The Hair Flip

So I went to my homecoming, and shut up. I know that I said that I wasn't going to go because of the anxiety that I was having about it, but I have to say, it was a lot of fun and I am very glad that I went. For one, I thought that I would be the only single, fat person there. Not the case. And no one cared! Everyone was just happy to see everyone, and there was a good time had by all.
However, I am sad to report that some things about the people that I went to school with have not changed. Some of my female peers are still as terminally rude as they were ten years ago.
Once upon a time, about 11 years ago, I had a communications class with this girl named Ashley. I didn't know Ashley well, but I could tell by her attitude that she was one of those petite girls with long, flat-ironed hair that liked to flirt and felt like the world should revolve around her. During a study session, she referred to a male friend of mine that had just crossed Alpha Phi Alpha as fat multiple times. Number one: the boy was not fat. Number two: who uses the word fat so openly around a fat person? I tell you who: Ashley. Ashley the Rude.
Anywho, the first night of homecoming I found myself at a club for an alumni dance party. I was the first one there because I am old and punctual, and if my friend Ethan would not have agreed to meet me there, I would have gone home at 9:30pm. I mean, I really felt like a fish out of water. All I kept thinking was that the music was hella loud and that the young girls that were there needed to go home and change into something more appropriate.
Ethan got there as soon as I had decided to leave, and we stood at one of those tall tables and talked. In mid-sentence, I hear someone yell, "Ethan!" I turned around and who was it but Ashley the Rude. She is still just as cute as she always has been and had on this dope black sweatsuit. Her hair, as usual, was heat damaged to the side.
"Hi Ashley," I said, as she ignored me, stepped in front of me, and gave Ethan the warmest welcome I have ever seen in my life. I half expected him to pick her up, kiss her, and spin in a circle. They caught up briefly, and as Ashley motioned to leave, I said, "Bye Ashley." Homegirl didn't turn around, she simply flipped her hair in my face and walked away to dance with her other rude ass friends. She left me there with a tight face, blinking profusely, in a state of disbelief.
That night, I didn't really dance. I had a good time watching the youngins twerk and hearing my favorite songs on good speakers. My feet began to hurt, so I stood barefoot, rocking side to side to Cardi B, eating ice out of my cup. But on the way back to the hotel in my Uber, I realized that there is some comfort in things not changing for better or worse. Ashley the Rude is still rude. I still hate standing at the club. My classmates still look good. New Orleans is still fun. It's nice to know that as the world kicks your butt, there is still a mislead girl in a tracksuit that will flip her hair in your face for old times sake. This, my friends, is the definition of comforting.

The Terrible 12s

My sister is 12 and her attitude is so HORRIFIC that I don't know if she or the rest of the family is going to make it to her 13th birthday alive.
What can I say? She is obnoxious. She is rude. She has taken up hanging with the kids next door, these gross little hood rats that think they are better than the neighborhood because they go to private school. She yells. She talks crazy to my mom. She talks crazy to my brothers and I. She stomps around and cries and calls us names when she doesn't get her way, then she has the audacity to turn around and ask for new school clothes. Please, not from me!
Talking to her about her miserable disposition has gotten so draining ad dramatic that we all kind of hide from her, sitting in our rooms with the door closed as she has one of her episodes.
Right now is the worst. She is actually behaving, which, in the past, has proven to be the calm before the storm. Any little twitch, any denial of a third helping of food, any request to use the phone while she is talking to one of her airhead friends, any expectation to actually do a chore, could result in full out war.
Me and my mother were at odds when I was a pre-teen (the jury is still out on whether or not that "phase" is over) so I feel her pain. At that age, EVERYTHING seems so unfair. But I am telling you this: if she comes stomping through this house again for no reason, I am throwing her out the window!