Sunday 30 September 2012

Shit my family says (Part 2): what is your default?

From time to time I get questions from "anonymous". The questions typically range from "Are you Satan?" to "Can I be your coven angel (or fairy)?". Sometimes I get "How is it possible an auspicious divine being like Sarcastic Yogi to be single for 10 years?". But the most common one is "How did you become Sarcastic Yogi?", or something along that line.

Rewind...

So I aired out a little dirty laundry in one of my recent blogs, which half of it was practically written by my family, specifically shit my family says. You can read it here. I also disclosed my own dirty secret that I listened to audio books. Yes, I know, that's not really reading. Bite me. But I digress... lets talk about another book I "read" in one of my trips to see my folks... hmm... reading and driving, that sounds kind of dangerous... but I digress, I "read" a book by comedian Lisa Lampanelli called "Chocolate, please". 

Lisa Lampanelli (who shall be referred to as LL from hereon, but not to be confused with the unfortunate Lindsay Lohan who has the same initials) is a comedian who desperately tries to be as crude and offensive as Sarcastic Yogi. She calls herself "Comedy's Loveable Queen of Mean" and her website is insult comic dot com. That should give you an idea about her style and why I see her as a copycat. "Chocolate, please" is her autobiography and the inspiration to the following:

- Only dead people should have books written about them. 
- "Autobiography" is a stupid word. It suggests you will automatically have a book written about you even when you are some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John. 
- What's more stupid is AUTO suggests that you write your own book about your own life even when you are some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John.
- Why would anyone pay to read a book about some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John?
- Who the hell is this womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John?
- Is this womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John dead or alive or real... does he have his own angelic coven followers? 
- What has John done to deserve a biography or at least an autobiography?
- Who in the right mind would buy and read this shit? 

But I digress... dang, I digress a lot in this blog... without further ado... *phew*... LL helped me realize we all have our own default mechanisms that are always on. They are not conscious choices and primarily do two things: 1) your instant first reaction to or opinion about anything, and 2) your first line of defense. Consider them your primal survival instincts, after you remove all your learning of rational thinking, analytical thinking, proper behaviours, social norms, significance of patience, etc. Over time they develop into other things like your preference and style. Of course they can change depending on life experience and other shit. You may learn to like something after your initial distaste for it according to your default. 'Nuff said.

You know that game which someone says a word and you have to say the first thing comes to mind? That'd be a pretty good indicator of your default at that moment.

Rewind some more...


A scorpion asked a frog to carry him across a river. The frog was afraid he might get stung by the the scorpion. The scorpion argued that if he stung the frog, they would both drown. The frog agreed. Midway across the river the scorpion stung the frog. When asked why, the scorpion said, "I can't help it, it is in my nature."

Fast forward...


Time to air out more dirty laundry. You know you want it.



Based on the shit my family members say, it's pretty obvious what their defaults are. Let's take my mom as an example. Her default is to distrust and reject everything, and to point out all imaginable and imaginary flaws. Imagine all the nurturing and support I got from my mother. Also imagine bringing up children while by default you are distrustful and rejecting anything in this realm of reality. But my mom is not a bad person at all. She's the way she is because of my grandma's default. (Notice I didn't type FAULT.) My grandma's default was simple: she was an asshole. She's dead now and I hope she stays dead because frankly, she may turn zombie and come back with her face covered in goo and shit. She's just that big of an asshole. 

Once I recognized my family members' defaults, things began to become clearer. My mom and her sister Aunt Miranda set their defaults to accommodate their asshole mother, aka my granny. They haven't learned the skills to adjust or even recognize their defaults, so it makes sense that they are the way they are. It's not an excuse but an explanation to their actions.

It may sound trivial, but this is huge for me because I now have a clearer understanding of the dynamics in our relationship (or any other relationship really). For example, I recognize I shouldn't expect support or approval from my mom for anything, not that I don't want it, but now I know it's not her default so I'll probably never get it. Or I shouldn't be shocked by my mom's embarrassing remarks. That's just how she sees things. Or I shouldn't expect a hug from my mom any time soon...

Expect something non-existent, or you can never change, and then get all depressed and shit about it? That sounds kind of stupid, don't you think?

I cannot change my mom's defaults, but I can reset mine. Actually, I'll have to. My mom is having one of her hips replaced and I'll be spending a week with her after the surgery in October. But at least now I am better equipped.

This will be the ultimate test to my sanity. OMFG!

PS: any guess on what Sarcastic Yogi's defaults are? If your answer includes words like "gentle", "sensitive", "respectful", "caring", "sexy", "conservative" or "loving", you are absolutely correct.

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