If there had been internet like this when I was twenty I would have been a blog posting fool. I would have posted ten, maybe fifteen thousand times a day. Oh I would have just blown your minds. As is stands, I am not twenty (shh!) and I just don’t have the time to myself that I had when I was twenty. I hated all that free time to myself, by the way, back then. I mean, I liked it but I hated that there was just so very much of it. I longed for a family and a rich family life. I have that now. The blogging suffers for it.

I am grateful for those who keep checking. I do promise that I will figure out how to do it all, including this. Because I like this and I don’t want to give it up for good. So, there you have it. Another nothing post from the no longer twenty-something.

Good day to you, Sir!

Last night we celebrated my 40th birthday with family and friends. Before you concoct an inaccurate visual, this was not a Trivial Pursuit slash cheese and crackers party. I might be forty but I ain’t old. No, this was a rattle the foundation affair chock full of madness and not a little mayhem.  Oh no, the mayhem was not small in either quality or quantity.  The mayhem was embarrassingly captured on whatever you say instead of saying ‘film’

Photographs were distributed via email and I can tell you that several party guests woke to find themselves forever remembered in half naked poses.  Oh dear.  Not me, though.  I would never.

Well, I would but on this occasion, I did not.

I have to tell you, just between us, this forty business is working out far better than I thought it would. I couldn’t explain it no matter how many hours you gave me to try, but I’m liking this.  It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that U feel liberated and excited about the future and I wasn’t even in the market for liberation so how good is that?  

Oh man, I was all set to share a photo from the evening but it won’t upload. Sucks!  Whatever. Your loss. 

(Tommy, I can’t upload photos. How come that?)

Yesterday was my 40th birthday.  Yes, I’m forty.  Years old.  Double twenty. Two of me twenty years ago make one of me now.  Not in size.  I have not doubled in size.  I’m double the awesome, though, and I was pretty damned awesome back then, so.  You know.  Major awesome now.  Criminally awesome. 

I’ve got to admit that turning forty hasn’t been the easiest. I mean, alright, there’s the alternative - not turning forty.  There are only two ways to do that: death and lying. Death can go suck it and while I’m not averse to lying I’m not going to be that 29 and holding girl. That girl is so embarrassing because after a while people figure it out.  

Wasn’t she twenty nine last year?

And the year before that?

And fifteen years ago?

Hey, wait a minute….

I’ve been anxious about this birthday since the last one.  Actually, since I turned 37, if you want to know the truth.  Thirty seven sounded an awful lot like being all growed up and shit.  Ever since then I’ve been keenly aware of my fortieth looming in the distance like some elastic pants wearing, sensible short hair having, hockey mom button pinned to her purple satin bomber jacket suburban nightmare.

My 40th was, apparently, going to take place in the late 70s.  

I’ve tried to write about this for weeks.  I had the idea that I’d go through my emotions publicly and come to some sort of understanding with myself.  It’d be all cathartic and whatever and not only good for me but for the whole entire rest of the world.  Benefit of my experience, kind of thing. Except for the fact that every time I tried to write I came up not just blank but blank and confused. I could not, no matter how long I commanded myself to do so, come up with words to fit how I felt. Because it turns out I didn’t know I how I felt. I just felt. The what was as obscure as jude

Dan is an exceptional human being in most regards but when it comes to girls and their feelings he is like every other guy. He reacts as though faced with an impending attack by gizzly bear. He assumes the fetal position, covers his head with his hands and pretends to be dead. Eye contact with the grizzly bear is ill advised because as every man can tell you, eye contact only encourages the animal to keep talking which will amount to no good. The feelings must be avoided at all cost. Scary scary feelings.

I suppose that if I had been able to explain myself coherently and with an economy of not only words but, more importantly, expressive emotions, Dan would have been far happier to have a sit down on the subject of my birthday woes.  As it was, I had no clue.  I came at him not unlike an unexpected thunderstorm.  One minute it’s blue skies and the next you’re running for cover from a jaggedy black cloud.  But the cloud is following you and it knows your name.  It wants to know why you don’t love it, Dan.  Why don’t you love the jaggedy black cloud?  Is it because the cloud is so old now?  Old jaggedy black cloud? 

