đđťA Most Unreliable Narrator Issue #204đ 2025 Is the Year of Giving No F4CKS
I mean it this time.
Dear Internet,
This week I picked up a new NGI client and theyâve been keeping me busy; started at Library E, and got caught up on personal projects. My time remains in flux until things start to shake out. Iâm hoping sooner rather than later.
And itâs just not the weekdays that are keeping me busy, the weekends are too. Either someone is visiting, Iâm working, or Iâm traveling. In February Iâm spending a few off weekends seeing my nephew play basketball and in March Iâm flying to SF to visit Brendan and his Corgi, Otter. Later in March, Iâm heading down state to get my hair dyed and cut as itâs been nearly a year since someone other than me attacked my hair.
(Mr. Lisa keeps telling me how great I look with gray hair but Iâm not a fan. I have 5+â of roots and then the rest of the dyed color of my hair. My hair is much grayer than I thought in the front but who knows in the back. Iâm hooking up with my old stylist from way back who does magic with curly and wavy hair. I might go crazy and get balayage or go with blue or pink. Kateri is the best.)
The Year of Not Giving Fucks
I would think of myself as someone who did not give a flying fuck about whatever, but the truth of the matter is, I did give some fucks. I donât know if that is a byproduct of my Catholic upbringing or how the patriarchy has turned me, but recently I decided I had enough of the BS in my world. (Maybe itâs also the middle age in me thatâs coming out.)
To wit:
I gave an NGI client my honest opinion on his project. Mr. Lisa had a tizzy because it could have meant losing the client and thus losing income. But hereâs the thing: Iâm the boss. What I say goes. If I donât feel comfortable working with a client, Iâll tell them so and why. Iâm not kissing ass. The clientâs response? He hired me for more work.
I pitched a monthly column to a writerâs group memberâs newsletter, which they accepted. The process wasâŚpainful to say the least. I like to think of myself as a straight shooter but their responses were laden with blah blah blah. I donât need the history of your cat, just answer my fucking question. Tl;dr, they tried to sell me on writing as âexposure,â and the experience was so bad, I pulled the article, told them to fuck off after finger wagging about claiming âexposure.â Iâm not renewing my group membership (didnât plan to anyway since I got nothing out of the group.)
Lastly, another writerâs group I am active in is not very inclusive, something Iâve discussed with one of the board members and yet nothing changed. Recently, I met another member of this group, and they echoed my sentiments, so, I brought it up again to the board member. They responded back that the group is who it is because of whoâs involved, which sure, I get. But then they turned the tables on me and suggested *I* do something about it. Oh no siree bob. I asked for MONTHS via in person and email that I had time to spare to volunteer. Crickets. The response also given is the board members were overtaxed. Ok, so, what are they doing and how are they spending my membership money? They donât run monthly programs, they donât write blog articles or post on social media. They are not actually doing anything visible. So, I asked and again with the crickets.
You may be thinking, Lisa, who cares! But the thing is, I care. Or used to care. Life was always about the balance of not burning bridges or pissing the wrong people off. I simply do not care to follow those restrictions anymore. Iâm getting a lot better on standing up for myself and being a ball breaker (in man-speak: assertive). I give no fucks!
There is a genuine feeling of peace by not caring. Iâve cared for so long and for so deep that a weight has lifted. I think it started when I left the corporate job. So much was ass kissing and kowtowing. It was always incredibly frustrating that it felt like others were able to get away with being assholes due to their position and I was punished if I questioned authority. NO MORE!
The other relief is Iâm actually happy at my jobs. Either Iâm calling the shots (NGI) or the places Iâm working at are just genuinely happy to have me. Sure, dealing with the public all day can be challenging if youâre an extrovert introvert like me, but when my shift is over, I get to go home and do my own thing. Iâm not beholden to anyone other than my boss. Itâs less stressful. The need for gummies has dropped.
A very deep exhale.
