High School Revisited

Just want to preface this entire blog post by saying it can be summed up in two words: Hot Mess.

So thanks to that modern wonder we call Facebook, I am "friends" with a couple of my old teachers as well as some of the kids I went to school with. Speaking of kids, does anyone else get surprised for a second when they see a picture of someone they haven't seen in almost 20 years and all of a sudden that person has boobs? No? Just me? Oh.

Anyway. So a former teacher of mine named Sara and I became Facebook friends, and right away it was weird. I was born in 1976. Sara's profile said she was born in 1972. That would mean that in 1992 when she was my marketing teacher (and also the art and Spanish teacher - it was a very tiny school), while I was 15, she was 19.

I happen to think it's lame to lie about your age to people. It's one thing to lie to get into a club or to get drinks, but another to lie about it regularly to all who (rudely) inquire. If you think you can get away with telling people you're 38 when you're really 46 then you should be PROUD to say you're 46. Then it'll be more impressive that you look so good, rather than people looking at you and thinking you look like a haggard 38.

So while I know that just because someone's a teacher it doesn't mean they're by any stretch a perfect person, something about Sara seems off. Firstly, she seems obsessed with finding this girl Jen who is my age and was a student there when I was. When I initially accepted her friend request, I clicked on Sara's wall and she'd pretty much "friended" every kid in my year that she could find, and had asked ALL of us if we were in touch with Jen.

Of course sometimes teachers and students form bonds or whatever, in fact just yesterday heard about a teacher mentoring a little boy whose parents are going through a divorce, but this set off a warning bell in my head.

The other thing I noticed about Sara is that she spoke out negatively against all police officers. When I looked at other comments she'd made they were all in a negative tone. While Sara was my teacher she was married, and she's been divorced for quite a while. I saw her ask a girl I graduated with, who now lives in Madrid, to hook her up with a Spanish man. I don't feel like I'm adequately describing Sara, but she just seems like an angry person now, which is very different from who she used to be.

Jen was found. Jen and I became Facebook friends. It turns out that right after high school graduation, she lived out here in San Francisco for a while. I am not clear on what she has done with her life since then. If she went to college. How she's been supporting herself. Why she seems to have zero relationship with the little sister I remember her having. Why every status update seems to be an extreme problem involving police, violence, hospitals, courtrooms, restraints.

Jen told me she wants to come out to the Bay Area, she has a cousin in Oakland. She got an offer to intern at a record company in San Diego (which is not in the Bay Area). I was not clear if this was a paid internship or not, but when I asked Jen if she's aiming to be involved in the music business for a career, she explained that she wants to work in prisons.

She made a joke about sleeping on my couch the first time we chatted. I haven't had a couch in over a year. I told her this. It was clear what wasn't being said. She was asking if she could stay with me. I was saying no. My guess is everyone who lives in a major city gets asked to host quite a bit, since hotel rates are higher there than in smaller areas.

Last night Jen called me shortly after 10pm. She's on the East Coast, so that's shortly after 1am her time. Told me she had HPV but is not contagious, in case I want to sleep with her (I hate when people think everyone who lives in SF is there because they're gay. I'm not gay, I just like it here). Told me she's getting a pap smear tomorrow. I said good luck. Told me about a future landlord she gave $1600 to, who was supposed to renovate before she moved in. He hasn't renovated, she hasn't moved in, and he's had her money since the fall. Jen told me she has to get a lawyer; I told her she doesn't need a lawyer for small claims court.

Again last night she talked about coming out here. I (thought I) very clearly said that I do not live in a place where I can host people. Jen reminded me she'd been homeless, said she can sleep on the floor.

It was a two minute conversation. Jen told me she was at her best friend's bar, but they were closing and she had to go. Now, I am very logical and kind of anal and focused. If I call you, it's when I have time to give you all the attention in the world. I call you from a quiet place, so you'll be able to hear me, and won't feel like I'm distracted by whatever you hear going on in the background. I was a little confused as to why Jen was calling me when she couldn't really talk.

I was 17, I was not so great at asserting myself, at setting boundaries. This has changed a lot. Jen would be an idiot to come out here assuming she could stay with me, indefinitely. She's very smart, and understood what I was saying, even though I didn't flat-out say the word no. But she seems to have some steamroller qualities, and I could see her choosing to ignore what she doesn't want to hear.

Hot. Mess.

Phoebe Prince

So this girl in Massachusetts, a 15 year-old ninth grader, hung herself. Supposedly it was because of relentless bullying. I think we can all agree bullying is terrible. Wrong.

