Time Passes


The last time I saw her was graduation night.

24 years ago.

We weren’t great friends but were friends that would easily and comfortably slip into conversation. We had been that kind of friends since kindergarten. From grade school changes to the angst of junior and senior high. We were fringe friends.

In 5th grade we beat up Chris by the ranger station. He was a creepy kid who would pinch our asses and say crude things to us on the playground. He was ugly and had an ugly personality. We beat him up because we knew that there was no other way to get him to stop. And we knew he would never tell. What 11-year-old boy would ever admit to being beat up by a girl?

We were friends like that.

We found people to buy us booze and we would drink it behind the mall. It was always something nasty like sloe gin, spiced rum, peppermint schnapps, Mad Dog 20/20. Shit that would take paint off of a car. We NEVER had mixers, it was always straight and fast. I shudder at the thought. We always had early curfews so we did this early with hopes of sobering up before our parents came to get us. We never got caught.

24 years ago.

We all went our separate ways. We have had 2 reunions since graduation. At the 10 year reunion, people were still acting like it was high school. The cliques were the same, the people were the same. We learned who was married, who had kids, who were divorced, who was gay. There was only one that surprised me.

I did not attend the 20 year reunion. I was at a soccer tournament with my son. I have priorities and those don’t include old memories. I got shit about it but I didn’t care. All I would do is see who had gotten fat, wrinkly and be thankful I am who I am. And yes…laugh. The holier than thou cheerleader who now weighs 300 lbs? Worth hours of laughter. The stuck up football player who is now bald? Cue ball jokes abound.

24 years later.

Facebook is wonderful and terrible at the same time. Terrible because you can still see the cliques acting the same bullshitty way they used to. Wonderful because you can once again reconnect with those you wish you hadn’t lost.

24 years later.

I am on my way to the East Coast for work and will be an hour away from Deb. We have been talking on FB since we both joined. We have read about family joys, surgeries and have even encouraged each other. We have seen changes in our houses with each remodel project.

Slipping back into the easy conversations.

I always promised her that I would look her up if I was in the area. So we start making plans for dinner. We agree on the day. As the day nears, I find myself getting excited to see her. But also worried.

What if it’s different in real life? What if it’s just a facade and once we meet again, the conversation dies?

24 years later.

She calls me, I get her address. She just had a procedure on her neck and can’t drive, so I will pick her up. She has a beautiful home filled with pets. She also has 5 kids! 3 of them are out of the house already but 2 are still at home.

We go to dinner to a place that is her favorite.

We slip into easy conversation. We talk about our lives now and then. Learning more about each other. We realized that over the years, we have grown more alike we were back then. She went to the 20 year reunion and told me all about it. She said she wished she never would have gone. The cliques were still there. After 20 years you would think they would have grown. Grown up, grown on and become better people. After all, isn’t that what people should do? Grow.

Deb tells me that she quit smoking with my encouragement. Every time she felt the urge she would re-read a message I sent her encouraging her to quit. You see, my mom passed away from lung cancer. I know the effects this has on a family and I did not want her to put her kids through that. I am glad I was able to do that one small thing for a friend.

Time passes by. We hadn’t realized how long we were there talking.

4 hours.

4 hours of talking and laughing. There was never a pause in conversation.

When we both realized that they were cleaning the dining room, we checked our watches. It was getting late and I still had an hour and a half drive back to my hotel.

We part ways with promises that it won’t take 24 years to meet up again.

Hugs abound.

Promises made.

We WILL meet again.

Just not 24 years into the future.

Soon, very soon.

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Secret Lives


I was watching “Secret Life of an American Teenager” last night with my teen son and it got me to thinking about the way people keep secrets from those around them.

If you have never seen this program, it started out as a program that focused on teen pregnancy and it’s effects on their life and had a good message. This past season though, it has gone downhill and all they ever do is talk about sex. Who is having sex, who isn’t, why they aren’t having sex. I think the storyline has lost its way. It doesn’t seem so secret anymore.

I watch it with my kids for a couple of reasons.

  • It seems to keep the embarrassment to a low-level and we can talk about things in a more open way.
  • I know what they are seeing and can inject my 2 cents. Or 50 cents…depends on how long the conversation is!

My kids laugh at the show because they say it isn’t reality. NOBODY talks about sex the way these kids do. They say that they think they know who is doing it but if they talk about it, that means they really aren’t. It isn’t something that they talk about. Period.

But I digress.

Secrets. Everyone has them.

Kids keep secrets. Husbands and wives keep secrets from each other. Parents keep secrets.

It’s life. Sometimes keeping a secret is to save ourselves from having to explain something and other times, it’s because the secret may hurt the other person.

The new pair of shoes I bought that I kept in my car until Rambo was gone? Secret. My Twitter account? Secret. This blog? Secret.

