Humble Bumble

Oft I write here bitching and ranting in my personal twisted style of humor the things that annoy me, frustrate me, anger me, hurt me, or just plain stress me out.

Rarely do I publicly do the whole "touchy feely" thing of calling out the love for the people who support, love, like, cheer me on when I am not racing and am just being me.

Maybe because that happens every day and the things that piss me off or hurt me happen so infrequently.

That being said, these really awesome people get "lost" in the name of blog-writing humor and although I try to tell/show the important people in my life how much I appreciate them, there's no reason why I shouldn't also declare it for the world (or the 10 or 12 other people who read my blogs*).

*Above number does not reflect the several blog stalkers and other complete strangers who attempt or assume to know me based solely on what is written here or my photos. Derrr.

While I have a small and wonderful circle of friends who may or may not also be friends with each other, there are a few people who are there no matter what and who are my constants.

People who I know I could go to in a second if I needed something. Anything. Even though generally I don't.

(This is sometimes perceived as "shutting people out".)

It isn't, but I understand the perception.

Ty and The Sass, by far are the most outstanding humans I have known in some time.

Both strong willed and steadfastly independent and headstrong...and yet complete opposites of each other and sometimes me as well. I am a very fortunate woman to be gifted with children such as these.

Then there is Lisa.

Through thick and thin (and believe me there was some pretty thick shit in our time) she is my rock.

So much more than I think she ever thought she would be but everything I knew she was even 23 years ago.

Words cannot express how happy I am that she lives only a mere 6 hours away (even though I think they should move closer).

This amazing woman (and her family) are family to me and I could not imagine my life without them in it.

We are opposite in sooooooo many ways but total mirrors when it matters...she's just tinier.

She's one of the few people I would give an organ to...if my organs were acceptable for human reception. (I'm sure at some point they will stop glowing from all the poison...if not I may spend the afterlife as a night light.)

Then there's Shannon.

What a selfless woman!

Strong. Sexy. Brilliant. True.

I have cracked up, cried, and danced my ass off with this woman.

From the minute we met, we were instant friends...which may be the one good thing that ever came out of that 4th of July party that year.

Shannon is one of those friends who you want to tell everyone about and at the same time keep her to yourself. She is magnetic.

With her long-time circle of close-knit friends I am not sure why or what she saw in me, but I am very fortunate to call her my friend...and I doubt anyone who knows her would disagree.

Steph.

If I had to name one person who changed my life over the past year or so, Steph would win this one hands down.

Every time I pin on a race bib, the experience is made better when she is present. Whether kicking my ass or cheering me on, she is my Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society.

There isn't a time that I get on my bike anymore that I don't think of her and wish I was riding with her when I'm not and get giddy when I am.

She has been there through all my cycling suffering and pain and may be one of the few who never gives up on me. The fact that I know this every day, whether we talk or not, makes her pretty damn special.

The fact that I have been around to see all that she has accomplished with "ideas" over a short period of time fills me with pride.

The day that I was able to introduce her and Lisa was monumental for me and one of the happiest I have had in a long time.

Her husband Phil is a pretty cool cat too...even though he made me cry in my first race. (Wait! He was being nice while I was sucking and it made me cry...he wasn't being a dick! Don't hurt him!)

*giggle*

Then there's Ish.

Another one.

We knew the day "they" made us share an office that it was a done deal.

Ish is my sweet Latin brotha from anotha mutha.

One of the few men I have met who is prettier than me. (WOW! That reads really arrogant!)

*snarf!*

Ish and Rodney are my loves!

I would do anything for these men and they for me.

I was lucky enough to be there at the start of their amazing relationship and will be the godmother of something of theirs at some point...(even though that something is trending more and more toward a bird or a fish.)

Ish and I have tortured office folk back in our corporate days and I am pretty sure we left a few with a twitch...at least I hope so...though a few had a twitch to begin with...

*snicker*

Jay.

