The 7 Deadly Holidays

Last week, a friend of mine wished everyone on Facebook a happy Thanksgiving by calling it the “eat whatever you want without feeling guilty” holiday.

She’s right, of course. Officially, Thanksgiving is about being grateful, but we all know the main focus is usually on making a ridiculous amount of food then trying to eat as much as possible.

It’s gluttony, really. One of the seven deadly sins.

Not that I’m against it. Giving into temptation every once in a while helps us build up enough willpower to truly deprive ourselves.

It’s an old idea. The Catholics have a long tradition of  letting loose during the Carnival festive season right before buckling down into all the self-denial of Lent.

Maybe they’re onto something… America may not have a Carnival festival per se, but we DO have 7 major holidays, which just happens to be the same number as the official deadly sins.

Coincidence?

1- Thanksgiving: Gluttony

ckthanksgicing.jpgOfficial purpose: Being grateful for what you already have

I already  covered this one… On Thanksgiving, we’re all supposed to prepare a massive feast involving turkey, cheese-covered green beans, and a variety of seasonal gourds.

We then invite our families over to collectively lay siege to this food pile, not stopping until everyone is sleepy and no one can buckle their pants.

That’s when we break out the pumpkin pie…

2- Halloween: Lust

halloween-socialismOfficial purpose: Making yourself look unappetizing

Traditionally, Halloween is about kids dressing up in scary costumes and going from house to house,collecting candy. So maybe, for kids,  Halloween is about gluttony. They weren’t all that jazzed about eating turkey, after all.

But for adults, it’s the holiday where good taste fashion rules fly out the window. Naughty nurses, naughty witches, and naughty tavern wenches are EVERYWHERE.

It’s the one time of year women feel free to channel their inner dominatrix, parading around in glorified bikinis, weapons, and heavy eyeliner. Ironically enough, this all happens when it’s super cold outside.

3- Christmas: Greed

christmas

Official purpose: Caring about everyone else

Sure, Christmas is about the birth of our savior, trees with pretty lights, traditional songs and family togetherness. It’s lovely.

But who are we kidding? For kids, it’s all about the presents. They dream up wish lists for months, write letters to Santa, and wake up at the crack of dawn on Christmas, hungry to tear into that sweet new pile of toys.

And we parents absolutely break ourselves to make that possible.

4-New Year’s Eve: Sloth

best-funny-new-years-resolutions-2015-memes-6Official purpose: Welcoming the challenges of a whole ‘nother year

NYE is basically a grownup’s holiday that mostly involves going somewhere to sit around and drink until the clock strikes midnight and everyone kisses each other.

I’m gonna argue NYE is all about sloth, because it’s not only the holiday that involves the least work (unless you’re throwing a giant party), but also the one where everyone expects to magically improve their lives.

Yeah, we just cheer for the brand new year, thinking this new year will automatically make great things happen without us having to do anything. Okay, maybe we throw out a New Year’s resolution or two, but we definitely won’t be starting them until tomorrow.

5- Valentine’s Day: Envy

its-valentines-day-batman.pngOfficial purpose: Being grateful for your significant other

This is the holiday where some lucky women receive enormous bouquets of roses at work, in front of all their jealous coworkers, while others wonder why their deadbeat boyfriends/husbands never send them roses at work. Because apparently that guy has gotten a little too comfortable and it’s probably just a matter of time before he stops even bothering to sniff the armpits of his shirts before getting dressed to go out.

This is the day when people in seasoned relationships get to envy the emotional rollercoaster of fresh new relationships, and people in new relationships get to be disappointed when a bunch of dramatic gestures don’t end up leading to an incredibly romantic proposal.

Even worse, single people have to sit around being single while the whole world celebrates being in love. Hearts, chocolates, and chocolates in heart-shaped boxes… it’s the schmoopiest, most in-your-face kind of romantic comedy love propaganda on the planet, designed to remind anyone single just how tragic it is to be alone.

Of course, all those bells and whistles put a lot of pressure on couples. What if you’re exhausted and all you really feel like doing is ordering in a pizza and watching Netflix? This wouldn’t be a problem if you were single. Single people have nothing to prove and can do whatever they want. Lucky bastards…

6- Independence Day: Wrath

4th-july-jokeOfficial purpose: Patriotism

It’s tempting to say the 4th of July is all about Pride, because we Americans are feeling pretty smug about how awesome our country is and how smart we were to hide behind rocks while the British Redcoats lined up with giant X’s on their chest.