Emotions are not always fluffy bunnies, gentlemen. Sometimes they are jaggedy black cloud grizzly bears! Watch yourself!

It took us about three days to finally come together. What he lacks in initial response he more than makes up for in three-days-later pats on the back.  We had ourselves a good talk about a week ago and when I cried – because I did – he did not run and hide from either the grizzly bear or thunderstorm. He stuck around and got me through.  I managed to figure out how I was feeling and came to that understanding with myself. I’m not exactly comfortable with forty and all of its associated stereotypes but I am comfortable with me. I haven’t changed. I’m the same person I was Saturday – Sunday can’t change that. Yeah a decade of Saturdays and Sundays will but that’s slow change and I’ll deal with that as it comes. For now, I’m not 29 and holding and I won’t say I’m 40 and better than ever. I think I’ll avoid all of the stereotypical talk and maybe it’ll avoid me. I can’t say age doesn’t matter because I think it does. Just not always in a negative way, you know?

I had my cry and I know why I had it. I’m okay now but I don’t think I’ll be so apt to discuss my age anymore. That’s over. No matter how you chat it up I still don’t like the sound of it. Doesn’t suit me. Like yellow shirts and a-line pleated skirts. Just not my style, really. I’ll be forty but only because my Reality Altering Machine is broken. And if it wasn’t I’d be changing for more serious stuff like I’d make it so toilets never need cleaning and that money really did grow on trees. Forty would be a lot nicer if that stuff were true, am I right? I’m forty and my toilet cleans itself! Praise be to Jayzuz!

Until that happens check out what Dan got me for my birthday – priddy wunnerful.

I have a friend who is, by the most generous assessment, strange.  She’s got to have some sort of diagnosable mental illness although I dare not guess what.  There’s a little of everything, depending on the day.  But she’s basically good at heart, a decent person.  Means no harm.  

Over time, though, I’ve begun to see her differently.  Her oddities and inclination to overstep have turned from a general nuisance to something I’m not sure I can accept.  We’ve gone beyond the stuff that just pisses you off to things that are of a more serious nature.  We’ve gone from her telling me how to parent my children (bad enough) to racism and other social diseases that I am not capable of ignoring.

Last school year she brought up the issue of children with special needs in the classroom and how they (excuse me, they!) were taking precious teacher time away from her children.  She referenced a few of these special needs children specifically, describing how one boy walked on his toes and there was a girl with one big eyeball who had to be walked to her parents car every day.  She spoke of these children with disgust, as though they had something catching and she feared her children would come home with whatever it was.  She spoke of them as though they were monsters and I could not help but think of that boy’s mother or the young girl’s dad.  Picking them up from school, giving them a big hug and kiss and hoping – just hoping – that their wonderful babies got through the day without anyone being cruel toward them.  The school has a policy, you see, and children there are taught kindness and tolerance.  The unfortunate thing is that not all homes have the same policy and I am disgusted that one such home is very near my own.

We walk every night, a few neighbours and myself.  The offending friend is among the group.  Last spring she commented that there were sure a lot of black people around here.  She whispered the words as though she was telling us some dirty little secret.  Did you hear?  There are black people in our neighbourhood.  Black people.  As though we’d better be careful, watch out for those black people.  Careful now. They’re everywhere.

I’ve never known anyone who would say such a thing out loud.  I’m sure I’ve known racists but for the most part they’re not stupid enough to just blurt stuff like that out.  Not only does she fear the blacks, in general, but is deeply concerned about the multicultural make-up of our school.  Terrible, terrible cultural diversity.  The horror.  Our white children are being tainted by the lovely East Indian girl in Madison’s class for whom English does not come easily. She’s learning and damn if Madison isn’t happy to help her figure out a word if she’s struggling.  She’s a shy little thing besides and I don’t imagine learning a new language is making things any easier for her.  I say we toss her out.  Get rid of her.  She’s taking up teacher time, just like the damned special needs people.  Take this little girl with her big brown lovable eyes and shy nervous smile and tell her mother, who seems like a regular mom – just like me, to take her good for nothing wrong color kid and go.  Get out, little girl and take the rest of them with you.  