Day in and day out this man cheers me on whether on the bike or on the bathroom floor.

I'll admit, when I met him I didn't think he had it in him.

...then again he told me he was 24 and I am no cougar, so he was ruled out as anything more than a friend. (Turns out he's a weeeee bit older than 24 so game was ON!)

He likes to act like he's a badass (I mean...he IS a badass...) but he is a true friend and wonderful to me and my children.

Now while that may be because he is a kid at heart, it works.

I won't pretend that we shit butterflies and fart sparkles, but we have a lot of fun and play hard...

...Possibly too hard for the common observer who may not realize we are playing, but generally we do not leave marks.

All I need to do on any given day is call him for a second in the middle of my hell and usually without saying (or sometimes even knowing) anything, he helps me.

Even when focused on his race, he takes the time to kiss me and tell me he loves me.

Sometimes all people see is him yelling for a water bottle or a wheel, but races are an hour or 3 of our day. There is so much more that goes on and he doesn't really get credit for that stuff.

The man carries me when I fall, holds my hair when I puke, and runs to the store when I need things to make the aforementioned not happen.

He helps me prep my gear before races and has brought me to new levels of bike geekdom.

Often people wonder how the 2 of us could be a couple since we are also opposites...TOTAL opposites...

But he is no different than Lisa or Steph or Ish or Shannon. He is my friend. He gets me more often than not.

These are my peeps.

There are more in my small circle whom I love and adore like Anna, Andre, Angela, Craig, Christine, and Jessi...the list goes on...but I am all tapped out on "cumbaya" for the night and I just looked at the time.

Maybe it was watching my littlest graduate Kindergarten today.

Maybe it was crapping and puking my guts/brains out today.

Maybe it was the whole ER/strained heart muscle thing that made me want to put it out there...

I don't know.

The truth is, if I show you any attention or affection at all, I mean it. I don't like most people, so if I communicate with you, I actually like you.

And now, because I like me, I am going to bed.

G'night.

The Rebel Princess Coalition Sans Two

This weekend is now a blur.

In 3 days I relived fears I had thought I was long ago over, some of my darkest high school bully nightmares, awkward adolescence moments long abandoned, black eyeliner/too much make-up/too much jewelry, teen aged angst and insecurity, emotional torture inflicted by parental units, sorrow, pain, happiness, excitement, anger, frustration, and my ability to always find time to squeeze in some needless shopping.

Two friends with whom I attended high school came to town for a much needed get-together.

We were at least two fabulous females shy of a perfect get-together, having not planned ahead far enough, leaving the other two with practically zero notice.

The 80s party that was planned for Friday night proved to Weirdo and me that we could still have fun and be completely inappropriate in a paper sack. Not the party itself, but the shopping at the Goodwill and other little shops while we searched for vintage treasures to adorn our less-than-80s-bodies.

Weirdo and I had never shopped together in high school. That was a treat shared by Goofball and myself. Instead, in high school Weirdo and I exchanged talk about nails. Mostly, I would give myself French manicures with Liquid Paper on the drive to school and she would bite her nails while I bribed her not to.

Goofball and I were shopping goddesses. We knew the ins and outs and could teach a class on the topic. The current irony being that she now loathes shopping and is married to someone who has a career firmly rooted in women's fashion. She hit the goddammed husband lottery, other than diamond broker, when it comes to fru-fru shit. I won't even mention that he is also a more than decent human who actually loves her. If I didn't love her and like him, I would trip them both. I married a rocket scientist. I'll let you know the next time I need an effing fighter jet.

Saturday was spent from sunrise to almost sunrise again with the three of us (plus 2 male offspring) giggling, snorting, comparing, constructing, climbing, posing, cackling, crawling, and crying our way through The Lou.

It was a blast!

It was absolute glory to be surrounded by two fab chicks who knew and loved me when I was an awkward, insecure, damaged little brat with Flock of Seagulls hair and a shitty attitude...regardless of my imaginary fantastic fashion sense.