But what defines bullying? If you say anything that's mean is that bullying? So if a girl in the lunchroom asks if her outfit looks good and you say, "No, it makes you look like a fat cow," then have you just bullied her? Lots of people use the "but I was just being honest" stance as an excuse for being mean. If you bully someone, does that make you a bully? I really think all these questions need answers.

I bullied a girl in high school. For about a week. She did something trivially unfair to me, it flipped my rage switch, and I went on the attack. A teacher I liked pulled me aside and told me to cut it out and get ahold of myself. I felt ashamed, and stopped. The following year, after I'd graduated, I went back to the school to visit. The girl had changed, gotten tougher, marched right up and confronted me about what I'd done. I told her she was right, apologized to her sincerely, and she nodded, satisfied. Over a decade later she friended me on Facebook, and one night when she told me another classmate of ours had died in a car accident, I brought it up. Apologized again. She said she couldn't remember that happening. I don't know if she was lying or not, but either way she's clearly moved past it.

Honestly? If she'd killed herself over it, I never would have gotten over it. I remember everything - I remember friends' outfits from second grade, how your sister met her husband, everything. Luckily, she didn't kill herself. Luckily in the above instance, because I'd been bullied in the past, when I got called out on my actions felt guilty to know exactly how horribly I'd been making the girl feel.

An investigative reporter named Emily Bazelon has been writing for Slate about the Phoebe Prince suicide. She doesn't think Phoebe Prince was relentlessly bullied. Not by six kids. The district attorney is going after the six kids full force. Elizabeth Scheibel seems to have a history of being (what I think is) needlessly harsh on teenage defendants. If you know me, you know I'm pretty black and white on breaking the law. Unless you were literally saving a life, breaking the law is always wrong. That's how I feel. It's fair to get in trouble when you break the law. Elizabeth Scheibel seems to think you should get in more trouble than I do for breaking it though.

There's no question Phoebe Prince was what you might call "a troubled girl." She'd tried to commit suicide before, she was a cutter, etc. Girl had problems.

Several years ago, when I'd first moved to San Francisco, I was walking somewhere during my lunch hour when a homeless man made a rude comment to me about my body, the skirt I was wearing. Basically, he called me fat. To be honest I haven't worn a skirt since, so I can't say it didn't affect me. At the time, I don't think I told anyone, didn't cry, or do anything. Except never wear a skirt again. Adults are better at letting cruel comments roll off their backs than teenagers are.

As a kid I thought being an adult would be great, because adults were mature. They wouldn't bully or be cruel for the sake of hurting someone. Oh, how very wrong I was. I was shocked and so disappointed to find out that mean kids often just turn into mean adults.

It seems like at Phoebe's high school bullying was a bigger problem than at other schools. Is Phoebe responsible for all her own actions? Is the school responsible since she knew the kids who bullied her through school? People in this country like to blame. People like things to be somebody's fault. I think it's everyone's fault and nobody's fault, all at the same time. Is Phoebe responsible for deciding to kill herself? Not really, since she was mentally unstable. Are the kids who bullied her responsible for Phoebe killing herself? If you believe that if you aren't part of the solution then you're part of the problem, then yes, to some degree they are. Is the school responsible for not doing enough to protect Phoebe? Emily Bazelon seems to think so. So does Elizabeth Scheibel, the district attorney, which is why she went after the six kids so harshly.

The whole thing is a mess, and sad. Very little happened to the kids who bullied me in public school. Despite the fact that I graduated in 1994, it has stayed with me. I am hyper-aware of when I am not wanted somewhere. Nobody ever wanted to be associated with me in any way, and because of that to this day I am still hesitant to call anyone my friend, lest it embarrass them. Yes, I am a sensitive snowflake.

I definitely think bullying needs to be taken seriously in schools. At the same time, kids need to be reminded that high school is all bullshit. That they can and should move on from it, and I think kids should be encouraged to have a lot of things going on outside of school, in places where they are interacting with peers they get along with. Poor Phoebe Prince. And Poor Phoebe Prince's little sister, who not only has to deal with her parent's separation and moving to a different country, but now also has to deal with her big sister having killed herself.

Help When Needed

Recently, a girl I know from high school was complaining about being hot on Facebook. It seemed she had a window air conditioner but was too afraid it would fall out the window if she put it in herself, so she needed help.

I knew for a fact that she has a good relationship with her parents and is often at their house (not too far away from where she lives) doing laundry, sleeping over, having dinner, etc. So I asked if she could ask her dad to come by and help. If my dad lived as close to me as her dad lives to her, I'd ask for exactly that type of help. But she said she couldn't ask, as "my parents still live on Long Island, and I'm in Queens." Um, Valley Stream is like, the last town before you HIT Queens. WTF? But okay.

