Being an Old on Tumblr, I'm often down the rabbit hole of youthful angst and despair, especially from young women who don't know who/how to be in the world and are looking for answers in moodboards, trends, and memes. And listen — that doesn't end. It's why we have mid-life crises.
It's better to figure out your "no."
You gotta know your line. Your absolutely the fuck not.
Here's why...
Sometimes that "no" is hiding under a "yes." It's the guy who A1 d*ck who talks to you like shit. The high-paying job/competitive college program that stresses you the fuck out. The "Baddie" aesthetic that includes shoes you can't fucking walk in. You get what you want but because you didn't define what you didn't want, you're telling yourself this is fine.
When you start with Absolutely the fuck not, you free yourself up for exploration.
You put less pressure on yourself to have all the answers because as long as you don't see the Absolutely the fuck not, you can be guided by curiosity.
"Huh. What's over there? Let's try that on and see what happens."
No matter what your fave influencer says, you learn about life by living. You make a choice, it goes well, you learn what you like. You make a choice, it doesn't go well, you learn what you don't like. Rinse and repeat. This, and only this, is how you "figure it out." By doing.
When you pinpoint your Absolutely the fuck not, you trust that anything — no matter how good it looks on the outside — that requires you to do what you absolutely do not want to do is not for you.
Everything else? Fair game.
May 12, 2025
The weekend was good to me.
My mother and I celebrated Mother's Day at our favorite Spanish restaurant, over garlicky grilled octopus, glasses of crisp Cava, and a flurry of Formula 1 yapping. She's been brave enough to watch the 2021 season (I refuse) and couldn't stop marveling over Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton nearly killing each other several times over on track.
We've had our ups and downs. As she nears retirement age, I can accept that she's a great mother now for whatever she lacked in my childhood. It doesn't erase the bad, or make up for it really. But I have to give her the chance to be good to me now, so should I have to care for her at some point in the future, I can do so out of love. Not bitter obligation.
Saturday was spent out and about in my neighborhood. In the morning, I took my cheap Vivatar digicam to the Farmer's Market while I sipped coffee and people watched.
It reminded me of sitting on the porch as a kid. Hearing loud music from cars thumping up and down the block, watching neighbors tend to their yards.
Stopped home for lunch then headed back out for a quick glass at my Neighborhood Wine Bar. As Mike (the grumpy owner who's become an adopted uncle of sorts) poured the last of a Sancerre he’d sampled with other customers that afternoon, he remembered the name of a woman who accompanied him last time he went to Croatia. “It was Kathleen,” he said. Apparently, one of his other frequent travel companions had to refresh his memory.
(Michael and his travel companions are a long story. For now, just know this man is a 71 year-old Gemini who, up until recently, had a solid roster of eight to nine women, all at least 15 years younger than him. And I know this to be true because I saw them all at his 70th birthday party, hanging out like sister wives.)
Seeing that Mike was kind of over it for the day, I jaunted over to a new Italian spot I've been meaning to try out. And had — hands down — the best mussels I've ever had in my life. The broth was... good lord. I had to order some Focaccia on the side to make sure I didn't waste a drop. The bartender was so amused by my theatrics (listen, I love good food and am not shy about it), she comped one of my two glasses of wine.
I will definitely be back.
Next month. For the rest of May, we have food at home.