#about how people who disagree with you must be idiots and losers because they don't get out enough

[aeide-thea]

i'm never knowingly going to reblog a post that includes the phrase 'touch grass,' and that's not because i don't think it can be psychologically beneficial to get in some outdoor time if possible—i went for a walk earlier! it was great!—or to take a break from conversations that are getting you wound up, but because i think that particular wording generally reveals two things:

first, that the writer is speaking not from a place of genuine concern and sympathy, but from judgmental impatience à la 'get therapy,' which—i too have felt judgmental and impatient in my time, god knows! but when i feel that way i try to go unpack those feelings in private with a thoughtful friend, instead of pretending they constitute a source of wisdom or a helpful sort of energy to direct at people, you know? and i'm definitely not particularly interested in boosting a ventpost from someone else—who pretty clearly hasn't bothered to take the breather they're urging on others, if they're making little digs like that—as if it were actually sincere, carefully-reasoned advice.

and second, that the writer's argument embraces some seriously sloppy assumptions, which pretty immediately undermines my trust in the rest of their analysis—i mean, there's absolutely no guarantee someone's local scene will be any less parochial, just because it's playing out irl! there's also not actually a clean divide between 'people who spend time in the Real World' and 'people who spend time on the internet, which is for porn losers,' as demonstrated by a number of phenomena including, again, the aforementioned grass-recommenders' own presence right here on tumblr…

anyway. obviously we all have our own particular lines we draw around particular rhetoric that bugs us! these are just some reasons why that particular phrasing bugs me.

[flowerboyethan]

Goodnite Socialite

Chapter 1: "Difficult For Me To Do, Quiet The Brain"

We all go through phases in our lives, right? There's ups and downs, high and lows, it's all part of the human existence.

Human existence seems subpar as of lately.

This voice has crawled into my head and made a home, filling my thoughts with nothing but negativity, sucking my motivation dry. I've done nothing but wake up, record a video, send it to my editor, and then crawl back in bed. I've been stuck in this damn routine for the past month, and people have noticed. What could I do? This voice refused to give me a break.

Luckily, Mark hasn't given up on me. Last week, we proposed a plan, a plan to create a channel to end in one year. He told me it might bring my motivation back, and I couldn't agree more. He dragged me out of bed today to record one video for Unus Annus and then drag me to some bar to watch his friend perform.

"A break from your routine would help," Mark had said as he dropped me off at my house to get ready. "Get you back on your feet."

I didn't want to be out in public, and certainly not inside a crowded bar. But Mark was right, I needed a break, I should push myself to get out.

I stood in front of my closet now, filing through different shirts to wear. Something nice, but not too nice. I glanced at my yellow hoodie.

A hoodie makes you look like a slob, the voice mocked.

I moved on to a long-sleeve.

Plain.

I huffed, grabbing a random shirt. It was a button-up, red, yellow, and blue geometric shapes against a grey background.

There was no snarky comment from the voice.

I put it on, shrugging in the mirror. I looked good, but I couldn't let myself admit it.

I texted Mark, letting him know I was ready. I gave Spencer a scoop of food, gave him a quick pat and headed out the door. Mark smiled as I hopped in the car.

"Lookin' good, man!" He exclaimed, backing out of the driveway.

"Thanks, where's Amy?" I asked. Amy was supposed to join us, but she wasn't in the car.

"Already there. She's helping Salem set up."

"Salem?"

"The friend you're going to meet."

I nodded. "That's a badass name."

"Fits her personality, too. She's sweet, just a little…" he paused. "Out there."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I have a big ego?"

"All too well, my friend."

He ignored my comment. "She's that and then some."

I winced.

"You'll like her better than most people she's associated with."

He was making her sound like a bad person. I started to regret leaving my house. I wasn't up for dealing with a bigger ego than Mark's.

"She's a socialite," he continued. "She just does this cover band thing for fun."

I kept quiet. A socialite. So, she's rich. I hated the rich.

"Listen, man," Mark sighed, picking up on my silence. "You know me, I'd never be friends with someone that I didn't think was a good person. Amy's known her since they were teenagers. She's a good person. I didn't mean to give you a bad impression of her."

"It's okay," I finally spoke up. "I just don't know if I have the energy to meet someone like her."

Mark nodded in response, pulling into the bar's parking lot. It wasn't too packed, but we had to park a ways away from the door. We spotted Amy near the center of the bar, sitting at a small round table with several baskets of fries and a few beers.

