Bird Shit

The sharp pain is back. Just the last two days. I earned it while NBF was here. Albatross upon albatross around my neck. Black clouds. Whatever you want to call the things that I now stuff in a folder labeled "DO NOW." I forgot to take my before-bed drugs two nights in a row. I smoked pot wrapped in a tobacco casing. I drank an entire beer. And a medium sprite. And I had to confront the difference between me and me just a few months ago. And NBF. And many many other major friendships I've had over the course of my life.

Even before elementary school and the mean children, I learned to be snarky. Both sides of my family are very sarcastic and sharp. We play with eachother's words and mannerisms and turn them into our own witticisms and put-downs. My dad is a notoriously slow and awkward joke teller, so when I was still in elementary school I started doing an impression of him trying to tell "why did the chicken cross the road?" that had everybody in stitches. Barney Frank's recent town hall reply reminded me of our old big family get-togethers.

Some people seem able to give eachother shit but then balance it out with love and affection. My dad's side is bigger on the zingers, but my mom's side was well versed at just criticizing the hell out of absolutely anything and everything. She and her siblings seem to be crawling out of that now that their own children have grown up and born the brunt of it, but hey, it's progress. Still, both my parents have a very specific idea of right and wrong, good and bad, black and white, including on the many many many many many many things in the universe that aren't. Like, um, everything. So when you put together the sarcasm and the "humorous" put-downs with a constant directive that you're doing this wrong or that wrong or everything wrong even if it feels right to you, you're no longer just "giving people shit." It becomes deep and seething and paraded with a laugh until you don't know where the joke is anymore. Snarky 5-year-olds are only cute for a few minutes.

I watched a lot of sit-coms, too. Alf. Small Wonder. Golden Girls. Empty Nest. The snappy come-back always wins on television. Earns respect in my family (my brother can be a long series of one-liners).

Elementary school. Bad bad bad. I'd spend all day every day in teasing battles where a new and zingy come-back wasn't worth shit if you didn't have a posse. The kids would use the same insults over and over and over again. I'd ask my parents what to do and they'd give me new sharp things to say. I'd go back to school and say those things and the kids would tease me for being smart, for using big words, for everything they could.

My mom wrote me notes on my napkins in the lunches she packed for me. "Catherine" would steal them and read them out loud and have the whole grade laughing hysterically. I told my mom. I didn't really want her to stop writing the notes because then Catherine would win, but at the same time I wanted the notes and humiliation to just end. My mom started writing the notes to say things like "I'm glad I'm your mother and not the mom of a vicious note-stealing child." Catherine then started making fun of me for telling and being a tattle-tale "as usual" and everybody just had new fodder for the teasing.

Over the years I've created many friendships based largely in giving eachother shit. Some of you at least used to read this blog, and I am sorry. As all of my friends will attest, my shit-to-compliments ration varies and I'm much more comfortable with the shit than the compliments, but sometimes I'm able to spew out just the right thing at just the right time. The other big variable is how much love v. malice goes into the shit. It changes day to day, friend to friend, moment to moment.

I'm just not sure how to show affection any other way. When it comes to letting Boys know I'm remotely interested, I still blush and freak out and tell them they're stupid. That may be part of why I'm more comfortable being friends with guys in general: they're used to the shit-giving friendship model.

Life lessons:
The way to be recognized as a person looking to make connections is to give shit.
Everybody I ever wanted to have accept me growing up gave me shit.
Kindness? Happiness? Fake! Bullshit! You're being effusive!

I'm learning to be happy for more than a moment at a time and it's working. I wish there was a way for me to go sit in the big Depression Ditch and tell everybody there that it's possible, but even a few days with NBF toppled my latest streak of joy because I couldn't get through to him. I'm a compulsive sharer. When I find something I like, I want everybody to know.