I can remember in high school, this large scary girl wanted to beat me up and I had no idea why. I was new in town and painfully shy (believe it or not). It turns out my shyness was mistaken for snobbery and about half of my class despised me. Who knew? Not me.
The church my parents attend views my sister and I as bad seeds. I've been aware of this for a long time. Never mind that during high school, I was a virgin and a goody-goody and the worst thing I did was get drunk ONCE. (By the way, the church peeps didn't even know about that night of drinking.) I firmly believe because we had the gall to dress nicely and stylishly, plus make the occasional smartass comment, not to mention DATE BOYS, my sister and I were labeled as fast and loose.
It wasn't quite as bad in college. People talked about me, sure. But for the most part, the stuff they said was true. I WAS fast and loose. I partied hard. I explored my ass off. (I did not simply explore my ass, as I originally typed. Heh.) I was wild, and didn't have a problem with people discussing it, as long as it was true. I talked about it, too. You can ask any of my friends what their favorite college stories are, and I guarantee I'm at least involved, but more likely the star.
However, those wild, honest ways didn't translate as well after I'd moved back home with my parents. I lived in their house in a small Ohio town (ugh) until I became gainfully employed and had officially begun my career. In the meantime, I tended bar at a country club, made decent bank because I didn't have that silly rent thing to worry about, and partied as hard as I could. While this didn't exactly do wonders for my job hunt, I was having a hard time breaking the college habits of partying whenever I could afford it in the morning. Problem was, I could afford it most mornings, leaving me little time for anything but work, bar, and sleep.
The point is, for a while, I continued my wild ways outside of the college atmosphere, and paid the price in gossip. I believe an (untrue!) rumor even got as far as my dad. I still haven't gathered the guts to confront him and deny it, mostly because I'm not positive he heard it, and I don't want to bring it up if he didn't.
The Chatty Cathys were mostly friends in my crowd. Bored, tired friends who were looking at short-term dead-ends as far as their futures were concerned. So until they got back on their feet, their lives consisted of jobs delivering pizzas and painting houses, crappy apartments, and the same bar I frequented. What better way to spice up those mundane lives than to trade wild stories about Jamie? My sister was usually bitten by this particular bug, as well.
Eventually, I got a job and moved to another town. Then I moved here, 2,000 miles away.
I thought I had surrounded myself with grown-ups, people who were mature and professional and don't participate in time-sucking, petty activities like malicious gossip. I fool myself into thinking this occasionally. And I'm always proven wrong.
The damned gossip monster reared its head again last week. The story is embarassing, possibly hurtful to my career, and completely false. Unfortunately, when I uncovered what it was people were saying they'd "heard about" me, I was unprepared to defend myself. I hate that. So I just let it blow over. Much as I'd like to confront some people, as I eventually found out who the shit-spreaders are, I don't think it'd be in my best interest to get people thinking and talking about this story again. Dammit. So I just have to suck it up and pretend it never happened and seeth inside when I think about the fact that in a way, I've been attacked. It's an attack on my reputation, on my professionalism. And I just have to let it sliiiiiiide. Crap.
But believe me, the info is being stored in the little Jamie mental folder labeled "Future." I am not a vengful person. (I like to vow and plan revenge, but then I end up too lazy to actually do anything.) But now, I have to tiptoe around certain people with whom I formerly felt comfortable. I have to watch what I say and do. And that really, really sucks.
(By the way, true to form, the gossipers are the people that couldn't stay out and have a good time with the rest of us. They had to go home to husbands and kids. They couldn't drink and dance. I don't know why I got singled out of the entire group of co-workers that partied that night, but I did. I'm just so damn juicy, I guess.)
How pathetic is it that I'm about 1/2 the age of most of the employees here, but from what I can tell, I'm one of only a few mature enough to abstain from gossip?
Dear Snide, Nosey Co-Workers:
I did the junior high thing 10 years ago. I didn't like it much then and I'm not exactly eager to go back. So grow the fuck up, OK?
No Love,
Jamie
This probably sounds a little cranky. It's a bad situation, but I'm going to go ahead and blame my pissiness on the weather. It's only about 65 degrees and windy down here!
OK. No one from the north had come down to beat me over the head with a snowshoe yet. I'm sorry! I know it's not THAT bad, but I'm spoiled, OK? I hated the cold before, and this FEELS really cold!
Last night - I'm on the phone with my sister, Mollie.
Jamie: "What do you want for Christmas? I think I'm getting you those shoes."
Mollie: "Yay! That's good. I picked up something for Neal yesterday."
Enter Neal from work. I swear I didn't say what I say next to be a jerk. I swear.
Jamie (to Neal): "Honey, should we turn off the air conditioning? It's supposed to get down to like, 60 degrees tonight."
Mollie (into phone): "Shut! Up! You shut up! I hate you! It's fucking SNOWING up here!"
Jamie: "Oops. Sorry. Tee hee."
