Low Hanging Fruit

I’m starting to realize how delusional some people might be and how vain other people are.

(June 16th, 2024)

This morning I walked out of my 4 star hotel room to a woman who overly complimented my “outfit.” I’m wearing a lay season Lilly Pulitzer dress and a Brooks Brothers knit cotton sweater and Birkenstocks and I’m carrying a Longchamp Le Pliage (new from last year), my old Mark Cross bucket bag, my Longines watch, my rings and my straw hat. Chanel lipstick. Etc. She was very pushy. Older. White. I finally had to tell her, “Yes. Sometimes people really just like to wear bright colored clothing.” Ha!

*I take a deep breath and think*

Casi was laughably off in her estimation of herself. The follower who thought I was not straight, secretly in love with her, and who I think somehow imagined I was her social equal. Nancy another follower was delusional as well. She rents a big-ish houses and finances Mercedes to feel rich. …But they’re the mentally ailing version of people who are very common.

This woman was dressed very nicely in a rather expensive hotel. She was older. …I’m sure she’s felt accomplished in her older years finally being able to stay at our hotel. Dressing well.

It reminds me of how Casi wrote publicly after I blocked her, “They can’t be that well off.” *she rolled her eyes* These people are desperate for ascension. That is their meaning. Even if that’s a horribly ill-advised and actually impossible raison d’etre.

And I think somehow they intuit that I’m low hanging fruit. And I am. But it’s in a class that’s impossible to enter through anything but birth. America is possibly a fucking long-running scam in that regard. I didn’t used to think that but I do now more increasingly. It takes generations to enter the old money elite. And it requires a certain level of consistent upper level wealth and a social transformation of a family’s psychology to achieve real old money status.

My family I was raised in meets that criteria. The family I was possibly born into defines the criteria.

My first cousins own $7 million Dollar estates in their 40’s. They own $2 to $4 million Dollar houses on the West Coast. They have investment strategies they’ve employed since their teenage years. And while my legal husband and I aren’t poor and aren’t even the poorest people in my family…we aren’t on the higher end. We’re somewhere in the middle. And…my legal family en aggregate is worth $100 million net without the oil. And that’s a lot but it’s not $100 billion or $500 million. And we aren’t famous. A few of us are a tiny bit famous and one of us has a public net worth. But we aren’t known.

My legal husband and I are probably worth around $3 million. And that’s great. And certainly our membership in our families are old money elite…but…given the state of our marriage and our $400,000 house (we own)…and our Audi from 2015 (we own)…we’re privileged but…low hanging fruit. That’s not wholly unimpressive but it’s also not…a $7 million estate that would be worth $40 million in California.

I have a cousin who rents a $1.5 million house in Seattle…and he and his wife have a decent enough marriage I think…and they’re both above average in their looks…and even though we’re possibly a bit better off than them and my husband went to a Little Ivy and is a genius and I’m better looking than both of them and also unusually intelligent (that’s just factual reality)…we don’t look as impressive somehow. We look more old money…but we don’t scare off people as much from attacking us. We’re possibly more threatening, but we aren’t as scary. Nobody would just walk up to Jess (the wife) and tell her she was dressed “brightly” out of the blue. And I highly doubt Nancy or Casi would have gone insane and felt that their food stamps would offer fierce competition.

…I don’t get what it is…but somehow I inspire people to try to compete with me or bully me. Or it’s something about me I have yet to understand. But I think, regardless of what else it is, people do possibly sense…some vibe of vulnerability. Especially narcissistic people. So I think…I’ll have to get used to it.

If I had been born in 1918 and married a true love…I’d have been vastly less vulnerable. Like the difference between night and day. So perhaps it’s just some sense people have that no matter how pretty or smart I am or how well-off I seem I’m different somehow…and therefore vulnerable.

But…I also think it’s a social class thing. I think we’re a visible target.

It’s like a distant shore that looks close. It’s not actually emotionally safe to compete with me. You’re going to get hurt. …I’m sorry but it’s just true. I can’t think of one person who’s competed with me who hasn’t felt like absolute fucking shit and too often wasted a sad amount of money as well. But…for some reason it’s so enticing to a lot of people. And it’s actually very depressing to watch. …Why!? You know? …But I think…they just sense vulnerability.