It was fantastic to be surrounded by these girls who still do not give a crap what I have accomplished and/or what I have not accomplished either personally or professionally and only care what I have accomplished with regard to our friendships.

We sat there, the three of us, reveling in how we were and are so different and so alike and how none of the latter was abundantly obvious until we were deeply ensconced in discussions about the bowels of our personal hells.

We are all pretty introverted in personality. Oddly, that picture is very different for each of us. Weirdo being the most verbal in her thoughts was both astonishing and exhausting. And although my frustration at the lack of silence I have incorporated into my little world was at times palpable, I knew in a very short time her excited and animated voice would be gone.

Over the weekend I had found myself wishing that we were the women we are today back then and how much we could have supported each other or even simply been the silent comfort in the corner of each others' conscious.

As it was, none of us knew of the others' private hells and we became who we are. Mothers, teachers, healers, comedians, leaders and advocates.

As I arrived home early in the morning after dropping Weirdo off at the airport, I stepped into a room thick with sorrow at the loss of her presence. The silence I had thought that I had wanted exposed itself for the truth it was like a mule kick to the face. They were gone.

I was alone again in the scary world that wanted me to be things that I am not.

I was again without the friends who knew that I was more the punk than the cheerleader. More the shy little girl than the outgoing social butterfly. More Liquid Paper than eraser. More Suzanne Vega than Madonna. More alive than dead.

There is no way to sugar coat or minimize it. I miss them.

The Trembling of a Lost Emotion

I had been aware of his presence for quite some time, having spied him upon his arrival. I intentionally stayed out of his line of vision, as I had no desire to engage in even the most elementary of conversations with this man.

I had never met him in person, however we shared acquaintances in common. This fact alone was disturbing to me.

I had interacted with him briefly, to extend some condolences regarding the pain he was suffering at the termination of his marriage. He had expressed this pain on my friend's blog and was confusing his pain and anger at his wife's abandonment with the topic of the day which involved inequality among the sexes.

Because I originally viewed him as genteel, I wanted to make sure he stepped back and did not involve himself in the very intense debate that had arisen.

He verbally expressed his appreciation and little more was said. A few days and a few blogs later (after my debate opponent had sent him an email) he "friend requested" me. Having little worry about a man who seemed more of a pussy than a prick, I accepted. It was simply easier.

He continued to send emails and I attempted to keep the tone light and a bit dismissive. I was not looking for a mate.

Last weekend he extended several invitations to the same event. Although he could see that I had not opened the invitations, he continued to send them. He also sent them to my friend who writes the blog. She told him she was seeing someone, and it worked (or so we thought at the time). She advised me to do the same.

Having already had my fill of the multiple variables in this incestuous little MySpace world, I had already decided to delete my page and thought nothing of the unanswered invitations from this new contact. Mostly because I opened them after the event to which I had been invited.

I was not accustomed or comfortable with random invitations to join complete strangers out in any venue. Especially when there was no acquaintance who could speak to that person's level of perceived sanity.

I also never quite grasped why people would be anxious to spend quality time with complete strangers that they have not a thing in common with other than a pulse.

It mattered not, as my page was now gone and I believed that to be the end of it.

Fast forward a week to the same friend's birthday party.

She had extended an open invitation to anyone and their mother. Literally.

It was not my party. Not my deal.

She's my friend.

I attended the party.

And then I saw HIM walk in. The email guy.

*FUCK!*

I maintain eye contact with another friend as I see HIM notice me. I had already told her of HIM.

I ignore his presence and continue chatting with her.

He moves to stand in my peripheral.

He hovers awaiting a chance for me to turn and acknowledge him.

(Why do I need to? We have never met! This is not my effing party and he is not my friend!)

I can feel myself yet again getting pissy about people's lack of respect for another's personal space and general social etiquette.

