In a recent post for my other blog, I wrote about unsolicited relationship advice. I take particular issue with the advice women give other women to “lower their relationship standards and/or expectations.” I believe that women who follow this horrible advice are twice as likely to suffer from depression. In fact, one of the main functions of anti-depressants is to decrease pain and suffering caused by living with an asshole or idiot. True story.
The topic of lowered expectations was on my mind as I watched the movie Catfish tonight. Great movie; you should see it immediately. It’s a documentary about an online relationship….and a whole lot more. Catfish is (in part) a cinematic warning against the dangers of settling–but it’s way better than an after-school special. I laughed, I cried, I cringed… good stuff.
The movie follows Nev, a 24-year-old photographer from New York, who meets and become friends with the family of Abby, an 8-year-old painter from Michigan, via Facebook. That’s all the plot you will get out of me because you have to see the movie for yourself. (I liked this movie so much that I watched the bonus material. I never do that.)
Watching this movie reminded me that I want to be an artist when I grow up. I want to think about art, talk about art, look at art, and hang out with artists, all day long. I want artist cohorts for planning and execution of whack-a-doodle projects and schemes. I want big stretches of time to devote to art. How do I do that? I’m not talking every single day (homegirl likes pedicures and a greasy burger once in a while too); but I want more art, more often. Please?
While I’m at it, I would also like someone hot and amazing (not ugo and creepy) to worship me. Ha! You heard me. I want someone who will get off on stroking my ego… all… day… long. I want a court jester too— cuz I am tired of always being the entertaining half of a relationship. Entertained and worshiped; I think that pretty much covers my needs at the moment. Thoughts?