Remember the saying about how what you say Says More About You than who you’re talking about (behind her back, no less)?
The title of this blog is a direct quote of one of the (very few) judgemental, critical, superior-attitude, I-think-I’m-better-than-you, probably-bible-thumping, stick-inserted-in-uber-tight-ass email replies that was just forwarded to me by a colleague after I accidentally sent my personal blog (err, this one) out to all of my real estate team blog subscribers this morning (whoops, techie forgot to switch the link when he moved my personal site).
Fortunately, this was the only Nasty Nellie email I received (and am aware of), though there were a few who respectfully asked to be removed from said blog subscription (can’t blame them, this wasn’t the most appropriate way to introduce my non-professional prose), but the Poor Girl one is my favourite.
I have already acknowledged and outted myself for hypocrisy (flexibility?)—so yes, I am looking at the three fingers pointing back at me with the above rant in mind.
My reply: “That’s my whole point—to be looked at differently. Thank you for caring enough to share.” I refrain from adding, “Whoever sent this to you needs to get laid. Seriously.”
After an initial human emotional thought reaction of I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-throat, I decide that’s not what Jesus would do (he’d come up with some parable and verbally slash that caddy Christian—of course, I’m assuming this Nelly is religious, it only makes sense). Plus Silver Lining Syndrome suggests I find the good in the situation.
I make a mental list of the positive pros:
1. Who will buy my book if they don’t know about it? Now they know about it.
2. Refer to #1.
3. I like chocolate.
The extra cortisol now rushing through my system contaminates my already cellulitic situation and causes extra plumping where I’ve just tried to Venus Freeze the cheese off, which cheeses me off and repeats the vicious cellulite cycle. Damn it. (See “Using the C Word in Public—And the F Word in This Blog”.)
I can’t do damage control right now because I have appointments all day, but can (and do) obsessively check my emails on my iPhone for more replies and hit mute on the repetitive call from Realty-Competitor-Man who has now called me three times, I’m sure to chat about my shaved cookie. I ignore his calls and instead text him: “I know about the blog, what do you want?” (No reply.)¹
I go for coffee to my favourite adulthood hometown coffee shop (Rhodos Coffee, best in town) with Blossom, one of my oldest friends (as in length of friendship) and dearest (she’s also a BFF, but let’s not confuse blog nicknames). Blossom is Blossom because she’s as pretty and fresh as a flower, and she continues to grow into an even more amazing woman (career, mother, friend) the longer I know her.
Despite claiming gluten and dairy intolerance, I order, “A decaf whole milk for here latte, and burger bumps … with salad.”
Blossom orders a wrap, and we chat with the owner about the blog cross-over mishap.
Owner laughs, “Yeah, I clicked ‘read more’ and up popped ‘Alberta beef makes me horny’!”
I hang my head in mock shame, but we’re all laughing, me perhaps a little tentatively.
Blossom and I take a window seat and talk about how much we’ve evolved as self-assured women. Women who care less about what others think and more about what makes us feel good.
“Some restrictions apply.”
“Of course. Do no harm.”
“Does harm include sending R-rated blogs to prudish clients?”
“Mistake. Everyone makes them.”
“Silver lining?”
“Always!”
“Which is?”
“How’s your meal?”
“Best ever. Yours?”
“Super yummy.”
“How’s [real estate team member most likely to freak out over this non-event]?”
“Typical.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“Yep.”
We talk about her husband who is totally, unabashedly, unapologetically unfiltered. I used to think it was his worst quality. Now, it’s his most admired (in my striving-for-authenticity eyes).
Blossom: “He doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks, just says what’s on his mind. You’re a lot a like that way.”
Me: “I know. I never realized it before. Except now I’m like that with everyone not just friends, family, co-workers, hmm—I guess I was pretty much unfiltered with everyone except clients.” I ponder this.
Blossom: “Sometimes it drives me nuts—uh, his lack of filter not yours.”
I’m fondly reminded of my dad: “You never have to wonder what’s on his mind.”
We talk about how the next car she gets might seem like a downgrade, but it’s what she really wants and who cares what others think. We agree we have spent too much time being concerned what other people think. Most people do this, though; we’re not mentally disturbed (mostly speaking for Blossom on this claim).
Blossom has such a calming effect—must be the mom in her. I breathe a little easier about the whole blog fiasco and decide, “Oh well, it is what it is.”
I go about the rest of my appointments (cellulite zapping, facial, massage, reflexology—the last two are entirely mental health necessary today, I assure you!) and come out the other side a great deal lighter of spirit—and pocketbook. Responsible spending: not really my thing, but Hello! I live with my mother, I’m saving money—but losing my mind. (Thank you.)
As it turns out, at the end of the day, there are only a few bitter pills in the bunch—if you were one of them and are reading this, I accept your apology; if you were the title provider, thank you for blog writing material, and I accept your apology. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) I also received a wagon full of new naughty blog fans. Really?
“Can’t wait for the book!”
“I was somewhat surprised and pleased to receive your [real estate] update …”
“I’ll buy a copy. Mark me down for it.”
“Your emails [blogs] always cheer me up, keep them coming! …”
“Just wanted to say that I was shamefully distracted by your blog all morning at work …”
“…It was the most fun I had all day! We all love you, Anna! Me, now more than the day before.”
“Landing strip all the way!”
“When I’m ready to buy, I’m so using your team.”
Um, okay. I’ll take it! (Thank you naughty blog readers, I heart you.)
It turns out there are a lot of people who don’t transport driftwood in their derrieres and who appreciate a good laugh. (Insert: surprised smug expression—quick, remove smugness, karma bites!) And if I can provide some entertaining asinine adventures at my own expense that put a smile on faces, and my own, well, that’s a good thing because smiling always adds at least one beauty point, and I am a little vain after all—plus, I might as well be smiling while they’re looking at me differently.
What have I (re)learned?
Different strokes for different folks. This doesn’t make me wrong/bad or them wrong/bad. (Personally, I believe right/wrong and good/bad are highly subjective social perceptions—unless they involve the vulnerable: elderly, animals, invalids, children.) Don’t worry about what people think of me, I’m a good person (in my own estimation) trying to get through this thing called life (Prince) without harming anyone, least of all myself.
Homework:
Remember my own advice when I catch myself judging someone who has a different opinion than mine.
Remember the adage that what I say about someone else actually says more about me than them. Stick with JC’s good godly qualities: acceptance, compassion and love.
Remember that when someone doesn’t like me (or what I do/say), it means I’m being redneck-trucker’s-daughter-real—and my dad was cool—so yay me!
¹Competitor-Realty-Man was actually calling about a real estate question. He has now read this blog, and I no longer have to assume he knows about my grooming habits. (D’oh.)