I dress differently. I look different. I’m actually unusually good-looking. But I’m like dead stock. I’m old fashioned looking. And it’s still a 10…to be honest…but it’s old looking. I go antiquing and see pin-up models and I look like them. Maybe even hotter in some cases… But the old men who check me out (and have since I was old enough)…aren’t most people. And…they too never have seemed to figure it out. I used to move 80 something men who weren’t the type to do so to comment out of the blue at 18…but…I don’t think they ever added it up and realized my father was possibly born in the 1800’s and my mom was possibly some hot chick from the Boomers. I think they just felt…attracted and maybe mildly confused. I had one (in his 80’s) slap my bottom at a wedding when I was 17 randomly and comment to another man his age how good-looking I was behind my back. (Someone told me later). …Younger men…admired me but didn’t act that way. …I think it’s something in my overall bone structure and possibly even pheromones that are just too different. …And I dress modestly and, again, I’m smaller boned than most people in my generation…etc., etc. Anyway…I look vulnerable. Even thought I’m pretty…I’m vulnerable. …My kids are less unusual.

…I seem safe? I look sweet and like your grandma? I am sweet and am genetically like your (possibly great) grandma? …And then…what? I weigh 150 or so lbs and only freak out when I push 155? That’s not typical. My teeth are pretty. But old looking. My last orthodontist wanted to shave them to change their shape and make them look more modern. Literally. I had to stop him. …They’re not big or weird looking but they’re just not shaped the same as most people alive today. …Needless to say I’m mad we spent $5,000 on that orthodontist. …I’m too plump to seem cool. Too…curvy but not curvy like Kim Kardashian. I have hip dips. And they’re actually very pretty…and they’ve even been said to create a very sexy look…but…they’re not popular. Marilyn Monroe had hip dips and so did Betty Grable. But today that’s not it. I have unusually (for today) high cheekbones and a soft chin line that’s actually sort of exquisite. Also not it. …And then…we drive an old car. …And…I LOVE Lilly Pulitzer and Brooks Brothers. …Unpretentiously. It’s all too damn inviting. …We seem “rich” but…different. And bumbling narcissists and uneducated people and naive competitive people inexperienced competitive people are lulled, lured and obsessed.

So sadly…as they say, “Is that Lilly Pulitzer?” with weird suspicion (as they did today) and imagine I’m queer when I don’t dress “normally” and seem too serious, calm, objective and intelligent to fit their sad stereotypical gender norms…and they assume that with my chin line I’m not “pretty enough” to be damaging to their fragile and already broken sense of self if they look closer and violently compare themselves…they cut themselves up inside. And I hate it. I come from the time when people were nice. And wore hats and gloves. And had jobs and pensions waiting. And clean air. I’m baffled and sickened. Not pleased.

Casi knew that too didn’t she? That I’m confused. Someone knew that. They all know? That it’s weird to me. But they’ve concocted bullshit theories to cover their own asses. Like that I hate people and lie or something. At least the perfume community did. Or that I’m insecure. But no. I’m just not a fucking idiot. And people are awkward around me. Eww. …Casi…I’m not garbage nor gross like you literally said. …But sweetie…neither are you by birth. And I’m not fucking Oprah Winfrey or fake for saying that and being deeper than a wading pool. …It’s just objectively obnoxious when someone on food stamps who’s obviously less attractive constantly sincerely competes with you (when you’re someone like me) and gangs-up with other narcissistic dumbasses to steal your signature fragrance and ruin your ability to enjoy yourself in an entire online community.

…I’m not impressed. Why the fuck would I be!? …NO! I’m not fucking impressed Mira. I’m not fucking impressed Susanne. I’m not fucking impressed random people who think the $4 million they worked really hard for and gained by 70 is insanely amazing…and more than anything I could ever have. …That strong desire to be better isn’t as strong in the old money class. You’re not supposed to mess-up and lose your inheritance or something like that…but…aside from messing-up…from my experience…you don’t feel as pushed to be better and better and better.