I felt bad for her though. Because my dad would absolutely come over to help. He's the type who, on the very first warm night in early May, would say that the following weekend he would put air-conditioners in. Now, my parents got central air before my brother and I moved out. My point is, my father would help. I felt bad for this girl that she was so scared of accidentally killing someone that she was sweating her ass off in her oven of an apartment. Because, for whatever reason, she couldn't ask her father to help. Yes, maybe her parents don't have a car (although, everyone living on Long Island has a car). Or maybe her dad only has one arm. Or a bad back.

That's just not the impression I got though. I got the impression she simply could not ask that of them - it is not one of the services they provide. Free use of washing machine? Yes. Hauling ass into Queens to lift something heavy? No.

Then, a different friend broke her foot. She needed to go to a hospital. She happened to be staying at her mother's house (also in Queens, and yes, had she not been broken I would have asked her to go help the high school friend put in her A/C because I'm too far away to do it myself). This friend told me the hospital she was planning to go to the next day. I was not pleased, and made a phone call to find names of better hospitals near her.

When I called her back with these hospitals, she got upset. She was at the mercy of her parents, and they were only willing to take her to this one crappy hospital. I was frustrated and upset. I was angry at her parents. Had my parents still been living in New York I would have asked my own father to go into Queens, fetch my friend, and take her to a good hospital. And you know what? He would totally do that. He's just that kind of person. And my mother would take her to the drugstore to fill whatever prescriptions needed filling and also buy her a lollipop.

In my family when people were so sick or injured that they were immoble, they were given a little bell to ring when they needed something. And everyone in the family checked on you. Multiple times. They brought you things to play with throughout the day and night. Sometimes they just came and kept you company. Once, when I was stuck laying on the floor, waiting for an ambulance, my brother gave me his Gameboy to use. The EMS guys arrived to put me on a body board and I was playing Tetris.

I didn't grow up with a tv in my bedroom, but the couple of times I had long illnesses, one was brought in. I have a very clear memory of waking up in the middle of the night, turning on the black and white tv my father had put on my dresser and watching a movie where Gary Coleman was an angel (strange timing, I know). You knew you were seriously sick when the tv was brought in.

We're not particularly mushy about medical problems. There's very little "Oh, you POOR THING! I feel SO BADLY for you!" But there is a shit-ton of practical help, with a big dose of realistic reassurance. So there's no "You'll be FINE, don't worry!" but there is a lot of "We can deal with whatever the new reality is, because we will research the shit out of it and find the best people to help."

When my friend got angry at me for suggesting alternate hospitals she could ask to be taken to, I was hurt, confused, angry and frustrated. In thinking about it, I realized that she felt frustrated too. Because not only did her trip not turn out the way she'd planned it in her head, but because she couldn't take care of herself, and she's fiercely independent.

I don't care that my friend lashed out at me in anger. I'm angry at her parents though. She didn't get dropped off in front of the emergency room doors. She wasn't made comfortable. One of her parents didn't even ask how everything went when she left the hospital.

Of course everyone is different and has different experiences. But sometimes it takes seeing how people deal with things to realize how huge the differences are. Hearing about my these friends experiences with their parents makes me that much more grateful that my parents could be counted on to help. I hope that I am the kind of person others can count on to help.

Fucking With You Through Facebook

In high school I was best friends with a girl named Lauryn who was devious, manipulative, and, I eventually realized, basically a sociopath who never tired of fucking with people, though I never saw her abuse any animals. Lauryn was also tons of fun, which was why I liked her.

Also in high school, I had a huge crush on a guy two grades ahead of me. He of course, had no interest in me at all. He was a huge player and hooked up with pretty much every girl in the school including Lauryn, except me and Gara, the girl who once had a temper tantrum so dramatic that she stepped inside a garbage pail of her own volition.

Even after I switched to a different high school towards the end of tenth grade, I still maintained my crush. I don't know where (or if) he went to college. I'd heard he knocked up a girl a few towns over. When I lived in Florida, at one point I reconnected with Lauryn, we got together two or three times, and one day she told me she'd bumped into my crush and he was married with a kid.

She asked if I'd talked with him and I said no, not since high school. Lauryn seemed a tiny bit triumphant that she'd had contact with him and I hadn't. I didn't like the person Lauryn had (not) grown up to be, and when I moved to San Francisco I didn't tell her and we haven't had contact since.

This afternoon I logged into Facebook and saw a friend request from Lauryn. I actually wasn't sure who she was at first, because I'd forgotten her married name. My usual M.O. is to accept a friend request from everyone I know, whether or not I want to be in touch with them, to be nice. If I don't really want to and am doing it anyway, I just block them from being able to see anything in my Facebook profile or wall, and let them think I'm simply not very involved in Facebook.

