Girl, Interrupted

Oh dear. I was trying to decide what my topic would be this morning, when my topic found me. Something mildly mortifying just happened to me.

I returned last night, quite late, from Quebec City, where I had been a chaperon to the grade eight students from my school for their grad trip. A great week! Excellent 14-year olds' behaviour, fun tour guide, an opportunity to shop a bit at Simon's, night caps with great colleagues and beautiful weather, all of which involved no lesson planning or performance on my part. One point in the tally for teaching vs not teaching!

In any event, I returned home exhausted and welcomed my empty home and some 'me' time all weekend (husband due back from Ireland on Monday-- I miss him so much!). Rose at ten this morning and curled up on the couch with the cats in my jammies and some tea and the PVR'd Bachelorette when..... the doorbell rang. Assuming it was the Jehovahs or the chocolate covered almond people, I ignored it. Another ring. Peering out the window, I saw the car of our good friend from ultimate Frisbee, Bingo.

Bingo on my doorstep induced a mild state of panic, and I must explain why. Bingo is the guy who is just so. Just soooooo--- the nicest. The most athletic. The handiest and most resourceful worker. The hardest working person on the planet, perhaps. The most organized individual I have ever met. Always the winner at Board Games that involve brain skills. When we go to Bingo and his wife's house for dinner, their house is just so. Tidy, well decorated, spotless, fresh smelling, and very homemade with care for detail and love-- the food, the craftsmanship of the handiwork, the garden design, and so on.

Looking around my house, there were cat whiskers and dust bunnies, my unpacked and strewn luggage from last night's arrival on the floor, a sad looking plant that needed watering and likely a musty and cattish scent from having been an empty home with closed windows for five days. Looking at me, though I didn't have time to do so, revealed a bra less girl in her ratty PJ's, sleep-filled eyes, unbrushed teeth, messy hair, and even a hint of crusty leftover eye makeup under the eyes.

It turns out that he was here to borrow tools to build a deck. (A deck that will be just so, to be sure). As I lead him in to the garage and then the basement, two areas of the house that really could appear in one of those TV shows that the experts come and excavate and transform in to a mecca of organization and beauty, my feelings of embarrassment quickly went through shame, inadequacy, anger at my husband for being the garage dweller and user. Bingo politely found the tools, amidst navigating empty beer bottles, a garden hose, and some cat vomit that I swear was not on the carpet when I fed them this morning. s per usual, he was always maintaining great conversation and kind words. And off he went to build his deck, while I returned to my crap TV, slovenly couch set up and caffeinated beverage.

Opening the door and immediately rifling through my apologies and explanations to Bingo as to why I, and the front entrance of my home, was in such a sorry looking state, I had to wonder why I cared so much. Are my feelings about his judgment of me? Or are they about my judgment of myself? Here I am, a 34 year old woman with a fine life, and in this brief visit with Bingo, I felt like an insecure grade eight girl trying to keep up with the other kids on the dance floor Thursday night in Quebec city: awkward, and embarrassed by my appearance, my body, my outfit, my possessions, my place in society.

I would say that I vowed to get cleaning and primping in case another visitor should appear, but the truth is, I watched the end of the Bachelorette and might now dive in to a book that will segue in to a salad and a nap. My confession has made me feel much better, anonymous reader-- so thank you for reading! And Bingo, please see past the outer appearance, to the part of me that is just so-- the intentions, the dreaminess and the longing to be a good girl.

Funny Embarrassing Stories Others have told me (**sources shall remain anonymous for their protection):
1. farting loudly during Yoga class in downward facing dog while the teacher was adjusting you.
2. clogging the toilet at a new boyfriend's family cottage with a big poop and no access to a plunger.
3. playing with the neighbour's kids on their play set and breaking the slide when you tried to go down it.
4. going to your dad's new girlfriend's house for dinner and barfing in your mouth because you were so grossed out by her home and cooking.
5. being drunk at a university party and falling on your way out, chipping your two front teeth.
6. walking back to the dinner table on a first Internet date with the bottom of your skirt tucked in to your underwear

Salad Girl's tip of the post: It's an oldie, but a goodie-- tell others about your most embarrassing moments. I think I may have just peed my pants remembering all of these ones!

