Oh my god, I'm alive and kicking

October 08, 2006 - 11:52 p.m.

Because I am a little bit deaf, and also a little dumb, when that song, “Alive and Kicking” came out in the 1980s, I thought he was saying, “I love you, Kiki.” And I remember thinking that was a weird name for a girl, and that it sounded like a dog’s name.

*ahem*

Back to business.

The other day I was at the pet mart buying supplies for these cats that live in my house, who do not belong to me. I don't know anything about cats so I had to wander and inspect every aisle, not understanding the differences in the toys and litters. I was pacing back and forth in front of the Wall of Litter, looking for the environmentally safe kind, when I was overcome with the willies that someone was staring at me. Which tends to happen when you live amongst millions of people, but this was STARING to the point where the person was fucking up my Chi, my aura, my chakras, whatever the fuck.

So I casually turned around to see if it was a pervert, but it was a regular old girl, standing facing me, hands at her side, staring, with her mouth hanging open. You're thinking maybe she was a little touched in the head, but no. I immediately turned away, but in that brief moment I locked eyes with her, damn, I felt a jab in my heart, because the look on the girls face was so intense, I instantly felt the pain that I saw there. Her face told me so many things at once: mostly shock and fear, with a little bit of insecurity and betrayal thrown in. I turned back and stared at the litter and pretended like nothing just happened, but my heart was pounding and I knew instantly who she was, because strangers can’t look at you with that level of emotion, it’s just not possible. There is only one reason why a stranger would look at you like that, and that is if they know who you are, even if you don’t know them.

And I knew those emotions on her face, because I’ve felt them, and it’s a sick feeling that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. She had the face of the “other woman,” either the new woman, or the old woman, or the scorned woman. And since I’m nobody’s woman, she had to be the new woman. I was thinking, she has to be the girlfriend of an ex-boyfriend of mine. Her face said it all. The shock of seeing me in real life, after only seeing pictures or hearing stories. The fear, the threat of losing what she has. The insecurity because this is all happening on a Saturday morning, on a day when she left the house with no make up, pajama clothes, and jacked up hair. Staring back at me with my perky red ponytail, my tight jeans, Kelly green Neko Case t-shirt, pink flip-flops and cowgirl purse.

My heart ached, I felt terrible for her and was also a little bit scared and briefly imagined her sneaking up behind me, grabbing my ponytail and giving me the smackdown right there on a pallet of cedar chips. This is what caused me to turn around once more, and sure enough, there was my ex-boyfriend. She was still standing there agape, and he was grabbing her by the arm and gently turning her and leading her away. (The ex-boyfriend I am speaking of is G-Ride, for those of you who have been reading this since 2004.) It was so embarrassing, and I felt like I was intruding on their life and I had done something wrong by simply existing.

I decided to do them a favor and just leave the store as quickly as possible, so I grabbed corn litter and headed to the checkout, where I found that they had the same idea and we stood in line opposite one another. The line was painfully slow and I kept pretending that I never saw them, but you could cut the air with a knife. Luckily they moved through quickly and left before me. I went out to the parking lot and saw him leaving, going way, way, out of the way to a far exit in order not to pass me. Thank god. So I jumped in my car and peeled out of the other exit and…pulled right in front of him. And came to a stop, because traffic never moves, you just sit there through at least 3 red lights before you get anywhere. So we were stuck in traffic together, them right next to me, in a “T” formation, if you can imagine, like they’re coming right into my driver’s door, and staring into the side of my head. And I felt extra vulnerable with having a convertible top that is down and I don’t have the glass and metal to separate me so I may as well just be lying across his hood. Traffic moved and then they pulled BESIDE me when I pulled into a left turn lane. GOD. HAVE. MERCY. On us all. FUDGE.

