BFF’s….wtf

I’ve had five homes in less than four years. And in two of these homes, separate homes divided by streets and years, I’ve occupied bedrooms with a clear view of a house I met once. Never lived in, but kind of ran into. You could say it’s my acquaintance, this house, Ive been able to spy on and stalk from two different bedroom windows. This house was a chance. A sort of friend-of-a -friend’s-cousin’s- ex-boyfriend’s-pastor’s kind of house.

There was a party there and I went, not really knowing anyone and it was awkward and I didn’t like it but I loved the house. We got along great. The people were okay, not outright rude or smelly or anything. Just okay. Conversation was brief and mandated, uncomfortable. Lots of nodding at the right time only two seconds too late and frequent bathroom breaks. Everyone was trying, it’s just that no one was succeeding.

But this house. With its dark hardwood, soaking up the light and spitting it back out like a joke, was as cool as ever. Its twisting staircase, like a ringlet, knew it was better than everyone else there and so did we. Realizing something like that, that an inanimate object is a better conversationalist than you, can be a bit of a blow to the ego. I needed a moment. So I went to meet the bathroom.

Of course, the tub had feet and the toilet probably had a brain. Or a least a digestive system. I apologized, and proceeded to sit on it. And that’s when it talked to me. In the medium of a post-it note, stuck to the underside of the sink:

“You don’t suck,” it said to me.

Up until that moment I had left like I was sucking. Sucking at talking, sucking at this party, sucking at my innate primal instincts of being a social animal. And at just the right moment, not two seconds too late, at just the right moment like cool kids can always do with ease, I was validated. The house confirmed it.

And I walked out of that bathroom, head high, shoulders back, determination restored. I was here for a reason: to party. And damn it, that’s what I was going to do. I drank, I laughed, I drank, I made friends and they drank. I could be cool by association if for no other reason. I had made friends with that house and it talked to me.

I went home and the next morning things were back to normal. Except for the post-it note in my pocket reminding me of my unsuckiness. I wasn’t friends with any of those people afterwards and I’m still not. But maybe it’s not a coincidence that I pick homes with a nice view of my validator. People like to surround themselves with reminders that they’re cool.

Or at least, that they don’t suck.

So this is blogging.

Maybe it’s me, but it always sounded like a dirty word. A playground word 11-year-olds would whisper together while huddled in a circle beneath the jungle gym and giggle.

“She’s a blogger.” Hehehe

The nervous kind of laughter that often comes with novice acts of rebellion; a facade for the insecurity, the fear. So maybe that’s what I’m doing now as an adult. With a blog. I’m an adult with a blog. Yuppie badge officially earned.

But now that I know what the word actually means, blogging isn’t nearly as risque or mutinous as I had thought. It’s pretty much anything but. It’s a safe way of reminding yourself you’re normal and maybe (luckily) somewhat interesting. Now that I know what this blogging thing is all about, I’m a little bummed. But that’s how it always goes, doesn’t it? The words are so much more potent when you have no idea what they mean.

So here I blog. And giggle nervously. And hope that the eight people who might actually read this won’t make fun of me later for it. So I continue to giggle and act like it doesn’t matter. If these words, which are inevitably pointless anyway, simply end up wafting aimlessly in cyberspace with no audience to speak of, I’ll be a tad disappointed. But hopefully no one will be able to tell.

And dat’s tha truth.