It’ll be good to say you know me…

I think, it’s time for me to stop reading the news.

Maybe there comes a point in every woman’s life when she realizes that reading the news, will not fix the little ‘empathy’ button that she stomped on, (and subsequently broke,) a few years ago. Maybe I have too many lawyers for friends- I’m really not sure. The point is: I don’t understand the complete lack of common sense around me. (This is not to say I do not have my own moments of senselessness- ie: Putting my car keys in the freezer and the ice cream by my purse. Or, my favorite, telling my toddler to put on, ‘her big girl shoes, and deal with it.’ (In all honesty- it was cute- she was trying to find them.) I think everyone hits a point in their lives where the whining of others kills a little part of their heart. I’m at that point.

It started with the emo kids. I thought it would be like the grunge fad- their chosen leader kills himself or was murdered by his trollish wife- (whichever you prefer,) and soon like waking up from a dream, they start listening to Britney Spears, wearing shirts that spout the phrases, “Cutie Pie,” and “I love Boys” and they really just move towards something else, (equally evil.). But seriously- it’s time for emo kids to go for the prozac or slit their wrists. For everyone else that has to watch their little charade of self-aborbson- it’s tiring.

A friend/ex/something recently moved over to the dark side. Since he’s been seeing his teenage friends more often, he’s become one of the most self-loathing people I’ve ever met. His friends are not ‘emo,’ and not ‘really scene,’ as I’m told- (they don’t really like to be labeled,) but they are ‘something-‘ like rejects from hot topic meets the hello kitty store. He spent a month being torn up because his 18 year old girlfriend wouldn’t give him the time of day, (srsly.) And him being 30.5, with a killer job, beautiful house, and awesome furniture doesn’t allow him to get someone with say… a college education, or a decent bra. I keep wondering what is going to happen to him when he realizes that spending his life telling me, “What would it matter if I disappear, no one understands me anyway,” is what is going to make him regretful soon. Why does it bother me? It hit me today, as I was walking around the Shiny, Happy, Kingdom- that it’s like the secretary, (cough,) Administrative Support, that works on the fourth floor, and dresses like a French prostitute at fifty.. it’s just sad. You see the roles hanging out of her tight, (usually see-through,) shirt, and you swear you can actually SEE her ladyparts in the skirt she’s wearing, (because you must only assume underwear do not go with that ensemble,) and you wonder- what the HELL is she missing that she needs to gain attention this way? Right? Usually, I found- that the people who are desperately seeking attention, are usually going about it the wrong way. (We’ve all done this.)

But the thing is- in the moments when I’m wondering, “what the hell kind of freaking outfit is that?” in the elevator and, “Should someone tell her? I’m not gonna tell her?” And she gets out- and the other people in the elevator, SNICKER… I feel like I should have gotten off- and talked- said something. Because it’s the stuff people say behind your back that hurts the most, isn’t it?

When I was a freshman? I was goth… for about—(what, like two weeks?) I had to choose being goth or being a cheerleader. (Because I didn’t feel like I could effectively pull off both- especially in the parochial school I attended.) So? I chose. And I didn’t look back. But for those two weeks, with blue lipstick, and pretending that I was finally cool, because I was a FLAMING, HORMONAL, BITCH- I thought I had found myself. At 27? I don’t think I’ve found all the parts of myself that are hidden yet. (It’s a jolly, treasure map.) And we think we’ve got it all figured out so young, don’t we? I still listen to the bands of the sad, including some Manson now and again- but I’ve lost the insight into youth I promised myself I’d always hold on to. (I said, I’d never be that mom who told my daughter to ‘shut the hell up, and deal with it,” but I feel lately- almost anyone under the age of 18 needs that speech. I’ve been slowly- and sadly, detached. I wonder if the detachment came in my own self-obsessed phase of finding out what I wanted, (as of late,) or if I had unwoven that string a while back. I’m not sure- but in any case- my friend has entered the world that I don’t understand anymore. How everything could be so bad, when you haven’t had time to fail, and move back home – or had a heartbreak that brought you to your knees. They want empathy without experience, and that is something that right now- I can’t offer.

I see him disappear- almost exactly like he wanted to- only, I’m not sure this self-fulfilling prophecy is the one he truly picked. The man I knew, was successful, intelligent, honest and compelling. He talked of other things besides always seeing that group of friends, or his dog. He helped raise my daughter for a few months, and we talked of finances and politics. Maybe that’s why it’s increasingly easy to talk to him, and not feel any significant attachment- he is not who he was- or who he was, never really existed. I see parts of him sometimes, when he, (still,) gives significantly good insight on a few things, or when he talks to me about what, ‘was.’ He’s gained an insight of a younger generation- with their wants and criticisms of ‘age discrimination,’ and how people don’t ‘understand,’ but he’s lost maybe a part of who he was in the process. Much like the woman on the 4^th floor, who is constantly trying to get someone’s approval, by baring all she has- in a desperate attempt to win over herself in the process. And someone should say something- … I know how it is to so desperately want approval. I should say something, right? And my fault, is- that I don’t have the balls, or perhaps- even the tact, to be able to tell verbally, what I so much want to say. Maybe, like I always do- I’m trying to fight the battles that don’t matter. Even after reading book, after book, it still matters to me, if people are not happy. Is that why I detest the emo kids and their artificial tears? I’m not sure. I find myself doing the ‘very grownup’ eye roll when I see them walking around, and I think, well? If it’s that or an Army of Abercrombie, I’ll go with the emos. (Because seriously- who’s gonna win in a fight, right?) It hides in many faces- the feeling of an individual that thinks they are un-important. They dress their eyes in black, or dress their ass in spandex- really… it doesn’t matter.

At eighteen I wore sweater sets and pearls. (Laugh- it’s funny.) I wanted to be the feminist version of a stepford wife, only without the robotness- and a significantly more intelligent I.Q. I wear the same thing now, (less sweater sets,) but I find my comfort in a 50’s retro look, (minus the pin-up girl, qualities- although, they are deeply envied.) So… almost 10 years later. Like a Barbie doll, complete with a disgusting amount of experience, and moveable arms and legs! I stutter, and I fail- and I sometimes should speak up, and I don’t.

But to my friend? The one who finds himself in the (ignorance,) confusion of youth? You don’t have to dumb yourself down for someone to want you. If you set the bar too low- you’ll end up being your own disappointment. I think you know we’ve all made that mistake.

We’re all still learning.