I turn and he says, "Hi Cory."

*blood runs cool and hairs raise on back of my neck*

"Hi," I reply.

Feeling I have dismissed him, I say nothing more and scan the room for my high school friend who has flown in for the weekend.

He, being socially retarded and more than a mite obtuse continues to speak and confronts me about why I deleted him from my friend list.

I smile understanding the confusion and calmly explain to him that I didn't delete him, I deleted my page. I expect that to be the end of it. Nope.

"Why?" he inquires.

I look at him with a smirk.

"It was just a decision I made. I have a lot going on and it seemed unnecessary to keep the page."

Period.

Period.

Period.

I am honestly irritated at this point because I do not feel that I owe a complete stranger any explanations as to why I take a shit or the consistency thereof. I quite frankly don't think I owed anyone an explanation and feel that anyone who was afforded one was either quite fortunate or actually important to me.

He was neither.

I smile as sweetly as possible, considering that I am loathing the general environment and many of the people in it. I spot my high school friend and walk over to her.

Multiple times this man would seek me out and attempt to engage. I would always smile. Chat for a moment and move away.

I do not like strange men.

I do not like strange men who are so lonely and dysfunctional that they seek out a party of total strangers and expect to be accepted as if we too went "way back". We had already had ourselves such a poser in the early Spring. I felt our quota had been met.

At some point I wind down and relax on one of the number of comfy leather couches in this quaint little bar and make myself cozy by an open window.

HE of course hovers somewhere close by. The type of hovering where he is maintaining the visual contact and is very literally observing my every move.

It is my unfortunate luck that a friend sitting next to me on the couch leaves to fetch another beverage.

HE uses this opportunity to sit next to me.

*dammitfuthamuckersonofabitch!*

Having committed to keeping the birthday bash centered on my friend, I simply ignore HIS new position and gaze out the window up at the sky and over at the architecture of the tall building just outside.

I let my mind wander to the activities of the people inside and what their view might be...

He starts speaking to me.

He is asking personal questions.

Originally, I smile politely and say nothing. I look him in the eye. Smile. Say nothing. I am trying to silently convey to him that I am affording him the peace and respect that he is not affording me. He is however, on a mission.

"I watched that cancer trailer", he says. (He is referring to "CrazySexyCancer". I had posted something about it.)

I look at him.

"I watched it for you, you know." He smiles at me in a way that seems as though he believes this will bond us much like Crazy Glue bonded that construction cap to that steel beam. Yeah, marketing is fun.

I smile. I thank him. I look away.

His voice and speech patterns make my skin crawl. He looks like the love child of John Mayer and Charles Manson, with the speech pattern of Billy Bob Thornton's character in Slingblade. This could not be any less intriguing or attractive...unless he were to defecate right there on the coffee table. (Is that a clear enough visual for you?)

He has no idea my fear of men who act this particular way. He has no idea how I do not like unfamiliar environments until I have made myself feel at ease. I would never feel that sitting next to this intrusive man next to an open window that was not at ground level. Never.

He was getting angry.

I was frustrating him.

This only served to make me more tense.

I had done this before to males and it did not work out well for me.

I started to get goosebumps. I felt nauseous and panicked. I had stood to hug another friend good-bye and knew my legs were not stable.

I was angry at myself.

*dammit!*

I knew I should not have come.

I searched in my head for a way to relax him without lying to him and knew that there was not one.

As he continued to ask penetrating questions that I quietly ignored, I finally looked at him, smiled and tried in my most joking tone to ask him, "You do know this is a party, right?" I softly chuckled and returned my gaze out the window.

My body language could not have been any more closed off without leaving a bruise.

I was noticeably and visibly nervous and freaked out by this man. Anyone who knew me saw this. I had started trembling. This alone pissed me off...at myself.

He finally got up and walked away, but continued to hover and continued to keep his eyes on me. He even went so far as to follow me to the restroom area. I was thankful that my friend from high school was tuned in to my frequency. She was my eyes when I could not be.

