Stop making sense!

I want to say before I forget: Don’t you hate it when people say, “Does that make sense?” I say people, but let’s be honest – GIRLS. Girls say it all the time!

Does that make sense? Does it? Are you stupid? Because that’s what I’m implying when I ask that question. A simple “Do you understand?” would work just as well. “Do you have any questions?” That works, too! But please, for the love of David Byrne,

STOP ASKING IF THAT MAKES SENSE!!!

Although to be fair, I’m guilty of it, too.

Here, let’s talk about slippery people for a moment.

Do you know what tonight is? It’s my 30th high school reunion. Do you know where I am? Not at my 30th high school reunion.

I went to the 10th, and a muscle relaxer combined with some Johnnie Walker Red made the evening bearable. I went to the 20th, and took the husband. But he wasn’t my husband yet. I was utterly miserable and ended up sitting at a table where the principal decided to plop his dumb ass. No seriously, this guy was notoriously stupid. When he asked me what I was doing now, I said I was making meth in my basement.

Maybe that wasn’t a such a good idea?

But I digress. I hated high school with the fire of a thousand suns. I made excellent grades, graduated in the top ten of my class. But I was deeply unhappy and felt like such a freak. I know kids today have it just as bad, maybe worse. But at the same time, the tide seems to be turning. Being a freak is a good thing! It’s good to be different, better than it was!

I wish it had been that way for me. No one told me to wear safety pins on my stockings or clothes pins in my ears, it’s true. I made those decisions stone cold sober! No one suggested I have posters of Echo and the Bunnymen AND David Byrne in my locker. That’s kind of a double-nerd whammy. But I was a pretty big Talking Heads’ fan. “More Songs About Buildings and Food” was my JAM.

But more than anything, I wish I could go back in time and tell myself don’t be hurt or hate yourself for a single day because of what people say about you. I was called ugly or a variation thereof almost every single day. “Dog” was a particularly favorite term in the halcyon days of the 1980s. Which is why you’ll never hear much 80s’ nostalgia from this quarter. Seventies, well, that’s a different story….

Screen Shot 2015-06-25 at 9.15.16 PM

This is a very small picture I know. I got it in a screen cap from our yearbook, which I found online. When I look at my 17-year-old self, I can’t believe for one day I every believed all the things those people said to me. When I look at myself as I was then, I see a beautiful girl with perfect skin who had a head full of curly hair, it’s true, but why was/is that a bad thing? And yet I was made fun of for my hair more than anything! When I look at myself, I see a beautiful girl who looks out of time, like an old-fashioned cameo. And I’m so sad for all the years I lost hating myself.

And one more reason I’m not going: They’re all a bunch of right wing zealot jerks! One of them just posted a screed praising the Confederate flag! AND SHE’S A TEACHER!

This was my favorite song to dance to in my underwear during the high school years. Very Risky Business, just with less Seeger and more Byrne.

DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?!

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