Mz. Mannerz: I Am Fine If We Pretend We Don’t See Each Other

I’ve decided to start a regular-ish thing called “Mz. Mannerz.”  It will feature exciting content about how we can all be less of a jerkass in our daily lives.  Dissenting opinions will be printed out, put through a shredder, and used to line the cage of an angry rabbit that I have not yet acquired named “Dr. Stabbers”.  This is a dictatorship and will be governed accordingly.

Here’s the first installment!  Try to control yourself.

So there’s this person I don’t like.  He is my current Nemesis (I keep a rotating cast of enemies a la Nixon).  What he did to gain that ranking isn’t important, just know that he totally sucks and is completely outer limits rude and disrespectful, and if you had the misfortune of ever meeting him in person, I have zero doubt that you would agree that he is a universal double turdburger with cheese.

The thing that drives me the most insane about Nemesis, is that even though we do not get along AT ALL, he feels the need to barge up to me any time he sees me at a restaurant, a concert, even just walking down the street, to wave frantically and say hello to me.

And touch me.

Did I mention the touching?

I have watched in slow-motion horror as he’s sprinted across a city block to flag me down and touch me.

Ohh well, you see, even though I have instructed Nemesis on no less than five occasions, in no uncertain terms and with a look of death on my very married face, that he is NOT to touch me, there he is.  Touching me.  You would think that my glaring at his hand and through gritted teeth saying, “Do NOT touch me.” would do it, but nope!  Apparently, Nemesis feels completely entitled to touch me even though I could not be more clear that it is not okay to touch me.  WHO DOES THAT?

Also?  I am not “ha-ha don’t touch me” laughing when I say this to Nemesis.  There are no mixed signals here.  I am openly hostile to him.  When he approaches me, I take this particular stance.  NOT THAT HE CARES.

Self-portrait, 2019.

This is to say, Nemesis is very aware that I don’t like him.  The feeling is mutual – I can assure you he doesn’t like me, either.  Yet there I am, trying to run twenty rows back at the movie theater, hoping that he won’t see me when I realize he’s sitting in the fifth row.

Oh, he’ll see me.  He ALWAYS sees me.

Sometimes he yells out my name from across the street and I pretend I don’t hear him.  That’s when he starts sprinting towards me.

Can’t we just pretend that we don’t see each other??

So here’s the thing.  Nemesis is certainly not the first person who has done this to me, and I’m sure you’ve probably had plenty of people do it to you, too.  The person you can’t stand – who knows you can’t stand them – who can’t ever see you out in public and just LET IT GO.

It’s like every ex who feels the need to come up to you and say hello every.single.time they see you in public, even though your relationship was a flaming napalm toilet of shame that ended with you smashing the original tapes of his early recordings with a hammer on your back porch after you found out he never stopped cheating on you from the first day you started dating until the last, routinely stole money from your purse, and went to Ireland for a month and came back with a permanent Irish accent and started calling french fries “chips” even though he was from Colorado.

giphy (2)
Fairy godmother.

Oh man, did that guy have it coming.  Trust me.  This was the same guy who gave me a secondhand rock for Christmas.

“Well, I saw you from the other side of the club…”

Then stay on that side of the club!

Now you’ve just made it awkward for both of us!  Yes, I saw you when I came in, and I am totally okay with neither of us acknowledging each other’s existence.  I am so, so 100% willing to pretend I didn’t see you.  I am so, so 100% okay with you pretending you didn’t see me.  Let’s pretend to not see each other together!

“I figured we could act like adults and at least say hello when we see each other.”

No thanks!  I’d really, really, mega prefer that we behave like pissy teenagers who pretend the other person no longer exists!  I’m fine with that.  Please, by all means, let’s not act like adults!  Acting like adults is highly overrated!

So!  To summarize:

  • Don’t ever, ever touch anyone who has told you that it’s not okay to touch them.
  • If you’re not actually friends with someone, feel free to just leave them alone when you see them enjoying a nice dinner out.
  • Just because you dated someone ten years ago doesn’t mean you have to chase them down to say hello, especially if the reason your relationship ended was because you were a nuclear asshole.  Let it go and let that other person live their goddamned life.


Mz. Mannerz

Let’s Talk About 80s Hair and Your Lie-Brows

I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering what the next 80s hair will be.

I suppose an “inordinate amount” of time on that particular subject would mean that I spend five seconds a day on it, because it’s not something anybody should spend any time thinking about.  I mean, it’s a pretty good use of my time, but only because I’ll do just about anything to avoid having to do actual work.