But I’m going to go with Wrath instead.

Why? Because the one thing that distinguishes Independence Day is our collective need to watch fireworks.  (Maybe we set them off ourselves, or maybe we go watch a professional show… it depends on how your city ordinances deal with handling explosives).

And while fireworks are beautiful, their thundering noises, flashing lights, and thrilling potential danger have been commemorating the weapons of war since 1777.

That’s right, everyone casually eats watermelon and well-barbecued meats while fondly remembering how we really decimated the British with our musket fire and cannon balls. Cause that’s what we ‘Muricans do to folks who TAX US WITHOUT LETTING US REPRESENT.

You wanna TAX our tea?? Well, we’re gonna THROW IT INTO THE WATER and start DRINKING COFFEE INSTEAD.

You like them apples, England?  How about you guys waltz into your nearest Starbucks, sip some lattes and think about what you did…

7- Easter: Pride

easter.jpgOfficial purpose: Celebrating the resurrection

Admittedly, saying Easter is all about the deadly sin of pride may be a hard sell. But I’ve only got one holiday and one deadly sin left, so I plan to plan to rationalize that square peg into this round hole until my theory completely fits.

So… what about the fact we think we know what we’re doing, even though we’re all  celebrating Christ’s resurrection with a bunch of bunny rabbits and colorful eggs?

Does that seem reasonable to you? That a giant rabbit, who hides baskets of chocolate from children, should be a fitting symbol of our messiah’s return from the dead?

Of course. Because we all know what we’re doing here. Why shouldn’t we call this holiday “Easter,” which comes from the Teutonic fertility goddess “Eostre,” which we celebrate in the Spring with a bunch of fertility symbols, like eggs and rabbits?

Nothing weird about that.

And while we’re on the subject of pride, how about the way we celebrate the holiday by hiding baskets and eggs from little kids. Kids have trouble finding them even when we put them in really obvious places, which makes us feel pretty smart.

Easter, the day we get to feel like geniuses by outwitting a pack of tiny children.

So, am I completely off the mark here? Because I’m basically saying that while we set up these holidays to celebrate the greatest of human virtues, we kind of end up reveling in the worst.

Not that it’s a bad thing. Maybe we need these “safe,” official spaces to get out all our selfishness. Maybe it makes us better people for the rest of the year.

Or maybe we’re inventing new holidays to do it better. I mean, what the heck is Black Friday about, if not our willingness to trample our countrymen to get our hands on a bigger TV?

UPDATE: After reading this post, my blogging buddy Amanda at Just in Queso wrote a hilarious post where she assigned the 7 deadly sins to characters on the show Friends. You should check it out: Sins and Friends.

(And read her other stuff too. It’s really good!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sibling Torture Tactics: Psychological Warfare

My two-year-old daughter Bridget has been trying really hard to talk lately. She goes on long monologues at the dinner table, flinging her arms around and shaking her fist to emphasize her point.

taco cat backwards.jpg
Maybe this was it

Frankly, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Whatever it is, she feels very passionate about it. Something about tacos and cats, which are apparently vital issues within the baby community.

I’m so glad she’s finally learning to talk, though, because she’s been at a major disadvantage when dealing with her big sister Brontë, who is four. Brontë literally talks nonstop from the crack of dawn until I’m tucking her into bed, which must be so intimidating.

Two years is a huge advantage in toddler time. Brontë is bigger and stronger and can reach more, say more, and knows more things. She constantly bosses Bridget around and muscles away her toys whenever my back is turned.

All Bridget can do in response is scream uncontrollably or hit Brontë in the head with a nearby object. And BOTH get her in trouble.

Brontë’s got the home field advantage. She’s even been convincing Bridget she can read. She grabs the bedtime story book when I’m finished and convincingly pretends to read every page to her sister, making up a story while pointing to words.

I didn’t fully grasp her motivations until last week, when Brontë grabbed my clock radio instructions, unfolded them, then walked over to Bridget.

“It says here,” Brontë began, while staring intently at the giant instruction square, “That the bedroom is Brontë’s and Bidgie is just allowed to sleep over.”

Bidgie blinked.

“And number 2,” Brontë pretended to read, “The toys are Brontë’s and Bidgie is not allowed to take them. Number 3 says Bidgie can’t close the door.”

