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August 25, 2011 / Brittany Hendrick

Experiments over entropy

It’s been a while since I’ve written on here, which is terrible. But, quite frankly, I haven’t been feeling very funny as of late. That’s because I’ve endured a series of unfunny things. And, to be frank again, I’ve had enough.


It’s been so unfunny that I started another blog independent from this, in response– which is sad in more ways than one.

I am proud to be a person of principles, kindness, independence, confidence and hardiness. My fuse is pretty long, and I’m not a fly-off-the-handle type. However, I have found this to be of detriment lately: I have been a doormat. A little bitch. Buttboy. Pushover. Whipping boy. Second-class citizen.

And that’s not me.

How did this happen? I know how.

I’ve consorted with people who aren’t good for me– people who I know, ahead of time, aren’t good for me! Why consort with negative elements? Because my stupid ass tries to be nice, non-judgmental, understanding, fair, empathic, etc. Actually, I shouldn’t say “tries.” My stupid ass just naturally “is.” Even when I can sense bullshit within minutes of meeting someone for the first time (it’s a Scorpio thing), even when something is rotten in the state of Denmark, I still give that person a chance.

Talk about a waste of my time!

I’ve had my shit figured out since age 26– and had my head screwed on straight well before that. Unfortunately, those who have not figured out themselves have a knack for undermining people like me. This dragging-down operation is instantly recognizable, and it doesn’t fool me. Yet I’ve been looking the other way– way too much. Too much leeway, too many concessions, too much niceness, too much understanding.

So, since I do have my Self figured out, that means I have license to play with my Self, just to see what happens. In other words, I have been conducting a series of experiments– but not to change myself fundamentally or permanently. Rather, I am using myself to see if others’ reactions/outcomes match the hypotheses I have mapped out. I suppose this is more curiosity than anything else. What really does work in certain situations?

1.) Hypothesis: Being a bitch helps you get your way
Control*: People I know.
Variable: My mood.
Experiment: Generally, I pick and choose my battles carefully. I can be firm while remaining kind. I’m a middle child, which helps my negotiability. If something perturbs me, I weigh how important it is in the big picture, reason why the bothersome thing isn’t a big deal, and continue on my merry way. However, too much of that confuses people into thinking that I can be steamrolled. And that’s not right. What happens if I’m constantly dissatisfied and act like a bitch about everything?
Results: Phone calls! Text messages! Apologies! Asskissing! Open ears! Why can’t I reap these benefits by being my good-natured self?
Follow-up: While I enjoy the results of fear-based rule, being a raging bitch is too tiresome for me. How do chronically bitchy girls find the energy???  I’d rather be a bitch on an “as needed” basis, as I am normally.

2.) Hypothesis: Really short hair on women is unattractive.
Control: The public.
Variable: My hair length.
Experiment: This is a two-for-one deal. First, I chopped off all my hair to pixie length so that the regrowth catches up evenly (read #3 for more on that).

Second, after a string of disappointments concerning men– including one asshole who believes that opening doors and paying for everything disguises the fact that he is a misogynist; and a commitment-phobe who has, and always will, treat me like less than an acquaintance and keep me at arms’ length– I’m “over” it. I don’t want to go on dates. I don’t want anyone attracted to me. I don’t want men looking at me with those stupid fucking awkward goo-goo eyes. I don’t want to be bothered. If you have ill intentions and don’t really like me, fuck off. I’m not looking for a ring; I’m looking for someone who treats me nicely… which, apparently, is a tall order.
Results: All women love my hair; most men hate it. One guy who had been after me was visibly repulsed when he saw my haircut– he got wide-eyed, neither complimented me nor hung out with me as he normally would, as if he couldn’t be seen with me. ¡Qué alivio! Some men do like it– I graciously accept compliments even though it’s not what I’m going for. A guy at a bar wanted my phone number one night. I grudgingly gave it to him because I was already convinced for two hours before even speaking to him that he was gay. I wasn’t attracted to him as a heterosexual male, though– he had a mullhawk. How’s that for irony.
Follow-up: My hair is in super shape, and fixing it in ten minutes is nice. However, I can’t wait to have my long, beautiful curls again.

3.) Hypothesis: I’ll feel better if I eliminate wheat from my diet.
Control: My diet.
Variable: Food with wheat in it.
Experiment: Even though I’m relatively healthy, for the past few years I’ve had low-grade malaise– skin issues, pallor, and the worst– excessively shedding hair. I didn’t look sick, but I did look blah. Taking iron supplements and using sulfate-free shampoo didn’t prove to work long-term. Things came to a head a month ago when I noticed that I felt sick while eating every meal, and my stomach was haywire. Knowing this wasn’t normal for my body, I decided to cut out wheat.
Results: Immeasurable. No more stomach and skin issues, hair is shedding and regrowing normally, skin has color, I have more energy. Who knew I had been slowly killing myself this whole time?!
Follow-up: Now it makes sense why my symptoms ceased during egg donations but would return soon after surgery. I thought it was the hormones. Really, it was the fact that I had to be on a low-carb/high protein diet during the process. Eureka!

*Yes, I am being liberal with scientific method terms.

These experiments have proven a great deal to me in the past few weeks. Some with good results, some sad. I know where I stand with people I’ve doubted, based on their treatment of me. I’m open to sincere apologies. But if they haven’t happened yet, they probably aren’t ever going to happen. So, I’ll be taking control of matters in ways that I see fit.

One way will involve deleting the bad eggs off Facebook. For some fuck-if-I-know reason, there are some “friends” hanging around that needn’t be there. Why don’t they delete me? Why don’t I delete them? That will be an experiment within itself…

This isn’t me sulking; this is me getting back to my philosophical roots and taking control, not allowing bad people to take advantage of me, not ignoring my instinct for the sake of being “nice,” getting my life back, and worrying about my own feelings instead of the feelings of people who don’t care about me.

I’ll still have my long fuse, my good-natured attitude, my kindness, my sense of humor; I’ll still be the same-old, original me. It’s just that disrespectful people who mistreat me won’t know about those qualities, because those people won’t be in my life to share them with me.


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