Tuesday, March 29, 2011

We Spend Our Lives On Trial

This article just punches me in the chest, because I had to deal with that bullying shit for years (of course, I retaliated by yelling louder and pointing out how the things they loved were stupider). I still have to deal with that shit, although on a much smaller scale. I hate getting that look, that confused, oh-she's-one-of-those-girls looks. I don't have socially acceptable interests. At least not among extroverts. And by "extroverts" I mean "guys who don't live in a basement." Hey guys - GET OUT OF YOUR BASEMENT AND COME TO THE BAR.

It's easy to get addicted to being bullied after having it define you for years. Of course now I have this ridiculous arrogant air about me because yes, I was bullied for being smart and nerdy and not very feminine, so say it. Go on. Say what you're thinking.

And then it's my fucking turn.

They called me crazy because talking back, of course, is a sign of mental dysfunction. Teachers never stepped in, mostly because in high school the bullying is all sidelined and mental and pansy-assed. The smart kids (who were the biggest assholes) trap insults into class discussions during Literature of Romance and Tragedy, "I think it's commendable that Hester just bears all of the persecution with nobility. I admire that. It's always obnoxious when they fight back. Right Rassles? Wouldn't you agree?" The most neanderthal, and the rarest, hang out in the cafeteria near the quiet, greasy-haired kid in a black trenchcoat and combat boots and loudly talk shit about his clothes and music from a short distance. So I would walk over there in my little sweater vest and khakis (fuck you, mom) and call them gutless and make fun of their shoes or their hair or something and just walk away.

This did not make me popular. If anything they ignored me.

Of course, in college my behavior was a virtue. I think it's just because students didn't know me well enough to know that you're supposed to avoid me, like all those kids from kindergarten through the end of high school. Then again, in college we clung to the people we knew would have our backs, because that place was like a fucking battleground where everyone was fighting to be the most awesome.

So...now you know why I'm a fortress.

Day 5: a song that reminds you of someone

Basically every song reminds me of someone, it's just that sometimes that person is myself. I thought long and hard about this. Who would I honor with words, affection and song?

You better be reading this, asshole.

Gyna is moving to Germany in one month. This makes me very very sad. Gyna is leaving and now I'll be swimming in a sea of couples and pairs. Goddammit. Having someone like Gyna around, someone who perfectly balances the excruciatingly rational with the excruciatingly silly, is kind of nice.

You remember those guys I mentioned above, the ones who live in basements? Gyna is the girl they approach at the bar. It makes sense, she wears glasses and is roughly shaped like a superheroine. Sometimes I get eerie osmosis loiterers that stand close to me and laugh at my jokes but never say anything, just soak up my shine, but Gyna gets picked up and then they want to see her again.

That's because Gyna laughs readily, tells good jokes and engages in the ridiculous (like when she threw a Four Loko party with eight flavors of Four Loko chilling in wine coolers, plates of lavish cheeses and grapes on the vine, bowls of fruit, delicate crackers, and the 100 Sexiest Music Videos counting down on the TV), she's whipsmart and knows a lot about a lot of things. She is also very self-assured and fashionable, but the good kind of fashionable because she still hangs out with me when I wear Pumas and a t-shirt to a club (not that I go to clubs willingly but birthdays are birthdays) and she's all cleavage and fancy jackets and heeled boots with belts on them, even though she shakes her head and calls me an asshole (which is fine, because I know very well that I am being an asshole when I deliberately dress down so I don't have to talk to douchebags that hang out at fucking clubs which will let me in because my friends are hot).

I just noticed something when I was fielding through pictures: there are lots of pictures of me and Gyna going places and sitting on things, like motorcyles and barrels with saddles on them and strange hands.

Also, she rides in my sidecar. Or I am her driver. Not sure which is which.

So "Youth Gone Wild" is our official karaoke duet. There's really no reason for it other than the fact that it's a bad ass song.



gyna said...

this really made me happy and super sad. i do love that song and knew it was me that was being called the asshole before i even scrolled down. also my jeans are not fancy- they are from h&m!

gyna said...

wait mis-read that. i saw jeans instead of jackets. so yes, i do have fancy jackets.

nuts4fruits said...

Fuck bullies! You're beautiful inside and out. Found this pic and thought of you.

daisyfae said...

i would ride in your sidecar anyday, Rassles the Bully-Slayer!

Ginny said...

I am sorry your friend is leaving. That blows. What doesn't blow? SKID ROW.

nursemyra said...

you look great on that bike

renalfailure said...

Lesson to learn here: get boots with belts on them.

And I wanted 18 and Life to be my senior prom theme, but I was too far ahead of the 80's revival.

Blues said...

I only transportation I can actually picture you driving is one with a sidecar. I'm sorry your friend is leaving.