sad, sad bat

I hit a bat on my way home tonight. Actually, the bat flew into my windshield, so it hit me. I watched it hit the top and then slide down to get tangled in my windshield wipers, which seemed impossible at 55 mph (the sliding DOWN part, not the hitting part).

Poor bat. Sad bat. I drove my last 2 miles home watching the unmistakeable bat wing flap in the wind while hoping that it was just knocked out.

At home, the mag flashlight and a straw proved to me that it was dead. I felt sad. I also hope that an animal eats it in the night so that I don't have a rotting bat at the end of my sidewalk in the morning.

I've always loved bats the same way that I love frogs, turtles, lizards, and snakes. Maybe more the way that I love snakes...I like to see them and think they are awesome but don't want to touch them. Bats look like cute little diseased mice with wings. In my mind, that statement turns out positive.

This is not the bat I killed. I don't actually touch bats. This picture does show how cute and small and innocent they look to me.

People...

People.

You should read that in an exasperated voice, as in "PEO-ple...arrgh."
Tonight gave me a little reminder that people are the same everywhere and at every age. It seems that the drama that we began practicing on the playground in the 4th grade doesn't really go away. We just change the language. This isn't news to anyone who is even slightly involved in society.


Tonight's example of people being people came in the form of the good ole' who should date whom. Me being the who and the only other single person in the church being the whom.

Me: Charming offhanded joke about people not asking me out when I walk around in public dressing tacky. This was appropriate to a conversation about a man and woman who met in Wendy's when he commented on her homemade straw necklace.

Them: "We were just talking about this. I think this is taken care of. Someone is just waiting for the right time. That is what we (whoever the hell "WE" is) think. In a year, we will be looking back at this conversation and laughing."

Me: "Um, okay. I'm not going to ask."

Now I have to change how I talk about being single. I thought I was making a funny joke that related to wearing tacky clothes. They hear such jokes as a cry for help and apparently spent quality time talking about my love life (a love life I'm not interested in right now) and deciding who is in love with me.

The "who" in question is not, in fact, in love with me. They are not waiting to ask me out because they are in love with the pretty little blonde girl at work who flirts with them daily. I am excited for the "who" and give the "who" advice on asking out the little blonde girl. There is a right moment being waited for, but I am not involved.

I did not explain this. I did not call out my friend and her "people." I allowed her the mystery and hope for something that doesn't exist.

Why? Because people will be people. Adding to the conversation adds to the playground drama. I'd rather just walk away and mutter "PEO-ple...argh."

I'd like to think that such wisdom is a perk of being in my 30's. Yes, I am a fountain of wisdom and self-restraint.

p.s. To be fair, I found myself feeling just like I did in the 4th grade with playground drama. I felt important because people were talking about me and special because they thought a boy might like me...even if it wasn't true. For other girls to THINK that a boy would like a certain girl means that the said girl must be somewhat cool. Right? Right.

if I could only change...

I've recently been reflecting on turning 33 in 3 months. Dan Brown made me feel better about this by writing several paragraphs in his last book about the number 33. It is a magical, powerful number in the Bible. I feel excited and empowered! Kinda. It WAS Dan Brown, which means that most of it is bullshit.

33 seems to be a daunting age for me. This is mostly because of my lack of husband and quickly aging eggs. It is difficult to remember how young 33 is in the grand scheme of life when every six months without a date takes me a step closer to the back-up plan of being a single adoptive mom (which will, in turn, solidify my lack of marriable qualities).

These things are going on in my head while I ponder career choices and the housing market....and then yesterday Julie Roper added me on Facebook.

Julie Roper was the mean popular girl at church from the 3rd grade all the way to graduation. Julie Roper didn't actively hate me. She didn't tease me or spread rumors. She just ignored me and did the best she could to never sit near me, speak to me, be associated with me, or recognize my existence. She ignored me every week at church for 10 years. Her friends, which made up most of our Southern Baptist Sunday School class, followed suit until late in high school.

Julie started to say hello to me in the 10th grade because she learned that I would hug her in front of people if she did not recognize my presence first. It was a mean game on my part, but the only way that I could enjoy the seeming disdain that she had toward un-pretty overweight badly dressed girls with awkward social skills (aka me).

(Julie and the other popular girls were "bowheads." This is what we called pretty little preppy girls in the 80-90's who wore big bow clips. We also used the word "preppy." There was a mean song about bowheads in the same sense that you make fun of cheerleaders. Which all of those girls were. Damn them)

Time eases biases. Facebook is also a great way to see who got fat and who is a loser. That is only reason I can think for her to add me as a friend. I accepted.

Julie Roper opened a porthole to my past. She is a good Texan woman who stayed in North Texas, married in her early 20's, and is raising Texan babies with her very Texan looking husband. She is still friends with all of the other good Texan girls and boys from my Southern Baptist upbringing. Her page allowed me to spy on people that I haven't thought about in 10 years.

Spying led to memories. Spying led me to realize how different I am (being childless, single, and NOT in Texas). Spying brought back all of my awkward mixed feelings from high school. I've looked at my Facebook page and wondered what they would think about me. It is all about work and shows that I am still fat and single. What do they think about me being a youth minister? Do they think or care at all? Am I sad in their eyes? Wierd?

Now Julie Roper and Facebook have turned my normal 30-something confusion into a 30-something confused need for approval from people that I haven't seen in 10 years. People who, for the most part, barely liked me to begin with.

I wasn't in their cool club when we were teenagers and I've just been hit with the harsh reality that I will always WANT to be accepted by them. I don't want to actually reunite with them, just to know that they think I am awesome and that they are jealous of my glamorous life of youth ministry in a tiny town.

Damn it. Maybe I'll spend less time tomorrow worrying about these people who were happily faded into the background of my life story before yesterday.