Jackass Snowflakes

You're a Unique Snowflake, Just Like That Jackass Over There

 

 

Over the past decade or more, I've begun to notice this shift with society. At least American society. OK...at least Northern New Jersey American Society. Since I can't speak for the rest of the Universe, I'll keep it narrowed to my little corner of the world.

This shift I'm speaking of is the insistence that every child knows just what a unique and special little flower they are. This is accomplished by not having "winning" vs. "losing" teams and ensuring everyone receives a trophy of some sort. Regardless of talent. Regardless of prowess. Regardless of ability. We, as a society must make sure that little "Poo-Poo's" feelings aren't destroyed by any lack of acknowledgment or reward - thus saving ourselves from future guilt that said child might lay on us if they, say, have an inferiority complex, or determine that the reason why they suck at life as an adult is because they never got that Lacrosse trophy for coming in 8th place.

   

 

My issue isn't with the kids. If they're raised to believe that everything they touch is golden, then you can't blame them. I believe the parents are trying to raise confident and well-adjusted kids - remembering what it felt like to be picked last at sports and group activities - they are trying to spare their children that humiliation. The problem is that "humiliation" is what makes us "human". That humiliation makes us grounded and well-adjusted.

At some point (at many, many points) in our lives, we are going to experience humiliation. We are going to experience devastation and loss. Childhood "devastations" give us a thicker skin to deal with these bigger issues later in life. Allowing a child to experience the agony of defeat, grants him or her the ability to appreciate what it is to earn something by working for it. It allows him or her the ability to learn how to accept defeat, and to accept it gracefully. It forms "humility".
 

While I've seen a huge shift in the last decade or so, that doesn't mean that a few haven't always been around since the dawn of time. I'm sure there were some Cavewoman Mother's who thought that her hairy little beast's fire-making skills, Mammoth-slaying prowess, or stick-man cave drawings were just "Beyond Compare" (Please take note: My entire knowledge of Caveman history pretty much comes from the "Ice Age" movies). Carried in to adulthood, kids who were told they can do wrong and are "so special, so unique, so unlike-everyone-else" are effing bears to deal with.
 

Which brings me to my actual point. Yes. Everyone has something that makes them unique. Even if that's only their fingerprints and DNA. Being unique, however, doesn't necessarily equate to a good thing. Jeffrey Dahmer was pretty damn unique, for instance. As was Caligula.

 

 

As an adult woman who actually was told "No" on many occasions by my parents, and was picked last more often than not in school sports, I feel I can offer a pretty clear viewpoint on this topic. You can spot the adult version of "Mommy's Special Little (fill in the blank)" a mile away. You see them in meetings, you see them checking out at grocery stores, and there seems to be a large conference of them at any airport across the U.S.A. at any given point. Those "special little somebodies" who feel that they are entitled to do "X". Not only are they entitled, but you should already know this, you...you...you.... PEON!

 

Let's provide an example, shall we? All of us in NJ/NY that went through Super Storm Sandy and were on gas rationing can appreciate this. After the storm that devastated so much of the Jersey Shore and wreaked havoc at every place Sandy passed by, there were certain areas with gas shortages. First, it was due to days and days without electricity. Then it was because the trucks couldn't get to the fuel that was at the ports in Jersey. This combination caused many stations to be out of gas for weeks - at least by me. Those that did have gas required you to wait hours and hours in line to get your tank filled.
 

It's life. It happens. It sucked, but we were all in the same boat. Well, everyone except those "Unique Butterflies". Picture it: What would happen is you would wait in lines ranging from 3-5 hours at a time, and Mr./Ms/Mrs. Special would roll up to the front of the line and actually try to cut in. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? I don't care if you're a woman or a man, you must have some pair of balls to pull that move. Especially in New Jersey. 'Cause Jerseyians take no shit.

 

These entitled people felt that they had the authority...no, not the authority...the GOD GIVEN RIGHT to cut off hundreds of people who had waited since before dawn. Just because. Just because they were special. They were THEM. Don't you know who THEY are? They are above you. They deserve everything that is out there, whether they earned the right to receive it or not. They are SPECIAL. Someone hand these arrogant asses a binkie and tell them to wake up. You lose as an adult. I'm sorry you have to learn this lesson so late in life.

Now, I've never gotten into a physical altercation in my life. However, it would have turned into a serious smack-down had the police not been there to wave the entitled buffoon away. I could see a mob forming in front of me and in my rear-view mirror as soon as the car made the attempt to slip in front. " News Story at 11" was narrowly avoided.

People do have quirky, personal traits that make them THEM. If everyone is unique, though, doesn't that make everyone equal? If everyone is unique, doesn't that mean no one is special. Joe might have a talent for painting, and Sally might be a great skier, but (at the base level) unique + unique cancels each other out. It's just what you choose to see as a valuable and admirable trait.