…It must be fun in a way…to marry your high school sweetheart…finish a four year degree…and make your parents noticeably proud…and then raise kids and feel so…hopeful…and excited…and then once you reach retirement have $2 million you feel genuinely very proud of. To feel a sense of rest and fulfillment on a certain level in old age. …American culture, a nation of mostly new money families getting rich, is largely based on that collective experience, in my opinion. The American Dream isn’t to actually become real old money. It’s to be rich and the same…but just richer and happier. In all actuality it’s possibly impossible. The “Old World” caste and class systems developed over hundreds of years for a reason. …But…America defied that. …And I don’t think it’s worked well long-term. But…it had its merits and its reasons. I’ve always known this. …I just don’t like lies.

My “opinions” are based on facts. And I obviously don’t stop arguing rationally when the facts don’t prove my hypothesis wrong. …I keep wondering and analyzing and thinking deeply and most often sadly.

So I’m sorry I can’t validate your ego. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you dearly want from me. What you crave. Wantonly. …You’re not going to get it out of me that you’ve “won” or that you’re “better than me after all.” You’re not. That’s not reality. First of all I’m extremely and rarely good-looking and smarter than most people. That’s just fact. And…that’s a pointless competition for you to enter. You’ll lose most likely. Your chances are better being hit by lightning or winning the literal lottery. Angelina Jolie isn’t actually as good-looking as me unless you like a more non-binary looking woman. …But…even if you’re worth $50 million and from some old money family yourself…I don’t actually compete. I state scary facts I’m not supposed to. Because you take me (often as the naive middle-class snob you are) for a dumb sucker. And it’s REPULSIVE. …I value REAL LOVE. I value people. I value truth. I value hard-work. I value care and time and effort and goodness. …And honestly…if you’d win on a socio-economic level with your genuine old money family and $50 million net…at 40…I don’t mind losing to you. I knew and know I have. It is not news to me. I’m not really a competitive person. Really. I’m an artist and sometimes artistic people can be competitive…but I don’t think a true artistic nature is given to competition as much. And I am analytical by nature also artistic.

What’s been so annoying to me over the years has been fools who believe they can trick me into believing they’re that real old money $50 millionaire. It’s an epidemic now…isn’t it? *wink*

…No. I can tell. I have an eye and a sense for authenticity. In people and things and places. …Well…once I get a chance to interact enough or observe enough.

That dear woman from earlier today was lovely, actually. She had long, straight grey hair and a very chic, loose fitting but still tailored, ultra casual but not atlletheisure style. And I’m sure she felt immune and invincible. Safe from perched on high to communicate disdain and anger at anyone who didn’t please her aesthetic sensibilities or who challenged her ego. Because…that’s also part of the draw. …I threaten people. …In my elite and artsy differentness I challenge people’s expectations and beliefs in a genuinely meaningful and scary way. I actually am truly offensive to many people. I’m not the stereotypical and common challenge. I don’t wear dreadlocks or goth makeup which is what the traditional form of rebellion looks like today. …I bet you’re potentially deeply offended just reading that. …People like Casi who pretend to be deep but value materialistic accomplishments on a deeper level or who feel some deep need to be perceived as socio-economically important…are very irritated by me. Instantly and from thousands of miles away.

I offend you? I really piss you off? But no! Oh no…you’re so damn sure…it’s me? I am the one who’s mad? At you? Without even knowing you? Or I’m just…annoying? Well…I’m not a well loved person. But I’m not narcissistic…quite the opposite. And I’m not a “retarded loser.” I’m not prey. Nor predator. So…if you’re stupidly tempted to mock me question yourself. Because those who do always regret it. I can tell. They might even hate themselves more afterwards than usual. They feel like worthless, weak, pathetic, compromised fucking shit. And I never surrender. Because I can’t. It’s not possible to surrender simple reality. Grow-up. Not everything is an American movie.

“You’re an dominant alpha female like me.” said Casi to me.

No. No, I’m not. That’s (middle class) American bullshit. I’m not a dog or a wolf. *laugh* I’m…me. Really. That’s ugly trite, but it’s also just true. And yes…as I say that…I also think I’m low hanging fruit. On the old money upper class tree…I’m that thing that seems attained and attainable to conquer. You want me to say what?

“Oh! I’m a poor loser who got pregnant to hook my actuary (legal) husband!” I can’t. That’s absolutely vile bullshit.

“You’re SO MUCH BETTER LOOKING THAN ME!” That’s probably not true. I’m sorry.

“I’m an idiot.” Nope. Just factually not true.

