Thursday, September 11, 2008

Looking back, forward, and side to side (head spinning)

OK, as promised to Hollylynne, the Goth Post.

I was a Goth, but not today's wash and wear goth. Oh, no no no. I was a little grunge punk goth, with heavy black eyeliner around my eyes and lips. I, to this day, do not know how to put on eyeliner without making little cat-eye flips at the end. I also do not know how to use real lip liner. I used black eye liner to shade my lips the way I wanted, then I filled in with red or red sparkly lip stick. It gave me a very nice large eyes/small pouty lips effect.

I wore black corsets, yes. But mostly I drew little stick men falling off cliffs on my pants, lots of black self-ripped, tight or revealing tops, and baggy shorts or pants. I wore black combat boots with dresses, dyed my hair many different colors, and regularly told people to fuck off. (To be fair, I still do that. Just not to the kids or their parents.) I listened to Nine Inch Nails, but aside from the Industrial music I had a penchant for, I didn't discriminate musically. There were other kids I knew that were very insistent that you had to wear this or that, had to listen to certain bands, or had to act a certain way to be goth/punk/grunge. I disagreed. Still do. I made my own stuff because it was fun just as much as because I lived on a freaking farm and had no way to get anywhere. Plus, I had to sneak my stuff out of the house to know how it goes.

When I was in High School we moved to a little farm town, where I shit you not, the was a place called "Fling Hardware." It was bad enough that there were cows across the street from the high School, but when I saw that hardware sign, I knew my life was over. I also knew that I had a chance to recreate myself again, which is a wonderful thing kids that move a lot get to do over and over.

Away from the influence of John, I was a little lost. I ended up dating a football player because something about him made me want to rip my pants off. I have no idea what the hell was wrong with me aside from hormones, but COME ON! I look back and want to smack myself in the face. A lot. Over a long period of time. I dated this guy until college (smack!) and then, despite the fact that we hadn't "officially" broken up, I reclaimed my wild side. At this point I defy all classification. But I smoked a lot, drank a lot, tried a lot of mind altering substances, and inhaled most of all. It was my first time off the farm. Boy, did I biff hard. (Biff: verb, to fail, fall, embarrass oneself, crack one's noggin whilst drinking.)

There were only a few good things I received from college, bong assembly aside:
  1. Beck. I kept exactly one friend from college, and if I never make another I'd be fine, because this girl rocks.
  2. I found out about betrayal. I learned that people are not all nice, and that sometimes there is no closure. You can love someone, live with them, sleep with them, give them all you've got, and they will still steal from you, cheat on you, and beat you up. This was a very valuable lesson.
  3. I found out that college is no longer a place to explore your interests freely, and changing your location does not necessarily mean that you will find yourself, or figure out what you want to do with your life, or that anyone will care either way as long as you pay your bill.
  4. Finally, I discovered that people had lied to me about all sorts of things. Like how football parties are for football players and cheerleaders only, or that pot can make you kill a man.
After three years I left, deciding that I wasn't getting the education I wanted. I was getting an education, but it was more about social interaction and failure. I got a job in a museum, an apartment, and after a couple of years I went back to school on my own. I got an Associate's in Hospitality Management, instead of Art, which is really what I wanted to do. I listened to my Dad, who told me I'd never get a job with art. Now I wish I'd gone to school for Home Ec. Well, hindsight's 20/20, right?

In 16 days I'm going to put some pink streaks in my hair. I may panic at the last moment and go green or fire red or blue, but I'm going to punk-up a little. Beck's coming down for the weekend, and we're going to change her hair to white or something close. Perhaps we are sharing a small early mid-life crisis? I do not care. We are both bucking the system and trying to shove our dreams into reality. If you look around there are lots of people that are trying to do the same. Lots, but not nearly as many as are just working for the weekend. That makes me sad for humanity sometimes. How easily we adapt to be cogs in a machine, and finally the machine gets so big we no longer even know it's there.

So, I'm going to have fun when Beck comes into town. Then I'm going to climb back on the roller coaster that is us trying to get another kid into this world. Nuts, I know. But I think the time is right, and John's been pretty eager for another little one. I'm not going to get any less crazy, and the meds I'm on I can stay on through the first trimester, which is the scary part.

There's a plan. If I miscarry, I will NOT let the doc tell me to go back to work the next day. I will allow myself the time I need to grieve and get my head straight. I will ask for help if I need it. I'm glad I have a month to prepare myself, though. Even though getting preggers and having a kid is so basic and natural, for me it seems to be like playing Russian Roulette, except with my lady bits and brain chemicals. Come on GOOD HORMONES!

Damn, that's a long post!


HollyLynne said...

Fling Hardware! I wonder how many kids took that literally and knocked the poor employees out with lumber. I'm guessing at least one!

ooh . . .the combat boots :) still have mine! although i was never quite cool enough to pair them with pink hair. I can't WAIT to see the results of that experiment! I'm sure it'll look awesome one you!

I'll be sending you positive thoughts about a new baby!

Beans said...

Sniff sniff. Do I smell Therese? I will never forget the time we got f'd up beyond comprehension and dressed up in goth and lip synced to "thank god Im a country boy" in front of half our building. Complete with stuffed cows and an empty bottle of Jack. Ahhh careless abandon.

Domesticrazy said...

If you smell something that smells like a French Whorehouse, then you smell Therese!

I also remember the Country Boy, and my favorite part was that we came home, asked what was going on, and said "OH FUCK! We signed up for that!" And put our bit together at the last minute. While they were waiting for us.

Do brain cells grow back?