Posts tagged ‘Dude I don’t even know…’

February 28, 2011

A fate worse than death? You betcha!

My mom spent most of last week cleaning out her attic which resulted in a phone call to me later in the week along the lines of, “Come and get your crap that you made us keep because you might want it someday. FYI, today’s the day you want it.”

So Friday evening I opened up a dozen or so boxes filled with various bits of detritus from my childhood and teenage years.  Which sounds wildly more exciting than it really was.  Most of them contained my schoolwork and about eleventy bonkzillion stuffed animals. 

(Apparently sixth grade was my best year as evidenced by the giant Sharpie lettering “Sixth Grade:  MY BEST YEAR EVER! EVER!” on all five of the boxes housing all of my schoolwork from that year.)

(I remember I had chicken pox for a week straight in sixth grade.)

(And one time we made a color wheel that turned white when you spun it really fast.)

(And that’s it.)

(Best year ever, though.  Totally.)

I went through some of the schoolwork, but realized it was just as boring now as it was when I first experienced it.  Mostly I skimmed through it to make sure nothing I wanted to keep inadvertently got mixed up with it and then threw most of it away.  But not without discovering a few gems along the way.

For instance:  My best friends’ folder.  You know, the kind of folder where you store stickers and notes to one another and you write “Private!  Best Friends Only!” on the cover and twenty years later you have no idea exactly which best friend was allowed access to that folder.

And my “Wish Star.”  You know, the kind of star upon which you write wishes on the arms of the star for things like, “My wish for the world is world peace and no more war.” And “My wish for when I grow up is to write good stories and be famous.” And “My wish for my school is to someday have walls.”  You know, that kind of wish star.

Or, how about my letter to Jon Knight of New Kids on the Block?  Where I told him my name, and my address, my age, the names of the seventeen other girls in my grade that loved NKOTB and how I saw him on T.V. the prior afternoon and boy, did his pants ever look great!  And how much I wished I had a pair of my very own. 

But I think it’s my anti-drug campaign that really hits home.

Probably the most effective campaign I've ever seen.

 Turns out there is a fate worse than death.  And that fate is A.I.D.S. 

(For the record, we started D.A.R.E. in sixth grade.)

(D.A.R.E:  Drug Abuse Resistance Education.)

(Yes, I totally just googled that.)

(Best year ever, though.  Totally.)

January 21, 2011

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

Hey, Internet. 

I know, I know, I’ve been unapologetically absent.  I fell victim to one of those classic blunders.  You know the one that falls after “Never get involved in a land war in Asia.” and right before “Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line?”  The one where I used to be this super awesome blogger but then I was lazy and didn’t blog? 

That one? 

My apologies, Internet.  I’ll try to not let it happen again.  The holidays happened and my grandfather passed away and I was wrapped up in all of that.  But now I’m back.  With a vengeance. 

No, no, make that a grudge. 

So I’m on this path for self-acceptance, right?  Because of that, there are certain areas of my life that I’m examining and trying to restructure to help me on this quest.  Recently I’ve started thinking that something I’ve always thought I knew about myself, something that I was positive was true about me, is, in fact, a giant lie.  And here’s why.

Recently a series of events occurred.  The details are essentially unimportant, but suffice it to say I was screwed over.  Not in a major way, but in the kind of way where you find out the true measure of a person (whom you’d already suspected, so it’s really no surprise things turned out this way).  Anyway, I was screwed over and my suspicions where confirmed as to the nature of said person. 

(The worst part of it all is said person was all, “Are you mad?”  I really hate that.  Don’t screw me over and then ask me if it upsets me.  No, you rhino’s butthole, I thoroughly enjoy getting the short end of the stick due to your douchebaggery.)


So this series of events happened and as I was processing the whole thing I realized something that is, essentially, the inspiration for this post.  I realized that I wouldn’t forget this series of events.  I realized that I’d remember this for years and years and years.  I realized—gasp!—that I’m a grudge holder.  I never knew this about myself, but it makes so much perfect sense that according to occam’s razor, it must be true.  All these years I’ve thought I was a forgiving person, but alas, nothing but lies.    

(Side note:  I asked Mbrotha if he thinks I hold grudges.  His response?  “I don’t know, do you?”  Thanks, Mbrotha, helpful as always…). 

Does anyone else have a sour taste in their mouth?  No?  Just me then?  Oy.  I really hate it when I discover something about myself that is not proof positive that I’m eleventy bonkzillion percent awesome.  Since I’m feng shui-ifying my life in general, this is clearly an area that needs restructuring.  Oh, but how?  I’ve been holding onto some of these grudges for ages.  Admitting is the first step to acceptance right?  Alright, here goes.

Hey, I’m Ali and I…I’m a grudge-holder. 

Okay.  So that was kind of anti-climactic.  I was expecting some sort of fanfare.  Like a parade in my honor.  Or at least a float dedicated to me in a parade.  Or sheesh, balloons at the very least.  I’d even settle for a balloon animal in the shape of a snake.  Don’t they say admitting the problem is the hardest part?  Well, I admitted my problem.  So that means I get a prize, right?  I was brave and admitted that I’m not perfect and here’s why, so surely, I deserve some sort of something, right?



Fine.  Keep your parade then.  But don’t think I won’t remember this.  I’ll remember this for a looooooooooooong time.  Years.  Decades.   Centuries.  I’ll remember this for the next ten lifetimes.  Yeah, I will.  When you discover the cure for cancer three lifetimes from now…guess what?  Yeah, I’ll remember.  And I’ll tell the world.  Your bubble?

Consider it burst. 

How do you like that apple crumble with a slice of cheddar? 




Well, hell.  Hey, at least I’ve figured out the problem right?