How To Be A Good King/Queen When You Are The Ruler of Crazyland

Back in the Olden Days, children were left tangible legacies from their parents.  Sons often received things like titles and gold and a cool castle (literally...what with no heat and all) and daughters were given dowries that could be traded for a husband...things like goats and a spinning wheel and a book on the Karma Sutra (which, unfortunately, most of them couldn't read since they were girls and may explain a lot about why gay sex really took an upswing about this time since all the boys could read, but, you know, printing was really expensive, so they probably had to share like one book between a whole group of them.  The Olden Days were confusing times.)

But, today, children are left with dubious legacies. Therapists often call these legacies 'emotional baggage' and they want you to throw it away quick and get rid of it.  But it's not that easy.  Cause a) it kinda sticks to you and b) it's hard to throw away stuff your folks gave you, even if you don't really want it.  I still have my dad's dentures somewhere around here.  God knows why.

So...now you're grown.  And you've gotten your legacy.  And now you're The King.  Or Queen of Crazyland.  What cha gonna do?  It's not like you can drop a bomb on the whole country and try to get political asylum in France.  Well, you could, but honestly...France?  Even Crazyland is better than a bunch of whiny French...

You can't give the crown to anyone else. Well, again, you could, but I'm not so sure that's a good idea either.  Letting someone else run your country never works out very well.  You usually end up out in the field with the rest of the peasants, digging up potatoes in holey socks, while someone else sits around in your (albeit cold as fuck) castle throwing orders around. 

Now The King is your thinking brain, ok?  And the peasants that make up Crazyland, they are your emotions.  I like metaphors.  They are visual and fun, just in case I ever want to turn all of this into a book for emotionally damaged children.

The King's job is to take care of and protect all of the inhabitants of the land, despite the fact that many of them are bat-shit crazy and wouldn't know the truth of a situation if it ran over them with a bright yellow Hummer and planted a big Crazyland flag on a spike through their emotional little hearts. The King is wise and kind.  He loves the villagers, even when they do dumb things, like cover themselves in lamb's blood and run, naked through the woods looking for hibernating bears and one-night-stands to curl up next to.  He knows that they don't know any better and he so he puts things in place to keep as many disasters from happening, as possible.  Like implants that give them an electric shock if they wander more than 20 feet into the forest.  Stuff like that.  Or maybe some bells on a string...I don't know...it's your fucking kingdom...

Why Does Love Always Look Like A Scene From Dexter

Babies learn what they are taught.  Sometimes it's good.  Sometimes, not.  This is why some puppies can learn to sit when they are only a few weeks old, and others are content with just laying around, eating their own poop.  Most of us don't have to see a therapist to figure out which puppy we were. We know. Between the stench of decades-long disappointments and the inescapable feeling that, in relationships, we are what we eat...we know. Now here's the thing...no one likes it when they are the poop-eating puppy, but once you realize that's what you were taught, it's much easier to not feel so badly about it. You can stop the bullshit and start learning how to act like a functional human being.

It's much worse to pretend that you aren't a poop-eating puppy (if you are) and, instead, continuing to pretend that you are a puppy who knows how to sit (if you aren't). Cause then you just bumble around, throwing yourself into situations that require you to sit, but, because you refused to recognize this deficit, you just end up lolling about and trying to look impressive, while you clumsily try to fob off your ability to take in shit, as a social skill.

...which never works. And you end up alone...again. Licking it off...again. Which then makes you one pissed off, lonely fucker who is sick of eating shit...again.

When a person doesn't understand how something works, it makes them feel confused.  And when most people (especially men) feel confused about something, especially something emotional, it makes them a little pissed off.  I don't know why.  But here is the thing...learning about 'love' is just like learning about anything else...fixing a car, learning to read, whatever...it's a skill.  It isn't magic, or just for the lucky, or just for the rich.  If you are the poop-eating puppy then, at the very least, just start doing the opposite.  Of everything.  You may not learn how to sit, but at least you won't be eating any more shit, and that's a start.

But this time is going to be different.  Why?  Because I say so...

And I am thin.  And rich.  And well-balanced.  A girl can dream, can't she?  Wishing something to be a certain way, doesn't make it so unless you are Dorothy and you own some fancy red shoes.  But that's OK.  I don't have to know Taekwondo to stop a burglar from breaking into my home, if I have have a home security system...or a gun...or both...

First you have to do some 'risk assessment'.  When navigating the streets of love, would you say you are as capable as 'a choir boy in downtown LA at midnight' or closer to 'Clint Eastwood on Main St. at high noon'? You may want to be Clint Eastwood (or do Clint Eastwood, I mean, who wouldn't), but if the reality about who you are when it comes to your ability to properly navigate down Love St. is actually closer to someone who could easily be Opie's 'best bud'...well, you might need to prepare your defenses in advance. 

Now don't confuse 'defenses' with 'defensiveness'...there's a difference.  One is 'appropriate boundaries', the other is 'a knee-jerk reaction to being scared that is meant to give you some space but usually just ends up making you look like an asshole'.

The Emotions of Emotion

Sometimes I wish I lived in England.  I like that people on the BBC don't get emotional.  Pretty much everything they talk about, whether it's a world disaster or a review of the next Harry Potter movie...it all sounds like a bedtime story being read by Mary Poppins.  I don't know if it's because I have 10 times too much testosterone in my system or if it's because emotional stuff just freaks me out...but all of the yackity yack about feelings and such just makes me want to throw up a little in my mouth most of the time. Maybe this is why most other women don't like me very much.  Maybe this is why I like gay men...it's just the right amount of brawn and barbie.  I don't know.  But when it comes to dealing with emotions, I like to take a very factual approach to the whole thing.  Sure, therapy is great, but after a certain point, I just want the formatted 'to-do' list on how to solve my problem...preferably no longer than a page cause I'm not long on patience either.