“You have SUCH GOOD TASTE!!! I’m so freaking out. I’m SO intimidated!” No. I have unusually good and very thoughtful, worldly and exquisite taste. And I’m not about to fucking lie to you.

“You’re so superior to me. I’m rich…kinda…but I can you’re so much better off than me…somehow.” Yeah…not likely. Sorry. And even if you’re richer it’s not likely you’re from actual old money.

“I’m so cringey. Eww! Look at how cringey I am.” No. I’m just not going along with being bullied. Get the fuck over it.

“Class doesn’t even matter anyway.” No. It does. America is…naive. As much as I appreciate the American ideal it’s not necessarily possible.

You know what though…you don’t have to like my taste. Even if you admit it’s lovely. And you don’t have to feel really inferior as a human to me…on a deeper level… And…that deeper level is what matters. OBVIOUSLY. …If you’re a loving person that’s wonderful. If you’re a child you’re an innocent child. …And all people are fascinating. Everyone. Everyone has something fascinating about them.

Do you have people in your life who truly care about you and love you? You’re SO FORTUNATE. …If you’re safe, eating healthily regularly, and clothed (well enough) and have multiple people who truly care about you and who you can talk to and trust…you’re SO WELL-OFF. In reality. …Actually…if you’re as well-off as I am and you have all those things but you’re not old money…WHY do you fucking not get it? Do you get it?

…

Later.

Transcend by IRSNa plays.

Since Lacey last wrote on her blog she’s had a rough time of it. But everyone is safe and healthy. And home.

What’s wrong? Her neighbors planted six trees blocking the rest of the right front peony and herb garden from getting light into the future for the next 100 to 200 years. They’re destroying a historic garden. And they planted at least two other trees that will also eventually be a huge storm hazard for both their property and her property. …Like…the previous owner of their house ripped out an old tree that was farther away due to the threat it posed right before Lacey moved into her house.

They’re…obviously completely overly competitive and rude…but they also have no idea what they’re doing. …No idea.

So…Lacey discussed it with her husband and they’ve decided to move and buy a better house within the next two years. Who needs annoying people right next door who constantly keep randomly doing weird shit? And yes, it’s random.

…Lacey’s legal husband thinks they maybe are reading too much into things though. For example Lacey’s kids were super excited for their family vacation and went on and on about it and so Lacey’s husband worried that maybe they felt…that Lacey and him were being competitive first. And etc. and etc.. …And that’s possible but it’s exactly why Lacey feels they’re annoying people. …People shouldn’t assume they’re experiencing competition so automatically in her opinion. It’s…extreme…and creates a hyper, unpleasant, restless environment. …Lacey’s best memories are of times when her family would relax peacefully with friends and neighbors in North Dakota who…has agreed upon roles in their communities and instead of competing just enjoyed the food, weather and conversation at present. …And that’s the sort of old money subculture she’d love to experience again. Where you can be talking very sincerely and seriously with Mrs. Hostvet at the popular local diner about cattle this year or wheat…knowing she’s not as well-off (even though she has a decent enough farm) one moment and then go back home and in the cool of a large kitchen sip fresh coffee with summer sausage sandwiches on old milk glass from the 1930’s left in the cupboards since the 1930’s, and chit chat about how people are all doing. One cousin is dating the wrong man. Even though he’s madly in love with her and she’s a model. And some other people are eating too much sugar, hydrogenated fat and high fructose corn syrup and getting obese. And then there’s a history lesson about FDR…and how black pepper isn’t safe anymore because big corporations aren’t being sanitary and it’s like the stories you’ve read about the late 1800’s. …Even though there was some gossip…there was no condoned competition. Truly. …And that’s what Lacey was raised with.

So…it’s…extremely disturbing to me and disorientating to me too when my neighbors make landscaping mistakes. *I laugh.* Because I’m subconsciously expecting them to know what they’re doing. In my subconscious everyone knows not to plant trees in certain places. …Mrs. Hostvet would never make that mistake. Truly. She wouldn’t. Mrs. Hostvet would be offended and appalled if you suggested she’d even consider such a thing. She’s coarse and more “down-to-earth” than most American people…but…she’d never do that. She’d never. …Where are all of those normal people?

And that’s the thing. …I’m not…typical.