“Psh,” said Bridget.

“I dunno, Bidgie. That’s what it says.”

But Bidgie’s not rolling over without a fight. What she lacks in verbiage, she more than makes up for in sheer bravada.

When Brontë dazzles everyone with adorable stories, for example, Bridget will stun the audience by picking up a bottle of hot sauce and drinking it.

Or, Bridget will aggravate her big sister by wreaking havoc on her pretend world. Like the other day, when Brontë took  Princess Pink Ballerina and the Handsome Prince out for a joyride in the  fantasy pink ballerina car.

The moment Brontë ran away, distracted by something or other, Bridget crept up to the car and replaced the prince with a giant green dinosaur:

dinosaur.jpg
It’s hard to drive with super-short arms

And you’d be surprised by how much attitude Bridget can work into two- or three-word sentences. Yesterday, she had the following conversation with her sister:

Bidgie is sitting in the bathtub when Brontë wanders up…

Brontë: Hi, can I get some candy please?

Bridget (handing her pretend candy): Here!

Brontë: Thank you! This isn’t enough candy though. I come here all the time. Can I get more candy?

Bridget: Buh-bye

Brontë: Can I get some strawberry ice cream?

Bridget: Here.

Brontë: Thanks! Do you have any chocolate ice cream?

Bridget: NO.

Brontë: Can you make some?

Bridget (crossing arms): Buh-bye.

Honestly, I was a little relieved when this conversation ended. I thought it might take a turn down “around the corner fudge is made” street.

That’s such a likely scenario with my kids, I can only assume Bridget didn’t have the goods.

My Daughter’s Mutinous, Stabby Pants

pants.jpgSo, I caught my daughter smacking her own butt this morning while yelling, “BAD! You’re WRONG! You need to STOP IT!”

It was a perplexing situation, one I hoped to better understand. So instead of telling her to cut it out, I tried to uncover what strange manner of 4-year-old psychology had driven her to this desperate point…

Me: Umm… what are you doing? Why are you spanking yourself?

Brontë: I’m NOT. I’m spanking MY PANTS.

Me: I see. Okay… why?

Brontë: Because they won’t do cartwheels and somersaults the way I want them to.

Me: That’s an interesting dilemma.

Brontë: They’re being WRONG pants!

Me: Well… you do realize that *you’re* actually the one that does cartwheels and somersaults, right? And that right now, you’re really just spanking yourself?

Brontë’s eyes got big for a moment before she swiveled around and stomped off, muttering, “DAMN IT, stupid pants!”

As I thought: Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh… 

Because I really shouldn’t encourage swearing, even when executed perfectly and to hilarious effect.

But I can definitely see why she’d be mad at those pants. First, they mess up her cartwheels and somersaults. Then, they trick her into smacking herself and looking silly in front of her mom.

They were definitely being WRONG pants that deserved everything they got.

Advice for Men: Cracking the Fat Pants Code

look fat.jpgMany guys who have been in long-term relationships will, sooner or later, find themselves staring down the barrel of the following question:

Do these pants make my butt look fat?

According to male comedians, this is a very stressful problem. You’re not sure how to answer this question without either lying or starting a fight. It may even feel like a huge, manipulative bid for forced compliments and you’re not sure how to handle being put in this position.

Well, I’m here to help.

You see, I think what we have here is a male/female communication problem. For whatever reason, men tend to speak directly whereas women deal in subtleties. While you think it’s a loaded question, we’re not actually trying to set you up.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t wrong answers. Here are a few examples, followed by our likely emotional response:

Do these pants make my butt look fat?

 

honey-do-these-pants-make-my-ass-look-fat-no-your-ass-makes-your-ass-look-fat-8f2e4.png
Hardee har har…

1- “No, that bowl of ice cream you scarf down every night makes you look fat.”

(You bastard, calling me fat! What about you cramming down cheeseburgers while you sit on your farty butt playing Call of Duty all day!? How DARE you judge ME? Stupid photoshopped magazine women…)

2- You get all nervous and scared before saying, “Umm… no, umm… you look fine.”

(He didn’t even look! Why is he so freaked out? He obviously thinks I’m a hideous whale and now he’s LYING to me about it. He’s probably lying about EVERYTHING ELSE TOO.)