The Value of a Dollar
Years ago, I bought a pair of Tiffany silver studs. Mr. Lisa thought I was beyond ridiculous buying them but for me there was a point. I had the money to do so without breaking the bank and it was a luxury I never thought I would be able to do. The earrings meant something to me.
Iâve not taken them out since.
Paying what I paid for the Tiffany earrings would take me a very long time to pull off with my current salary, if I could afford it at all. Now, the meaning of the earrings has changed. While I still love them, now they are a reminder that money did not make me happy even when I could afford to splurge. Sure, itâs nice to not have to rob Peter to pay Paul (as Mother would say), but my priorities have changed.
My life has changed.
Honestly, I cannot believe how much less stress my life is. Mr. Lisa asks me once a week if Iâm happy living in N. Michigan. The answer never wavers: Yes, I am happy here. Iâve building a community, I work, and friends and family are only a few hours away. To go downstate to get my hair did or see a concert isnât a determent that it was in KY. I learned over the years, with space so tight at the cabin, to learn to live with a lot less and the lesson has stayed. I can live with so much less.
Iâve rambled all over the place but 2025 will be the year of not giving a fuck and setting myself free.
Your Weather Update
In my area of N. Michigan (not the UP, different area), we received 65â of snow so far this season and weâre set to get another nine inches from Sunday to Tuesday. Iâm still OK being here in the dead of winter. Sure, the lack of daylight is annoying (we are at the 45th parallel), but living in an A frame with one wall of floor to ceiling windows helps. A lot.
Baking Extravaganza
If youâve been following me around on social media, Iâve been on a baking frenzy for the last month or so. I went through a 10lb bag of all-purpose flour in a month figuring out what I can and cannot bake. My sourdough starter, Fred, is in dire need of love and my sourdough discard bread loaves are a bit dense. Iâve been working through various recipes trying to find the perfect bread loaf so I can have fucking sandwiches. We bought a 10lb ham after Xmas which Mr. Lisa butchered into slices and cubes and then we froze. I love a good ham sandwich but since if I want bread I have to make it. Weâve been eating a lot of bread in various shapes and forms but none that can really make a good sandwich. I baked a sourdough discard starter recipe last night and the density doesnât seem to be as bad as the previous versions. One of the ways sourdough starter can go off is if youâre using hard water, which we have. I used filtered water this batch and maybe thatâs why it seems to have worked a bit better?
In addition to âsourdoughâ bread, Iâve made apple cinnamon bread, banana bread, French bread, and brownies. I really need to lay off the bread.
Over on IG
Over on the latest issue on Lisa Writes A Lot of Stuff, I drop that Iâve left my primary Instagram account and now Iâm posting here under my pen name:
https://www.instagram.com/msscarletwrites/
The tl;dr is I cultivated an algo that was geared towards fat activism, fat athletes, and bariatric nutritionists. Then, slowly, the algo changed so then I got âwellness influencers,â and quack âmedicalâ practitioners. And the fat activism went from FUCK YA, BODY LOVE to HAVE AN SHIFTY AD FOR WEIGHT LOSS SHAKES.
No, maâam, no thank you.
Nothing I did seemed to flip the algo. I unfollowed hashtags and accounts that would trip the algo, but nope, it got worse.
The algo for the pen name so cozy and less stressful. Iâve got pinned posts on both accounts directing people over the new spot.
Wonderful Thing
The first snow
Iâm 65â behind the first snowfall but itâs still a wonderful thing!
I love how cozy the cabin gets with the gas stove merrily humming along, Iâm wrapped in fleece leggings and warm wool socks, a cup of hot chocolate next to me, while the snow floats down.
It just feels so magical. (And I choose to ignore the fact we need to snow plow our way out of the driveway or Mr. Lisa uses a leaf blower to clear the deck steps. Or that Thursday needs boots to even to her walk. (She loves the snow! She is docile while I put her boots on and once she gets outside, sheâs a fucking rabbit prancing everywhere.))
This atmosphere takes the sting away from the upcoming orange-apocalypse. Iâll take anything at this point.
Cozily along,
lisa x