This weekend, I received a message on Facebook that informed me that my 10 year high school reunion is in 1 year.  The message was asking for ideas on what should be done for the reunion since our class president has since passed away.  We were only a graduating class of less than 120 people, so having the opinions of the herd was thought to be helpful.

I’m not going.  I’M.  NOT.  GOING.  It’s not that I have a certain beef with anybody because I was picked on or that I am scared that everybody is going to see how fat I’ve gotten.  It’s not like that.  Yeah there were cliques, but since we were such a small class, we all bumped into each other from time to time and exchanged a friendly word or two before moving on.

But people, I hated high school!  I loved those years when I was in high school, but I didn’t actually like school.  I didn’t like that awkward girl that I was.  I didn’t like the hierarchy that the teachers helped to facilitate.  I didn’t like it.  When I graduated high school, I was SO HAPPY to be out of there.

Don’t get me wrong, I have some good memories of the actual school experience that had nothing to do with getting felt up in the equipment room in band class, or cutting out early to go to the mall, or all of the “extracurricular” activities in which I happily participated.  I have great memories of the Latin class that I took my Senior year.  I have great memories of my Honors English classes.  I have great memories of my Biology class Sophomore year.  But that’s behind me.

I don’t want to have to worry about losing a little bit of weight so that I can go to a cocktail party with a bunch of people I don’t know (and who don’t know me).  I don’t want to have to make small talk.  I don’t want to have to huddle in a corner with the select few people that I DO know and talk about how weird it is to see everybody again and how we all still pretty much look the same (Umm, it’s only been 10 years!).

I’ve already documented the horror story of being attacked for carrying a bag ONLY FOR CHEERLEADERS by a teacher.  Now, let me impress upon you another story that I occasionally look back on with great ire.

My Senior year, my homeroom teacher pulled me out into the hallway to have a talk with me.

“I want you to know why you weren’t chosen to be in the National Honor Society,” he told me.  “You meet all of the requirements, but the sentiment among some of the teachers is that you are too quiet.  People in the National Honor Society need to be outgoing and have moxie.  These teachers think you are too meek.”

“But I talk in your class all the time.  I talk in a lot of my classes.  I raise my hand, I answer questions.  My teachers all know me.  I don’t understand.”  I said.

He stared at his shoes.  “Maybe you’re not talking enough in the right classes.  Maybe you haven’t made a big enough impression on the right people.”

“Are you telling me that I didn’t get in because I’m not a suck up?”  I asked.

He continued to stare at his shoes.  “That’s not the term that I would use.  But essentially, yes.”

My teacher, who was a good guy despite making me sit in the back of class for falling asleep (I had finished my test early [and aced it!] and he didn’t allow us to read or do anything else to entertain ourselves, so after sitting there for 20 minutes staring at my desk, I dozed) didn’t give any names, but I know that the teacher on whom I didn’t make the best impression was the one teacher in that high school who most valued having her ass kissed.  One of my other friends didn’t suck up to her either, but she regularly had strong bonds with other teachers (she also totally deserved her admission into the society).  Why the fuck was I picked on?  I wasn’t a super student (long story, not just laziness) but I think that I deserved in there.  So again, I was struck in the face with the cheap hierarchy that this small school took complete advantage of and once again I got the short end of the stick.

I’m a grown up.  I’m much more secure in my self identity.  I’m much more capable of telling snobby people to go sit and spin.  However, I still look back on some of those occasions, occasions where I was PICKED ON BY ADULTS and it makes me sick.  I realize that these people won’t be at the reunion and that if I’m not at the reunion nothing interesting could possibly happen, but I just don’t want to relive some of those moments.  I want to keep those hurts in my past.  High school is behind me.  And besides, the people from my school who meant anything to me are still a big part of my life.  If they want to get together, let’s rent a dance hall, see if we can find the Dugger (DUGGER DANCES) and spike the punch!  Then we can go sit outside, smoke lights, and listen to terrible music.  If I want to revisit those years, those are the memories that I would like to touch again.

(And now the screaming rants from Aschlie will start…..)  (She BETTER not boycott me over THIS) (Or I WILL post pictures of her in a string bikini)

I love Barbara Streisand.  There, I said it.  I love her movies and I love it when she does television appearances.  There’s something about her that just makes her to cute and endearing.  When I was in my last couple weeks of pregnancy with Lukas, I stayed in bed a lot because it was hot outside, the bedroom was the only room with an air conditioner, and I was HUGE and pregnant and didn’t like to move much.  Well as it happened, “The Way We Were” came on television during that time, and I watched it for the first time.  You want to talk about a movie completely messing with my pregnancy hormones, that movie hit it just right!  I cried for days after watching that movie. I usually try to stay away from chick flicks….they bother me.  But I indulge in them every now and then, but I never thought that I would be a person to relish the thought of watching a Streisand movie.  I haven’t seen all of them.  I’ve seen “A Star is Born”, “The Way We Were” and “The Mirror Has Two Faces” as well as “Meet the Fockers” even though it isn’t a chick flick, but she was perfect in that movie.  I love these movies and watch them whenever they are on.  So yeah, Miss I’m-Not-A-Weepy-Girl loves Babs.  So shoot me.

