One thing I have realized of late, is that quantity is not better than quantity. Looking back, I probably should have realized that soon after losing my virginity; but that is yet another blog...another time. Today, I am referring to my number of friends.
I have never had a lot of friends-ever. Even as a young child, my mother would receive phone calls from my teachers telling her that I was basically, socially backwards. By kindergarten, a child usually picks out a buddy and pairs off. Not me. No, my problems with commitment apparently started at the tender age of 5. Although, seriously, I was not "socially backwards," as those stupid bitches would say; I prefer to think that I was "socially advanced." I was smart enough to know that some where a long the lines some little bitch was going not share her new Barbie with me or give me the white baby-doll and I would need to trade-in and trade-up to a friend who had something better to offer, like bubble gum. I lived through my teens and into my 20s that way-skipping from friend to friend, click to click without any desire to be one of their "card-carrying," members.
Getting to the point, I have finally settled down and can count my friends on one hand. The ones that I can truly count on and some of you actually read my blog! I feel confident that if you went to kindergarten with me that you would have said how cool it was that my mom fucked up and got me a Smurf costume instead of Smurphette. You would have shared the white baby-doll and given me a piece of gum; and for you few, I am truly thankful.
FYI...if you feel that you are not one of the few, I will be posting an application for membership. I have one spot available, but I pretty much just need a DD.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
So, I was on my commute to the office to what, now, has become nothing short of a mini-Detroit, and suddenly something from the past that my mind suppressed comes to me. It was prompted by seeing the same sign that I had seen that day of the traumatic incident. I recall wanting to blog about it right away, but it was too painful. It made me feel dirty and it was all the I could do to keep from passing out or getting ill.
It is one of those things that you hear about, but think, "that will never happen to me." Well, it happend. My sixth sense told me to not go in, but the gift bags are so ridiculously cheap that I could not resist--looking back, I should have never walked into the Dollar Tree. What I would see next, would rival www.peopleofwalmart.com.
The creatures were all shapes, colors and sizes, but mostly came in extra-large, black, and size-two of them could not walk side by side down the aisle side by side. They were mainly dressed in very tight t-shirts--although in their defense...a sheet would have been tight, so this was probably more appropriate for the Dollar Tree Department/Grocery/Card Shop/plus whatever the hell else you can think of under a dollar-Store. It was not just their appearance...they spoke a different language. One of the creatures yelled at their offspring, "taneesha-use getta yoazz hair nah!" WTF? I was scared. I was in a land where I proved to be an outsider.
I hurried to the check-out, after picking up my gift bags, only to find that the line was all the way down one aisle 1/2 way to the back of the store. I could tell the creatures were angry, I heard one of them say, "diz-ez-da-waz-deez-crackerz-do." I could make out "crackers," but I could only guess why he was angry...maybe they ran out of crackers, or something like that. Minutes later, a group of white creatures appeared. Their speech was broken, but I was able to understand them. Originally from KY, I had seen similar creatures at my family reunion. The mother creature lit up a cig--the line was long and her need for carbon-monoxide was very strong. Actually, had she not been smoking Marlboro Reds, I probably would have tried to bum one to deal with her obnoxious offsprings, Dale and Bobby Jean. I felt faint. I blacked out and woke up in my car with no gift bags.
I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders by finally writing about this. I could not leave Madeira for 2 months and was forced to shop at their overly, we are screwing you on gift bag, prices. Dealing with Culture Shock Disorder is very real and painful mental disease. Please, if you or you suspect a friend are suffering get help immediately-remember that you are not alone.
It is one of those things that you hear about, but think, "that will never happen to me." Well, it happend. My sixth sense told me to not go in, but the gift bags are so ridiculously cheap that I could not resist--looking back, I should have never walked into the Dollar Tree. What I would see next, would rival www.peopleofwalmart.com.
The creatures were all shapes, colors and sizes, but mostly came in extra-large, black, and size-two of them could not walk side by side down the aisle side by side. They were mainly dressed in very tight t-shirts--although in their defense...a sheet would have been tight, so this was probably more appropriate for the Dollar Tree Department/Grocery/Card Shop/plus whatever the hell else you can think of under a dollar-Store. It was not just their appearance...they spoke a different language. One of the creatures yelled at their offspring, "taneesha-use getta yoazz hair nah!" WTF? I was scared. I was in a land where I proved to be an outsider.
I hurried to the check-out, after picking up my gift bags, only to find that the line was all the way down one aisle 1/2 way to the back of the store. I could tell the creatures were angry, I heard one of them say, "diz-ez-da-waz-deez-crackerz-do." I could make out "crackers," but I could only guess why he was angry...maybe they ran out of crackers, or something like that. Minutes later, a group of white creatures appeared. Their speech was broken, but I was able to understand them. Originally from KY, I had seen similar creatures at my family reunion. The mother creature lit up a cig--the line was long and her need for carbon-monoxide was very strong. Actually, had she not been smoking Marlboro Reds, I probably would have tried to bum one to deal with her obnoxious offsprings, Dale and Bobby Jean. I felt faint. I blacked out and woke up in my car with no gift bags.
I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders by finally writing about this. I could not leave Madeira for 2 months and was forced to shop at their overly, we are screwing you on gift bag, prices. Dealing with Culture Shock Disorder is very real and painful mental disease. Please, if you or you suspect a friend are suffering get help immediately-remember that you are not alone.
Friday, October 1, 2010
If things had been different...
You know, one of the things that first popped in my mind this morning when I walked around the corner of the building is not that fact that some random small statured-tiny dancer, does not like me; but the fact that my friend, Bear did not stick up for me. Did not stop and say, "Excuse me, are you referencing me?." After the men responded, "No, the girl walking towards us." That was her chance. She would blow another, later-chance, that is. It could have played out so differently!
I walked around the corner this morning to see my friend, Bear. She walked by two men, who work on the 11th floor in between the time they spend smoking a pack of cigarettes, everyday. I saw her glance back at that men, she is quite the attention whore. Suddenly, she begins to spin around, she leaped in the air and with a jump-kick, she takes both men down at the knees. I run to help her, not knowing what has transpired. We run to another and embrace, "Heather, I say, are you ok?"
"Hazel," she says, "those men that I just passed. They said they don't like you!" My eyes began to weld up with tears, I have never had an enemy. I think the feeling was similar to what Bear feels when she remembers how pathetic she was to lose her virginity to one of those freaks that were in the band in jr. high. The ones that play dungeons and dragons; but the tears, the tears were because I knew, that my friend, she stuck up for me.
If this is how it had played out, I could say, "yeah, that's my friend and she will kick your ass."
I walked around the corner this morning to see my friend, Bear. She walked by two men, who work on the 11th floor in between the time they spend smoking a pack of cigarettes, everyday. I saw her glance back at that men, she is quite the attention whore. Suddenly, she begins to spin around, she leaped in the air and with a jump-kick, she takes both men down at the knees. I run to help her, not knowing what has transpired. We run to another and embrace, "Heather, I say, are you ok?"
"Hazel," she says, "those men that I just passed. They said they don't like you!" My eyes began to weld up with tears, I have never had an enemy. I think the feeling was similar to what Bear feels when she remembers how pathetic she was to lose her virginity to one of those freaks that were in the band in jr. high. The ones that play dungeons and dragons; but the tears, the tears were because I knew, that my friend, she stuck up for me.
If this is how it had played out, I could say, "yeah, that's my friend and she will kick your ass."
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