I ducked and hid from him a bit more, before finally going outside to the street below for some fresh air and a new perspective. My fresh perspective brought the new emotion of frustration.

I had watched him out of the corner of my eye once the red flags went up. I had observed him interacting verbally and physically with other women. This should have relaxed me. It didn't. Why were these women not holding his attention? Why was he seeking me out and following me around?

We spot a bar next door and duck in to relax.

I breathe.

I cannot simply leave as I am the designated driver to my friends. I have to stay close.

Another friend I had been awaiting the arrival of arrives and thinks I have left. I talk to her on the cell and get her up to speed. She has only moments before met this man and knows exactly whom I am speaking of. She texts me that HE is coming down.

Again I feel cold and shiver.

I move behind a wall and watch him walk past the restaurant window never considering that I am there and not on my way home.

I exhale.

We stay for a while and the friends that have trusted me with their safe arrival home come down to join us as does the other friend who had arrived late.

I am ready to leave, but have mentally regressed to that one day back in college. I am angry at myself. I am angry at this man. I am angry at my friend who keeps her filters open to so much dysfunction. I detach.

You never know what your words or actions will trigger in another. I have to be responsible for putting myself in that situation. I make conscious steps to avoid certain situations. Now I know that I cannot attend functions coordinated by this friend and will have to simply make separate arrangements to spend quality time with her, if our schedules allow it.

It was a fascinating experience for me, once I detached. Once detached I was able to explore my fears and emotions and the "why factor". I was able to consider what might be going on in HIS head as well as what drives the psyche of my friend to welcome such individuals into her personal space.

Happy that this was the last big "function" planned for the season, I concentrate on the road ahead and crash heavily in the comfort of my perfect little bed in my personal little room in my personal little space. I am home.

Buddha Ballbuster Bashes the Bullshit

I've got balls.

Figuratively.

This is a known fact.

I'm a little bit scary. Even to myself sometimes. Sometimes I am just completely incapable of bullshit, so I just grab my ankles, pray, and let the truth fly...

Not everyone appreciates a visit from the "Kick-To-The-Balls Fairy".

Some people like to receive the truth like it's a yummy Fluffernutter sandwich... Extra Fluff and light on the mashed nuts.

I am the complete opposite. You can throw the shit at me for all I care, just get it over with.

I know I didn't always feel this way, but I think as you get older, you should not have to have people hold your hand through daily life. It gets easier to hear the truth and suddenly, there you are.

Now, there are plenty of people out there who have a lot more going on than me and there are plenty of people out there who have a helluva lot less going on than me too. And it is usually the latter mentioned fucktards who have the issues in developing their "coping skills".

I'm not going to lie, if you use your childhood, abuse, recovery, stupidity, etc. as a crutch, after so long I will tell you to shit or get off the pot. If you cry like a bitch about it and act like an emotionally crippled freakshow I will possibly crucify you.

No. Not literally.

And no, not intentionally. But the fact of the matter is that people should not have to pussyfoot around you and skirt the truth because you have been deemed incapable of hearing it.

Why should your emotional shortcomings be everyone else's problems?

Why should we have to "thin the truth" to make you feel better about your poor life choices and destructively unhealthy behavior?

You are an adult. You know the difference between right and wrong. Why should people have to explain it to you?

Saying that you know you are wrong but continuing to engage in the same behavior repeatedly is cute for like 2 minutes...

...if that...

Honestly, there are bigger problems in the world and universe than your perverse little issues. People need to seek their own happiness and stop expecting it to be gift wrapped and delivered to their door.

I fear there is not enough Fluff on the planet to deliver such a truth... but I have been known to be wrong.

I assure you, it is no one's fault that you lack the respect and self worth to make the positive changes you need to make in your life.

I assure you that no one will benefit more than you by making those changes.