3- Without even looking, you say “I don’t know. Whatever. I don’t know anything about fashion.”

(This is obviously important to me, yet he can’t take 30 seconds out of his day to give me his honest opinion. Just like how he doesn’t  care about what color we paint the living room. He’s not invested in me or our relationship.)

trap.jpgOkay, so this seems like a trap. No matter whether you say yes, no, or I don’t care, you’re still bound to be wrong.

But here’s the thing: women who ask this question don’t actually want you to evaluate their figure.

See, women’s fashion is infinitely complicated. We’re always trying to strike a delicate balance between looking like we just stepped off a Mormon compound or looking like we charge by the hour.

We want to wear clothes that are flattering, but may not be sure whether we can pull an outfit off, so we want a second opinion. We don’t want to walk outside looking terrible, but also don’t want to be insulted. So…

We don’t ask:

Am I fat?

We ask:

Do these pants make me look fat?

The difference is subtle, yet important. We’re giving you a pants parachute. We’re saying, “Go ahead and tell me if I shouldn’t wear this, but definitely blame it on the pants.”

 

To illustrate, I’d like to share an example of someone answering this question perfectly. Granted, it was a girl, which meant she held a huge advantage in navigating female psychology.

I was attending college in Los Angeles at the time, getting ready for a party. I had put on a silver-sequined skirt and kept studying myself in the mirror, unsure of whether or not it was working for me.

So, I decided to ask my roommate Ellen what she thought…

Me: Ellen, could you please come over here a minute and give me your opinion? I want to wear this skirt to Sara’s party but I’m not sure if it looks good on me or not. What do you think?

Ellen gets a real serious look on her face before walking around me in a circle, carefully evaluating every angle of the skirt.

Ellen: Hmm. Okay, you know what? I HATE that skirt!

Me: Umm.. okay.

Ellen: Because that skirt is doing HORRIBLE things to you. It’s making it look like you have a BIG SQUARE ASS, but you definitely DO NOT HAVE a big square ass, so I’m not sure how it’s doing it.

She walks around me a couple more times.

Ellen (looking angry): You know what? Take off that skirt and give it to me right now!

I take it off, wondering what’s she’s planning on doing next.

Ellen grabs the skirt, marches over to the trash can and chucks it inside. Slamming down the lid, she says, “I NEVER WANT TO SEE THAT SKIRT AGAIN. That skirt was INSULTING YOU. It was taking your nice figure and making it LOOK LIKE ABSOLUTE CRAP.”

And then she stomped off, leaving me giggling while looking for something more flattering to wear.

Now, you see how she did that? She let me know I looked horrible in that skirt and should never, ever wear it out in public, without hurting my feelings one bit. Because she blamed it all on the skirt.

That’s the trick. I hope this helps.

One note of caution, however: I don’t recommend throwing away your significant other’s clothes. This was a bold (though highly entertaining) move that would be too risky for most guys to attempt.

 

 

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Living Room

Being a parent teaches you a lot about human psychology. Toddlers, for example, think the world revolves around them.

I’m not trying to be critical here, because this is a normal stage of kid development. It’s not malicious, they just live in a self-focused universe where everything is one giant movie starring them as the main character with everyone else in a supporting role only existing to advance the plot.

Sometimes this causes a breakdown in communication, like when I ask my husband about his day at work and he can’t answer because our four-year-old daughter Brontë keeps interrupting with, “I DIDN’T GO TO WORK, I’VE BEEN PLAYING ALL DAY!”

And sometimes, it can be downright hilarious.

Take, for example, the surreal confusion that recently ensued when our two-year-old daughter Bridget was wandering around the house, looking for me.

It went like this:

Bridget (wandering around): Mommy? Mama?

Brontë (from the next room): I’m not mommy, Bridget. I’m “Brontë.”

Bridget: Mooooooommmmeeeeeee…

Brontë (walking in): I’m NOT mommy. I’M JUST ANOTHER KID.

Bridget (looking around): Mommy?

Brontë (speaking slowly as she puts her hands on Bridget’s shoulders): LISTEN TO ME, Bridget… I’m NOT your mom. I’m your SISTER. My name is “BRONTË.”

Bidgie blinks and Brontë throws her arms in the air before stomping off and grumbling, “HOW does she not know this by now??”

img_3678Brontë was so frustrated by her sister’s cluelessness, she even looked a little scared. Like she was pondering whether or not her baby sister actually had a screw loose.