You can't HANDLE the truth!

For some reason, the issue of telling the truth has been following me all around this week.

As I watch others struggle with the decision of whether to be honest or not, and face my own investments in others when deciding how honest to be, I am wondering if honesty is always the best policy. And I am wondering, too, why we act like we want people to tell us their honest opinion, when really, it's scary letting someone else have the power to tell us what we don't want to say to ourselves---- I made a mistake. I was wrong. I am being foolish. I do need to change. I need to accept that someone can't change. I am being unreasonable. -- and the list goes on.

Is a friend asking your opinion because s/he wants to hear the truth or because she wants confirmation against what she most doubts and fears?

'Truth' is a very charged concept. We learn from very early on that we must tell the truth to our parents. A fictional boy had to tell the truth, or everyone would be on to him from one look at his growingly long nose. We learn that "The truth shall set you free", and that "'Tis a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive". On the other hand, many would argue that a little white lie can save someone's feelings. We learn that people like us when we are supportive, encouraging, positive, cheerleaders. And the truth teller gets coined rather negatively as cynical, or outspoken, or blunt.

This week, I say, poor, poor, Pinocchio. Maybe the poor guy just wanted to save his friendships, or back someone up who needed a boost, and maybe he didn't want to sound judgmental of others' decisions when he's no expert in their dilemmas' domain.

The truth is, I have opinions about what many people surrounding me have been consulting me about this week. I fear that I am tiptoeing around people I love, and worrying about them on the side, because I'm telling them what I think they want to hear. After all, I am a good girl-- I work with children and I eat salads every day! I don't want to rock boats or burst bubbles or be a naysayer. But I am not following the path towards honesty, and I am concerned for the decisions and attitudes around me and feeling a bit clairvoyant......

I think that giving someone the chance of getting back together after a breakup is going to lead lead you to further heartache. When somebody hasn't met your dreams and expectations the first serious and long-term time around, they are going to let you down again. I observe that people settle back in to the patterns of the original relationship the second time around anyway. We all get scared that there isn't anything better out there, but I am positive that we are all SO worthy of every little hope and desire we have!!!!! If something bombed out before, you'd better be very careful if you choose to go back for seconds.

I think getting engaged is a big deal, and if you are asking me if it's right for you, you are not ready. It's the biggest commitment of your life in the works-- half the world can't make it through because it's freaking hard, so why rush yourself in to it? I think that moving in together should be way more fun than work and stress. I'm not saying that it will always be peaches and cream-- but the spirit of fun and adventure should be WAY more a part of the moving in phase than the getting-used-to-the-way-you-do-things growing pains. I think that if you are fearing you are rushing things, you are! You have all the time in the world to get married and move in-- so why not enjoy the ride when the timing is right? What exactly is your rush all about?

I think if your dog is really suffering, you need to go through with putting her suffering to an end. She has been loyal and kind to you as long as you have had her, and it's going to kill you to let her go, but if it's time, it's time. She's stood by you, and it's time to stand by her. You'll get through-- eveything passes and your grief will too. You owe it to yourself to take care of yourself, but you owe this to her. Be strong.

And, Tanner, on the Bachelorette, I think you should tell Jillian exactly who has a girlfriend at home if you know-- you opened the can of worms, and you need to seal it up. Who could trust you now? You're a big coward for not being honest that you ratted someone out at the rose ceremony.

(Ok--- as I said-- it's a post about honesty-- so I confess-- I LOVE watching the Bachelorette... it is very contrary to the constant effort to better myself and get wiser but oh dear--- I do love it. )


I have to report to you, that I don't feel more free or less tangled after telling the truth here. I hope if you are reading this that you a) forgive me for my bluntness and b) think about what I have said.


Salad Girl's tip of the post: Be honest with yourself: how much untruth are you telling? And how much of it is to yourself?