Regardless of talents or ability, everyone can be a unique snowflake, just like that jackass over there.

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

I Got Dreams to Remember

Dreams...The Stuff Nightmares are Made Of

 

Since I can recall, I've always had trouble sleeping.  Maybe not sleeping, so much, as what occurs WHEN I sleep.  I'm speaking about those intangible images that dance behind your eyes when you've entered the REM stage of sleep.  Some people call them dreams, I call them the Evil Doers of Slumber.  The term hasn't quite caught on yet, but give it time.  Give it time.

Now, there's few things more tedious than listening to someone tell you their dreams in great detail.  It's equivalent to watching a wedding video for the 20th time, or seeing every picture ever taken of someone's glorious vacation.  Personally, I enjoy hearing other people's dreams (on occasion), because it provides me a glimpse into what normal nighttime behavior is for many.  While many dreams are wacky and so personal to the dreamer themselves, that an outsider can't begin to unravel what all of the symbolism means, I find it refreshing to hear that someone had a dream about -say - skydiving and their parachute not opening, or a masked intruder in the house that cannot be located.  These types of dreams are dreams in my world.  These are pleasant and happy little bunnies sliding down rainbows into buckets of marshmallows. 

 

 

Sleeping has always been an interesting concept for me.  When I was a little girl, I used to sleep walk somewhat frequently.  Imagine my poor Mother waking up, feeling eyes upon her at 2:00am, to find her very blond daughter standing at the foot of her bed - the kitchen nightlight illuminating her from behind so she appeared as if a specter - just STARING at her.  She'd very gingerly ask if I was OK, and I would respond Yes.  She'd ask if I needed anything, and I'd say No.  She suggested that maybe I should go back to bed, and I would say OK, and head back upstairs.  No ill will, no malevolence.  Very peaceful, very accommodating.  And very much scaring the shit out of my poor Mom.

 

As a child, I seemed to definitely target my Mom, but my brother also received my nighttime visits on occasion.  He quickly got wise though**.   My childhood bedroom also held the entrance-way to a long-narrow attic.  This attic scared the creeping BeJeezus out of me.  One night, while taking a stroll as a sleepwalker, I opened the attic door and tripped down the two small steps at the entrance way.  Well.  This woke me up right quick.  It took me time to realize where I even was, but when I DID, I started screaming for my brother, whose room was across the hall from mine.  Screaming bloody murder, is more like it.  Do you think he came to help his little sister?  Hell no.  To this day, I KNOW he heard me, 'cause he gets that little "glimmer" in his eye when I retell the story.   The Rat Bastard.

•  ** After my apparition appeared a few times to him in the middle of the night, he just closed the door and kept on sleeping.  Apparently doors were portals my sleepwalking self could noth pass through.  Except the attic door, it seems.  In fairness, my brother has been known to sleep through anything and everything.  But I still know he heard.  The Rat Bastard. 

Back then, I was having dreams that seemed - shall we say - abnormal for a young child.  Dreams of mummies luring us in and then decapitating my family, and visions of riding Ferris Wheels' that were more like a game of Russian Roulette. (In this particular dream - you had to ride the Ferris Wheel until everyone else had died.  The trick was, when the carriages reached the ground, you were underwater.  And that's when the  Ferris Wheel stopped to let people on and unload the dead.  Who ever could hold their breath for the longest - won.)

 

 

Getting older hasn't quieted down my nighttime visions much.  Before I moved in 2010, actually before I even knew I WOULD be moving, I had a dream that moving vans were trying to find my apartment.  They called, I gave directions, but they kept seeming to go in circles.  I told them I'd wait outside for them in order to flag them down.  Normal enough dream for anybody.  Except for the fact that the next day I woke up, I found wet sneakers in my entrance way and my front door unlocked.  It appears as if I had actually gone out in the rain to flag down the "movers".  After that occurred, I no longer wondered why my neighbors avoided me or gave me an usual glare when I'd pass.  If this is an event that I can remember, what did I do that I can't recall?!  Not that I care. They were a bunch of weirdoes anyway.  Sleepwalking and waiting for imaginary movers was the most normal thing that ever occurred at that complex.  Trust me.

In a way, I can say that I am lucky.  I remember a lot of my dreams and they spark a creative imagination.  Like Otis Redding so beautifully sang, "I Got Dreams to Remember".   In another way, I would kind of like to be comatose for a good 6-8 hours without fear that the Evil Doers of Slumber are on their way.

 

One thing is for sure, Disney will never be calling me to come up with a special slogan for one of their many campaigns.  I don't think "Dreams...The Stuff Nightmares are Made Of" will be a huge hit with the under 6 crowd.