For whatever reason I seem to be able to experience the supernatural in a way most living people do not. …And I don’t know how to explain it…but I suspect the man I’ll be one with for eternity explained something to me since I wrote this post. I think he’s been trying to for a while but somehow finally was able to today.

I asked him over a year ago (of course asking God’s permission to talk to him or else first) what to do with Casi. And I suspect today was part of his response. What I felt God was speaking to my spirit…but from him…like a message from Heaven…was that…basically those of you who are angry are angry in large part because you’re exasperated by the state of the world in general.

So…when I first openly shared on my blog that I was extremely upset by the overly competitive nature of the online perfume community…it would have been so nice to have been clued in about how mad you all are already. …I knew you were all mad. I’m politically actually pretty savvy. …But sadly I never connected the two. …Not really. Not on my own. So I assumed your personal experiences with something like that would rarely affect your interactions in a perfume community. …Maybe a work related thing or a community thing…or…even a dating thing…but it seemed unlikely somehow in the perfume community. How silly of me? …But that seemed to be what he was saying to me today. And…if I was hearing from him and he was right…wow.

Why has no one said anything? Why have none of you admitted that that’s what’s really bothering a lot of you, if it is? …I somehow just missed that connection. …So…if I understood him correctly you all have animosity towards me because I had an easier time buying perfume than a lot of you and yet I was also very nonchalant about it? …Somehow I assumed you’d not care. If not by nature than by choice.

Why? Because…it’s an already given premise of Instagram and any special interest collecting community in general that everyone will have lots of things that lots of people don’t have. …Everyone has different treasures. And it’s a fun competition but not…anything seriously upsetting. …I mean…I often see bottles of perfume I’d love to have. But I know I can’t go buy $2 million in perfume I’ll possibly mostly only briefly smell once. That’s absurd. You can’t buy everything you see that you like. …That’s why it’s fun to see other people’s collections and read their reviews, at least in part. Because it’s…kind in a way to learn about the personality of a perfume before you buy it. Right? And so…the lists of the few bottles of perfume you actually want to truly sample are created by that kindness. And then you sample a few and hopefully can afford to buy one bottle or two on occasion to enjoy more regularly. …But…given the fact that class irregularities have existed for thousands of years…it stands to reason that some people might obtain more bottles more frequently? And…why is that really that annoying when it’s just…common?

But according to my eternal Adam, so to speak, I think…you were already upset by me. And that’s why you kept passively aggressively attacking me. It’s why that lady at the hotel attacked me today even. …She had a bit of a blue color tone that snuck into her voice when I acted weirded out by her. Like a tiny part of her was feeling awkward. But she still seemed so adamant. And I tried to be nice. But she was obnoxious. …And yet…according to my dear man…she was likely motivated by some underlying deep feelings of anger and resentment towards me given what I looked like to her. …I was wearing Brooks Brothers and Lilly Pulitzer…in a manner possibly…flaming with upper-class comfort. Sort of screaming my way of life. And…we all have burdens and hopefully we all have blessings…but…it’s…seen as insensitive maybe to be so cavalier about it in certain cases. …Like…perhaps I should have been more…something today in my dress. Mindful of something. I can’t quite easily place what it is. I was tasteful. I was pleasant to look at. …But…I lacked…any pretension to the ordinary. So…my family’s place yelled today in my dress. …Maybe I could have allowed for that…but…instead of wearing my old hiking Mark Cross bag and my Longchamp like I truly didn’t care…I could have gone without a bag to check out of the hotel. You’d be surprised what a difference that’d might have made.

And likewise…I should have made more effort to take better photos of perfume. That would have possibly seemed more respectful to the perfume community?

I can’t not be myself. I’m sorry. And you cannot at all rightfully hold me and my immediate family or possibly any of my family personally accountable for the class system. That’s absurd. And maybe even evil potentially.

But…if you don’t give two shits about me really…and I don’t think the perfume community really did…I understand you didn’t feel the need to tell me you were pissed off by me…and not actually feeling bizarre, delusion based disdain. But…it still amazes me that no one has thought to ever found any way to tell me up. Because…while I sadly didn’t matter to you in perfume community as a person…you could have found it in your best interest to tell me. For lots of reasons. And it’s dumb not to realize that someone from a very different background might not automatically get it. …I’ve gone on and on about not being particularly loved. I’ve gone on and on about not knowing. Why would I do that for years if it wasn’t at all true? That’s psychologically not likely somehow in this case, in my estimation. …And I just didn’t get it.

