September 08, 2004
I Was Totally Heathered This Weekend
"Heathered?" you ask. I'll explain.
Based on the 1989 movie, "Heathers," the theory suggests that three girls absolutely cannot be friends. Two of them will inevitably end up ganging-up on the other one and/or shutting her out because "she thinks she's so cool," and really - what better way to build yourself up than tearing down someone else?
I admit, I did not coin the term; my co-worker did. I'm just amused that I have an opportunity to use it. Okay, more disgusted than amused because the movie is set in high school; however, the women concerned are 30+ years old.
Yes, two grown women invited me over just to exclude me from conversations and future plans. They barely even made eye-contact. I had to check several times to make sure I hadn't accidentally invoked my invisibility superpowers. Then they not-so-subtly insinuated that I'm not fun. Not fun?! Now that hurts.
Not my feelings, mind you, but my brain. It hurts to wonder why they'd been hanging out with me for three and a half years if I'm not fun. Is it some religious thing, in place of fasting or self-flagellation? I'm not sure exactly what brought about their sudden change of mind, but it was made manifest by a movie.
See, I don't think "The Sweetest Thing" is funny. I thought the countless accidental lesbian bits were forced and not at all as clever as, say, the misunderstandings in your average episode of "Three's Company."
Apparently, this lack of appreciation on my part is, in actuality, a serious character flaw, for which I can expect fountains of thinly-veiled derision while onlookers try to stifle their mocking laughter, the private joke obviously expected to go right over my blonde, clueless head. No, really. Really. This really happened. With grown-ups.
(Yes, I supposed saying "blonde, clueless" is redundant. Yes, you're hilarious.)
And imagine my surprise when, instead of waking up in a cold sweat and realizing I'd had another junior-high-anxiety dream, I was, in fact, mired in a reality from which I couldn't escape because someone else drove.
It was a horrible evening that left me feeling emotionally bitch-slapped. I was completely taken off-guard by the body-checking because I was playing croquet, and, HEY - where did all these hockey sticks come from?
Damn, it sucked.
And the actual reason for all this is as unclear to me as it was with Melinda and Eileen in the 5th grade. And leaves me feeling equally lost, broken and unworthy. Which is really unfair to the dozens of truly amazing people who think I'm the cat's pajamas. I'm sorry to dishonor all of them/you by letting a mere two people negate the opinions of such a vast and brilliant crowd.
You know, the reason I'm busy all the time isn't because I'm writing letters to my congressman or volunteering at a soup kitchen. Screw all that - I'm out socializing. I really am fun. No, really. Really. Okay, I'll suck it up and be more fun tomorrow, I promise.
Ho-Ho's will always love me.
(P.S. I would like to extend a heartfelt apology to my friend, Heather, who is a peach and would never Heather me, despite her name.)
(P.P.S. I would also like to thank the person who called me "delightfully funny" on a day I needed it most.)