Looking for love in many of the wrong places...

I probably ("probably") shouldn't post when I'm grumpy (...since when has that stopped me, right?), but let's face it: there's only 24 hours in the day. I'm am only one woman. I foresee more grumpiness. Anyhoo. Here's a profound thought: if you do something nice for someone else, maybe someone for whom you even have romantic feelings, and said moron, um I mean said person rejects your gesture (because they have their own extremely unresolved feelings of insecurity, self-loathing and just general inadequacy), DO NOT turn their sh*t upon yourself and reject your actions. DO NOT decide that your gift was bad, and thus that you, by extension, are also bad and thus deserved to be rejected. Read my lips: YOU. DO. NOT. (Aw, hell no you do not.)

Another person's issues/fears/general horsesh*t is NOT your problem...thank Jebus. Now...you might want to seriously consider why you're trying to give love to someone who clearly has no love for themselves, not to mention you, but the instinct to care & nurture someone else, is a very normal instinct, dammit. (Yes, I'm cranky.) Every living creature wants to be loved and valued. I write this while feeding The Kitten bits of chicken, by hand, because simply eating it off my plate doesn't make him feel loved. (We rescued a foster cat whom The Kitten generally loves but sometimes he gets worried about his place in my universe.) Therefore, this small orange kitten currently needs to sit on my lap, and eat small pieces from my hand and whine to know that he's loved & adored. Putting aside this human-feline co-dependent relationship (...and your point is...?): doing something caring for someone you love is normal. Desiring love in your life is normal. Last time I checked, it's how the species continues...well, love and a couple of cocktails.

What is NOT normal, what is straight up horsesh*t, my dears, is allowing someone to make you feel bad for being nurturing. Hell with that mess. Anyone who would reject your love is not someone you should be showering it on. Unless they're a cat, and then it's nothing personal: that's just how cats roll.


Want more advice, not necessarily all feline-oriented? Of course you do! Like my Facebook business page, "Carlotaworldwide Creativity Yenta," for a free consultation, and email me @ carlotazee@gmail.com. (I'll be responding with my left hand, since my right is busy feeding someone chicken & nubbins.)

Besos,
C.

Women who snap...

I'm a little crankier than usual today, for three reasons: 1) one of my attorneys--Oh, doesn't that sound glamorous?#itsnot--just told me he was going to be out of the office for the rest of the week, which goes completely against the laws of physics which clearly state that all attorneys are to be slaving, while I'm the one who gets to have fun; 2) I've been watching way, waaay too many episodes of "Snapped" http://www.oxygen.com/tvshows/snapped/    
(women losing their sh*t & doing dastardly deeds of murder...hold on, I have to get more popcorn and vodka and turn off the phone, so the Kitten and I can focus.); and crucially 3): what is it with clients who get all offended and outraged, outraged, when I suggest that they consider going into therapy, so they can work on resolving certain issues which are blocking them from achieving their fullest professional potential...?

When did trying to productively help people become such a dirty thing? Must have missed that memo. I don't understand how my desire to help you find a professional to work through some crucial moments of your life, to resolve some negative programming of your childhood... means that I think less of you. Wouldn't it necessarily mean I think even more of you, because I believe you could achieve so much more, if you would simply stop sabotaging yourself because perhaps when you were a kid, your father routinely made you feel disgusting and unworthy of love? This is what makes me even crankier than watching a spoiled suburban brat "mastermind" (#snort) the murder of her far-too-generous mom (Taylor Marks, "Snapped" Season 8), this insanity ! When I'm trying to help you, and you act like I'm the a$$hole. Oh.

Because here's the point: a lot of people are in a lot of pain. Pain stemming from their childhoods, their relationship with the parents, their families, themselves. Pain that can be (temporarily) medicated, but otherwise, never goes away. Right, read that sentence again: it never goes away. Not unless you take action and commit to being honest with yourself, and forgiving yourself and all of that incredibly important, incredibly difficult happy horseshit.

So, riddle me this: if you're going to be in pain anyway...why wouldn't you choose to make that pain "useful," by seeking help from a trained professional who can attempt to guide you to some self-knowledge? All together now: because we don't want to confront the pain! Who would? I get that, but newsflash: you are anyway! Even when you're medicating, or ignoring, or blocking, you're still confronting the pain. Making all of your life choices in opposition to the great unmentionable kind of makes the unmentionable the one in charge, and not you...si? Si.