Until you make the decision to do so, get a vibrator. They can't have kids, don't drink like fish, and will only fuck your friends if you let them.

Permission Not Granted: An Open Letter to a Cheater

You didn't grant me permission.

I know.

You didn't tell me that I could.

I know.

Guess what?

I don't need your permission.

I don't need you to tell me that it is OK to for me to feel as I do.

I don't need you to tell me that I am allowed to disagree with your behavior.

I just am.

You don't have to agree with me or how I feel. But why do I need your permission to express myself in my personal space?

I didn't go to your space.

I didn't go to someone else's space.

I came to my own space and put into words how I feel.

If you expect me to apologize that my opinion hurts you, you are nuts.

It is my opinion.

I did not hide it from you.

I did not sneak around behind your back.

I spoke to you directly about it. You and I.

I did not lie.

I did not ask anyone to believe as I do.

I am sorry that you are not open minded enough to consider that some people will not agree with you and your actions.

People disagree with me all the time.

So what?

You hurt me. You lied to me. Personally.

If you are now offended that I reported it, don't do it. Because you sure as shit take pleasure when it is someone else at the receiving end. And you sure as shit take pleasure when people give it back to me.

I personally watched you waiting for me to pounce on someone for your own
personal thrill.

It must have killed you when I didn't.

It must have killed you that I simply went directly to them.

You wanted me to say what I did. You told me you did. You said you were too weak. You were simply naive to think that you would come out unscathed.

Why should you?

I didn't.

I knew I wouldn't.

It was a decision that I owned.

You got hurt.

Your pain was your karma.

I kept a few people from getting hurt.

Their thanks was mine.

Be angry, but pay attention.

I just protected others the way that I had protected you.

This is how people stand up for what they believe in.

This is how people stop the cycle.

Sure as shit you'll never fuck with me again, now will you? You should have listened when I told you not to fuck with me. I am not you. I do not allow people to use me like a doormat.

It should make you angry.

It should make you angry that what I say is true.

If you don't like the truth, change it.

If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything. Right?

Well, you fell. Hard. Repeatedly.

You're down now. Are you going to stay there or are you going to get up?

Are you going to run to the safety of those who will enable the same cycle you have lived in for years with their delicious, red and beautiful poisonous apples of comfort?

Or listen to the inner self who cried out that it wanted change?

It doesn't matter if I believe you to be wrong.

It matters only that you know that you are.

Social Distortion...?

Scenario:

A group of friends decides to get together and hang out. At that hang out, a few discuss another hang out. Not every single friend of all attendees was invited to either or both events. People who were not included call others who were in attendance and make their complaints known at what they consider a social snub.

Which of the following is more rude?

1. Getting a few friends together for a casual get-together without making a big ordeal of it?

or...

2. Acting like the kid who got picked last for dodge ball in elementary school and making a big ordeal and turning a non-issue into something that is now a source of pain for you even though your unknown insecurity was not a consideration of innocent people who planned to simply sit down and eat a meal and relax?

Is it not possible for any combination of friends to do something without it being extended to the entire group?

Once you are part of a group of friends, are you suddenly part of a bee colony that must swarm together at all times?

Is it not possible that certain members of the group have developed closer or even simply different friendships with other members of the group?

Does every event now have to be stressed about and planned with the group in its entirety's feelings before executing a plan?

What then if all members of the group are invited to everything and then someone wants to do something else?

Is that insulting the group?

What if more people from the group want to do the alternate activity?

Is that mutiny?

Should people who are invited but do not show to events that would be of little interest to them be marked against for their poor percentage of attendance?

Is the distance they must travel considered in the attendance statistics?

If someone bitches about not being invited and you are not the host, should you invite the person because you like the person?

Does a person not have a right to decide who they do and do not want at their home and how many people they want to buy food and party favors for?

Should budgets and size of venue be tossed out the window?