I just…somehow assumed that was a minor consideration. The state of the economy and all that. …And given my personality I automatically take a very…laid back approach to social class actually. So…it’s all very matter of fact and straightforward…and…businesslike. And…I did not anticipate…some of you faking superiority to such dramatic and drastic degrees.

…When we move we’ll live in a better neighborhood. In a better house. And…our neighbors likely won’t ever move. …And I’ve thought things like, “Why doesn’t that bother them more!?” You know? Like…why doesn’t that make them wonder if they should be so arrogant and condescending? But…I would never expect someone to have analyzed that so far in advance…and then react to it so prodigiously. …And that’s possibly a class difference but I wonder if it’s also some other difference. Because…in my mind it’s like this: There are clear class differences. And that’s just a fact and how it is. And so why bother worrying about it? …I worry because people get so mean about it. …Otherwise I’d barely care. …Well I’d care about the welfare of the poor…but…otherwise why worry? …No, and you do try to improve yourself if you can. But…people don’t have to fixate on it, if they can be honest about it and wise…and are safe and happy enough. …I have anxiety about it because of bullying and some weird fear I used to have that I’d miss true love. …So…jealousy was the only explanation I could think of. Just petty jealousy. Envy.

And actually I might have quickly surmised years ago that people were being weird for some deeper reason by the only person who I had to talk to much was my legal husband. …And he dismissed the deeper reasons. Maybe it just didn’t make sense to him. …But as of tonight I think that that was very possibly it.

…Why do you all do that!? …Why do you fake feeling so genuinely superior? …I’m not saying it’s impossible to fake that. I just don’t understand why you’d go to the trouble. And I don’t understand why you’d insist on never letting down your guard. Even as a narcissist. ….Because it’s not wise or rational to act so genuinely superior when there are actual superior people in any regard who actually exist who could see you. …You’re imitating them. Aren’t you worried they’ll think you’re ridiculous!? …And furthermore…if my neighbor really is feeling insecurity…why wouldn’t they want me to feel empathy for them? Why try to cultivate my competitiveness and anger? Why push me away? …At least so…very…adamantly. …Do they want us to move? Maybe they don’t think that way.

…No. I’m not stupid. Really. …I just…don’t take my own insight seriously in that way anymore…and tend to focus on other angles. So…it occurred to me that it might be that deep…but I dismissed it as a sad thought. Why sad? Because it’s so beautifully deep. And I’ve been under the impression that I’m very alien and alone and that nothing could ever possibly be interesting in life at all. Ever. …Maybe when I was younger I clung to some hope deep forces like that moved people that much…but people have barked at me incessantly over the years that I’m ugly and awful and mannish and homosexual and evil and a thief and all sorts of bizarre things I KNOW aren’t true…and that actually they too would readily insist aren’t true about me and are actually kind of strange to think of me if questioned…and asked to form a clear opinion of me…based on fact…but…they glare at me and give me odd insults when I have suggested such things. …Like, “Don’t tell me your cousin is experiencing depression because of the fact we’re failing as a country. And they’re a disabled veteran. That’s not why!” Right? “NO! That’s not it.” “That’s not why.” …”That’s crazy! …You’re a weird person to think so deeply.” And that’s just one form of odd attack. …But…I think it might be true that the perfume community hates me because they’re no longer interested in “playing nice.”

Ten years ago that lady today would have scoffed from a distance. Maybe made some comments to her husband. And they would have laughed about alone together. …But now she’s mad. She might not know it openly but she’s mad. She’s tired of playing nice. How dare I be the way I am! How dare I! …And maybe I am low hanging fruit. But…why isn’t it both? I’m enticing…but she’s livid deep down to begin with. Even if she’s okay…her cousins aren’t. Or her old friends aren’t. Or her kids aren’t. Or her parents weren’t. Something like that. …And so I’m intolerable now. She just had…to say something.

…I think we’ll have to move. I hope my neighbors are happier without us. Maybe whoever buys this house will be more appealing. …But it’s risk.

And I’ll go to bed. Wondering if God really has allowed me to be with ghosts as one of them before I’m fully dead.