Memoirs Of J

Facebook is a great thing and all, but I regret ‘friending’ people from high school with whom I have absolutely no desire to keep in touch.  I should clarify – I did not friend them, but was friended by them then stupidly accepted because I’m a tard.

So this one girl (again, someone I may have passingly made friendlies with in high school but basically forgot existed on 6/5/1996 – the day after graduation) is sending out constant reminders on facebook about a 15 year reunion.  She’s sort of scouting who is interested in having one, gathering contact info, that sort of thing.

OF COURSE I want nothing to do with any event that’s going to congregate all of these horrid people in one presumably tiny, dank hick bar because they’re all losers without enough money to afford somewhere nice.  Nothing against the dank hick bar, mind you, but I don’t want to relive any of that anxiety and disdain I suffered at the hands of these cretins.

So naturally I’ve been ignoring all communique regarding this awful event-to-be, but many people are not ignoring these requests.  Why they have to ‘reply to all’ is something I’ll never fully understand.  People are so vain to believe that since they were some popular little queen when they were 17, everyone cares that “yes, I would definitely LOVE to have a reunion!”  hee hee hee!

I’ve been running a fool’s errand.  It’s impossible to actually define, specifically, what makes a person unattractive.  I’m not talking about soft (non-physical) traits like a nasty personality, meanness, or anything like that.  Nor am I talking about things like bad hygiene or being overweight, because while they certainly contribute to unattractiveness, they are things that can be rectified rather easily.  I want to know what specific physical traits make someone’s face (a woman’s, particularly) ugly.

If you google ‘ugly person’ you’ll get some very interesting results.  Porn, photoshopped images, hairless & toothless dogs, and images of fat hairy women in bikinis are a few examples.  But nothing about what would make an otherwise completely normal person ugly is to be found.  Why?

Is it because nobody really has an answer?  I mean beauty is totally subjective.  There’s not really a model of what, specifically, makes a face attractive either.  But we all know Brad Pitt and Scarlett Johanson are attractive.  How do we know that?  We all know Sandra Bernhard is ugly.  But why?  Like what it is about her face that makes it so unattractive?  And at any rate, some people must find her attractive.   I don’t know…  I just know that I don’t think she is.

I’ve heard about face symmetry but don’t really buy into that concept.  What if someone’s face is “ugly” but perfectly symmetrically ugly?!  So I don’t believe that symmetry is the deciding factor; symmetry does not automatically mean attractive and non-symmetry does not mean unattractive.  Maybe it contributes a little bit… I can’t really say.

I guess I don’t really know what I’m looking for, other than an explanation as to why I have been referred to as “uglier than dog shit” by Brad M. (those are some appropriate initials, huh?) in high school, for one example.  Here are the facts:  I have never been overweight at all, I’ve always showered, brushed my teeth, and have normal hygiene in all aspects, no scary or mannish body hair.

A lot changes when you have a kid, and a lot of that change has to do with what you’re purchasing post-kid vs. pre-kid.  Other than the blatantly obvious items like diapers, children’s tylenol, and tiny socks, you have  things like antibacterial wipes that become absolutely essential.  At least for me.

See, for as long as I can remember I’ve had this really strange aversion to touching food with my hands, or even touching items that have been touched by someone who just handled food and didn’t wash their hands.  I mean I remember having anxiety attacks over my brother eating potato chips while playing Sega because he would get grease all over the controllers, or having tantrums because I grabbed the tv remote and found someone had smeared some sort of oil slick all over the buttons.

To this day I can’t function if I am unable to wash my hands with soap immediately after eating.  I’m not saying I’m one of those weirdos who eats a grilled cheese with a fork and knife or anything like that, but rather that I need to wash my hands after finishing.   I mean at the sink.  Hand sanitizer or a ‘moist towelette’ will temporarily satiate me only if there’s no accessible sink, but it’s never good enough; I need a sink, hot water, and lots of soap.

Well, what demographic is notorious for sliming everything in their presence?  Children –especially toddlers.  They bury their little paws in a pile of greasy fries, they massage spaghetti between their fingers, they smear potatoes in their hair.  This leads to a little conundrum for a person like me who does not want to touch or be touched by food.

