Without further ado, I present unto you, with some rhyme but no reason, my manic writing sessions:
"Refreshingly rude" is what she said I am, and she would know, but the particular incident she was thinking about was when I said that we weren't having a good phone conversation because we hadn't spoken in so long. I thought I was making it better, pointing out the reality of the situation. Putting into words what is wrong is how I cope with everyday life (not that that conversation required a coping method--shit, I'm doing it again). But this isn't about her.
"That was rude" it a phrase that was told to me when I said that smoking menthols is disgusting. I forget that people take these things personally. I qualified: "I used to smoke, so I can say that. Besides, it is gross. No one can deny that." That's true, they admitted. A slap in the face, some of the things that come out of my mouth. It's why the people who like me, like me. That, and I'm a laugh-a-minute, but the two go hand in hand: honesty is hilarious, reality is a riot. If you can't laugh about it, what's the point?
I've been rubbing her the wrong way for weeks, but she just doesn't get it the way I need people to get it -- Sarah gets that, but not a whole lot of other people do. I can gage the quality of a friend by telling a clown to fuck off; that's the world in which I thrive. I said, "We'll be sick of each other by that point anyway," of the week we're spending together in Costa Rica. What? It's true. Why waste time with tact? It takes way too much energy to feign politeness when the truth is so much more efficient. We could go back and forth -- "No, no, I'll pay" should be "You can pay when you're not broke;" "It's just not my style" ought to be "It's not flattering on you;" are just examples from the past few days of the moments I chose to ignore my deeply instilled East Coast passive aggressive mannerisms and just came out with it without pussyfooting around What I Thought. Honestly, people of polite society, I have too much to do to expend energy tip-toeing around your ego, especially with this broken foot. I hereby decree a spade shall be called a spade regardless of whose feelings might be momentarily pained should that spade be their fat ass. Likewise, when I say I am fat, it is because I am fat; I am not begging for your false kowtowing. We're both better than that, or if you aren't, then get the hell away from me.
When I want a compliment, I ask for it. "Aren't my new sunglasses amazing?" (They are, omg, genuine Dior sunglasses make me feel like the queen of the fucking world and you can't put a price on that. Actually, you can: $300, what a bargain!).
But let's face it; spending a week in a foreign country is not going to be all puppies and rainbows. I'd rather be prepared for the discomfort, the slammed doors, the stomping away from the bar, so that I can get over it more quickly, and besides, it's delusional to think we're all going to get along like one big happy family, most of us strangers in a strange land. Out of everything I choose to prioritize in life, the first is laughter, and the second is efficiency. That hasn't ever changed; what has is that I accept that we all experience life differently, and that people aren't necessarily prepared for my lack of tact. It's part of the reason I dish out compliments every chance I get, so that when I do verbalize what generally goes unspoken, you know it's because I like you, not (just) because I'm a bitch.