Posts tagged Cutting
Posts tagged Cutting
I’ve only received two traffic tickets in my driving history and in both incidences I was overwhelmed by my sincere belief that cops are mean and will hate me no matter what I say. I just have a general fear of authority and being reprimanded - note, NOT a papa-spank-me fetish type of gal - and I learned at an early age that adults won’t believe what you say once they’ve decided they’re right about something. I once received a warning when walking down my elementary school hallway. The yard duty lady, Mrs. Houston, yelled at me to watch my mouth. I asked her what I said and she replied, with mucho attitude, “You know what you said”. I was walking through a noisy, crowded corridor at lunchtime so I don’t know why she was so sure it was me who said whatever it was that she heard, but I truly didn’t say anything bad. This is the thanks I get for not turning you in when you showed us your green underwear in front of the sandbox on St. Patrick’s Day? You ungrateful hunk o’ junk.
I also had a sandwich shoved in my mouth by a babysitter, had my hair pulled by a daycare worker, and was otherwise made to feel like a stupid child by adults I’d been told to look up to, so I was cautious about what adults I trusted. Both times I was pulled over, I felt like giving an excuse or extra information would’ve implied I was expecting to be believed and perhaps let off the hook for what I’d done. I didn’t want to put myself out there like that only to feel like a lying child again, so I kept my mouth shut instead.
The first time I was pulled over was when I was 17 years old and was driving with my learner’s permit. I was a fucking asshole with my provisional license. I was at that age where I thought hanging out at the cemetery was a fun activity, so I would drive there with my best friend in the front seat and three of our other friends in the backseat. Totally not allowed! I was a fucking rebel without a cause, man. It was so disappointing when the boys we went to the cemetery with sullied the experience by drinking 40s there and kicking back on the gravestones. My best friend and I were more the types to take pictures of the mausoleums and pretend we could feel the spirits moving around us. We were really into My Chemical Romance at the time, if that helps to clear things up at all.
Even though I was breaking all the rules and lovin’ it, I was still a really good driver. One of my friends once remarked to me that I’m the only friend of his who actually stops at stop signs. See? I’m impressive!
So I was driving to Taco Bell with my best friend, Rikki, when she started to feel really sick. That happened to her sometimes and she would just unbuckle the shoulder strap of the seat belt and stick her head out of the window. Well today there was a cop hanging out on one of the side streets waiting to pull over some lovely ladies looking to gorge on grilled stuft burritos, so Rikki quickly stuck her head back inside the car, did the most obvious buckling of the shoulder belt that she possibly could, and we heard the sirens. Fucking really? So Rikki is telling me to just blame her and say she felt sick, etc, but I’m insistent that we just take the ticket. That’s what happens. There’s no more story there except to say that she later told me she purposefully overdid the shoulder belt in front of him hoping that he’d just give us a thumbs up for gittin’ r’ done. Goddamn it, Rikki, has no one ever explained to you that cops are not good people?
And, yeah, I was driving with a passenger when I shouldn’t have been and I probably should’ve pulled over to let her breathe in the fresh air safely, but let’s just pretend I didn’t do anything wrong, okay?
The second ticket story is only a little bit more dramatic than the first. I was still 17 and was driving home from my cousin’s apartment where I was an emotional wreck the night before. There was a cute guy at her place and when we got to talking I learned that he had an Elliott Smith tattoo. It was a heart with “xo” inside. The thing is, I have that tattoo! I was thinking that this way-out-of-my-league guy was my soulmate, but he could give a shit. And, no, he wasn’t really out of my league, he was just really skilled in his use of hair gel and I was at least mildly obese at the time - according to the BMI chart, which specializes in lowering the self-esteem of teenage girls. But, I mean, I’m a really nice person, so I think that should count for something, you jerks. I was very depressed that this boy didn’t love me and I was emotionally unstable at all times in those days, regardless of how close I was to Elliott Smith or a perfectly hair gelled coif, so I made the very rational decision of cutting the living fuck out of my arm. I know this story took a turn, but that’s what happened. I cut my arm up and in the morning I cried while I drove home. Soon I was heading down the steepest hill in town and I noticed that my speed was really getting up there. I was ready to start slowing down when I saw the cop at the bottom of the hill. No fucking way am I giving that Wojo motherfucker the satisfaction of pulling me over and being able to say something like, “Oh, I see you tried to slow down after you saw me.. Well, it was too late, you Commie cunt. ‘Commie cunt’, heh heh, don’t you just love alliteration?” No way am I letting him have that. So I just let it ride. He pulled me over, obviously, because I was going 87 or something insane. The speed limit was somewhere around 60. He pulled me over and I was hoping he would see my distress (read: sympathy-inducing self-mutilation) and take pity on me, but he didn’t at all. He was a dick.
So I totally got a ticket for going probably the fastest speed I’ve ever gone in a car! As my personal fashion inspiration, Stephanie Tanner, would say: How rude!
And that’s how I didn’t learn my lesson about judging cops as a whole by my experience with a few assholes.
Warning: Potential self-harm triggers behind the cut
I remember thinking as a kid that everyone was like me. I always thought that the popular people were the same as me, except better looking and more confident. I thought they would appreciate me and everything I’m about if they got to know me. I thought that for a long time. I remember being at a party when I was 19 or so where these too-cool hardcore punk kids – I don’t know why “kids” is the first thing I think of to call them – were talking about Sarah Silverman. In that moment I thought, oh god, I have the entire Jesus Is Magic special memorized.. I could quote something from it right now and they would realize that I’m awesome. But I know now that, not only would they not think I’m awesome, they probably wouldn’t even know what I was talking about. And I wouldn’t like them either. But I never thought of things that way. It was the same way with every guy I ever liked. I just liked them and worried that they wouldn’t like me back. I would think, ugh, he smokes a ton of pot, he used the word “illiterate” to describe my fumbling with the door handle, he eats meat and doesn’t care about animals, but.. what if he doesn’t like me? I would always feel devastated when a guy didn’t like me or when he stopped liking me and I think a lot of it had to do with my thinking that everyone is at least like me enough that they would find me interesting. And some of it was just a need for approval from men (16 year old boys).