Last Splash

The gene pool could use a little Chlorine.

So, I am now antisocial. But only in certain circles. I had pretty much planned on skipping the grand ol' 10 year high school renunion since it was the Saturday night of my family's annual beach vacation, and Saturday night is always seafood dinner night, when whatever friends and relatives that may also happen to be down on Bogue Banks know to drop by for an excellent dinner consisting of 2 types of flounder, 3 types of shrimp, whatever we may or may not have been able to catch in crap pots, hushpuppies, and hotsauce.

But beach vacation notwithstanding, I realized that I really would have skipped it anyway a full week and a half before. It was our first night playing trivia with our best friend-couple at a local Jack Astor's (we won, by the way, $50 towards food and 2 tickets to the Redskins game, club level, also on the night of the fish fry/renunion) and my husband and I were pulling into a parking spot occupied by three vaguely attractive women who were standing around chatting after dinner together. I immediately recognized one, then another, then the third. (Yes, apparently I'm the only graduate of my high school that still lives in the area yet can count the friend that I still see occasionally on one finger.) When I saw them, a strange panic seized me, and all I could think was "please don't recognize me". I don't care that they would or would not recognize me, I don't care that I've probably gained, oh about, 70 lbs since the last time they saw me, but there was still some kind of embarrassment on my part. I can't quite figure out why.

Is it because I'm the type of person who everyone knew of in high school, but no one really knew or hung out with much? I had friends through marching band and drama, but most of my classmates were just people I saw in class and nodded at in the hallway...I didn't go to the popular kids parties, but I wasn't shunned either. I wasn't a wallflower, I was in a lot of extracurricular activities, but I wasn't the homecoming or prom queen, either. I don't even remember if we had a prom queen. (Sidenote: I do remember in college, my freshman year, that we had a fake prom in the theme of "A Titanic Enchantment Under the Sea" and the theme song was "I just died in your arms tonight" and we had 2 prom "Queens", one male and one female.)

In any case, I think I just hate small talk. I would rather ignore them and they pay the same respect of ignoring me (if they even recognized me) than have to stand outside for ten minutes and introduce my husband and remind them of my name and talk about work, and who has kids, and who just bought a house, and all of that crap that I really don't care about. We're not going to exchange phone numbers, we're not going to make plans together, they're not even going to talk about me after I walk away except to say "oh, yeah, I remember her...she was the one that..." and then move on in their conversation.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was what the reunion would have been, over and over and over again with different groups of people. Either that or we all would have just gotten smashingly drunk and made new best friends with someone we didn't know ten years ago other than the fact that they were in the same homeroom. I don't think that would have been much better. So, I'm content being antisocial, and the further away I get from that brief period in my life, the less I think I even want to go to our 20th, or 25th, or any reunion that involves hanging out with people I knew for only 4 years of my life, a period of time that is getting smaller and smaller with each passing year.

posted by: Cannonball14 at 16:04 | link | comments (4) |
the ex files

In other news...I have to mourn the passing of my top celebrity crush. Johnny Damon, how could you? You were everything a girl wanted in a celebrity crush that wasn't real and I knew I would never meet in real life: hot, exotic, long beautiful shiny hair, buff, dumb as bricks, talked like you had some of that big league chew gum stuck in your teeth, hot, and you played for the RED SOX. And two years ago, you might have been worth this contract. But not now. Not now that you're married and want to have dumb, hot little children with your dumb, hot little wife which means that in about 2 years you will lose all of your love of the game and probably get into steroids to keep your home runs coming so that you can support your dumb, hot little family. No, now you are only worth a four year, 32 million dollar contract. That's what you should have gotten. That's what you deserve. Yes, you are were one of my all-time favorite players, but now you are a TRAITOR. And I do not believe the other Bo'Sox fans that think we should have offered you MORE just to keep you from going to the Yankees. Because they have proven time and time again (ahem, Alex Rodriguez and Randy Johnson ring any bells) that they can throw all of the cash they want out and still not buy a World Series. My friend named her CAT after YOU and now you play for the YANKEES? Do you really want to do that? I am now relegated to have crushes only on earlier named local TV Personalities and Peyton Manning, who is unfortunately, only attractive on the inside.  *Sigh* I guess Mike Modano will have to move higher on my list.

posted by: Cannonball14 at 17:14 | link | comments (4) |
the sports report, the ex files

"But there is a greater level of understanding on my part.  Understanding of the things that make me react, the  underlying insecurities and fears that make me angry and caustic. 

I am sure this sort of navel-gazing introspection is fascinating for some people but I am not always enthusiastic about it.  It is hard to look at your behaviour and your past and your relationships with brutal honesty and assess your behaviour without justification.  The attributing of blame and responsibility.  The distribution of fault.  To just accept that you have not reacted or behaved in a way that makes you proud or happy or comfortable.  To disregard provocation.  To accept full responsibility for your bad mood or bad behaviour."

