I play it fast and loose with my emotions. It is very easy to make me happy. Give me macaroni and cheese, laugh at my jokes, talk about Harry Potter, put on the YMCA and I will pretty much be on cloud nine. I get cranky more often than I would like, especially when I am lonely, tired, am in need of diet cola, or someone is being rude. Sometimes I make myself cry on purpose. I have a playlist simply labeled COLD...for when I am feeling emotionally wretched and really want to let loose the flood gates. I can get so bored that I fall asleep at very inappropriate times. I love people almost as fast as I can hate them. And I change my mind even faster. The one thing I am not often, is mad. But when I get mad, I get steamin' mad. It's an anger that erupts like a volcano and then settles back down to simmer, where it will linger 'til I die. Here are the things I am still mad about:
1. Nickle Allowance Scam of 1996
When I was 7 years old all my friends were receiving an allowance. Some kids got their allowance on Friday, or Sunday, or Monday...nobody got their allowance on a Wednesday as far as I knew. It was all anyone talked about on the playground, at lunch, or on the school bus. And I didn't have one. It was so annoying. I mean yes, my parents gave me money if I wanted to get ice cream or buy erasers at the school store. And yeah, they fed me breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. And took me to Disney World. And to see Pocahontas three times in theaters. But I had no cash flow. I was a total chump. My only source of income was from the Tooth Fairy from whom I received a very threatening letter if I ever tried to forcibly remove another tooth just to make a quick buck. So being the enterprising youngster that I was, I devised an intricate plan to convince my parents that I deserved an allowance.
I had just completed my first ever science project in which I presented to my 2nd grade class, Five Fantastic Facts About The Moon using the timeless medium of the poster board. My teacher, Mrs. Brink, gave me a + and a star sticker. I considered myself a presentation skills master after that and felt pretty confident that I could convince my parents to give me an allowance. But I was no good without a poster board. I sent my mother to Publix to pick one up for me and set about crafting my first pitch.
Using all the Magic Markers at my disposal I wrote down all the chores I would do in exchange for an allowance of one nickel a week. A NICKEL. For five cents a week I promised to clean my room, make my bed, sweep the kitchen, help water the plants, and bring in the paper every morning. For one lousy Jefferson. And my parents, in their infinite generosity, agreed. Having no concept of the value of money, you can imagine my displeasure when I learned that I would need 15 nickels to buy an orange soda at the pool. Which meant I had to do 15 weeks worth of chores. Unfortunately being the hard bargainer that I was, I had insisted my parents sign a contract, guaranteeing that I would receive a nickel allowance for an entire year. It was the hardest $2.60 I've ever worked for and it was total bologna.
2. Blankie in Exile
I sucked my thumb for quite a long time. Way to long. Until I was 10. But I could only suck my thumb when I had my blankie. My blankie was actually a red dress with a white ruffle collar and white ruffle sleeves that my Aunt Joanie had made for me when I was 3. I loved it so much. It had 2 giant ink stains on it from when I fell asleep drawing pictures of Happy Land (my imaginary world of escape) using my dad's "work pen." And it had patches all over it from various repairs. My parents tried everything to get me to stop sucking my thumb. But no amount of Tabasco sauce or bitter nail polish could make me to kick the addiction. Not while I had my blankie. And then one day, I couldn't find it. I searched high and low. I called all my friends in the neighborhood. I screamed at my siblings. I wept uncontrollably in my parents room and refused to go to bed until I found it. I was distraught. I cried and cried until I had exhausted myself into a fitful sleep in a laundry room basket. Every night that week I looked for my blankie. I even asked my mom if I could make flyers to put in my neighbors' mailboxes and hang up at school. I would lay in bed at night cursing my useless thumb. Eventually I settled into life without my blankie, I learned to tell myself stories when I needed comfort. And as with all pain, the ache slowly faded with time. Until one fateful game of Hide 'n Go Seek, many years later.
When we were little, me and my siblings loved to play Hide 'n Go Seek when my dad got home from work. The best games were when you found a hiding spot where dad couldn't find you. He was the master seeker. Some of the MVP spots included a dresser drawer, behind the TV, and my brother's favorite spot, the dryer. During this particular game, the stakes were high and I was determined to find the next MVP spot. I went into my parents closet and found a big plastic bag full of clothes. I planned to bury myself amongst the items for donations. I opened up the bag and let out a scream that should have woke the dead. At the top of the bag lay my blankie, the ink stains like gun shot wounds on the great protector of my youth. To this day my mother cannot describe the fury in my eyes when she found me in her closet clutching my long lost friend. Too much time had past and no matter how much I wanted to spite my parents, I could not get back to my old habits. Much to their chagrin, I took up biting my nails. And I shall never stop.
