Tuesday 12 February 2002
fat saturday night
From the way this semester is working out, I can kiss my social life, seeing my boyfriend, and seeing my parents goodbye for the next three months. Why do I do this to myself every semester? Monday, class. Tuesday, class. Wednesday, class. Thursday, internship in the morning, class in the afternoon. Friday, work. Saturday, internship. Sunday, work. Rinse. Repeat.
On the bright side, I forfeited the studio this past weekend to go out with Drea and her parents to a Mardi Gras party on Saturday night. It was a Mardi Gras party held by a local lame rock radio station at the Trocadero theatre downtown. It was sponsored by Southern Comfort, so there was Southern Comfort everywhere. Southern Comfort hats, Southern Comfort t-shirts, Southern Comfort beads. Little red blinky thingies that the more creative crowd pinned to their nipples, ass and crotch. I managed to get my hands on some beads (without having to show anyone my breasts, thankyouverymuch) and a Southern Comfort t-shirt.
It was generally cute and interesting. A Zydeco band. Drea's dad bought us Hurricanes (which was some sort of lame mixed drink) and we sat and mostly watched, except when I was asked to dance by this guy who said his name was Chip. To be fair, he was actually very funny and seemed not like a creep. He didn't say a word to me (he spelled out his name with his hands), but I assumed that because it was so loud, he figured talking was futile. It was only later that I found out he lost a bet and couldn't talk for a period of time. What that bet was I never found out.
Anyway, a bizarre night, but more entertaining than playing in the mud for the night.
So I feel better. I'm hoping this is the medication starting to kick in. I have no astronomical lows anymore, rather, things just seem to mosey along, more or less unaffected by what I do or say. I am strangely mellow. Very strangely mellow. I have not gotten pissed at things that would normally leave me livid. Is this a good thing? I have no idea. I remember Kate saying to me a couple weeks ago that SSRIs took away the really bad times, but at the same time, take away the really good times too. I don't want that to happen.
I ran into a rather interesting...disagreement yesterday with someone I consider a friend. I am always interested in a person's reaction when I let drop the fact that John is significantly older than me. And I always had a little nightmare in the back of my head of the worst possible reaction a person could have to this revelation. But in the nearly two years we've been together, I've never had that reaction. Until now.
So I tell this girl, a friend of mine, about John. And then she spends the next 10 minutes telling me why it's wrong, why it's not normal, that "you really are a cool person, Bethany, but think about it. What kind of guy would be interested in a 21 year old girl? He must be a freak." And on and on and on. I'm sure you get the idea. I actually had to ask her three or four times if she was kidding. But she wasn't.
Normally I would've gotten really angry, and probably either blown up in her face or stormed out or a combination of both. But now, it was almost amusing to me. I can't believe that someone could develop such concrete ideas and convictions about a person she has never met. She's never seen me or John interact, and she didn't even know how long we've been together. She had no idea about the nature of our relationship, and even if she did, she certainly had no business telling me that I was wrong, that I needed to get a real relationship with someone my own age and that John was a freak. People have tendency to make certain assumptions about the whole younger woman/older man thing. Most that I've met are smart enough to look past the stereotypes.
So whatever. I'm actually getting more worked up writing about it now than I did at the time. I shrugged it off in the spirit of agree to disagree. Jesus H. Christ. I am occasionally amazed at how ignorant people can be.