And when I explained that Bridget was talking to me, Brontë only looked more scared. Like maybe everyone in the house, except her, had lost their mind. Because we were clearly both there for the whole conversation where Bridget couldn’t recognize her own family members, so how is mom not understanding how serious this is?

I couldn’t help laughing, which only made things worse.

A Parenting Hack for Dealing With Stubborn Kids

 

noBeing a parent is a little like being a social scientist. You’re an anthropologist studying a strange tribe of lawless pygmies, trying to uncover why they need to take a single bite of every piece of fruit in the basket or rub spaghetti sauce into their hair.

Or you’re a psychologist, studying how the human brain behaves before all the rationalizations and social conditioning. You figure out, for example, that two-year-olds feel compelled to scream “NO!” when asked any question.

Doesn’t matter what it is. They’ll scream “NO!” when you ask if they want water, then cry in frustration when you take the water away. You give it back, only to have them push it away and scream “NO!” again and again.

You ask if they want candy, just to see if they’ll break down, and it won’t work. They’ll just scream NO, right before throwing a massive fit about Not Having Candy. These kinds of constant protests about anything and everything make getting through your day kind of hard.

Well eventually, most parents figure out how to get around the “NO” thing by offering their kid the choice between two acceptable options…

Instead of: Do you want to get dressed? (NO!)

You say: Do you want to wear the red pants or the blue ones? (Hmm, the blue!)

It works like a charm, because it really all comes down to control. The kid wants to feel as though he or she has some say in what happens to them. Offer them a choice, and suddenly they’ll forget that refusing to get dressed is a third alternative.

Strangely enough, this trick will work on adults as well.

 

Six Word Story Challenge: Worship

worship.jpgAfter a hiatus, I’m back with the Six Word Story Challenges…

These are so fun! You write a story using only six words, based on the weekly theme. This week’s theme is “worship” and the challenge is open from Saturday 19th November 2016 – Friday 25th November 2016.

Anyone can play! Check it out at: Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge.

My entry for this week:

Worship is blind. Love sees everything.

My Liberal Hangover

polls“You should’ve been at the election night party. People were going CRAZY. Alice and Lindsay even started crying. Now, I’m not happy that Trump was elected or anything, but crying? That’s so over the top.”

My buddy probably assumed I’d agree with him, since I’m usually more about logical, rational discussions than a bunch of melodrama.

Except this time I understood, because I was crying on election night too.

Just a day earlier, you see, I’d taken my four-year-old daughter with me to go vote for the first American female president. And she was going to win in a landslide, according to all the polls and media pundits.

It was really going to happen. How could it not?

Hillary may not have been everyone’s first choice (Elizabeth Warren would’ve been preferable), but at least she was highly qualified and running against the least-qualified candidate in election history.

Trump had run around constantly insulting everyone: black people, Mexicans, women, the LGBT community, war heroes, handicapped people, Muslim Gold Star parents… he was championed by the KKK.

Key members of his own party were denouncing him. Paul Ryan, John McCain, all the Bushes… he even went too far for Glenn Beck, who’s got to be the Right’s version of Michael Moore.

With the deck so stacked in her favor, Hillary just had to win.

And it was about time. Unlike in Germany, Argentina, Great Britain, Denmark, and so many other places, America has never, ever put a woman in charge.  We don’t even have a history of powerful queens to look back on.

My daughter Brontë was too young to fully understand everything going on, but she did grasp the idea that we were all voting for the boss of the country and that for the first time in our nation’s history, it could be a girl.

Brontë squeezed my hand and told me she loved me just before we marked our vote. She understood something important was happening, wanting desperately to feed our ballot into the machine, so I helped.

We were making history. My daughters would grow up already having a female president. They’d truly believe anything was possible, if only they worked hard enough.

Except that’s not what happened.

Instead, I stayed up alone on election night, watching another incredibly accomplished woman slowly lose to a volatile, inexperienced man. I couldn’t believe it. All the polls were wrong.

WRONG. Just like Trump kept telling us.

And I couldn’t help sobbing.

My daughter ran up to me the next morning, asking “did she win?” before reading my face then looking down at the floor.

“Maybe we can vote again tomorrow?” she asked. “Can she try three times?”

Argh…

Now that I’ve gotten all this grief out of my system, I’m hoping to figure out where we went wrong and what we can do to change it.

