It is what it is

Coming to the realization that you have been un-friended by someone on Facebook can be a tough pill to swallow. I myself take great pains to cultivate meaningful connections, and consider how to keep my posts fun for the whole family. Furthermore, I have always strived to limit my status updates—to only that which at least five of my friends could actually give a fuck about at any given time.

Sure, I am often tempted to err on the side of shock value, and spread as much libel about you idiots over the internet as I possibly can. Yet I do understand the value of censorship, and the important role it plays in our God-fearing society. To that end, offending or annoying my fellow Facebookers is actually very low on my list of priorities. I typically summon my faculties of judgment and discretion before posting shitfaced photos or statuses re: my latest sexual exploits, fetishes, and the like. You know, so as to not alienate my friends and relatives, co-workers, and even a tech-savvy terrier.

Despite my painstaking efforts to appeal to the entire crowd, my friend’s mother decided to sever her social networking ties with me. Yes, it is true. I was mindful of her demographic (old, crotchety), and she still gave me the axe. What hurt most about this severance was the fact that she was a parent of a friend. And parents have always historically loved me. So of course, it was a real blow to my ego.

Days went by. Questions began to fill my head. Did she ever really like me to begin with? Will it be awkward to see her in person? And most importantly, was she uncomfortable with the fact that I like to start my mornings with a cup of Joe and a naked tantric yoga sesh?

As anyone would naturally expect, my curiosity soon developed into anger and violence.The next Saturday morning, I decided to relate my angst over the matter to my lover. I queried him as to why anyone in their right mind would ever want to un-friend me??

Poised in downward facing dog, he responded with Zen-like focus, “It is what it is.”

Now, if you know me at all— do. not. ever. say: “It is what it is,” to me. This phrase is an outright slap in the face to anyone who gets off by venting their frustrations on a given topic. Sometimes, I simply need to complain. And not only does "it is what it is" indicate to me that you do not care about my issue, it also demonstrates that you were not even listening to begin with. It is an unoriginal one-size-fits all response used by anyone who cannot appreciate the therapeutic benefits of a good rant. Furthermore, what does “it is what it is” even mean?

Let’s break it down.

So, you’re telling me that the thing that I am talking about, is in actuality, what I am talking about? Get the fuck out! Thank you for that insightful gem of wisdom. Before you were here to offer me absolutely nothing in the way of supportive feedback, I was under the erroneous impression that the thing I am complaining about was actually something completely different than what I am complaining about. Thank you so much! I was forever doomed to think that it is what it isn’t, or rather, isn’t what it actually is. But now you’ve clarified for me, that it is, in fact, what it is. I am now completely fucking enraged and you have contributed nothing to this conversation.

This Is So Sad

Hi. My name is Madeline and I don't like reading. I didn't think it was possible for this to happen to me. I'm an English major and a writer. I own over 200 books and exactly 139 classics including a first edition of For Whom the Bell Tolls and every one of Austen’s insignificant pre-Pride and Prejudice works. I wanted to love reading. I tried to love reading. I pretended to love reading. I liked the way readers looked so intellectual sitting in studded brown leather chairs with their black rimmed glasses and turtlenecks. I especially liked the way they could look up from their weathered and annotated copy of Wuthering Heights to chew on the end of their glasses and talk about Heathcliff’s social position or the unreliability of Nelly Dean’s narration or Cathy’s larger-than-life metaphysical passion.*

Admitting it was the hardest part. I should have seen it coming when someone asked me to name ten books that have impacted me and I had to lie about four and make up two. Once I stopped denying it and became open with myself and others, I felt free. I found out there are a lot of other writers and English majors just like me. They said they know how I feel and they told me I’m not alone. Now I feel like I can relax and be comfortable with who I am and now I don’t feel like I have to be reading a book to wear a turtleneck.

*For these references, I searched “Wuthering Heights study questions” on Google. I’ve never read the book, nor do I know what it’s about.