"Hey!" She greeted us as we sat down. "You're just in time, they're starting in a few minutes." She slid a basket of fries and a beer bottle to me. "These are from Salem."

I was being buttered-up already by someone I haven't met yet. I smiled, masking away the truth. "Tell her thank you."

"You tell her yourself," Amy sipped on her own drink. "She wants to meet you after the show."

Puzzled, I asked why.

"'Any friend of Mark and Amy is a friend of mine' she said to me. And she always loves meeting new people."

"And she likes to show off," Mark piped up through a mouthful of fries.

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's true. She can be a bit flirtatious, but she means well."

A flirtatious, egotistical, narcissist. A perfect reason to get out of the house. I sighed, looking down at my fries. Was I really stubborn enough to not eat these just because she bought them for me? I've barely eaten anything for the past month, I guess a few fries wouldn't hurt.

The lights flickered up on stage, drawing my eyes to a woman adjusting her base strap on her shoulders.

She looks pretentious, the voice mocked again. For the first time, I disagreed. She was stunning, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt tucked into her jeans. All my previous thoughts of her faded away. She was graceful but powerful in the stage lights, as if she belonged in the spotlight.

"Good evening, everyone!" The woman on stage purred in a singsong voice, placing her round glasses on top of her head to keep her wavy hair back. "Welcome to tonight's show!"

The crowd cheered as the rest of the band walked on stage.

"If you are new, my name is Salem. This is Melanie." She gestured to the soft-looking keyboard player who blew a kiss to the crowd. "Pike," an androgynist guitarist winked. "And Vivian," the drummer danced in her with her drumsticks in hand. "And we are Witch Haven!"

"Witch Haven?" I leaned closer to Amy, questioning the band name.

"An homage to her ancestors," she whispered back. "They were witches during the Salem Witch Trials. She gets her name from that, too."

"Really?"

"Yes, now hush!" She waved me off with a smile.

Salem continued to speak upfront. "We have a few covers lined up for you tonight, starting with Goodnight Socialite by The Brobecks." A few people in the crowd cheered. "Mel? Will you start us off?"

Their show began. For a cover band, they played well together, and didn't try to outshine the original artist. Salem, the lead singer, sang beautifully, and I could hardly look away.

Halfway through the song, her eyes landed on me. The anxiety that I had felt this whole month increased. My stomach turned, my palms sweating. Every time I glanced back at her after taking a swig of my beer, there her eyes were, dark, and fixed on me. I gulped, and she must have noticed. She winked at me. Was she into me? I felt myself give into that idea.

You think she'd ever be with a loser like you? The voice shot me down. You? She's rich, Ethan. She has no interest in you. Why would she ever be into you?

I covered my ears, trying to drown it out. Would this ever end? This low-point? Would I ever get a break. It was a mistake leaving my house, I should have protested to Mark more. I should be at home, with my dog, curled up in bed while I wallow in misery.

"Ethan?" Mark's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Ethan, are you okay?"

I paused, what could I say? They both knew what was wrong with me, so why ask?

"Is it too loud?" Amy asked.

I nodded, a good excuse.

"The next song is quieter. Or do you want to go home?"

I shook my head. Something in me wanted to stay, to possibly talk to Salem. Maybe I had a chance despite what the voice said.

After an hour, the band finished their show, and the bar started to clear out. Mark left to go talk to the band, Amy headed for the restroom, leaving me alone at the table with an empty beer bottle and a basket of fries. I watched Mark disappear backstage, I was truly alone in the bar now. Should I wait by the car? Do I wait here? I didn't know what to do.

Salem walked out from backstage, beginning to pack away the instruments and cords.

You should leave.

I stood up.

Leave! Now!

My feet involuntarily started towards the stage.

What are you doing?! What do you think will come of this?

I reached the stage, Salem’s back turned to me.

She doesn’t see you. You can still turn away and-

“Salem?”

She turned around, her shoes squeaking against the floor. She smiled, her tongue sticking out a bit. “Hello,” she cooed, crouching to meet my eyes. “And who might you be?”

Hazelnut. Her eyes were the color of hazelnuts. “I, uh- I’m Ethan.”

“Ethan!” Her eyes started to sparkle. “Amy told me about you. Come, come!” she stuck her hand out, waiting to pull me up onstage with her. “Any friend of Mark and Amy is a friend of mine.”

I took her hand, pushing off the ground with my foot to climb up. She fixed the collar of her Hawaiian shirt, shaking it out a bit. “How did you like my show?” She took her glasses off her head, cleaning them on her shirt.

