I remember, when I was in university, I went to this awful party. Actually, it probably wasn't awful for the other guests, but it was apparent that I so didn't fit in. I was invited by a friend who was invited by an aquaintance. I have to admit that I did make some pretty poor fashion choices that night and the sort of people at the party where the sort of people who would care about that sort of thing. I wore this very full, kind of loud batik print mini-skirt, which might have been somewhat funky on a tall, slim person. Unfortunately, I looked more like a clown. The party was one of those "cooler-than-you" type of affairs, starring beautiful "Ikea-model-esque" young people. They were the people who would some day become the ultra-yuppies. At first, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, because I was absolutely surrounded by this coolness. I pictured myself going to fashionable parties, tagging along to see local bands, but best of all, I saw my social life becoming the way I always wanted it to be. Then I tried to have a conversation with someone. I fell flat on my face (no, not literally). Clearly they knew how to talk because I could see them talking amongst themselves and with the friend who brought me. However, I couldn't sustain a conversation with someone for longer than 40 seconds before they would flee from me to the first person who walked by. I had nothing interesting to say to anyone. When I opened my mouth, I could hear incredibly stupid things come out of it stupid even by my own standards. I could see out of the corner of my eye that I was getting those "who invited that dull, fat chick in the tablecloth" looks from some of the guests. The host was almost surly to me. I got the impression that he was dying to ask me to leave and hoping I would take a hint before he had to do anything. I eventually found an empty room and spent the night reading the newspaper, until the wee hours when most of the people were inebriated (and stoned) enough to not care that I was there. Finally, my friend decided to leave and I got my pass out of hell.
Saturday, April 26, 2003
Saturday, April 12, 2003
I always had a feeling growing up that I would never marry and have kids (who knows, maybe I still won't). It bothered me, but becoming a grownup seemed like a long time away, so why worry about it. When I was in my early twenties, before I met my partner, I didn't have much luck with guys. Of course I didn't spend all my spare time scouting for potential husbands and dreaming about my wedding as my roomates did. I was realistic enough to accept the possibility of never meeting the right guy, and I wasn't settling for less. I attracted guys well enough the wrong sort, who were looking for cheap sex with someone they knew they couldn't care about ever seeing again. I didn't have my first real boyfriend (the kind the lasts longer than 2 weeks) until age 23. He was nice enough to me, seemed to enjoy my company but he didn't really value me all that much at the time. He was always looking around for the girl of his dreams, and unfortunately he wasn't really all that great about hiding it. I felt I wasn't likely to become the girl of anyone's dreams. Then I met "him".
Him... He's the one I want to spend my life with, marry and raise kids with, the one I thought I'd never find. The last nine years haven't always been a bed of roses though. We got off track in our relationship somewhere along the line and only have started in the last 2 years to get it together again. It started as our friends began having children and I felt resentful and jealous of them and awkward around them. We went from hanging out and going to bars as young couples to having to go to our friends' houses for "family bbq's" and kid friendly activities, which is fine except when you feel left out because you don't have any kids. I started to become sullen and anti-social and he started to get into drugs and staying up all night. Our "grownup" friends would chuckle knowingly at us, the crazy cat people who'd never grow up. He hated my bad attitude and I hated his drug lifestyle. We both ate junk, got fat and lazy, and stopped caring about each other.
I made up my mind to leave him. Then I got pregnant. It was probably the saddest but best thing that ever happened to us. I had a miscarriage. We weren't exactly the healthiest people in the world, so what could one really expect? Our little baby who died at 10weeks ga was the reason for us to reinvest in our relationship. We both grew up and he decided that kids wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. It took another two years for him to get away from the drug lifestyle. I'm still trying to lose the weight I'd promised to lose (I topped out at 175lbs last year, 5ft 5in tall. I'm now 160lbs) and get my life organized. We're in much better shape for the responsibilities of adulthood than we've ever been.
It'll be weird, I guess, if we ever have kids, to have small babies when our friends all have school age kids. I still feel a bit slow compared to them. Also, if I can get pregnant when we want to, I'll be 35, and there will be more risks for us to bring a child into the world with special needs. That indeed would be a challenging road to follow.
Sunday, March 23, 2003
In 1983 I was 13 years old and in grade 8. I was nice enough, a quiet kid, quite a bit too chunky about the hips, and prone to being picked on by others because I didn't stand up for myself (and those huge hips). I didn't understand why some people would go out of their way to try to humiliate others for fun, and I still don't. Anyway, my school was fundraising for something or other, and my class (or was it the whole school?) decided to have a slave day. Yes, it's as bad as it sounds. The class was divided into two groups: slaves and buyers. Then we traded places after lunch. I was a buyer in the morning and it was soon apparent to me what I would be facing after lunch. This is how it worked: The slaves were paraded individually in front of the class and the buyers had a chance to bid on them with quarters. Each buyer could only buy one slave. Once their purchase was made, it was the buyer's job to clothe their slave in the most embarassing outfits one could find around the house, ie. long underwear, ugly floral dresses, dog leashes. Then the slave had to spent their internment serving their master by carrying their books, etc. Sometimes I can't believe it really happened. It couldn't happen now, I guess good thing.
So, for the popular kids, bidding was fast and furious and they made great money for the campaign and got a nice, but uneccessary boost for the self-esteem. For those of us who were less popular, bidding could be painfully slow. Standing in front of the class while your classmates put a dollar value on your worth was torture. Remarkably we all made it through the day without tears. I bought the fat little diabetic kid, practically for a song. Fifty cents (two bids) was all he was worth to us. I felt for him and knew that soon it would be my turn.
At lunch I thought about staying home sick but I knew I would have to face other consequences if I did. Thirty seconds of torture in front of the class was better than being teased for admitting you're a loser for the rest of the school year. Soon it was my turn to be a slave. I remember standing there, looking around the room at my classmates faces, trying to will them to make a bid on me (someone, please!), as they avoided my eye contact. I was purchased by a nice girl for seventy-five cents and got to spend the day in a pair of red one-piece pyjamas.
Friday, March 21, 2003
I'm not a cruel person, or evil or mean. I'm shy and maybe a bit unsure of myself, rendering me a bit awkward at times. I know that people don't warm up to me as easily as they do for more outgoing people. I've always lacked a certain degree of charm.
The problem is... there is one child that lives on my street that I will go out of my way just to avoid. She's just a 5 year old child, that's all. She doesn't really do anything in particular but it causes a very awkward moment for both me and her parents. This kid really dislikes me and has for the past two years. I don't really know her or her parents all that well so its nothing that I've done. She likes other people and smiles and says hi, but when she sees me she just puts a sour look on her face. Of course her parents get embarassed because she's not normally like this with other people and they force her to say hi, which of course just makes things worse.
I don't know what I'm getting by putting this all down in a blog. It hurts in a way, but I do remember being a 5 year old and not always being nice or courteous to people. I wish her parents didn't try to force her to say hi to me. I would rather be ignored than get grumpy-face, followed by loads of parental embarassment. I think that by 7, a kid should be able to be polite to people and say hi, but it seems to me that 5 is still young enough to be excused from making contact with someone they don't like.
Then again, what do I know, I'm still mid 30's and childless.