So,yes: I am cranky. Cranky because people think there's some magical solution to being happy...invariably the same people who presume I have no idea how horrendous their lives are since mine has clearly always been glorious. #sigh

I sense another "Snapped" marathon coming on (#goodtimes), but perhaps someone will read this rant and think,"...oh, wait: so maybe she means that eventually, through therapy and self-awareness and courage...the pain really does go away?"

Want to continue this rant, or watch some "Snapped" episodes with me? Email me @carlotazee@gmail.com!

I have many, oh so many, shameful tastes. PS: Not just in the men I date. Today I just wasted another hour or three of my life watching, Animal Planet's lurid show Fatal Attractions. (http://animal.discovery.com/tv/fatal-attractions/) Basically, unfortunate, lonely people who keep chimps and reptiles and lions as "pets" and surprise, surprise, one day wind up crushed to death by Jimmy, the 13' Burmese Python.
You know me: I'm a cat person. Ergo, I have a somewhat unhealthy emotional relationship with my (current) alpha male cat, The Kitten. I say "somewhat" since we're both trying to make a go of it. But the people on this show...gotta love someone who says their "deepest" relationship is with their pet snake, the same snake which eventually kills them, because said snake was being neglected and systematically starved to death by a drug-abusing idiot who didn't seem to understand that wild animals tend to get cranky when kept on a diet. (Yes, that's the kind of asshole I am: I'm feeling sorry for the snake who killed its idiot owner. Listen, no one told him to have a pet snake and not take care of it!)
On the other hand, that show did make me go out and buy some extra kibble, in the hopes of avoiding being chewed to death by my feral felines. Since there's someone out there, who, upon hearing of my grisly demise would think, "Aww, those poor cats! Being forced to eat that b*tch to survive...bless their hearts."

Red Flags at Dawn...or anytime, really

Not to get all cryptic--and therefore, irritating--but I recently re-learned the (very) hard way, why it's bad to ignore red flags. Namely, because they're trying to tell you something! I met an interesting person, there was immediate chemistry...and some immediate red flags, but since I don't frequently meet such interesting people, I sort of muted that little voice in the back of my mind saying, "Bimbolina! Hello, are you paying attention to this nonsense? For reals, yo!" And...you know the rest.
Drama blah blah stupidity blah cleavage blah blah irritating. Especially because he (Shut up. Come on: of course it's a boy I'm talking about. The Kitten needs me to open tins for him and give him nubbins, he's not going to dump me. Or, at least not till he finds some gainfully-employed lesbian, who won't re-name him 'Ceasar Chavez' and knit him a poncho. Probably not even then since: The Kitten hates the WNBA.) had, I swear to God, on his knapsack a button that read, "Don't get weird on me, babe." Do people still wear buttons? Really? I mean, I had some buttons on my bag when I was um in junior high school...but that was a while ago.
So, I don't mean to be unpleasant...despite it sometimes coming very naturally. No. My point is: red flags are there for a reason. Ignore them at your peril! Whether it's about a boy, a girl, a job, going to graduate school, that ruffled wedding gown, your Star Wars ring tone, those neck-length feather earrings, body glitter, jeggings, skinny jeans on a heterosexual boy, or voting for certain politicians...pay attention. I didn't...and look what happened to me. That sounds ominous, I know, but all-in-all, despite me having to explain to him what Twitter is, we had a lot of fun and since then I've had a number of other dates so: life continues. I'll be fine.  
(P.S.: Totally kidding about lesbians. Lesbians know I adore them! Don't protest me, or come out to Queens to occupy my block. You'd be bored.)

If you’ve been reading this blog—and if, it hasn’t made you rolled your eyes and thought, “Someone needs to get over sheself!” Or, even worse, wished The Kitten had his own blog(something like, www.orangepride.blogspot.com?) and you could skip my narcissistic ramblings and focus on his joie de vivre...—then you know that while I love love love being a small business owner…it is kind of terrifying. I mean, it’s fun, it’s fascinating, I’m obsessed with the endless challenges—f**k Sudoku, this had better keep my mind right…except that I don’t plan on getting old, thanks to Botox and twentysomething boys, etc.—but sometimes, you need to have another adult, tell you that no, you’re not crazy, you’re on the right path, and have you lost weight, cause you look great!

To wit, I spent an hour this morning having a SCORE business counseling session about online advertising. AWESOME! Victor, my SCORE mentor, didn’t mock me when I said I was a creativity coach, and in fact he had some incredible advice…also, he thought I was right on track. (For once, right??) All of which means: I better get back to work. (Le sigh.)