3. Oratory Interrupted
The Oratorical Contest at St. Jude was a big deal. An even bigger deal than then spelling bee. It was an annual event in which middle school students would be asked to write a 3-5 minute speech on the given topic for the year. All 6th, 7th, and 8th graders were required to write a speech and perform it for their Language Arts classes (character building or something.) Then the best speeches would be selected by the teachers and those students would get to do their speech for the entire school. First and second place of the school competition would get to go to the school district finals and from there...I can only assume fame and fortune. Talking for 5 minutes straight, no interruption, in front of an an audience was all I had dreamed of my entire life. I could not wait. I can't remember what the assigned topic for the 2001 contest was but I wrote my speech on Dorothy Day and I don't want to brag but I freaking killed it. I engaged the audience, I had them laughing, crying, applauding, I used the space, I remembered all my lines and closed it out with a bow to a standing ovation. If I knew what a mic drop was back then, I would have done it. All my classmates and teachers were singing my praises, it was the happiest I had ever been. Like happier than if my in-car microwave concept had become a reality. I was going to win, I knew it. I was going to win and I was going to get to perform my speech at the Fulton County Oratorical Contest. I was going to win and be in movies with Mary Kate and Ashley. This was my destiny.
I anxiously waited for the afternoon announcements and dismissal when they would declare the winner. Our principal came over the speaker. She congratulated all the participants, blah blah blah you are all wonderful. Honorable Mention goes to...Third Place...Second Place...First Place goes to...not Joanie Fisher. World shattered. Self-esteem crumbled. Life over. I will never amount to anything. Then volcanic eruption of anger. They picked that girl?! That. Girl. That skinny bee eye tee cee aych?! SHE COULDN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER SPEECH. SHE WAS CHEWING GUM. WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO CHEW GUM AT SCHOOL. And that children is when I learned that life isn't fair. Or I don't know. Maybe her's was really better...but I doubt it.
4. Lord of the Rings Backyard Special
By the spring of 2002 I had seen Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring a whopping 4 times in theaters. I was obsessed. But I was also not allowed to see it any more times than I already had because a) my dad said it was a waste of money to see a movie 5 times and b) because it was not actually in theaters any more. It was that awful lag time between a movie's cinematic run and its release on VHS (DVD if you're fancy.) So to fill the now empty 3 1/2 hour blocks of time in my day I decided to stage my very own neighborhood version of Tolkien's masterpiece. Using our battered copy of Fellowship my best friend, Tara, and I wrote out an elaborate screenplay, assigning parts to all our neighborhood gang. I was playing Gandalf, Tara was Legolas, my sister Maggie was playing Strider (who we did not know was also Aragorn at the time...newbs) and her best friend Caitlin was Frodo. That was the extent of the "good guys"...gotta work with the talent you have. The boys of the neighborhood, namely my brother John, his best friend Matthew and his brother DA...played all the bad guys. It was an incredibly sophisticated production. We practiced for one whole day in our basement during which time I screamed at every cast member one hundred times for being total dummies. I also broke the yard stick I had been using as Gandalf's staff during the pivotal scene when he declares that the Balrog "shall not pass!" and had to tape it back together...twice. We were performing our show that Sunday evening in our backyard for all the parents. And as the director, I was incredibly nervous. But not so nervous that I couldn't eat multiple ice cream sandwiches before the curtain call.
Everything was going off without a hitch. People remembered their lines. The parents gasped at all the right parts. My death scene as Gandalf had been both terrifying and believable. We were nearing the end. The sun was setting as Frodo/Caitlin and Sam/Maggie (who had made a late appearance in the script when I realized somebody needed to go with Frodo to Mordor) were to make their dramatic exit around the corner of the house. I was hiding behind a tree watching the last of the play run out, preparing to make my directors speech and bask in praise. When all of a sudden from behind me came a terrifying crashing noise, caused by 3 teenage boys in soccer uniforms. It was Tara's older brother, Liam, and his 2 dastardly sidekicks. They tore through my set yelling "Oooohh I'm an Orc, I'm an Orc!" Uncontrollable rage ripped through me as I chased after them, brandishing my broken yardstick. I demanded justice from the parents. I received none. Unless you consider an "apology" justice. You ruined my play Liam. And that is why I slapped you that one time.
Benjamin Franklin once said "Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one." These are all good ones. I might let them go someday. I probably already have. Or I might spend the rest of my life plotting my revenge.