My phobia with spiders is getting increasingly worse.  Earlier this week, I was sitting in the family room with Lukas.  I had just opened a can of soda and had kept it in my hand the entire time it was open (that detail is important).  I noticed a small spider on the wall.  I sat looking at it for a minute, feeling the chills making their way down my spine, feeling my skin start to prickle and sweat at the same time.  The thought of that spider getting on either Lukas or myself made my bowels cramp so I got up, rolled up a magazine and killed the beast.  I then washed my hands with scalding water and resumed my position on the sofa.  I picked up my soda (which I had set down about 10 feet away from the murder of the arachnid) and put it to my lips.  I froze before I could take a sip.  “What if a spider is in here?  Or worse, what if there are spider bits in here?”  My common sense tried explaining to my fevered brain that there was no spider in there nor were there spider bits in there.  It was only soda.  I tried to calm myself and put the can again to my lips.  I forced myself to take a small sip and it took me at least 2 minutes to force myself to swallow it.  I sat for another half hour trying to talk myself into taking another sip when I finally gave up and dumped out the contents and got myself a glass of water so that at least I could see if there were spider bits contained inside.

When Lukas is napping sometimes I like to sit in front of a mirror and lip sync to my favorite music.  Sometimes this consists of air guitar and head banging.  Sometimes it consists of dramatic hand gestures and a long face.  I totally get into it and pretend like I’m a music star.

Yesterday when I was making Lukas his breakfast, I shoved 8 Oreos in my mouth.  They all fit.

I’ve never been to a dentist before.  With all of the soda that I drink, I dread when that first time actually comes.

When I was in grade school, my babysitter’s daughter dared me to say something really mean and nasty to another girl on the bus.  She said it would be funny.  When I said it, the girl got a really sad look on her face and moved to the back of the bus.  I cried because I felt so bad and I didn’t talk to my babysitter’s daughter for a whole week.

Most of my underwear has holes.

I daydream a lot.  I always have.  I think I might be a bit of an escapist.

I sometimes feel a little bad that Lukas looks nothing like me.

If Jessie goes a day or two without showing me any affection, I freeze up and turn resentful of him.  It takes the poor guy almost a week of constant work to thaw me out.

Now you know more of me that you need to.

Yesterday I got a phone call from a “water specialty” place.  They said that they were offering a promotional offer and that if I let a man come into my home and test my water and then sit through a 45 minute “evaluation” we could then receive a $100 grocery card.  Hey, We can definitely use a $100 grocery card, so against my better judgment, I said yes.  So tonight an older gentleman came into my home, gave Jessie what turned out to be a high pressure sales pitch (which Jessie fell for…he always falls for it.  He’d buy a $100 bottle of pills if someone told him it would make his shit smell like potpourri).  When Jessie informed the gentleman (who had ignored me through the entire schpeel because *gasp* I’m only a woman and how could I possibly make any sort of important decision) that he didn’t handle the finances and that I was the person who needed to be hearing all of the information.  The gentleman retold me everything and when I recognized it as a sales pitch even though he swore up and down that he wasn’t a salesman, I informed him that I was not going to be signing anything tonight and that with having just bought a new house, I wasn’t comfortable enough yet with my budget to make a decision that would cost us an additional $100 a month.

The old bastard became condescending with me.  Like in a sexist way.  Like in a way where I’m tempted to write to this company and inform them of the sexist bastard that they are sending out to sell their stuff.  “I guess you just don’t get it.”  He kept saying to me.  Ummm, excuse me?  You’ve been talking my ear off for over an hour…I GET IT.  I DON’T WANT WHAT YOU’RE SELLING.  He then called his boss and right in front of my explained to his boss that “the wife” wasn’t interested and that I was hard-headed and that he just assumed that he didn’t explain things to me so that I could understand them.

I got mad, but I kept my mouth shut.  I’m glad that I did.  I have a tendency to have prickish rants (as you all should know) and I just wanted this asshole out of my house.  Christian Bale and I should have lunch and compare prickish rants sometime.  I’m glad I shut up.  But I’m still thinking of contacting the company.

While the man was here, Jessie got a phone call on his cell.  He checked the caller I.D. and told me that it was a guy who had called him twice before today.  The guy had apparently mumbled a lot and Jessie hung up on him.  Jessie left the room, spoke for a minute or two, came back into the room crimson-faced and told me he’d explain after the sexist old fart left.  This is the conversation that Jessie had:

Jessie: “Hello?”

Caller:  *mumble*

Jessie:  “Excuse me?”

Caller:  *mumble*

Jessie:  “Excuse me?”

Caller:  “Did you get sucked off yet?”

Jessie:  “WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!?!?”

Caller:  “You gave me your number over instant messenger.”

Jessie:  “No I did not!”

Caller:  “Yes you did.”

Jessie:  “No I did not!”

Caller:  “Yes you did.”

Jessie:  “NO I DID NOT!”

Caller:  *click*

Now I have an alternate theory as to how this guy got Jessie’s number.  Sure, he could have gotten it off of IM, but I’m betting that he saw it written on a men’s room bathroom stall.  You know, since the gay community considers Jessie such a hot piece of ass and all.