The shoes, I keep them hidden because it is easier on me and I don’t feel I should justify another pair of shoes to him. Really, you want to talk needless items? How many fishing lures do you really need? You only use them 3 months out of the year and you can only use one at a time.Did that sound familiar to any of you? 🙂

My Twitter account and blog? If you have read my About Me page, you already know that I censor myself in real life. I wish I didn’t have to. I love Rambo but I think he is just waaaay too prudish and he would be really appalled by what I am really thinking and writing about.

If he really knew how much I wanted to drink. Like every day. He would admit me to rehab. No really. It helps to have really strong willpower or I would be drunk 99% of the time! An alcoholic family doesn’t hurt either.

If I acted every time I wanted to look at someone and say “Just shut the fuck up.” I would have no friends. Well, except maybe on Twitter. Anything seems to go on there. I would also not be married anymore. Yes, I mutter it in my head. But it never comes out of my mouth. Just telling Rambo to be quiet grants me 3 days of silence. Can you imagine adding the rest? Hmmm. Something to think about.

I know he has a secret life, not as secret as mine is. He is boring and doesn’t do technology, hates Facebook and doesn’t spend much time with friends. He is a 90-year-old man in a 40 something body. But I love him anyway.

My kids have secret lives away from their family. We think we know them but we really don’t. Regardless of our best intentions of checking the texts, their Facebooks, they do and say things that we are never privy to.

And I am okay with this. I can’t know everything all the time. I wouldn’t want to. I know too much already.

Welcome to my secret life. Secretly, I am a 20-year-old kid in an 42-year-old body.

Do you have a secret life?

Foolin’ Myself


I hear refrains of Aldo Nova in my head. I keep hearing:

So long, well, it’s sad to say

But you’re only fooling yourself

So long, I’m glad you’re happy that way

But you’re only fooling yourself…..

Why?

I am a stats junkie.

I told myself that I would not be a slave to stats when I started this blog. I knew it would take a while to get it out there and get readers. And I was okay with that. I was secure in myself. Besides, the blog was just a whim.

I was fooling my self.

Day two of my blog I had 27 views! And none of them were friends. I was on a high since my OTHER blog doesn’t perform that high and my friends knew about it. Seriously? I need better friends. They can’t even support me. Sheesh, it isn’t like I asked them to donate a kidney or something. Just read a fucking blog post every day. Oh…and share it with your friends because…I am fucking funny! I mean come on people…get with the program. Do they have a Facebook Mass Defriend app? No? They should. I would SOOO use it now.

Day three? 8 views. Failure. Where were my new Twitter tweeps? Did I offend them? Did I piss someone off? Shit. Depression sets in and I get all mopey.

And I can’t even talk to anyone about it. Nobody knows about my blog other than you. Don’t get me wrong. I love you guys! I love your comments (hint, hint), love your tweets and yes, I love your stats visits . 🙂 But living two lives is hard damn it!

Day 18…holy shit! 78 views! Yes, I did the naked happy dance around my office that day. Too bad I don’t VLOG! Who knew I would get that many views blogging about my plastic surgery wish list! So thank you all!!!! MWAH! But be thankful you couldn’t see it. I am a white girl who can’t dance and needs plastic surgery. Be very thankful. No really.

So now I check stats every couple of hours. It’s like an obsession. It’s worse than my shoe whoring!

Numbers are down! Better send a Tweet out! Damn, only one click in an hour? Fuck…send another shameless begging plea Tweet AGAIN. Sorry guys! No, not really but I thought you would believe it. Did it work? Please say it did. Please, please. Oh god, there I go again.

Pleading.

I am pathetic.

But…guess what? I am not the only one. And it makes me feel good that there are others out there who are stats whores like me. We can be pathetic together. We tweeted about our patheticness last night. So thank you to people who are just like me.

Oh and my Facebook Page? That’s a whole ‘nother level of patheticness. Really? All I need is 25 likes then I can get my own URL. Is that too much to ask? I didn’t think so. So for now I get this really lame-ass long address that is totally embarrassing. Totally.

So people…I want to be like Sally Field. Really I do. Well, except for the osteoporosis thing. I want to be able to say….

“You like me, you really, really like me!”

So go here…

http://www.facebook.com/pages/SassyBlondeBitch/214743541877118 and push the like button. You can block me after. I just want your like.

And here…you don’t want to miss my tweets do you?

http://twitter.com/#!/sassyblondbitch

Don’t make me do it…

You really are going to make me do it?

Really?

Oh all right….

Please, pretty please? With chocolate frosting on it?

I am so ashamed.

*crawling under my desk to cry and hide from the sassy-hating people out there*

See. told you. pathetic. I would have capitalized it but I am too sad to yell and I didn’t want you to get mad at me.

Yes, I fooled myself when I said it didn’t matter.

Oh ITunes!…Cue up Aldo for me…Fantasy this time…

Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life…oh no, oh no…life is just…..

Go here…because stats are important to her too…I love her so you should too. Why? Because she is funnier that I am, trust me. And yes…I DO speak whinese. This whole post was whinese.

Don’t Speak Whinese