Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I Am Molly Ringwald



Oh boy, here come a set of petty insecurities brought to you by yours truly.
I'm sitting at work this morning, updating my service day calendar and yawning every 3.4 seconds. Very rarely am I ever fully awake in the morning. I could go to sleep at 8pm and wake up a total zombie. So over the years, I've just decided to not even bother setting a bedtime for myself anymore. I'm still just as tired if I go to sleep early or stay up watching Marie Antoinette and snipping a collage for my bedroom wall at 3am.

My cubicle happens to be located by three other coworkers. My optimistic side says that they aren't really bad people. Totally bland in comparison to some of my former coworkers (love 'em still) but still nice. My pessimistic side cannot stand them, especially thanks to a conversation I overheard last week with one in particular (a guy) making fun of people who have to live on food stamps. I had to hold myself down from turning around and verbally massacring the boy.
Every morning, I have to endure some inane conversation between the three which goes a little something like this:
Girl 1: Hey
Boy: Hey
Girl 2: How was your weekend?
Boy: Uhh, it was like, really sick, you know?
Girl 1: That's cool, what did you do?
Boy: Uhh, you know. I like, went to a bonfire. Everyone was there. So sick, you know?
Girl 2: Oh, yeah that sounds cool.

Jesus Christ. I understand that it is summer and that turning off the brain is totally fine but the lack of adjectives and verbs is unsettling. I would rather sit through a M. Night Shyamalan movie marathon than listen to this.

Speeding it up, the three of them ordered pizza and had a pizza party. In the adjoining room. And they didn't invite me.

What?



"I can't believe this. They fucking forgot my birthday."
-Molly Ringwald, Sixteen Candles (preach it, sister)

It was like being in high school all over again only in my high school, my grade was actually a hell of a lot nicer. You could sit on the outskirts of the group, reading a book but someone would still hand you a slice of pizza.

Maybe middle school is a better comparison?

I didn't tell anyone I worked with that inside I was silently fuming with rage. I didn't mention that I wanted to throw greasy slices of pizza at the girls and bitch the boy out for being among other things, a massive tool. By the time I left my job, they were still in the midst of having the pizza party and talking. I was pretty much done at that point- it was screw it, I'll have a grilled cheese instead.

Those three are literally in a different world from me. They're the big school-spirit, peppy, preppy kids. The kinds of kids who will dance around and declare to their peer groups, "Like, you will like, totally love it here at the university!!!" and wear class T-shirts and face paint to a pep rally.

As for myself, you have to drag me to a pep rally against my will and God forbid I should ever have to take a group of kids on a tour of my school. I love this school, there's no doubt, but I would totally scare the shit out of the kids by telling them semi-true ghost stories and drawing a pentagram on a step beforehand to incorporate into a ghost story ("And this is all that remains of poor Alyssa Brunfield. That, and a severed pinky.") and would lose the group midway through the tour by suggesting they "self-explore" the campus.

So there's a part of me that's in conflict. A part that says, "Why would you even care? You would go out there, eat the pizza and sit in silence because you have nothing to say to any of them. It's not like they would even get your jokes."

And the other part that quietly whimpers, "But they could have asked. It's only polite."

"Oh my God Heather, do you realize who you sound like? Molly Ringwald. Pretty in Pink." My Mom told me via the phone when I told her about the silly but kinda hurtful morning I had had.

"You have to wonder who these kind of people grow up to be like when they're older." I replied, "Like all the administration ass kissers."

"I'll tell you who they grow up to be. Those human resource workers who tell you what job you can or can't get."

Holy crap, I love my Mom and Dad. Aside from a few of my friends, they're the only people in the world I can really put all of issues out in front of and trust that they not only relate with me, but they will make fun of the situation until we're all laughing and nothing's significant anymore. Seriously, no better pair of parents around.

Speaking of Dad...I told him the story as well and he said I should have just walked up the kids (no better way to describe them) and loudly asked, "How was the pizza party?"

Oh and one last story...

Tomorrow we're doing a group photo at the baseball stadium. Everyone's got a mandatory dress code of jeans and T-shirts. I work at my other job during that time, one that's in a office and requires a dressier ensemble. They were very kind to let me leave to take the photo but I explained to my boss that I would probably be wearing black dress pants instead.

"But can't you change into jeans for the picture?" She asked me.

This is the moment in the story where if you are related to me or close friends with me, one pips in with, "But Heather, you don't own any jeans."

A fact. I've never been a denim girl.

"But I don't own any jeans." I told my boss.

The look on her face was beyond creepy. A smile pasted still with eyes that were quietly judging me. Not in the good way either, not in the "hey that's okay, we're all different" way.
More like the "okay...that's really weird" way.

The next line from her was priceless.

"That's okay. We'll just stand you in the back."

If it could have, my jaw would have thudded to the ground. Yeah, let's stick the 5'4" girl behind all of the tall guys. What. The. Fuck. As though I was an embarrassment or something.

Oh no. No no no. I plan on wearing my tallest heels tomorrow. A nice jacket to mask the "group tee." My brightest red lipstick. Big earrings.

"Absolutely Heather! I would drag out my tallest shoes too!" Dad, always understanding and totally getting it too.

Like Molly Ringwald making the prom dress in Pretty in Pink and looking way gold and deluxe as opposed to the Stepford clones, I plan on looking ultra fabulous and outshining all of those plain Janes.

Love to you all,
Heather

1 comment:

Des said...

All of the John Hughes film references in this post are great. The happy meal post is so good. I really miss the days when all of the health info wasn't posted on my food. If you're eating at MacDonald's then you can safely assume that healthy eating isn't a high priority on your list. I have to disagree about labeling this post "TMI." This post is what blogging is all about: putting it all out there. I gurantee you that everyone who reads this has had a similar experience. Everyone has felt left out at some point.