Confession: I Was A Bully In Elementary School

Well, sort of.

In the fifth grade at McCulloch Elementary School in Detroit, Michigan, I was accused of targeting another student in my class and being mean to her.

Back then, I wasn’t the assertive (read mouthy) b-yatch that I am now.

When another student pointed the finger at me and said I was the one who was spreading rumors and excluding another girl and generally being a total “mean girl”, I was pretty clueless.

I usually kept to myself; went to school, came home, attended my beloved ballet class which was all I really cared about, and never joined any of the “cliques”, not in any grade, even all the way through high school with the Frats or Greasers.

I mean, I was always the one who was made fun of ‘cos I wore glasses and for doing ballet and for my last name that rhymes with Frankenstein (I’ve heard that plenty of times), and because I was quiet and small and easy to push around (then, not now, that’s for sure).

What I remember is being sent to the principal’s office and I got a speech about how smart I was and how I should not use my quick wit to pick on other kids who didn’t have the same verbal skills I had.

I tried to explain that I didn’t know what she was talking about and I don’t think I had done that for which I was accused, but she mostly wanted to hear herself go on and on and when it was time for me to insert an apology and an “I won’t do it again”, I did.

Not only did I not know how to stick up for myself, the real bullies were the girls who falsely accused me. I still don’t know why the real victim never told the truth about who her tormenters were.

I guess it was easier all around to paint me as the villain.

What I did learn from that encounter stayed with me all these years, and if I even ever thought that I was going to be mean to someone (less smart, less agile, less whatever) I thought of what the principal said to me, and not only did I hold my tongue and not be mean, I became an advocate for the less fortunate, those victims of circumstances beyond their control.

I stood up for the kids who were being ridiculed. I spoke out. I still do.

She was def right about one thing; I do have a very sarcastic, witty side but I try not to use it to hurt, only to be funny.

Another life lesson that stayed with me to this day was to teach my son to have compassion; for the elderly, for the disadvantaged, for anyone mentally or physically challenged.

I told him that all his brains and academic accomplishments pale in comparison to being kind to those less advantaged than he is, and of course, to always love animals…and to defend himself vigorously if he was ever accused of something he didn’t do.

Bullying is horrible and should not be tolerated. I’m glad that I didn’t actually do it, ‘cos I’d be terribly ashamed of myself.

Life sucks and oh, yeah, there are a-holes everywhere

I added a little tease to yesterday’s post about Anne Hathaway‘s wayward vagina that was awinkin’ and ablinkin’ at the photogs. It was like she had a big arrow pointing to what’s called a fannie in UK SPK. (Trust me, DO NOT go to England and ask anyone where you can buy a fanny pack). It was all waving back and forth, “Hey, look at me! Don’t waste time following LiLo or Honey BooBoo. Come on in, y’all! Take a peeky-weeky.”

end of the world

Is this for real?

I was full of brag and swag a couple weeks ago when all the planets were aligned and I got the vintage Valentino and that handbag, and I was skipping through my days throwing a little enchanted fairy dust to the right and to the left, la la la. The extra shot of Grand Marnier in my Perfect Margarita was the Missoni sweater I got at that same consignment shop. BTW, I really have two arms, one was busy snapping the pic.

missoni2

Well, it all came to a crashing halt. Nothing catastrophic–just a minor mis-alignment.

Signals of doom and gloom

The first harbinger of misfortune is the apparent neverending absence of my hubs whom I had expected home for sure by Christmas. Now I’m gonna be lucky to see him for our nineteenth wedding anniversary February 20.

The second toll of the bell occurred when I was cutting my lawn and my dumbass bitch neighbor stopped by to watch me for a bit and then snarkily ask why I don’t get a divorce since he’s never here. AND she wasn’t joking, not that it would have been funny, anyway. Way to go to be supportive, bitch. Hey, why don’t you make your husband wear a shirt so the school kids don’t get an anatomy lesson in old man buttcrack and wrinkly manboobs, huh?

And the third (‘cos things like this come in threes, right?) happened at my gym. I don’t know why these things always seem to happen when the captain’s gone–that’s part of the whole message, I suppose. The boot camp class I attend starts at 9:00 a.m. and I like to get there a bit early to claim my upper right quadrant spot on the floor.

Here’s why: 1. I’m an ex-ballet dancer and I need mirrors to survive. 2. It reduces germ exposure if no one is in front or to the right of me. 3. I like to look at myself (refers back to #1.)

If you promise not to hate me, I’ll offer up a confession here. I LOVE to work out. I love to lift weights, work my muscles ’til they scream, and feel the burn. I enjoy challenging my body to exceed the previous day’s reps, weights, or endurance. For me, it’s very empowering to feel and be strong. Short girl syndrome.

