I apologize if I hurt anyone's feelings here, but this is sensitive stuff.
It's only 3pm (EST) when I'm writing this and I've already had a very full day. Especially for a Sunday. The catering company that I sometimes work for had an event at 7:15 this morning and I was working it. It just so happens that this event was in the town that I grew up in (and where my parents still live-hence, where I've been staying a few nights a week for the past month). At first I thought, "No, no no. I cannot cater an event in my hometown. I refuse to serve canapes to people who might know me." Then I heard that it was a 3 year old's birthday party and I checked my bank balance and changed my mind. I can't possibly know the parents of a 3 year old, or their friends. Smooth sailing, not embarrassing, and totally fine. Besides, serving people I know isn't that bad, I'm supporting a creative lifestyle and screw them if they think less of me for it. Except that's not how this town works.
Background? Yes. I grew up in a New York City suburb, about twenty minutes northwest of the city (Yes, in New Jersey–but I try to avoid that fact. I have no "Jersey Pride" whatsoever. Whoops.), and I've grown to hate it. That's the sensitive stuff. I have a lot of friends (almost all of my high school friends, in fact) who still really love the place and don't feel the disconnect that I do, but that just doesn't change my mind. I can't deal with the people anymore, not one bit. The snobby, materialistic, self-involved, bubble that is this town makes me nauseated. Don't get me wrong, I was very lucky to grow up in a place like this and I know that. I went to one of the best public schools out there and had a very enjoyable childhood (save for standard bullying and the entire period of middle school where no more than three people were ever actually friends with me), but I can't believe I grew up here. For awhile I thought that it had gotten worse since I left, but now I realize that I've just changed and can't handle these
Can I tell you a secret? The three year old's aunt went to high school with me. I was only slightly wrong about thinking that a three year old's birthday party wouldn't involve people I knew, because I'm in denial about how old I am. It is completely acceptable for someone in their late twenties to procreate, and therefore, someone who was a few years older than me in high school could very well have children by now. Stupid. So the Aunt. She's awful. I don't care if she somehow found and read this, because she deserves to know how horrid she is. She's crass, loud, rude, and an entitled, little bitch. I'm pretty sure her best friend in high school is the girl who walked through the halls calling me a slut my freshman year. First of all, I was wearing khakis from the Gap, second of all, "slut" implies sexual activity. Regardless, this auntie caused me to suffer my second panic attack of the week (third if you count what happened last night–more on that later) when I saw her. I had a movie-moment flashback and I had to about face with my tray of coffee cake and head to the kitchen, and I totally started to cry on my way back. It was simply too much to handle before 10 am, on five hours of sleep and as an adult. I would rather never have children than have to raise them here. The only reason that I turned out a partially acceptable human being is because my parents refused to be a part of these shenanigans. Growing up I hated that. I hated that my dad would never buy a new car, I hated that my Mom didn't wear Seven jeans like all the other Moms, I hated that I wasn't allowed to bring good snacks to school (I had to bring organic ones), and I hated that I always felt like my parents didn't want to be a part of the "community" here. Guess what, THANK GOD FOR ALL OF THAT. If my parents weren't neo-hippies driving a Chrysler Town and Country and composting in the backyard I'd be scowling at caterers on Sunday mornings instead of inadvertently pursuing something I actually care about. I'm not saying that I'm better than them, but they're most certainly not better than me, and they think they are. Believe me, they think they are. I hate this place.
This post is already too long, so if you want to find out what happened to me last night that caused a semi-panic attack you'll have to come back tomorrow. I'll write it now and schedule the post, so I promise it'll happen. Happy Sunday. I'm out of there and in the safety of the neo-hippie's home.
A
4 comments:
you can grow up well adjusted when your parents wear designer jeans and drive nice cars. it's about being a nice person that gives back to the world, not about if you wear nice clothes or not.
I think I know how you feel.
Like Briaboo says, you can be nice and wear designer jeans, but there's nothing worse than the vacuous sort of person who thinks that the nice car they drive and the expensive clothes they wear put them above everyone else.
The most frustrating part of it is that you know that they're not above you, but you can't help feeling inferior.
I think about this disconnect a lot. About how there's something wrong with me for not being able to connect, and love the place I'm from, how people look at me like I'm crazy for thinking that place is without. And then there's like this other level that, with all my loathing for where I am, the fact I'm still here gives them another reason to look down on me.
I don't like just posting about myself on someone else's blog, but I also didn't want to be presumptuous and say "we" while making those statements.
You're all right. I have a tendency to jump to conclusions when thinking about certain people or places. It's not what you own or what you wear, but your attitude.
Thanks for the empathy though, I totally appreciate all of it!
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