(Bonus points if you read that to the Foo Fighters “Best of You” tune. You now have 3!)
Listen, I need to tell you something. Lean in. Closer.
If you have read any of my other blogs, you already know I don’t say many positive things about myself. So if you think you detected just a smidgen of pride in my statement, then you have really gotten to know me well. Maybe I don’t even need to expound further. I will just in case.
Here’s the thing…as a child, I grew up with very witty parents and an older brother who could weave a blanket of sarcasm that could keep an eskimo warm at night. Though it left most feeling very cold. His circle of guy friends were also quick with the insults and sharp with the tongues. They were also 7 years older and cute, dammit. Why were they always so mean?! And funny! And spot on with their social commentary! Oh, how I couldn’t wait for the day that I was smart enough to keep up with their banter, not be the butt of their jokes, and maybe even sleep with one (or 2) of them.
Guess what – that day came. By the time I was a senior in high school, there weren’t many people who could match wits with me. They could be mean, but I was a fast thinker who could get the last word in just about every time. I remember when my best-friend from high school started dating a cute, but slow witted kid who was younger than us and I did NOT approve. I made that clear by
cleverly crafting put-downs blatantly making fun of him every chance I got. He made it so easy, there wasn’t any challenge. My BFF (and by forever, I mean until she later dropped out of college to be with this dumb-ass who was still in high school) told me one day, “You know, you make B– feel really stupid.” Pleased, but acting innocent, I asked, “How do you know that? What did he say?”
“He said you make him feel stupid.”
Snorting, “Yeah, he would say it that simply. Maybe there’s a reason he feels stupid.”
Yes, I was that girl. I actively looked for people to make fun of everywhere I went. My friends would totally egg me on, too, because usually I was pretty funny. Often guys would call me catty, but trust me, I made fun of everyone equally. Sometimes just to get a laugh and not really be cruel, other times – like if they started it and I needed to go on the defensive – I’d go for the jugular. And I would win.
Here is my confession – I’d like to think I’ve matured since then. I make a conscious, daily effort to be kind to people. I compliment at least 1 stranger a day because I like seeing people happy and making them smile. I try to be encouraging and uplifting to everyone I encounter – my family, my friends, people at the gym, my derby sisters. Even when I’m angry, or have genuinely been wronged, I check my reflex to injure them using only the power of my words, and lead with kindness. It is a much better way to exist in this life. It’s not that I’m fake and not really a nice person. More just that I’ve learned to stifle the unnecessary meanness and be a better person.
But my brain, my poor brain….At any given moment, I am thinking no less than 3 things at a time. Like right now, American Idol is on in the background and there’s a lot happening that I’d like to make fun of between the contestants, J-Lo and Harry Connick Jr. I’m crafting my next sentence. I’m thinking about much my hamstrings still hurt from my workout on Monday and that I should move the little massager I have going over to the other leg. Should I get another one so I’d have one for each leg at the same time? Has it been running too long? It kind of smells like burning. Now I’m thinking about Ralph Wiggum from the Simpsons. Plus, I’m still humming “Best of You” from my earlier Foo Fighter reference. I thought all of these things in less time than it took you to read them. Are you tired yet, because I sure am. And it’s like this All. The. Time.
I tell you all this because I need to ask your forgiveness ahead of time. I’m going to write some blogs that might come across a little snarky. Not because I want to add negativity to the world or because I want to go back to being what some experts would call a “bitch.” But sometimes, if you bottle up too many thoughts for too long, bad things happen. Trust me, it’s the fodder of tomorrow’s blog.
By the way….I’m still trying to come up with a roller derby name. I have a huge list that I’m narrowing down, but when I texted my derby wives with the suggestion of “Snarknado,” my super clever friend quickly replied with, “Snarkajawea” and that may just be the winner. Or maybe “Albe Snarky.”
In case you’re wondering what I’m thinking about now, I’m desperately trying to think of how to work, “Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?” into my closing. Oh, look – I did it! Now would it be too much to ask for one of these American Idols to bust out some Foo Fighters so my night can come full circle? If they did, Harry Connick Jr. would just tell them they weren’t ready for American idol just yet, J Lo would toss her hair and mutter her disagreement to a bored Keith Urban. I’m miss Simon. That was a guy who knew his snark.