Is it not possible to like someone but want to spend quality time with another friend without there being fears that you are no longer liked?

I realize that when it comes to me, for the most part, you will know in a New York minute if I do not like you.

And I realize that it is more difficult to tell with other people because they are more "accommodating" of this candyassed whiney bullshit than me in many scenarios...

But let's say it is me.

If I don't like you, you will know. Why would you freak out if I do something that doesn't include you?

Now that you have pulled this bullshit, I may not like you. I have a pre-schooler at home, so unless you come with a sizable tax-beni, I'm not having it, pumpkin.

And let's say it's not me.

If you think that the people with whom you are friends are so cold, calculating, and hurtful as to intentionally leave you out specifically to rip open the wounds of school days long gone by, why be friends with them?

Be honest...

*leans in closer and whispers with a raised eyebrow*

It all seems a bit silly at this moment, doesn't it?

Be a Condom

It has been an interesting couple of days, to say the least...

Some old wounds have been ripped open...

Yet, I had the opportunity to get involved instead of simply watching it from a distance.

I didn't run into a burning building to rescue someone.

I didn't donate an organ to help save a life.

I didn't talk anyone out of doing anything stupid.

Nothing was life or death.

Or was it?

Two worlds collided for me this week.

Knowing me, had they not, I still would have acted the same in the end, however this makes it a fun and fantastic little story.

Sit back.

In another life I liked to fancy myself a Sweet Polly Purebred of sorts.

Allow me to digress a moment...I assure you it will make sense...

A few years ago while my son was being bullied, I joined Classmates.com to find this kid from my grammar school who had stood up for me one night against a group of girls. His name was James Hambel.

On the night of the "save", those mean girls had surrounded me at a Friday night mixer. I was terrified, as one was a known badass and towered over me.

As they encircled me and started taunting me while poking and pushing me, I stood there. Shoulders back. Feet in a soft 2nd position. Chin defiant.

I looked like a little asshole with my natural smirky face.

I was scared shitless.

James saw from a distance that my cheeks were red. He was 2 years ahead of me and was no longer in my school. He was a high schooler. (ooooooh!) James was first of all smokin' hot and everyone and their mother had a thing for him. Even the nuns.

James came up behind me and slowly ran his hand across my bare back. (Thank you Mr. Happy Neon V-neck Sweater worn backward!) Never before and never since was I happy to have owned anything neon that wasn't utility.

James stands at my side with his hand on the center of my back. I am nervous.

Is he here to save me or shove me at them?

I breathe.

He pulls me closer and looks those mean girls right in their snarky faces and in the softest, coolest tone imaginable he asks the main one, "Jackie" if she has a problem. She says she is just talking to me and he says he doesn't think so. He continues to keep his arm around me. He maintains eye contact with her and says, "Bye". She looks at me like she wants to light me on fire and she and her friends storm off.

I feel like I am in a John Hughes movie...Though I do not know who he is at the time.

Would they have done much damage to me? No.

We were in a public place and it was 1985. In my mind, James saved me. And he did. In ways that cannot be witnessed by the naked eye.

Jackie eventually did get me. Jackie and her friend Kim followed me home from school one day soon after. It was snowing. The public schools were closed. Ours was not. Jackie and Kim followed me and my friends as we walked. I was noticeably scared. When we arrived at the corner where we normally split, my "friends" split like we did every day, as if there was nothing different about today.

Two turned right, toward their houses.

One walked straight toward her house.

As I was about turn go left, WHAM!

I got hit in the ear and face with a big ball of ice and snow.

OK.

Fine.

I stop and with composure attempt to clean it out of my ear and face so I can cross the street and continue.

Too late.

Jackie and Kim are on either side of me.

SHIT!

I honestly cannot tell you what they said to me. All I could hear was my heart and my breathing. Like when you cover your ears with your hands and breathe hard. Yeah. Like that. That was the sound...with some mumbling.

I felt more snow smack against my head at close range.

