The Quest for Squad

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Photo Source: https://musiccityschoolcounselor.wordpress.com

 

Intelligence is defined in so many ways.  In my journey through life, I have met the most bewilderingly intelligent human beings on the planet, who are easily frustrated to the point of tears, about asking a guy out on a date.  Some people are drop-dead gorgeous and can tell you what jeans are the most popular, what rap song they shop in Whole Foods to, and what sunglasses are so “last year”.  I find that type fascinating; they curl up in a ball when you ask them about where they will be in ten years.

[Insert gentle chuckle]

When I go back and look at the few school writing pieces I have left from my early childhood, I’m really blown away.  Are writers made or born that way? I don’t know … in 1986 I referred to Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Phantom of the Opera” as “dark and incestuous”. That’s pretty good for a thirteen year old.  I remember the teacher accusing me of plagiarism, because well, look at the phrasing right? I also remember her face when I explained in detail, how I thought it was creepy because he was paternal, much older than her, and she was young and inexperienced.  I explained that it was not romantic but rather creepy when you thought about it, kind of like my Dad dating one of my friends.    She finally believed me and turned the “F” into a “B” in red ink, which pissed me off tremendously because it was easier for her to add a few strokes of pen and arbitrarily give me a “B”, rather than crossing out the “F” and writing “A”.

I was thirteen, and I remember this acutely.  My book report had a “pop out” paper 3D page … seriously?  Totally “A” worthy.  I’m still apparently pissed about it.

I have always hovered on the outside of very attractive groups of women.  To be clear, I’m fat and not nearly as attractive as most of the people in my family.  I come from a family of hotties, who married hotties, who had beautiful children.  I bite my nails, can’t really sort out a curling iron without scarring myself, and while I am “in the know” about Hollywood gossip (it’s my weakness), I like different things than 99% of women I meet.  And let’s be clear, I don’t think they are unusual, I think I’m the weirdo.

I also like lists of things I like:

  • I like business.
  • I like owning a business and being my own boss (which is kind of lie, it just means I have about six bosses/steady clients).
  • I like planning things.
  • I like being organized.
  • I like being globally aware; environment, social causes, foreign politics, international business (yes I was a business major), religion, animal welfare, child welfare and women’s rights.
  • I like painters, writers, videography types and anyone who strives to translate the imagery in their head to other people, with a purpose of enlightening or entertaining them.
  • I like farmer’s markets.
  • I like cooking and I ace Italian food.  English food and baking present something of a nightmare, and I am not allowed to touch the BBQ for very good reasons.
  • I love children (both two-legged and four-legged varieties).
  • I like fishing, camping and hiking (although I haven’t done much of the last two since Texas has… big venomous snakes and… stuff).
  • I like photography (but suck at it).
  • I like the gym (but suck at being persistent there).
  • I like living small to get to our big goals, which include a house with a big pool, college funds x 2, and travel.
  • I love people who are real, honest about their foibles and interested in squeezing every drop out of their day.

I dislike dishonest people, negative people, and people who keep making the same bad choices and wondering why their life is a shit-storm.  Sorry, I know how lacking in compassion that sounds, but I am not a psychologist, and it’s one of my peeves.

I don’t know what lip gloss everyone is wearing.  I border on the lines of getting hair extensions to be one of those glam types you see on television (newsflash … they are all wearing hair extensions), but I always seem to find something better to use the $1,000 every six months on, than making myself look beautiful for a husband who already thinks I’m pretty.  I mean I don’t believe him, but I think it’s in his contract that he has to say it like he means it.  *Shrug*

Many new women I meet can’t fathom being self-employed.  They don’t understand what it is like to run a business, and learn to juggle a summer schedule with ten year-old twins (my summer of learning … I achieved Step-Mum level 4 rank).  They want to go see a live band, get falling down drunk and possibly into a fight with 1-2 other women on Facebook.  I want to go to Walmart, pick up some cheap canvas, and go paint by the lake with my dogs, and eat M&M’s.  I get worn out from being a “go getter” and by the time the weekend comes, I just want to be slow, peaceful, exploring something, seeing new things… or burning the shit out of some recipe I saw on Pinterest.

I suppose if we lived closer to Dallas there would be more business types around.  Perhaps more women that would find that common ground with me, but we do live out in the country where I’m surrounded by girls wearing True Religion shorts, with long flowing, perfectly curling ironed hair (think Daisy Duke), immaculate nails, and the latest make-up tutorial example of cosmetic application from IPSY.

I got my first IPSY bag and tried the tutorial.  It was cool.  The dogs thought I looked pretty glam, but Rico (dumb cat) almost ran away with my eye shadow. I was going to take a selfie but that just doesn’t feel like me.  “Hi I own a business… take me serious and stuff, but wait…. lemme take a selfie!!”.    Those things just don’t align, you know?   And I feel like I should be more like the girls in this video, except what is cool for them, isn’t cool for me.    I want to be respected.  I want to be proud of myself and poignant.

I am going to Church again and enjoying that.  I have also sent off a volunteer form to a few places that might present an opportunity to meet new people in my new community. If I am going to make this new home feel like a real home, I need a squad again.  One or two business minded, down to earth, tom-boy-ish, artsy, fartsy kind of gals who love animals, campfires, margarita’s and being “relevant”.

But lately I feel like I am going to have to order one of those Japanese robot wives from Amazon, and drive around town catching Pokemon and drinking latte’s with her.    It’s hard making new friends when you are an adult in a totally new country/culture/planet.  And while my husband does a good job of convincing me that he is the only best-friend I need in Texas, I need girl time.    And it makes me feel more homesick than you can imagine for my friends, my cousins and my sister.

I’m holding out for my incoming nerd girl.   Someone who will go to Comic-Con Dallas with me, play X-box and drink over-priced coffees while talking about international business world domination, and cookies that don’t melt when you dunk them.  Because that shit matters deeply to me.