Just wondering out loud…

  • I believe he understood the unfairness and was acknowledging it using deadpan humor. (Samesies?) The men who dominate my industry (which one don’t they dominate? Beuller?) get paid more for less education, experience, and achievement. It takes a much more substantial investment to play if you identify as a woman. Vagina tax is less than brown vagina tax. Either way, it sucks, and any excuse to laugh about it (rather than crying) is a good excuse.

    I’m reading Sleeping Beauties by Owen and Stephen King (just started.) You have to read this book. If you want to wait until I finish and review it with trigger warnings, give me a few days (tops.) So far, I’ve been laughing so hard I’m worried about disturbing my neighbors. It’s a twisted, intriguing tale dedicated to Sandra Bland, which is the equivalent of a sincere, empathetic, feminist hug from Stephen King and his son Owen on behalf of all men who aren’t evil. 💜

    • 🙂 I’m glad he let you know he gets it.

      Downloading the book onto the trusty kindle now… I’d say ready, set, go… But you have a head start lol X

  • I’m not a writer; I’m a reader. 🙃 I only write academically (in the past) and therapeutically: rants, joys, and despair in the form of poorly edited blog posts, or poetry. I daydream stories sometimes and write down book ideas for favorite authors on occasion.

    I figure everyone does this, and my favorite authors probably have someone on payroll to request we cease politely. Also, I’m weird about sharing what I create internally. I’m not big on the voluntary loss of self. It’s in the same vein as my refusal to be photographed.

    Where’s yours? 🙃

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