The whole encounter left me feeling ill and guilty, like I contributed to a shitty day for both of them. She is probably writing about this in her blog, what a horrible day she had that day, and how she wished she could have lost 20 pounds before running into me. I feel bad, like I wish I would have looked like shit that day, just to ease her mind, cuz lord knows I have plenty of shit days to share with the world. And also, because I do not care at all about her life with him and would be willing to sacrifice my pride so she can go about feeling superior and such.

But, unfortunately for her, it was one of those rare Saturdays that was sunny and warm. I woke up early to run my errands, but still had to stop to put on mascara and lipstick, because you just never know when you will run into a cute boy at Target, because there’s always hot single guys shopping there, and prowling the aisles. I drove like a bat out of hell all over town, with the convertible top down, listening to some ass bullshit on the radio. I went to the vet, and then stopped at MoJo’s to get a Chai latte and then sat in my car and chatted on the phone with a boy who’s crushin’ me. So by the time I got to the pet mart, I was hopped up on caffeine, brimming with confidence, and a little pink and glisteny from the sun and the wind. In other words, her worst nightmare.

Perhaps you are thinking that I may be acting arrogant and presumptuous in saying that I may have ruined the girl’s day with my presence in a pet store. But, I am a wizened old hag, and I know about relationships, and I know the look on the girl’s face. There was not a dollop of confidence or security, it was nothing less than abject horror. I was looking a little rough that day, but BY COMPARISON, may have looked like Cameron Diaz next to Mushmouth. She’s one of those girls who looks like about 500 other girls in this city: overweight, dyed black hair with bangs, too many piercings and tattoos, dressed head to toe in black, kind of sloppy, nondescript face. Kind of goth/rockabilly with the severe penciled eyebrows and crimson lips. So in my mind: Invisible. Call me a jerk, but I have never once met a girl of that description who could hold my attention for even 5 seconds. They also typically have bats in the belfry.

But that is neither here nor there. The real point is that I remember meeting her once, many years ago. When he was still my boyfriend he took me to a party and introduced me to her as his best friend from college. They were friends for many years, all the while he was married and so I was surprised when I stumbled on his MySpace profile that she was on there smooching him as his girlfriend.

So I surmise that after I broke up with him, he of course sought solace in his friends and something blossomed between them when she was there to support him. No big deal. HOWEVER. The problem with forming romance with your best friend is that they know ALL of your personal bits. He was the kind of guy who told his friends everything, in graphic detail. No doubt, back in the day, she heard how much he loved me, how he loved me more than his ex-wife, how I changed him as a person. And no doubt she heard about the SEX, the amazing ass that went on, how it was better on any given day than honeymoon sex with his wife. How we were known as the couple who would slip into the bedroom at a party and fuck like animals for 10 minutes and then return like nothing happened.

He and I, we were on fire for each other physically. And he can’t take that information out of her head. She knows too much, and she will always be comparing their relationship with that knowledge. And no matter what he says to her, no matter how much love he proclaims for her, it will be very hard for him to convince her that it is greater than what he had with me. So, my friends, that makes ME, Enemy Numero Uno. Add that to the fact that she is the aforementioned insecure, chubby goth girl, and I’m a beaming ray of sunshine bouncing through life, and this leads me to the conclusion that yeah, she had a shitty day at the pet mart. Do you agree?

And it also just occurred to me right now, 1,599 words later, that maybe, JUST MAYBE, that girl has access to this blog. Because back in the day, he told all of his friends about White Helmet, and they all read this shit, and he promoted my blog on his website. So, I reckon there is a good chance that she knew about it back then, and wasn’t terribly interested, but may be interested now that she knows I saw her in real life and may have written about her. Whooops. I would truly want to kill myself if this ever fell into her hands, or even his hands. I mean, truly, I would never forgive myself, for being my same honest self, telling my god-awful stories that could potentially really hurt someone. But at the same time, I don’t believe in censorship, even if it hurts me, or humiliates me. So there you have it. Let the chips fall where they may. God help us all.

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