Evil in Pastels

In the last week I tried to figure out what the hell I was going to blog about. Specifically. Yes, I have a grand plan of developing this voice that generally fails me, but that's not sexy. Know what's sexy? Fear.
My business is fear- I write horror/thrillers. But really, who's business isn't fear? Take the evening news, for example. Ominous news teasers haunt you: "What five things in your freezer could KILL YOUR CHILDREN?!"
We're a society run by advertising. Advertisers capitalize on your deepest fears to get you to buy what they want. Afraid you won't fit in? Buy these shoes... Afraid you're getting old? Buy this erectile disfunction pill... Afraid you'll be alone forever? Buy this self-help book...
Fuck self-help books. Let me be more specific: Fuck self-help books that target women's insecurities and make them think they aren't good enough. Which is about 98% of the self-help book shelf.
I'm self aware, so I have perspective. I teach pole dancing, so I'm empowered. I pay my own bills, clean my own place, and cut my own cat's nails, so I'm independent. But I'm also a single commitment-phobe with self worth issues so SOMETIMES I get weak and SOMETIMES I will page through whatever goddamned book my girlfriends are lately raving about.
I cave, I read, I feel worse, I remember I'm awesome, I quit reading, I throw the book on the floor, and I rant and rave.
This happened recently. Smart girlfriends recommended this book- not by name, but by subject: the roles of masculine and feminine in a relationship. I was intriged. My girlfriend would leave it at work for me.
I picked up the pastel on pastel book. "I DO!" is in the title. Flanked by wedding bands. And a chaste white flower.
I should have put down the book. A co-worker saw the look on my face. "Oh, I read this! It's great." Another endorsement from a smart, empowered woman. Despite my gut reaction, I took the book on vacation with me to read on the plane. The following is a rough sketch of how that went...
Pages 1-20. I start with an open-ish mind. The thinking is old fashioned, but I recognize myself in some of the things the author says.
Pg 21. She describes me exactly. Omigod.
Pgs 22-30 Maybe I've found the secret I've needed all along to achieve intimacy with another human, make a commitment and raise healthy children! All I need to do is CHANGE!
Pg 35. Wait, what? What the hell is this lady talking about?
Pg 36. THIS lady is a DOCTOR? Where did she go to school...?
Pg 37-272. I pick pages at random and read the following...
"Love yourself first" followed quickly with "you have to make changes".
"Flirt" and "Be pretty, look your best always" because "you never know when you'll meet Mr. Right!"
"Trying to have it all is just narcissism. Decide- are you masculine or feminine?"
And finally my personal favorite: "no sex without a firm commitment".
I jam the damn book into my backpack. Then I curse the upcoming hours of plane time with nothing to read. Stupid book... it almost got to me.
It wasn't until a few days later that I experienced the real evil of this book:
I had to leave my apartment-hole to get groceries mid-day. Wearing my uniform of pajama pants and a sweater, I passed my full length mirror on the way out- Oh, dear. I looked so homeless people would think I was famous. The thought flashed through my brain, "look your best always."
What? Where did that come from?
"You never know when you'll meet Mr. Right!"
Holy, mantra... The book got to me!, I thought as I changed into jeans and put on some lip gloss.
I drove to Trader Joe's and realized the way I'd been beating myself up in the last few days about the narcissistic tendencies that ruined my last relationship, about my stubborn fantasy that I could have the best of all worlds, and about my hopelessness at effectively flirting.
These were not my real thoughts! I was torturing myself based on thirty-something pages of a crappy self help book that reinforced my greatest fears and insecurities.
Here's the truth:
I didn't ruin my last relationship. He just wasn't right for me. That's all.
Its no fantasy. I CAN have the best of all worlds. The key is how I define those worlds, not how anyone else sees them.
I am pretty bad at flirting. I'm shy. Most people (people, not just men) think I hate them until they get to know me. That is, unless I meet the right person. With the right people, I forget to have a shell to hide in.
So, back to my earlier point, fuck self-help books.
You want to help yourself? Don't buy what other people tell you about you. They have no idea.