 

 

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

Back in the Summer of '85

Nature Walk From Hell

I've already written a bit about some family vacations in a previous post - "Vacation Lampooned" - if you haven't already had the opportunity to peruse this piece of utter goodness, I highly suggest you do.  "Vacation Lampooned" is not required reading for today's class, however.

Seeing as we have just ended a New Jersey Official Heat Wave - defined in NJ as 3 or more consecutive days of temperatures at or above 90°F - I figured it was a good time to revisit a specific Summer Vacation Trip taken by my family when I was a kid.  The term vacation, for the purposes of this blog, can be understood as follows:

• Long ass car rides to an East Cost destination, seemingly picked at random, for the purpose of "enjoying" oneself.  Sleeping arrangements for these vacations were either in (a) Sub-par Motels Rooms that I still blame for my skin condition,  or (b) A camper that slept 4. 

• Vacations also took place primarily in a car.  Meaning that there was no "end" destination.  You drove in the car to the state in which you were visiting, and you stayed in the car until you returned back to NJ.  The Motel/RV really was for sleeping purposes only.  See Also:  Family Trip to the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.  I am part of the only family that I am aware of that would drive in to see the Rockefeller Tree, yet never actually LEAVE the car to SEE the tree.  We just kept turning right to catch glimpses at every break in the block.

The latest 2013 heat wave has brought back a flood of memories from my childhood.  My family and I are usually in fits of tearful laughter during the Holiday's discussing some of the less-than-finer points of our family vacations over the years.  I'll preface this with a statement that is obvious.  I love my childhood.  I adore these memories.  They were sometimes awful to go through, but DAMN do they bring back the biggest laughs and smiles as an adult.

Death March 1985.  Location:  Virginia Beach, VA - (Although we are still uncertain it wasn't a vortex of some sort).    It started out innocently enough.  A family of four dragged by their mother to experience yet another nature walk on the hottest day of the year on Earth.  To see more birds, more plants, more exotic wonders of the Mid-Atlantic State of Virginia.  My brother and I were still too young to protest.  I was 10 and he was just turning 13.  We were at the mercy of our parental units.  We entered the Wildlife Area and were faced with a map, showing all of the different trails that were available to hike, along with the length and difficulty level.  We decided on a more gentle to mild one - meaning there were no hills to climb, but the walk was pretty long.  Long.  Long?  Long?!  What felt like 9 hours in to the trail, with no water left, we were pretty much sure that we would only be found if some actual nature survivalist discovered our skeletons.  We were certain that we could be identified by our dental records, but were considering constructing our last will and testament out of rock and broken sticks. 

After we came across a snake that stretched the entire width of the hiking trail (probably poisonous and probably aggressive), we decided to send Dad out in front to see how much further was actually left in this trek.  If it was much further, we were going to have to fashion a flag out of my brothers French Foreign Legion hat and knee socks and my purple tassel shirt that read "Sassy".  Thinking of it today, I'm not quite sure who would have responded to that type of flag, other than the "What Not To Wear" crew.

Regardless, we were tired, hot, thirsty and hungry.  This was not the gentle to mild hike we had first set out on when we were young.  Oh no.  We had learned quite a few things along this seemingly man made path.  One of which was that the man who made this path was obviously a lunatic.  Another revelation was never to listen to Mom's suggestions of a nature hike ever again.  And finally, the most important lesson of all was:  Don't send Dad out as a scout, 'cause he ain't coming back anytime soon.

As I mentioned, we were tired, thirsty and hot.  Dad went onward to find a path out of this Tarzan-like Jungle to save his family. He was to go forth in to the wilderness armed only with his wits and come back with Intel.  So we waited.  And waited.  And waited. When it appeared that the Earth had swallowed him whole and we were going to have to not only get out of this by our own means, but also find the local Police Department to report a missing person.  We ventured on, a family -1. 


We walked and walked in oppressive heat.  The only thing that remained unharmed out of the 3 remaining family members, was my brother's neck, as he was still wearing the very stylish Foreign Legion Hat.  My mother and I were just hot ass messes, stumbling around and scanning the ground for reptiles.  And/or gates to hell.

We finally found my father walking towards us, and he told us that the welcome station was only a little ways up.  Based on the map and the hike we chose, we made a very large semi-circle around the Welcome Station.  We were finally nearing our journey's end!  As I recall, the 4 of us broke out in to tears at that moment, knowing circling helicopters and cadaver dogs were not going to be necessary. We didn't think to question at that time why my father seemed so refreshed and cool.