So I buy a lot of ‘Wet Ones’ these days (or their generic equivalent).  We use about 4 wipes per meal, more if it’s something really messy like spaghetti.  This is necessary because J doesn’t yet understand the concept of washing her hands at the sink; instead, she gleefully splashes and throws water in my eyes.  It’s virtually impossible to get her cleaned up without putting her in the bathtub, hence the need for Wet Ones.

They’re quick and clean well enough, and most importantly J is agreeable to using them.  I like to keep a tube in as many rooms as possible just so that I can quickly clean her slimy hands whenever and wherever the need presents, thereby reducing the level of grease and slime on household items (or on me).

Strangely though, these wipes still do not satisfy my personal hand-cleansing urges…  I won’t use them on myself but I’m totally content with J’s level of cleanliness after being patted down with some wipes.  I guess it’s all relative.

Today a coworker mentioned that a friend of her son is going to Paris for spring break.

Ahh Paris… I’m so jealous.  I’d do anything to go back there.  It has already been almost three years since our little jaunt to London, Paris, and Rome.  I was beside myself with excitement the entire trip.  I had always wanted to go to Europe, specifically Paris.  I just can’t believe it took so long for me to actually make it there.  And it still feels like yesterday when we were strolling down the Champs Elysees with me in utter disbelief that I was actually strolling  down the Champs Elysees.

One of my favorite nights there, and probably of all time really, is the night we went to Moulin Rouge.  We were traveling with a large group who were for the most part annoying.  The “Louis Vuitton” attention whores, snarl, that weird blond lady whom we were all taking bets about how soon she would be pick-pocketed.  Our guide was amazing though.  She made the reservations (since we undoubtedly would have embarrassed ourselves with our Franglais, thus contributing to the ‘ignorant American’ stereotype) and led us on the correct subway lines.

Taking the Paris Metro was another experience I savored every second of.  It sounds stupid to say that, I mean it’s a subway for francs sake, but I did.  The classic white subway tiles lining the arched ceilings, the blue station signs announcing where exactly we were (Gare de Lyon, Louve, etc), and the ‘underground’ street musicians filling bustling corridors with echoing sounds as the crowds hurried by – it’s everything I expected the Paris Metro to be; not terribly different than most other subway systems I’ve used, but distinctly Parisian in ambiance.

We awkwardly ordered a carnet (package of 10 tickets) from the attendant, who incidentally was flirting with me.  That’s a first, but I was amused.  Or maybe he was making fun of us for being Americans…who knows.  My French is quite bad, and C’s is … well nonexistent.

We made our way through the maze of people, across multiple subway lines, finally arriving at our stop.  Our guide led our group to the theater and we went inside only to be corralled into a massive sea of people waiting to be checked for cameras or video recorders, and ultimately to be shown their seats in the theater.  Red velvet surrounded everything – the rails, the stairs, the walls.

An attendant noticed my bag and asked me in broken English if I had a camera in the bag; I replied that we didn’t have our camera and understood that we would have to check our camera if we did have one.  Some of the others in our group did have to check theirs, so we were very relieved that we didn’t bring one.  Regretfully we didn’t get pictures of the area surrounding the theater because we didn’t go back later, but it’s still better than to risk losing our (very expensive) camera.

We were eventually shown our table.  I looked around in awe of how beautiful the theater was, with its plush red and gold decor, vintage theater posters, and chandeliers glistening.  The striped drapes hanging from the ceiling reminded me of a circus tent.  We sat under the lights of the big top waiting for the music to begin…

The show itself was basically what I expected – gaudy cabaret (think: can cans) dancers singing in French so I understood approximately 1% of the dialogue.  Some of the show was physical comedy.  I vaguely recall a small dog on stage… I don’t recall specifically everything about the show since we had a lot of champagne, but I do know that it was a spectacular evening.

Can I go back?

This time of  year is so depressing.  I was sitting here today dreading having to go back to work tomorrow (therefore wasted the entire day with worry and dread) when I realized that – shit – we don’t get another holiday until May, I think.  So the fact that I have nothing to really look forward to now, coupled with the dreary, drab, cold, and bleak time of year is seriously dragging me down.   Yes, it seems that my so-called depression has once again gripped me in its unyielding throes.

