It’s me, Stephanie.
I’ve been reading your blog over the last year and…..Whoa, Sister.
You’re a bit of a mess aren’t you? Maybe a little ship wrecked? Train wrecked? I-don’t-remember-how-I-got-here-wrecked?
How many more years in a row are you gonna welcome the new year with the ‘ol achey breaky heart? Hmmm?
Got anybody lined up to do the honors come December?
Listen, I need to let you know something that apparently everyone EXCEPT YOU already knows. It’s going to change your life, maybe even save it.
It’s what everyone your age is doing now so you need to do it too.
Okay, here goes.
Don’t put your eggs in one basket.
That way when someone is done with you, you will have scattered your eggs around to several different baskets and you can just chill in one of those for a while.
This will prevent you from giving too many Fucks. Giving too many Fucks causes you to feel things. Feeling things causes you to give your Fucks to people who might actually deserve them.
But listen, you don’t have that kind of time.
You’re old as shit now and your birthday is in 6 days and you better not even pretend to turn 29 again because, BIIITCH! ain’t nobody falling for that now. Just be honest with yourself for once in your life and put 36 candles on the cake this year. For fucks sake, Stephanie. Everyone already knows you’ll be turning 36 anyway.
AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY go put your eggs in as many baskets as possible!
Like RIGHT NOW!!!! YESTERDAY EVEN!!!
Look, I don’t know who this mysterious person is that you’re gonna eventually want to give all your Fucks to but you need to at least be operating at your Max Basket Capacity so you’ll have a way better chance at recognizing him when he shows up. Max Basket Capacity varies for everyone. Some people are able to operate upwards of 10 or more baskets at one time. Others can only handle 5 or less. Since you’re a rookie and don’t know your MBC (that’s Max Basket Capacity), I’m gonna suggest you start big. You can always narrow it down later.
NOOOOO, Stephanie. This is purely math and science here. Get outta English Lit and walk your ass back across the hall.
Listen, it doesn’t matter if they catch feelings for you, Stephanie. You are not giving them any of your Fucks, remember? Right. So fuck ’em! That’s not your problem. They’ll have to figure out how to cope after you’re done with them. Because YOU WILL be done with them eventually. They’ll learn. It’s not your job to teach them.
Repeat after me: Fuck ’em!
They’re just human beings with feelings and emotions, blah, blah, freaking blah they haven’t learned to regulate yet because they haven’t taken all the personality and love tests we’ve taken or gone to hardly any TED talks or webinars or zoom conferences where EXPERTS, Stephanie, EXPERTS tell us what to feel and then how and when to feel it.
They haven’t even set up their Boundary Box! They don’t even have one! They’re just out there – all willy-nilly and EXPOSED for everyone and anyone.
Please tell me you have a Boundary Box, Stephanie. It’s the box we keep ourselves in until we get ready to give our Fucks to someone. No one, and I do mean NO ONE, is allowed inside the Boundary Box. In fact, if you’re a pro like me, you will have a Boundary Box inside a Boundary Box inside another Boundary Box, kinda like those Chinese nesting dolls.
Listen. This is important:
The Basket Eggs are allowed to approach the Boundary Box but must never attempt to infiltrate it even a tiny bit. If that is to happen, you must go NO CONTACT immediately. Right away. No questions or explanations are needed for the vile and filthy person who would even think about getting inside your Boundary Box.
GHOST THEM, STEPHANIE!!!! It’s the only way. They are EVIL. They will try to make you feel things for them! They will try to make you give them all your Fucks!!!!
Do Not Fall For Their Manipulation Tactics!
Walk Away Walk Away Walk Away
Then RUN, bitch!
As fast as you can!
There IS a better egg in one of those baskets and you deserve that egg, Stephanie!
DO NOT settle for just any Basket Egg.
But absolutely DO let them entertain you until you have found your GOLDEN basket egg. It makes them feel important and when they feel good they’re more fun to be around.
No, Stephanie. They’ll be fine! They’re just crying right now but they’ll get over it. Remember? Fuck ’em!
Repeat after me: Fuck ’em!
STEPHANIE! I’m telling you right now that giving them even half a Fuck will cause you to feel something and feeling something will cause an avalanche of all your Fucks and then you will love them unconditionally forever and ever amen until the end of time because that is what you do and I am tired of saying hello to all the January’s of all the years with a broken goddamn heart because you can not stay inside your Boundary Box!
Stop flopping around in the mud puddle and come look at these potted plants from the Home Depot and then bake cookies and sip tea and talk about your crafts and your kids like the rest of the middle aged ladies do! God!
P.S. BIIITCH!! We all know you’re not turning 36 in 6 days either and if you don’t lock yourself up in that boundary box, I’m going to expose you!
Hey, it’s me, Stephanie!
What’s up, ho?
What the hell did I just read? You sound a bit unhinged.
Look, I’ve got this ok?
I have it on good authority that I am a REAL BAD BITCH. As such, I can handle our shit.
I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to sit this one out, sis. I appreciate your Fucks and MCBs and BBs and the really sage advice about treating people like shit so I can get what I want but that’s not really how we operate, is it? I mean, we didn’t make it all the way to 37 (you got me) with our heart still tender and malleable by being a total douchebag, did we?
We didn’t. And I don’t intend to make it another 37 years by being one either.
So calm the fuck down already.
We’re going to keep right on loving people who may or may not also love us back and then we’re going to write about it here on this blog after we have fallen all the way off the cliff, just like the 16 year olds we never grew out of would do. After a few months of total despair and heartache, we’ll find love again. Or we won’t. In which case this blog will sit dormant for another 10 years. Maybe forever.
Or, Stephanie. There’s always an ‘or.’ Maybe, just maybe, someone will eventually love us back the way we love them and then we can rename our blog “UntangledOrder.”
You just never know. The future is alive with possibilities.
But, in the meantime, you and I will work on neglecting and killing potted plants from the Home Depot, burning the baked cookies, staring at the crafts that we bought but don’t give two shits to actually try and, most importantly, avoiding the other old ladies that don’t look like us because NO WAY WE LOOK THAT OLD, sister.
Now, let’s go listen to Em’s new album and try to say the words along with him. That fool is never gonna stop rapping. And we’ll never stop listening.
Stephanie, we are beautiful and transparent.
Probably from all that time we spent splashing around in the mud puddles when we were 36, almost 37.
We’ve got this.
P.S. HO, if you tell anyone how old I actually am, I am going to stuff you inside your boundary box inside the other boundary box inside the other boundary box so you can’t ever get out and then I can really spread all my Fucks around!
You can’t even imagine how many Fucks I have!
So very many Fucks.
Fucks for Everyone
Fucks for Days