Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails?

The other day I was on my way to pick up Emma from school when this guy, some joker in his twenties, cut me off pretty closely causing me to have to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident. I refrained from doing what I really wanted to do (which was flip him off) because I'm really trying to class it up more lately. So I put both hands up in the air, palms up and shrugged my shoulders, like What the heck did you do that for?!

He angrily slammed on his brakes causing me and everyone behind me to have to do the same (again!). I was so confused. He cut me off. I thought he was getting off pretty easy compared to the level of wrath I wanted unload on him. A palms-up shrug of the shoulders was quite mild in comparison. Why was he pissed off at me? Because I dared to question his choice to drive so dangerously with an emphatic shrug?

He accelerated again and off we all went down the road for a couple of miles until the next intersection where there was a red light. Joker dude moved into the left turning lane and I stayed in the straight lane. He screeched to a halt next to my car, holding up everyone behind him that wanted to turn left, rolled down his window and started spewing this load of vitriol at me that shocked even the New Yorker in me. Maybe it wasn't just the words and gestures he was using, but that he was angry with me at all. I was still so confused. What had I done to him?

As he ranted on and on - even when he had a green arrow and and everyone behind him was honking - I just stared at him and laughed. What else could I do? He was being ridiculous. So out of control.

Eventually the light to go straight turned green and I started to roll forward. He sees this and realizes that his time with me is just about up. I waved at him with a big smile on my face and in a last ditch attempt to put me in my place he yells at the top of his lungs, "WHAT ARE YOU? A GUY?" then he sped off with his tires screeching wildly.

Seriously? Is that the best that he's got for his parting shot? Was that supposed to hurt me? What does that even mean? Was a palms-up shrug masculine? Did he, too, drive away from me and think to himself, What the hell does that mean? Why did I say that?!

I hope so. I hope he did feel foolish, because with that kind of irrational temper, he's probably a wife-beater.

I hate wife-beaters.

Their Gang Sign Was a Gentle Wave of the Hand

Last night, Greg and I were watching some murder and mayhem show that I'm such a big fan of. (48 Hours, 20/20, Dateline, American Justice, Snapped, Wicked Attraction, Primetime...love 'em all.) It was about a group of young teenagers that formed a "club" in which they, you know, killed people.

During one of the commercial breaks Greg says to me, "I used to belong to a club."

Me: "Oh really?"

Him: "Yes, I was twelve or thirteen and we called it Breezes and we wouldn't let any bad kids in - kids who swore. There was this one boy that kept wanting to be a part of our club but we kept kicking him out because he kept swearing. But then he kept coming back. And..."

Me: Interrupting him, "Wait a minute, your club's name was Breezes?"

Him: Looking at me, not sure why I had this incredulous look on my face, "Yeah, why?"

Me. "Breezes? Really. You named your club Breezes?"

Him: Getting annoyed, "Yes!"

Me: "When you were twelve or thirteen?"

Him: "What? What's wrong with that?"

Me: "It sounds like an air freshener or some sort of feminine product."

Him: "No it doesn't!"

Me: "Yes, I'm afraid it does. Breezes! The new feminine spray that leaves you feeling and smelling fresh all day long!"

Him: "Oh stop."

Me: "Well, I couldn't have been a part of your club anyway. I'm a 'bad kid'. I swear too much."

Him: "You're right, you couldn't have. I wouldn't have let you in."

Let me tell ya, it's SO intimidating to be put in your place by a Breezes member.

I Think I'm a Facebook Ho

In life, I've always played it pretty safe. I was a "good girl" that never rocked the boat much. I had friends but not much of a life. In middle school and early high school I would go to the occasional birthday party and other special events, but I didn't Go Out. I was introduced to Going Out in 9th grade. I had made a new friend, a girl named Caroline, and she used to ask me every Monday what I did over the weekend. Um, what did I do?, What did I do?, I'd think as I racked my brain for something to say..."Uh, I went to the grocery store with my mom." I'd reply. She would give me a look something similar to what you'd give a puppy that had just been kicked.

After a while of this, her expression changed from one of pity to one of mild annoyance, "You need to Go Out more. Don't you ever Go Out?" Sure! I'd think defensively. I Go Out! I DO things! I have a LIFE!

Uh, yeah, not really.