Isn’t it the most fun to look through old photos from the 80s and say, “I can’t believe everyone teased up their bangs like that!  What were we thinking?!”

You know this looks good.

We all thought it looked awesome at the time – the bigger the hair, the better!  Nobody ever thought big hair would fall out of fashion, but of course it did.  It’s fashion.  That’s the nature of it.

The 80s hair of the 90s, of course, was the Rachel haircut, the cropped denim vest over the prairie dress, and lug-sole pumps worn with anything.  It was a sassy look if you wanted to look like the mom on Beverly Hills 90210, or Brenda on 90210.  Or Donna.  Or literally any woman on 90210 except for Emily Valentine, who was my personal style icon on that show.

Emily Valentine = ICON

The 2000s brought us 80s hair in the form of the stupid “trucker hat” that I wanted to knock off of the head of every person I saw wearing one, and lip “plumpers” that felt like someone sprayed pepper spray on your lips, but it was worth it, because then you looked like someone punched you in the mouth, and women’s dating books will tell you that men find “vulnerability” highly desirable in women, and what could look more vulnerable than having recently been punched in the mouth?  Also, by “men”, I mean “gross men”.

The 2010s have brought us “contouring”, where you spend a ton of money on various face powders to make your face look like a cross between Max Headroom and the giant ball thing at Epcot.  That still seems to be a thing, but I feel like its popularity is waning now that people are realizing that faces should look more like a human and less like the computer-animated guys in the Dire Straits “Money For Nothing” video.

We got to install microwave ovens.  Custom kitchen deliver-ay-ay-ayyy.

I realize this may be an unpopular opinion, and please feel free to disagree with me because, honestly, who really cares, but I believe women’s current eyebrow fashions are today’s 80s hair.

They’re scaring the crap out of me.  Why are they so…harsh?

Uncle Leo was ahead of his time on the eyebrow thing.

And the more “skilled” the applier, the more harsh the eyebrows become.  Any time someone shows me wedding photos or bachelorette party photos where they had a makeup artist do everyone’s makeup, I have to restrain myself from physically recoiling, yelling, “Shit!” and then driving my car into the ocean.

Granted, as a fair-haired type, I have what can best be described as “no-brows” or “ghost-brows” that I have to fortify with tinted eyebrow gel just so they’ll be semi-visible and I won’t be mistaken for Bob Geldof when he cut his eyebrows off in Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” (which I was forced to sit through by my 25-year-old boyfriend when I was 16 and I HATED EVERY SECOND OF IT because it was SO BORING).

Still somehow less disturbing than that guy I dated/was the victim of.

Pro Tip:  If you want to entertain your Lolita girlfriend, don’t make her watch your boring, weird, dewd movies that are only suitable for druggies who were alive during the Johnson administration.  What you should do, is make her watch the police take you to jail because you’re a pervert and a criminal because oh my god why are you dating a 16-year-old.

That would have been far, far more satisfying than watching Bob Geldof take off those eyebrows in “The Wall”.

I swear, any time I walk around the makeup store these days, everyone there looks like this:

You look really…uhh…uhh…virile?

And I don’t get it.

I mean, if you naturally have thick, caterpillar-like, squared-off eyebrows and are happy with it, more power to you.  Frida Kahlo it up.  Rock that shit.  But when you’re going out of your way and spending hundreds of dollars on products with names like “BoyBrow” and having eyebrow hairs glued to your face to look like Captain Caveman on a testosterone replacement regimen, that’s where you lose me.

Your eyebrows are a lie, which would be fine because so is my padded-bra chest, but your eyebrows are a weird lie.  They’re weird, weird lie-brows.  They’re weirding up the joint. They’re freaking me out.  They’re frightening children and small animals and, like Simon Cowell telling the person who has a terrible voice that they can’t sing, somebody needs to tell you:  Ease up on the eyebrows.

And one day, mark my words, you will look back at those eyebrows in photos and say, “What the hell were we thinking?!”

If you disagree, please write your dissenting argument down on a piece of paper, seal it in a jar, and then bury the jar in your backyard as a time capsule.  When you dig it up in twenty years, you’ll be like, “Maggie was right.  100% right.  If only she were alive to see it and hadn’t been shot and killed by Donny Osmond’s personal security team in 2030.”

“Oh my god you’re so judgey!”

Have you met me?