Forty-five and I still get pimples. Really? I somehow escaped getting those in high school and college. Occasionally, one would pop up on my face in my teens. At which point, my friends had no problem announcing to everyone that I had a zit. I can’t complain. Nothing and I mean nothing is normal about me. When one gives their first GCBJ* at 8, they are destined for a life that will never be normal. So, I go with it. I go with the flow. Or at least try most days. Some days, I just want to be normal. Probably not in the cards for me. What does that mean, anyway?
So, I went to my college reunion this past weekend. “OMGaaaaaaad….you look exactly the same…”
God, I hope not. Heard that about 50 times this past weekend at my 20 plus year college reunion. I’ve given birth to 4 humans. Who sucked everything out of me. No fucking way I look the same! I’ve gone through a divorce. I’ve hit bottom. More than once. I wear the “scar”let letter across my chest and forehead. (Ever wonder why “scar” is the root word of scarlet? As in “The Scarlet Letter”?) I may have colored the greys but they are still there along with all the other scars I’ve accumulated along the way!
Sadly, people are so fucking fake. I see them coming a mile away. (Someone posted, “If only we could hold up people in the light like we do hundred dollar bills to see if they are real or not!”) Whereas I show scars accumulated, they show “things” accumulated in the past 20 plus years. Awesome. Call me when you’re ready to have a real conversation. Until then, my A.D.D. has set in. Again. I have no interest in your self perceived portrait of success. Believe me. I see right through you.
Well…almost. A few managed to open up to the addictions people close to them were suffering. And, I fully appreciated that. Makes me not feel so alone out there. However, it was always about somebody else. Not theirs. I guess it’s so much easier to talk about other people’s issues versus your own. For the love of God, can anyone open up and really be honest about their lives? No need to discuss my life. Apparently, they had already read my blog. After all, I don’t hold back. On anything.
I know A LOT of people are fans of college football. Takes them back to a time in their life before reality set in. As I’ve heard so many times, those 4 years of college were so close to reality yet so far removed from it. I guess it keeps them young. Or stunts them. I’m not exactly a football fanatic. (Note, fan is the root word of fanatic.) Ironic…since I love football so much.
But I have 4 kids I watch play their sports every weekend. I don’t have time to watch college football. As my friend, Alison(the blonde in the pic…wait…they are all blonde…except me), put it, “If my son isn’t playing, I’m not watching. I spend all my weekends sitting in the stands watching him.” Why the hell are we here watching a football team of NOBODY we know just because we went to college there in our late teens and early 20s? (For the record, I refuse to date anyone who is overly obsessed about their college team. You know the ones. They live and die by those 12 games every fall). I’m pretty sure there are other events going on in life besides college football.
One quarter and we are spent. We leave the stadium and trek across campus to our college bar. Dirtbags. “A part of growing up.” That’s their slogan. Indeed, it was a HUGE part of my growing up. But, I’m already grown up. Or, at least, that’s my current mindset. But, not this weekend. I’m 21 again. The same bartender was there. 27 years later. Wow! I’m speechless. They still ring the bell whenever someone leaves a generous tip. Rich college kids LOVE to be generous with their parents’ money. Not me. I didn’t have that luxury. So, we stand around waiting for a table in “our” bar mixed with overly inebriated , half dressed college kids and my peers trying to relive our youth documenting every step of the way on Facebook. Part of me is nostalgic. The other part doesn’t want to touch anything as it is sticky. Yuck
I have lived an entire life since college. My children, alone, keep me busy. 4 kids…5 sports each…15 years of games…you do the math…that’s A LOT of games that I have watched over the years. Plus, I have my own games to play. My own tournaments that I still get to enjoy.
So…how is it that we all look “the same” to our friends from long ago but all the current college students look so damn young? And, what’s with the outfits? Tube tops everywhere. And shorts up the ass. Sure, I could put one on and make a complete ass of myself for a day or two. That I’m capable of!
But who really wants to see my stretch marks from my 4 children? And my saggy, falling breasts? You know the ones. Apparently, my children are stronger than gravity. They had the power to suck everything out of them and used such force that dragged them down to my knees. And don’t get me started on the facial imperfections I’m having now that I should have had back then.
Sure…it’s fun to go back in time with your friends from long ago. But 3 days of that and I’m slapped in the face with a reality check. Can’t sit around all day drinking anymore. I have to get to class. I mean life.
*Good Christian Blow Job