This comes from a post on loosestring's blog from today, I think. I thought it was interesting because I've really been through a learning experience lately about myself. I put on a very tough exterior sometimes, a 'you don't want to fuck with me' kind of attitude, but I'm actually very sensitive inside and most of my toughness developed out of a sense of insecurity.

I feel that this insecurity evolved over the formative years (namely middle and early high school, specifically 8-11 grade) and I went through college and my early twenties very much intimated by and intimidating to a lot of people. Within three weeks of meeting my college suitemates, I threw a shoe through our window and broke it. We got through it, and by the end of the semester I think I was pretty well liked, but not the best first impression. The only women I've managed to stay friends with are those that stood up to me and said "you really need to stop being such a bitch" or "quit fooling yourslef, honey, you ain't all that". Maybe not the best influence on most women, but on me it worked.

My first really big job with a lot of responsibility was being a Camp Director. I tried it way too young (21) and a lot of my staff were my age or even older. It didn't work out so great. I was immature, bossy, and fun-loving. Not a great combination for someone responsible for 60 6-12 year olds in the woods all day. But I learned from it, as I've learned from all of my jobs, friends, and failed relationships.

I fell out of love with many many men when they let me have my way, and my current boyfriend (soon to be fiance', followed within the year by husband...) almost never did at first. It was infuriating. We fought like gangbusters, screaming at each other, throwing things, running out of the house and driving away before he could stop me (not the best way to treat each other, we've both learned), but something always made us hold on. No matter how angry I got, I never once had thoughts of leaving (he did, I recently learned). He stood up to me, he told me when I was being whiny and manipulative, and something about that impressed me.

Back to loosstring's post: I feel like accepting blame is hardest in the act. I have grown so much as a person in the last three years that I can now have a moment in the midst of yelling when a lightbulb clicks on and I think "you are totally blowing this out of proportion" and I have to find a way to get out of the argument. I don't always admit fault, but more often than not now I can calm down and say to the other person "you know, I'm really making way too big of a deal out of this" and we can settle. I'm proud of that.

posted by: Cannonball14 at 20:20 | link | comments (2) |
meow, the ex files

The exotic one...not on my mind as much lately with this shifting in my heart, unless of course, I pass a South American man on the street, or hear an accent that reminds me of him. We were young, stupid, went through more heartache together than we should have, and then started dating. By far the most beautiful boy I've been with, and the first one that fell in love with me. It's easy to pinpoint what went wrong with this one; there were no fights or shouting because he always deferred to me. And alas, I was a freight train running with the idea. I always thought I wanted to "wear the pants", to be in control of the relationship, but once I got my chance it was too easy. What do I regret most? Breaking his heart. By the time I made my mind up it was over, there was no turnning back. There was nothing he could do or say to make me change my mind. I guess it's not all bad, because I still run into him occasionally (apparently he stayed in America) and he always has an American girlfriend, so I didn't ruin him for the rest. I just wasn't the right one...

posted by: Cannonball14 at 13:06 | link | comments (3) |
the ex files

Let's get this one off my chest first. I've been thinking about him a lot lately, probably because someone brought him up around the same time I started reading someone's blog that reminds me A LOT of his personality. Tall, dark, stocky, handsome in that bumbling, irreverent, ratty shorts and Converse sneaker sort of way. Loves to argue, to play devil's advocate, to twist your words and thoughts until you're frustrated, but all with a mischeivous smirk on his face. A master of sarcasm and charm. A near-genious level of intelligence, which was intriguing and off-putting all at once. I once thought, in a space of three short months, that he was everything I had looked for. He was so attentive when I was there, making me feel like I was the thing that mattered most, that for those two or three days his sole duty was to make sure I enjoyed myself. The problem: we lived too far apart, and for the four weeks between our visits he was married to his job. Maybe I could have made it work, but I was young and stilted by my shyness with him; my need to not feel like a burden or intrude on his workspace. Had I been more confident, had I just showed up at his house and really expressed the way I felt, would he have realized what he was missing? Or would he have felt pushed and distracted from what was really important to him? I was so careful to not get in the way, not ask for too much of him, and to likewise not show him how close a connection I wanted and felt with him, that maybe when it was ending he was left with the same impression. Maybe he wanted to be closer all along, but thought I was the one being aloof. I heard from the friend that introduced us (we're still close; they speak occasionally) that he thought of me as "one of the good ones". She seemed to think he cared more than I thought. What I missed most when he was gone? The distinct memory of being alone on his porch, or taking a bath at his apartment, and knowing he was there, cooking dinner or reading the paper. Not talking, just comfortable in the knowledge that he was nearby, in the strange domesticality of our new relationship. I hope he figured it all out in California.

posted by: Cannonball14 at 14:39 | link | comments (1) |
the ex files