Most of my liberal friends are either collapsed into utter hopelessness or full of rage, preparing for the apocalypse. They’re saying the curtain’s been drawn back on America’s true feelings to reveal all the sexist, racist, homophobic hostility that’s been bubbling under the surface all along.

I don’t know. I think that kind of rhetoric was partly responsible for what just happened. The Republicans mopped the floor with us. They got everything: the House, the Senate, the Oval Office, and before long, the Supreme Court too.

I think it’s time to rethink our strategy.

Maybe Hillary’s loss was about sexism, or maybe it was about a huge group of overlooked voters lobbing a Molotov cocktail into the White House in the form of Donald Trump. The same group we’ve been ignoring and/or insulting for many years.

I don’t think we can afford to keep on doing that. Many Americans are struggling to feed their families as the economy keeps shutting down opportunities along with countless manufacturing jobs. Arguing with them about white privilege is never, ever going to work.

Besides, I have many conservative friends whom I respect very much. There are good people on both sides of the aisle, each having their own set of priorities and rationalizations… both sides seem locked into their respective echo chambers, listening to different radio stations, watching different news, and posting different memes all over Facebook.

Maybe a Sanders/Warren ticket was the answer. I don’t know.

All I know is that telling struggling people we won’t be helping them until we’ve sorted out the world’s intolerance only makes things worse, no matter how morally decent it makes us feel. Because there is no clear solution or endpoint.

What would “recognizing” our role in inequality even mean? It’s abstract and somewhat subjective. We can’t legislate subconscious feelings. There is no vague “recognition” of bias that would automatically translate into a fairer world, anyway.

We’re better off setting clear policy goals. We need to focus on the economy, figuring out constructive ways to make lives better instead of just telling everyone how wrong they are all the time.

 

And honestly, I think we’re also better off without all the political correctness. Those rules obviously didn’t prevent people from secretly thinking whatever they thought, but it did make it harder to subject views to hard scrutiny.

I’m hoping more liberals will start asking themselves hard questions, so we can improve our chances in 2020.

I’m also hoping Trump was strategically tapping into a frustrated base of voters during his campaign and isn’t actually as volatile as he seemed.

I guess we’ll all about to find out.

An Open Letter to My Controversial Facebook Friends

chuckA couple weeks ago, I finally had to block someone on Facebook.

See, we all come from different backgrounds and have had unique life experiences, so I’m okay with different religious, political, and philosophical points of view.

That doesn’t mean I won’t find them irritating, occasionally argue with you, or find myself trying to calculate the potential damage to our relationship if I were to post the Snopes link debunking everything you just said.

We can still be friends, though. Even as this agonizing election season has tested our mutual tolerance. I believe that everyone has a right to their own perspective, assuming no one’s invoking the swastika.

But when you post spoilers an hour before The Walking Dead Season 7 premier comes on, you’ve crossed my line.

Seriously, one of my friends did that.

season_six_neganAnd despite my forgiving nature, when I saw those Walking Dead names scroll across her feed, I could only think: If these are accurate, you and I are done. 

Well, they were and we are. She must’ve watched the show in a different time zone or something.

You may be wondering why this is a bigger deal-breaker for me than politics and religion, so let me explain: someone who disagrees with you politically might still be an awesome person, even having your exact same end-goals in mind, but believe a different strategy would be most effective…

And someone who tries to convert you to their religion wants to save your soul from eternal torment. Their heart’s probably in the right place, even if they’re misguided.

But posting spoilers right before The Walking Dead Season 7 premiere couldn’t be motivated by anything pure.

And to post it one hour before it aired. Right when everyone was getting amped up to finally see the dramatic conclusion, you throw the whole artistic experience straight into the toilet.

governor-meme-walking-dead-david-morrisseyWhy would you do that? Did you honestly believe your friends, who were finally settling down to resolve the biggest six-month cliffhanger of the six long years they’ve invested in the show, would react to your ruining it by thinking, “Wow, she really had the jump on us. She must be crazy smart!”

Or was it pure hostility? A cry for attention? The delusional belief that the events on The Walking Dead are actual occurrences, representing urgent mysteries in the world of crime we need to get solved as soon as possible?

I don’t know, except it’s more than anyone should have to put up with.

Politics and religion aside, you can’t come back from this. You just can’t.