The blog was down for a few days and I don’t know why but I’m sure you all missed me terribly.
I’m back though, and it appears I’ve also taken a trip in the Way Back machine. My hair is black and burgundy, I’m wearing size 6 jeans with a belt, I don’t have any friends except my husband, my brother and the guys who show up to help me work on my grown up or my electric cars and my message board car buddies, and I spend all my time listening to angsty music and wishing I lived anywhere but this shitty little town full of catty women with perfect hair and makeup.
Man, that wrestling match we went to the other night was REALLY FUN! There is nothing like being in the FBHS gym after losing the only friend I have to bring it all back full circle.
It started innocently enough; my husband asked me a simple question:
“Do you recognize anyone here?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I said. “These people? These ARE the girls who bullied me when I was in Jr. High. I recognize them, and they certainly recognize me. And they recognize me when I pull up at their yard sales too; they just can’t place me. That’s why I never give out my card until after I buy their legos.”
I mean don’t get me wrong. Even if I don’t ReLATE to the sports mom or the Band Mom or whatever, and even if I didn’t go to many games or stuff like that, I still get it. You want to support your child and you’re into it and you’re a social being and so you go. And anyway, you’re past all that. You grew up. You married your man and you had your kids and you don’t play those high school games anymore. Except when you do, and I get that too because we all do it.
I, on the other hand a) have small children at home b) am NOT a social being and c) was consistently scorned, bullied and talked shit about by all (ok most) of you when I lived here before, both times – ok and also now (hi, people do still tell me things, your friends aren’t that loyal) and so I have less an 0% desire to be in the bleachers at any school event.
But I’m going to those fucking wrestling meets. All of them.
I sort of wish I’d chosen the football games (color guard) because that would have been SO MUCH MORE anonymous and a whole lot less um, I don’t know exposure to the remarks. You know, the “holy crap that’s a GIRL” (cue snickers) and the subsequent remarks which less face it, are bound to put me in one of those positions. You know the ones- the Mama Bear spots where the only option is scoot away or assume a fighting stance and fuck shit up.
Sometimes TeenHer backs away if the light allows her to see when my eyes turn black, which happens right before my mouth opens and the words begin to flow. One of my superpowers is the gift of eloquence when in the throes of extreme rage, and coupled with my extensive vocabulary and creative use of curse words I can really fuck up a person in a word fight. And that’s all I’ve got: I’m short, petite, and not that strong. I’m pretty much guaranteed to lose a physical fight. Good thing we’re not in Jr. High any more chasing people down the road slapping them in the face any more, huh former best friends turned enemies over a weekend who are now on my Facebook friends list! Emoticon Emoticon Emoticon! (sorry, I couldn’t find the irony emoticon)
Someone needs to re-read her zen books, no? SOMEone has not let go of the past and is CERTAINLY not practicing loving kindness.
On the other hand, I would say that a certain someone is most definitely letting those things be exactly as they are for now. I’m not willing to subscribe to the notion that I must constantly be WORKING to change who I am. THIS is who I am in this moment. And this is perfect. Who I am is perfect today. Angsty and bitchy and greasy and working on the bathroom sink weaving a tapestry of profanity that my son will no doubt break out at the perfect moment around the Christmas dinner table. I’ll act embarrassed but secretly I’ll be proud.