They were "cool", so they were of course 13 year old smokers. Actually Kim was 14.

They put their cigarettes out in my hair.

They piled snow on top of my head and crammed it down my back and put my hood up to seal it in.

I stood there.

No tears.

I am dead inside.

I am frickin' freezing.

I am trembling.

Everyone knew they were going to fuck with me.

It was just safer for them to go home.

No need for them to get beat up too.

"Friends" is a loose term at 12.

What I have found is that "Friends" is a loose term at 25, 29, 35, 37, 40, 46...yada, yada, yada.

Why is that?

I was 12 and learned then that I would never do what those "friends" did to me.

People rely on you when you are their friend.

Not to pay their bills, loan them money, or watch their dog.

Friends are the ones who make the difference between laughing or eating a tub of ice cream. Friends hang out so that you do not find yourself sleeping with that sleazy fucktard because you feel "alone" or bad about yourself.

Friends are the ones who remind you that it is OK to laugh at yourself and to be alone and to be scared and to be strong when it is way easier to jump into the box.

Not that box. Not a coffin. THE Box. The neat and pretty box that the people who are too afraid to be themselves or even know themselves have crammed themselves into and will beat you relentlessly until you jump in it with them.

*breathes and brushes hair out of face whilst gritting teeth at the thought of The Box*

So a few days ago I receive an email from a girl who had found me through Classmates.com.

Actually, she found a message I had posted on the board a few years ago (and had forgotten about) regarding James Hambel. I think the message said that I was looking for him so I could thank him and if anyone knows where he is, to pass along my email...which was posted.

The email was from a girl who wondered if I had found him and if I had, could I pass along her email address to him?

The girl was Kim.

Jackie's friend Kim.

As she had not known me prior to beating the crap out of me and had merely been there as Jackie's friend, she didn't realize it was me. I had known of her because the year before she had been a Mighty 8th grader...in James' class. Little kids always look up to the "big" kids, right?

I was stupefied by the email.

Simply because it crossed my mind that sometimes bullies have no idea how they affected the lives of the people they bullied.

I wanted to thank her and slap her all at once.

She is one of the reasons that I now have a voice.

She is one of the reasons that I also now have a "hard candy shell".

Almost on cue another friend is expressing to me her frustration over a stranger violating her privacy and disrespecting her value as a human.

I check it out.

It was a blogger.

I have written things in blogs that have hurt people, but never has that person come back and called me a liar. This was wild. I write about actual events. Sometimes people don't like having others know when they act a fool. Sometimes that is of little consequence to me.

This was different.

This was a blog written about what this blogger imagined my friend to be in a life outside of the blog.

It was harsh.

What made it worse was that this jaded blogger refused to acknowledge that she was acting out and being unhealthy.

She posted semi-nude pictures of my friend without her permission and invited people to make fun of my friend's body.

She was executing the practice of tearing someone else apart in the hopes that it would "elevate" her as a person.

*scratches head*

I cannot even fathom this line of thinking.

They circled like sharks and started ripping into personal tidbits of her life that my friend had written about on her own blog...including the very real death of her husband.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Where the fuck is the humanity in this world?

You know me. I almost could not resist the urge to rip this jaded bitch up one side and down the other.

Who the hell did she think she was?

There really is no arguing with her. She doesn't have an identity of her own, so she attacks others to deflect her lack of depth.

She is angry, and hateful, and if I ever witnessed her doing something that was not entirely self-serving, I might faint dead away from shock.

The point is not this jaded mess of a person or her behavior.

My friend (who could of and has held her own) was grateful that I had stood beside her on this one.

With friendship, it is not always about needing your friends. It is knowing that if you did need them, they would be there.

Like Condoms.

They're always better when they're in your back pocket when a fucked up situation arises.

I am a condom friend.

I like to think that I am ribbed kind...with just enough warming pleasure.

*starts thinking of a snappy jingle*