I’ve turned left at the stoplight into the center where the gym is located.driving into the gymI’m in the left of the two one-way lanes. The car next to me drifts into my lane, cutting me off, so I honk and keep honking because I have to slam on my brakes to avoid getting hit and also ‘cos I have nowhere to go except up on that grassy median. The car turned right at that first entrance to the gym.

I couldn’t see who it was, but I assumed it could possibly have been an elderly driver who was going to attend the “Silver Seniors” area of the gym. I checked in and walked down the hall to the room where they hold the Group X classes which is directly across from the weight room. I saw a friend of mine, said hello and then,

“I sure wish I knew who cut me off when I was driving in here.”

From behind us, we heard a voice,

“It was me.”

Cool, an admission of guilt with a witness. It wasn’t an elderly lady; it was a sour faced older guy with greasy gray hair and a straggly beard. I said,

“Hey, you cut me off back there. You were taking up both lanes and I had nowhere to go. You should really be more careful.”

Well…he went batshit crazy, ballistic, out of control, yelling at me in front of what was now a whole group of my friends who were waiting for our class to begin. I have never seen this person before; we had no history, nothing.

“Just shutUP and get your ass in that room for that bullshit you guys do. And fuck you! And shut the fuck up!”

and then some random crap about how I didn’t have to be driving next to him at the same time that he was there ?? and a few more “fuck yous” before he walked into the weight room.

I didn’t ever respond back to him cos I got it, he was crazy–but I also don’t think any woman should accept any kind of abuse from anyone, and I know he never would have been so abusive if the captain had been around, and that pissed me off even more. I went to the front desk and explained to the manager what had occurred and asked him to document this incident and have a talk with the guy cos not only did I not accept being mistreated but he shouldn’t allow that kind of behavior in the gym. The big 6ft 4inch baby didn’t want to do it, but I was pretty insistent so he had a talk with him. By that time, some of my body building friends were on the scene and they were enthusiastically providing me with security. Apparently, that guy is known as being a jerk in general, but has a real problem with women. It was very unpleasant and I was pretty stressed out by that attack, but my friends convinced me to stay. Since then, I’ve been driving the hub’s truck in case he wants to hurt my car since he obvs knows my wheels, and I’m being extra careful not to make eye contact with any other potentially unstable lunatics who want to bully me.

The pic makes it look like the carpet is stained, but it's not.

The pic makes it look like the carpet is stained, but it’s not.

Things just don’t seem to be going my way right now. Look at the empty space where our Christmas tree would be. No wonder I stay here and glue seashells all day. It’s a jungle out there. I’m all set for 12-21-12. How about you?

Confession: I Was a Bully in Elementary School

Well, sort of.

In the fifth grade at McCulloch Elementary School in Detroit, Michigan, I was accused of targeting another student in my class and being mean to her.

Back then, I wasn’t the assertive (read mouthy) b-yatch that I am now.

When another student pointed the finger at me and said I was the one who was spreading rumors and excluding another girl and generally being a total “mean girl”, I was pretty clueless.

I usually kept to myself; went to school, came home, attended my beloved ballet class which was all I really cared about, and never joined any of the “cliques”, not in any grade, even all the way through high school with the Frats or Greasers.

I mean, I was always the one who was made fun of ‘cos I wore glasses and for doing ballet and for my last name that rhymes with Frankenstein (I’ve heard that plenty of times), and because I was quiet and small and easy to push around (then, not now, that’s for sure).

What I remember is being sent to the principal’s office and I got a speech about how smart I was and how I should not use my quick wit to pick on other kids who didn’t have the same verbal skills I had.

I tried to explain that I didn’t know what she was talking about and I don’t think I had done that for which I was accused, but she mostly wanted to hear herself go on and on and when it was time for me to insert an apology and an “I won’t do it again”, I did.

Not only did I not know how to stick up for myself, the real bullies were the girls who falsely accused me. I still don’t know why the real victim never told the truth about who her tormenters were.

I guess it was easier all around to paint me as the villain.

What I did learn from that encounter stayed with me all these years, and if I even ever thought that I was going to be mean to someone (less smart, less agile, less whatever) I thought of what the principal said to me, and not only did I hold my tongue and not be mean, I became an advocate for the less fortunate, those victims of circumstances beyond their control.

I stood up for the kids who were being ridiculed. I spoke out. I still do.

She was def right about one thing; I do have a very sarcastic, witty side but I try not to use it to hurt, only to be funny.

Another life lesson that stayed with me to this day was to teach my son to have compassion; for the elderly, for the disadvantaged, for anyone mentally or physically challenged.

I told him that all his brains and academic accomplishments pale in comparison to being kind to those less advantaged than he is, and of course, to always love animals…and to defend himself vigorously if he was ever accused of something he didn’t do.

Bullying is horrible and should not be tolerated. I’m glad that I didn’t actually do it, ‘cos I’d be terribly ashamed of myself.