As we neared the Welcome Station, the makeshift path turned into a wooden-planked walkway with railings.  We could see civilization in the near distance.  We opened glass doors and felt an immediate "whoosh" of air-conditioned loveliness envelope us.  After any nature walk at this Wildlife Conservancy, you are escorted into a small room with carpeted theatre seating, to watch a history of Virginia Wildlife, and how the Conservancy was formed.  The video took maybe 25 minutes.  In our heat-exhausted state, my mother sent my still-hatted brother out to the main desk to ask if they could please replay the video. 

I will always love my brother for having that video replayed.  Even in his fancy hat and knee high socks, he did the family good....Just so we could sit, relax and be cool.  I'm sure they thought that our family was a bunch of wackos, but they had no idea what we had just overcome on our Nature Walk From Hell.

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

Humans, Theories, and Bears! Oh My!

I Gotta Be Me.  But Who the Heck IS That?

In April 2006, I had been out of work for probably 7 months, and had finally received a call to interview with a large Corporation.  Well, not actually interview per se, more like interview for the opportunity to be interviewed.  I consider it the interview equivalent to annual fees being placed on some credit cards:  You have the luxury of paying a yearly fee in order to spend money you are already spending. And then pay for it.   In this case, I had the luxury of being pre-screened twice:  First your resume had to make it past the software that weeds out the "unwanteds", and then you had to make it to the "annual-fee portion" of the interview process. 

This process was inauspiciously titled a "Human Resources Behavioral Interview".    My mind immediately went to Björk's "Human Behavior" video, where a giant stuffed bear was seen tromping through the woods while being hunted, and "Goldilocks" sang in an Icelandic lilt at what was (I assume) the Bear's home.  This video pretty much summed up my interview itself, actually.  It was completely nonsensical. It was a series of hypothetical and unanswerable "what if" questions that were meant to determine whether you were a)  of Sound Mind, b ) had  Good Reasoning Skills, c) could Multi-Task and d) were not a Bear.  I failed on all 4 counts. 

 

 

 

 

This leads me to my thoughts of late.  Human Behavior.  Humans:  Who exactly am I?  Am I the person who works in Corporate America and shops the Business Casual section - working towards a career promotion?  Am I the person who writes a blog and thinks my thoughts and writes my woes?  A reader, a writer, an incessant note-taker? Am I the sister who annoys her brother?  The daughter who is independent? The friend who is semi-elusive?  Am I all of these things?  None of things?  If I were to take a non-career related Behavioral Test, would it show that I'm not suited to, well....being Me?

 

I know, logically, that I am all of these things and more.  But have you ever thought about who you ARE, in a deeper way?  What is your driving force?  What is the soul to your being?  What is your legacy?  What do you want to be thought of, not only remembered as when you die, but what do you want to be thought of NOW?  Who would YOU say you are, definitively?  What would you like others to say you are, certainly?

 

I remember taking Sociology in High School and College and learning about the "Looking Glass Concept" - the idea that you are shaped by what you think  others think about you.  While the study was initially conducted with children and teenagers, others in the genre have also studied the effects on a wider scale.  And with older individuals.  I don't think it matters who you are. I think you care what people think of you, always to some extent.  Everyone conforms to a certain degree.  Everyone gives an answer they think someone wants to hear.   Everyone dresses up a little bit more for a wedding or a funeral.  People prepare a little bit more for something they really, really want.  And that's human behavior.  Ain't nothing remotely wrong with that.  My reevaluation comes in when you are only doing things that you are expected to do, and can't even remember what it is you wanted to do in the first place.

 

This goes with my entire journey of self-discovery.  I need to develop something that helps me believe that I am HERE and that I am making a positive difference.  Even if in a small, almost insignificant way.  But a difference that is tangible. 

 

For myself, working in Corporate America has been a double edged sword.  I have been able to buy a home, buy a new car, not worry about bills, and be very self-sufficient, all by myself, on a single-income.  The downside comes in with the "clinging-on-to-the-bottom-rung" of middle management and feeling less than useless.  Feeling despondent and pointless.

 

Since I won't (and don't need to) be quitting my job anytime soon, I am inching towards fulfilling my (hopeful) destiny in a few different ways.  Firstly, I've obviously started blogging.  Secondly, I have decided to do one good deed a day.  It can be big or small, acknowledged or anonymous.  Just SOMETHING.  Thirdly, I am working very hard to break out of my hermit shell - by visiting people more often and calling friends that I have let go.  This third one is the toughest one, by far.  Finally, I'm trying to learn that it's OK to be me, as long as you're OK BEING you.  I can be an animal loving, non-bug killing woman of the forest, and also a bitch behind the wheels with a pirate mouth at asshole drivers.  As long as I'm OK with that, then I'm good.

 

Can you reinvent yourself at 38?  Can people really change?  My top answer is:  No.  But my second answer is:  Only if you really, really want to. So, I gotta be Me.  But who the heck IS that?!

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo