I am going to talk about two seemingly disaparate things that are actually related. I was just messaging with K about the hate-fest that was happening in Philly. The Prejudiced Moms Who Want to Outlaw Minorities conference that I refuse to give its proper name. She was telling me that it has been dubbed Klanned Karenhood, which is chef’s kiss perfection. She and I have talked about how the original meaning of being a Karen has been diluted to basically a strong woman speaking up at all, but this usage of it truly adheres to the original meaning (white woman coming down hard on minorities, particularly black people).
I was saying to K that I while I understand on a superficial level that they are threatened by anything that is different from them, I don’t get it on a gut level. I don’t find much validation in the world, but I’ve never really cared about it. Once I realized that I was a weirdo and was most emphatically not like other people, I was fine with it. Sure, sometimes, it gets me down, but most of the time, I just shrug my shoulders and move on. I don’t care because I’m not going to change. I wrote about this yesterday in the area of gatekeeping. I have fully embraced that I have ‘terrible taste’, and I take glee in agreeing with people about it.
But, today I want to talk about it more in the terms of identity issues and sensory issues. I mentioned the former above, and the latter is like this. On Ask A Manager in the weekend thread, there is a question about what to provide for guests who are staying for a few days. There was another thread about this a few months ago. And I metaphorically ran screaming from the room at several of the suggestions.
The ones that were great: Provide towels, extra sheets, and period products. Extra lamp, amenities, etc. All of that is great. But, as someone with so many sensory issues and allergies, it is also fraught with potentional problems. I can’t stand any scented products. Most products are scented. I am also allergic to feathers, so no feathered pillows for me. I can’t use scented shampoo or conditioner–and certainly not soap.
No Febreeze for god’s sake. I’m imploring you. That stuff is so nasty. I used it once after my late cat, Raven, sprayed on a wall. I tried to find the most innocuous scent and chose somtehing like Clouds & Rain because that sounded as close to natural as possible. It was so bad, I had to open up all the windows and the sliding glass door to the patio because I was gagging and choking on the fumes. And I only sprayed once! I would rather smell cat piss than Febreeze, and that’s saying something.
Other people mentioned ice cream in the freezer and flowers in the bedroom. Nope and nope. Allergic and allergic. My suggestion would be to ask the person who is coming. Oh, there was yet another thread about someone whose son was bringing his girlfriend to meet the parents for the first time and it was her birthday or something like that? The thread poster wanted to know if she should have a little gift fro the girlfriend.
Most people said that she should forgo a gift and bake a cake. Some said flowers for the room. Again, I was like, “Nope and nope.” I can’t eat regular people cake nor can I deal with flowers. I am allergic to almost all of them. My worn-out joke is, “I am allergic to everything under the sun–including the sun.”
This is actually why I don’t like traveling, which is difficult to explain to people. When I lived in the East Bay for a year, I had to stop wearing my contacts because the allergies were lethal. I wore hard contacts at the time, and my eyes hated me. I reluctantly went back to glasses and I haven’t looked back since.
Why am I talking about these two things at the same time? Because I want to. And beacuse they fit together, at least in my mind. Why? It’s because of my sensitivities and sensory issues that I truly realized how weird I am. Sure, there’s the sexuality, the tats, the Taiji, the lack of marriage, children, and religion, but the sensory issues are the icing on the cake. They are so endemic and so pervasive, I really can’t work around them. I can’t eat normal people food nor wear normal people clothes or use normal people’s towels. When I visit friends, I have to remind them about my limitations–or we go to the grocery store together. They are patient with me, but I could imagine how people who didn’t know me as well might not be as receptive to my issues.
Because of this, it’s easy for me to understand that people are different from me. Because they are in so many ways. In fact, I’m more surprised when people are like me than when they are not. To be honest, I get a bit indignant when people tell me to look at other people’s points of view because I always am. When will people look at my point of view? Never. I’ve resigned myself to that fact, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
Oh, and I know that sometimes, other people simply cannot understand my point of view. That’s something my last therapist said to me. She told me that I’m on a level five or six in terms of talking whereas most people are level two or three. So they literally cannot understand what I’m saying, which is difficult for me to grasp.
I was saying to K that I felt a smidgeon of pity for the hateful mothers because what a miserable way to live. She pointed out that many of them were just in it for the power, though, and they looked so grotesque in the videos of the conferences. I said that they probably had miserable little lives and this was their way of feeling powerful, which is ugly, but not uncommon.
Still. For all I can dissect them and understand why they are they way they are, they are what’s wrong with our society writ large. They need to STFU and just go away. As I said to K, a pox on them.