“Oh, it- it was incredible,” I fumbled my words a bit, trying not to look at her stomach that was slightly exposed.

“Ah! Good!” She placed her glasses on her face. “I love meeting new fans. Now, do you have a favorite part, dear Ethan?”

My heart jumped. “Well, I- uh…”

She tilted her head a bit. “You seem so nervous! Is everything alright?”

“I'm- I'm just going through this anxious episode, thing.”

Stop talking.

“Oh, you poor thing!” She grabbed my hands, holding them close to her chest, causing me to stumble forward slightly. “I do hope my show helped!”

“It- it did! It did!” I stuttered. God, I couldn’t think straight. “It’s just that-”

“Did I upset you somehow?” She started to lean closer, concern covering her face.

Spit it out.

“You were making eyes at me!”

Salem dropped my hands, taking a step back. “I was doing what?” Her singsong voice disappeared.

You shouldn't have said that. 'Making eyes at me'? Who even says that? She winked at you, nothing more, you idiot.

“I was sitting near the back, and you couldn’t take your eyes off me, and-”

“Oh!” She started laughing. “Oh, no, my dear Ethan. My girlfriend was sitting in the back. I was making eyes at her!”

Every ounce of hope left my body.

“You must have been sitting in front of her,” Salem continued. “Her name’s Cherry. I love her to death.”

“You- you must be- you must have been- been together for a while, then?” I stuttered, shoving my sweaty hands into my pockets.

“Five years!” Her eyes lit up, clasping her hands together. “I couldn’t be happier. She always takes off after my gigs, though,” she stood on her toes, peering over me to scan the room. “She’s a busy woman, taking calls left and right. I’m proud of her!”

“I’m happy for you,” I cleared my throat, rubbing the back of my neck. “Look, I’m really sorry for thinking-”

“Don’t be!” She took up my hands again, just like before. “You are so sweet and respectful, Ethan. Stuff like this happens more often than you’d think!”

“Wha- really?”

She nodded vigorously, her glasses slipping down her nose a smidge. “Some guys will straight up try to kiss me after a show without even asking. Pike will have to step in and throw ‘em out.”

“I’m so sorry that happens to you,” I was itching to leave now. I felt my stomach turning.

“But you are a gem, Ethan. Will you come to my next show?”

“When is it?” I was filling in words to get this over with. I had to leave.

She shrugged. “It’s never set in stone.”

“I’ll try my best, then,” I pulled my hands away. “I gotta go. It was so nice to meet you, Salem.” I hopped off the stage, speeding towards the door, hardly hearing Salem call after me.

“Goodbye, Ethan! Lovely to meet you!”

I stumbled through the exit, sprinting towards Mark’s car. I fell to the ground, dry heaving into the ditch. The parking lot was almost empty now, only a few cars parked on the other side.

I’m an idiot. A loser. How could I be so stupid to even think of talking to Salem? Let alone think she even had a desire to be with me. Of course, she was in a relationship. Of course, she had a girlfriend. Just my luck, falling for a girl who had no desire to even be with a boy.

Since when did I start crying?  I stopped dry heaving at this point. I sat on my thighs, knees digging into the dirt, sobbing into my hands.

“I’m such an idiot,” I choked on a tear. “Look at me, crying in a bar parking lot. Pathetic.”

“Ethan? Ethan!”

Oh, god. It’s Mark.

Mark grabbed my shoulders from behind me, gently pulling me to his chest. I kept my face in my hands. “Ethan, what is going on?”

“Ethan.” I heard Amy’s voice next to me. She started rubbing my arm with one hand, the other on my knee. “Ethan, everything’s gonna be alright.”

I whimpered, shaking my head, still covering my face. “No, it not.” I pulled away from Mark and Amy. I had nothing more to say. Everything was going wrong. This low-point, it felt like my world was ending. I wanted this voice gone, I wanted my motivation back, I wanted this anxiety to leave. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have spoken to Salem. I should never leave my house again.

They were silent for a moment, Amy rubbing my back as I hunched over, crying.

“Do you want to go home?” Mark asked, his voice soft.

I nodded.

“Will you be fine alone?” Amy chimed in.

I nodded.

“Let’s get you up,” Mark coaxed, placing his arm around my waist and a hand in mine. I never protested as he lifted me up and brought me to the car door. I usually would, claiming that I could do it myself. I was too tired to protest.

So tired…