Her persistence got me thinking...So people Go Out just for the sake of Going Out? They seek out fun and don't wait for an invitation to fun? What does one do when they Go Out? When one is Out how does one dress? When the person Going Out can't drive yet, how does the Goer Outter get to where one is Going Out? And lastly, how do I get these questions answered without actually asking the questions because the questions are just too embarrassing a set of questions to ask?

Luckily, Caroline was generous of spirit and soon enough asked me to Go Out with her one weekend. I made the announcement to my mother earlier that week that I was Going Out with Caroline that weekend, which led to a whole big discussion similar to the ones I'd been having with myself in the preceding weeks - "What do you mean, you're Going Out? Where are you going? What will you be doing?" But I played it cool, "You know, Going Out Mom. Just hanging out together for fun." Now it was her turn to give me a look. But this look was not one of pity or annoyance. It was one of distinct disapproval. "I don't like this 'hanging out' business, Rachel. Going Out just to Go Out - It leads to trouble."

I responded with the obligatory rolling of the eyes and reassured her that we were just going to the mall to walk around. "It'll be good exercise for me mom. And I'll make friends. And I'll get dinner for myself so you won't have to cook that night. And Caroline's parents will be driving us so you don't have to...."

Her turn to roll her eyes. But she relented and handed me twenty dollars.

So, that Friday I did Go Out. And boy, did I discover that Going Out was FUN! And I went Out every weekend after that. Sometimes with Caroline, sometime with other people I met while I was Out. My Going Out circle of friends was expanding rapidly and it was astonishing to me how much fun was to be had in the world if you just got Out more often.

Over the years, my Going Out repertoire grew and began to include school sporting events and adventurous trips to the various basements all around the town I lived in (because that's where teenagers hang out, doncha know) and dances and movies and, of course, the be all, end all of Going Out - PARTIES! So many parties. And do you want to know what I discovered at these parties? Boys.

Lovely, funny, silly, amazing boys.

And do you want to know what else I discovered? KISSING boys.

I discovered that kissing boys was AWESOME. Kissing is way underrated. Many people see it as the first step towards some other, better, end goal, if you know what I mean. Not me. For me, kissing was the best part. The way the stomach does that massive dip when the boy you're kissing is good at what he does....Spectacular.

So I kissed boys. And if I'm being honest, I kissed lots of boys. And one of the best things about my memories of them is that, for the most part (ahem), that's all I did with these boys. Lots and lots of kissing.

Fast forward nearly thirty (gulp) years to a being married for twenty years, having one 13-year-old daughter, lots of life behind me and a little thing called Facebook.

Facebook is really quite something. As I've written here before, it's amazing to reconnect with people that you knew years ago. There's something quite redemptive about it. Old questions answered, old hurts set aside with the wisdom of time and old friendships renewed.

There's also something quite bizarre about it too. When I look at my "Friends" list, I see it. There it is, my life in front of me, represented in one place all compressed together - past meeting present. It's very telling of who you are and who you were and who the people were that got you from there to here. How far you've come and how much you may still be stuck in some ways.

Two of the best features of Facebook are the status updates and the IM Chat option. Status updates are when your Friends write little blurbs about what they're doing, what's on their mind, how they're feeling, to vent or to communicate some news. The Chat option is when you can instant message your Friends that happen to be logged onto Facebook the same time you are. Being as nosy as I am, I check the Chat list fairly frequently to see who's on. Once in a while I'll have an IM chat but mostly I just play voyeur.

The other day, I was looking at the Chat list to see who was logged-on. It was a long list of men. Eight of them. Some from high school. Some from college. Some from after college. Some from a time I'd prefer not to get into here. All of them, but one, I had made out with.

WTF and OMG.

I am such a slut.

Can you imagine? It's like walking into a party and every guest standing around is someone that you've know personally. Personally, as in swapped spit with. Were nose-to-nose with. Made yummy noises with as your teeth clunked together.

I don't know...there's something very disconcerting about it. Having all of those experiences that took place over a ten-year-period, right there, compressed into one list - in black and white - in front of me. Makes me wonder, do other people have the same experience on their Facebook page? Is their (albeit, rather innocent) sexual history staring them in the face? Do they run the risk of entering a virtual room filled with all of those shared secrets between them every time they sign on? And the kicker is, that those seven boys on that chat list? They're only the ones that are Facebook members! They're just a small percentage of the boys that I actually kissed in that ten year period.

It's embarrassing.

Hello. My name is Rachel and I'm a Facebook ho.