And, oh by the way I just (as in two days ago) decided that I need to get off my Zoloft so already began weaning myself by halving the dose.  Brilliant…

Actually, it just occurred to me that maybe because I started weaning myself off my crutch I’m starting to feel sad again.  I really don’t know… chicken or the egg I guess.  It doesn’t help that I received some pretty shitty news today too.  Maybe (hopefully) my mood will improve tomorrow, but I doubt it.  Alas, it’s Monday and I have to work.  Same old crap over and over again.  Get up, drop J at daycare, work all day, pick J up, go home, chase her around, have dinner, see C for a mere couple of hours, sit, sleep, repeat.

In hopes of heading this off (or maybe it is combating it at this point), I signed up for a photography class tonight.  It’s an 8 week course on fundamentals.  I’ve been interested in creating artistic shots for some time now, and keep telling myself I need to take a class to learn settings and so forth so finally just did it.  What the hell, right?  Now I just need to fit my photography assignments into the routine…. or rather, break up the dreaded routine…

So I just so happen to be watching The Biggest Loser tonight.   Don’t judge, ok?  As long as  I’m not watching Glee, I feel content with my television programming selections.

Actually, I can’t seem to get into this show anymore.  When it first came  out I just I had to watch it, going as far as getting a season pass on the tivo (much to C’s dismay and disgust).  I think I lost interest when they started having partners come on the show together.  Like mother / daughter, husband / wife, hooker / john.  It’s just depressing.  These people come on and showcase that their entire family is morbidly obese.

I guess before when it was just contestants on their own competing, I didn’t really think of them in any sort of social or family context at all.  It was just some fat dude groaning and sweating profusely all over a treadmill with Jillian screaming all up in his face.  Now it’s like, ok, here’s half a family who collectively weigh half a ton; you imagine them sitting at home in their underwear sweating all over the couch from shoveling cheetos down the hatch while watching fox news.

And frankly, I’ve also never been a fan of how they put these people in  spandex shorts and sports bras (or just topless for the men, though some could probably reap the benefits a sports bra has to offer) for the weigh-ins, displaying the fat rolls in all their wondrous, doughy glory.  Seriously, how humiliating?  I’m a normal weight and still wear a one-piece to the beach because I’m not toned enough.  I really can’t imagine just letting it all literally hang out for millions to view.

And no, I’m not all “anti fat person” or anything like that.  It’s great that these people are turning it around – clearly it’s a tremendous amount of work to shed all that weight and then keep it off & they deserve kudos for that.

Is this really necessary? Really?

I wouldn’t go back to middle school or high school if you gave me a million dollars.  No way.  But if I could telepathically transmit some messages to my teen self from the relative safety of the present, that would be splendid.  Here’s my top 6 pieces of advice to my 13 – 19 year-old self.

1. Wear your retainer!  Yes, it’s a pain in the ass to clean and it stinks.  Yes, it’s uncomfortable and annoying.  But guess what else is uncomfortable and annoying?  Yep, having chicklet buck and over-sized teeth for the rest of your life (right, the retainer does nothing for the size but at least it will keep them from busting out from behind your under-sized top lip)!
2. Don’t let these losers walk all over you.  Stand up for yourself; you’re doing a piss poor job.  For example, remember that whore Michelle H in history class who dropped her pencil and said “hey girl, pick that up” with that shit-eating smirk on her face, airing her “superiority?”  And you actually did pick it up?  What the F, girl!?  A proper do-over would be to tell her to f-ck herself, then summarily kick it across the room.
3. Stop worrying so much about so many trivial things; everything will turn out fine.  Having a panic attack all night over whether there will be an open seat on the school bus in the morning is utterly confounding.  Stop.
4. Put on a little makeup and at least try to do something with your hair.  I know you don’ t have much to work with, but still…  make an attempt.
5. The fashion faux-pas you are making right now will embarrass you later (you are appearing in photos, no?).  Avoid wearing:   Skidz(tm), stirrup pants, penny loafers,  oversized t-shirts tucked into penny-rolled jeans, suspenders, or anything adorned with NKOTB pictures or song lyrics.
6. About 90% of these people will graduate from high school and… well that’s just it.  Nothing.  They’ll be uneducated and overweight in 15 years.  In other words, they’ll be republicans.