I was so surprised at seeing Lauryn's name that I didn't accept her friend request this afternoon. Tonight, I logged into Facebook again, and again, saw her name. I clicked on it to see who else she is friends with. Only one person. I'll give you one guess who. I almost wonder if she did that on purpose. Once again proving she can get what I couldn't. Weird.

Facebook Has All the Info

Andy is not dead of cancer after all.

Appreciating What You've Got

I am currently accepting any and all advice (as long as it does not come from Oprah) on how to appreciate and be satisfied with what I have.

The other day I was looking at some Facebook pages and saw a "friend," a girl I went to high school with and was friend with then, a girl I've gone to lunch with since moving to San Francisco, is now married. And she never told me.

This is the second time someone I thought would have at least told me they were getting married, hasn't. And I'm wondering if maybe people think I'm one of those single bitter people. Who thinks all married people are Smug Marrieds, like Bridget Jones. Which I'm not. I don't. I was completely pleasantly surprised to discover I'm totally capable of being happy for other people.

Anyway. So obviously this girl is not my friend, she is simply a girl I used to know. And yes, I know. That's what Facebook is about.

But the thing is. What is the thing? The thing is, I am hurt that a girl I am not friends with did not tell me she got married. I am sad that she does not consider me a friend, because surely you tell your friends when you're getting married, right? I mean, even if you're not inviting a friend to your wedding, you let them know that you've gotten married, right?

It would be sad if I had things like this were happening, but what's bothering me more than this is that there are other people, real friends, who ARE reaching out to me. Who do call when big things happen. When they are buying first houses, when my grandpa has died. These are the people who ARE my friends.

And I do appreciate them. I totally notice and am blown away by every little gesture they make, you make. I even try to reciprocate when I can. When I think of it. When I'm in a position to do it.

But why can't I stop being upset about being left out of things? I mean, when somebody draws a line you have to respect that. In 9th grade I was in this art class and overheard a girl named Christine tell a story one Monday morning. Over the weekend she and some friends had gone to a party, and a senior stood up on a table and yelled that freshman weren't welcome. So she left. She said, "Why would I want to be someplace I'm not wanted?" That stuck with me and made an impact.

I don't want to be where I'm not wanted. Really. But why can't I stop wanting to be wanted by people who don't want me? Why can't I just appreciate the people who do want me? Why can't I be happy with what I have? It's more than I ever thought I'd have. So much more.

Help a Girl Out

I don't know what to write about, so I've decided that once again, it's time for you to decide. Vote early, vote often.

A. First grade
B. Facebook (just kidding)
C. The partner I worked for who got FIRED from the law firm
D. A list of things that piss me off (I have nothing prepared, but I'm sure I can come up with something)
E. My college roommates (there were two, but not at the same time)

Why You Should Cross Over To the Dark Side

Dear Pilar,

We have been friends for four years now, since I moved here. You have taught me many things, and shown me different ways of looking at things, and I appreciate that, and you, greatly. And we'll get the truffles right one of these days, don't you worry.

Although you are older by a mere "four" years, you do not know everything. There are things you can learn from me. (I just realized this sort of sounds like some lesbian love letter, but I assure you, it's not.) (Sorry to anyone who is disappointed.) But you refuse.

Pilar, I have tried numerous times to suck you in to the wonderful world of Facebook. I have gone so far as to go into my account at your house, so you can see all the interesting information waiting to be found. But no. "I can't handle another social networking site - I'm full up," you tell me.

But there are mob wars! I'm in a mob. I punch people in the face, daily! DAILY! Anyone who attacks me, punched in the face. And the Scramble. Let's not forget the Scrambling.

No, you firmly say. You can play that on other sites. But Pilar, DO YOU? A-ha! No. No you do not play that on other sites.

Lately I have noticed something interesting happening. My mind? My memory? It's working. In the last two weeks I have had that "it's on the tip of my tongue" sensation three or four times, and each time I was able to come up with what I'd been trying to think of, but previously couldn't.

And I attribute this to playing Scramble, and Wordwhateveritscallednow that I like even better than Scramble. It's as if these word games have greased the wheels of my brain so they can turn again. I've read articles that say word puzzles are good for the brain. That the brain is like a muscle and if you exercise it, it will get stronger. I've always believed in that, and now I'm seeing it in action.

Pilar, in case you've forgotten (because your brain is failing solely due to your lack of a Facebook account), you are older than me, and your brain is going to fail before mine. But you are a good friend to me, and so I will do my part in being a good friend to you, by continuing to play word games on Facebook, so that when you are old and forgetful, I will still be able to tell you which band sings Kryptonite.

Love and gingko biloba,
Green