Chanel Rouge Noir

I don’t think I’ve ever found a more perfect nail color for my skin color and personal aesthetic than Chanel Rouge Noir.

And that’s all about that.

Today I realized three things.

1. Truly beautiful, hot Millennial women got thrown under the bus culturally.

Men were taught to treat us like a piece of crud. …Not to lose our interest though. To keep it.

Millennial men were mostly raised to be deeply insecure. They were supposed to be workers for the older generation to make money off of…but not to pose a cultural challenge. They were collectively brainwashed into hating their masculinity. And into thinking beautiful, feminine women were and are all dumb, selfish and evil.

They don’t know how to love well. And less attractive women became sub-textually matronly and utilitarian.

I think my generation was castrated.

“What?!” asks an offended Boomer.

“We liberated you!” they add.

“You over-sexualized us. And demoralized us.” I reply. “I’m sorry if you meant well at all.”

2. People miss my sarcasm. Or they assume I’m being sarcastic when I’m not. …And on a certain level I create that semi-intentionally. I like distance from most people…at least at this point in my life.

“You know what! You’re…a horrible person!” says a new hater.

“Why do you think he’d say that?” asks Michael.

“Because he’s struggling and if he reads this blog he has no idea how to process what he reads.” Lacey surmises. “Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s smarter than most people, I think. But he seems very hateful towards me on a personal level and I’m not sure why.”

“He’s never really said that much to you.” says Michael.

“No.”

“So why does he seem hateful?”

“It’s just a sense I get. And I could be wrong. But I think he…somehow wants my affection but yet…doesn’t want to make it clear that he’s interested in any real way. He had done some very mild flirting. But nothing…clear.”

“And so you let go.”

“Well, I still follow him. He’s very fun and helpful to follow.“ She thinks. “But…sometimes I get the horrible gut sense he’s offended I’m not pursuing him anymore.”

“Or he still assumes you are obsessed with him. Even though you never really were.”

“It’s just a weird sense I get. …And say, why do people always make these sort of wild assumptions?!”

“Because they don’t get you. And to them you being just genuinely interested looks like obsession. Not because there’s something wrong with you. Because you…are clear. And they can’t fathom anyone being that complicated.”

Silence.

“Both truly caring…and yet remaining distant. Both genuinely so. They want to make you simpler. And you’re just not.”

Silence.

“You’re cool…and frighteningly calm. Always. But it’s not lack of concern. It’s the opposite. And they want to control you. And really, very few people could. You control everyone else. And they hate that.”

“I love the British though. I feel normal around them.”

“You trust them more.”

“I feel like the most genuinely loving part of my mother who raised me was somehow still British. And if I’m illegitimate my father was British, so to speak. My last name was English in origin.”

“They’ll think you’re an alien or a reptile if they start to believe I’m real.”

“And yet if you’re a ghost you control me. You all could.” says Lacey.

“And they hate that.” Michael says. “Because it hints at God’s existence.”

“I don’t hate people. I just want them to be happy. And since they’ve been profoundly unloving, leave me alone.”

“The fact that they assumed the worst of your pleasantries is proof. You’re right. They’re too far gone to get it.”

“No, I just assumed the best. And that’s what they tell you to do.”

“And it didn’t work.”

“Everyone loves everyone!” shrieks Lacey in imitation of a Boomer.

“Of course, it’s not good to hate people. But yes. It’s…absurd.”

Silence.

“Hey! Why do you let me boss you around? It’s like you’re an old housewife from the 1950’s. Like…so…weirdly submissive.”

“Oh! Well…I’m the exception to the rule. Given that evolution doesn’t exist from generation to generation… So it’s not like my genes affected me. I mean, I don’t feel oppressed at all because I’m a sick anomaly.”

“The women of my generation were tough broads with lots of spunk and sass. They were divas. Absolute queens! Total badasses. Nags! Absolutely clingy, needy, aggressive, take-charge type of dames. I didn’t date them because I felt too much like them and couldn’t understand the appeal.” says Lem.

“You just needed to get them to submit!” says Michael.

“No. You needed to voraciously pursue them. For a while. Or they’d instinctively find you boring.”

“And Lacey is like that. That’s why she asks men out. She actually…is losing interest. And before it leaves her forever she wants to try to give the guy one last chance just in case he noticed her.” says Michael.

“She gets over men like some people waste money.” says Lem.

“Why do you get over men so quickly if they don’t seem interested?” asks Elliott.

“Because it’s polite and thoughtful and I have a healthy self-esteem.”

“You sound black sometimes, Lacey.” says hater.

“How is that an insult?” asks Lacey.

“Because! You’re white.” says the hater condescendingly. “You’re an old, racist bitch hausfrau!”

“Hmm. I wonder why an upper-class elite woman who may be talking to ghosts sounds black? Isn’t that really actually quite scary?” asks Louis.

“Do we sound black too?” asks Lem.

“Do I sound black?” asks Bobby.

“I mean. Yeah?” answers the hater.

“Hey! If I had as many kids as you I’d rather be dead too!” says Lem to Bobby in literal imitation of Lacey’s hater.

“What if God doesn’t want that?” asks Louis.

Silence.

“Yeah. I agree.” says Lacey.

“I’m not the Son of God. I’m not a deity. I’m just a dead man.” says Michael.

“Have you had to have this conversation with people before?” asks Louis.

“I’m not answering that right now.”

3. I need to spend more time with my kids.