We had a federal election here last night (Canada, in case you did not know where I am) and this morning I met her on the street with the kids while walking to school.  Within seconds of greeting one another I was assaulted with her thoughts on the election or, more specifically, on the state of poor people and the needy in general.  I was told, in a way which suggested that she thought I would agree, that she’s happy the Conservative government remained in power because they’ll help people like us keep our money out of the hands of the poor and needy who just need to pull up their bootstraps and get it together.  It’s not our job to take care of single mothers!  Families living below the poverty line can go suck rocks, as far as she’s concerned.  The more she spoke the harder I found it to not kick her in the stomach.  I finally had to say – look, we’re not on the same page here so it’s probably best that we not talk politics.  Although, really, it wasn’t even politics.  I know a lot of Conservative voters who are not monsters.  This woman and her ideas and the things she will say out loud – I know no one so evil and so callous and so unkind.

She did not stop talking, despite my asking her to drop the subject and even sent me an email later having a ‘giggle’ and thinking she was my outing my political party of choice.  She sent a link for a local NDP candidate (we are a 3 party system and the NDP are the furthest left on the spectrum and are often seen as a working class party) suggesting that Dan might want to start sending his money to this candidate. Haha.  I’ve had my giggle for the day, she wrote.  You’ve outed yourself!  I know you’re an true NDPer!  Haha!

So what if I was, exactly?

Dan and I each emailed her back saying that we’d prefer not to discuss things like religion and politics with her, if she didn’t mind.  We both maintained our decorum despite wanting to finally say what we’ve long been thinking.  There is not thing one about this woman that we respect.  She is everything I cannot tolerate.  Racism and I don’t even know what you call it when a person hates little kids with special needs.  What is that?  Other than just a really mean awful monster. But we didn’t say any of that.  We politely asked that she refrain from this kind of talk and do you know, she emailed back and said that some people misunderstand things because they don’t listen.  She proceeded to insult the province we live in (they are new here and always insulting the area) to lighten the mood.  She brought up all manner of thing not remotely related to our simple request – a request made without so much as hinting at how deeply offensive we find her – but never not once apologized and said yes, of course.  Rather, she sent email after email going on and on and on about it while the whole time saying oh yes, I know, you don’t want me to talk about politics.  Harhar, I just can’t stop myself because I am such a political genius and it pours out of me willynilly.

In the several years that I’ve known this woman I’ve felt compelled to get along for the good of the many.  Don’t want to cause a rift on the street and make other people uncomfortable.  I’ve put up with her telling me what’s wrong with my kids, what’s wrong with my parenting, what’s wrong with the blacks, what’s wrong with the kids who are trying to learn a second language while also trying to make friends in a place they do not understand.  I’ve put up with so many things in the name of ‘getting along’ because that’s what you do, right?  Only, why is it she doesn’t have to play that game?  Why isn’t she trying harder to ‘get along’?  Why is she allowed to be so incredibly offensive on so may levels while we grin and erase email after email that we’re too afraid to send?

Something has changed in me today and I won’t be feeling such a need to get along.  I’m not interested in raising the roof with her over any of her sickening beliefs.  But my silent acceptance of her hatefulness will not go on.  I cannot be a party to her way of thinking and I feel that in not speaking up I have done a disservice to myself, my family and to the people she speaks of with such disgust.  I’m not getting in any fights, I assure you, but I’ll be speaking up from now on and be damned what anyone thinks about it.  She’s gone beyond being a regular annoyance to a societal disease.  If she wants to be hateful she’ll have to expect a response from me.  

It’s funny that it’s taken me this long to see her for who she really is.  As you go along in friendships people will do things you might not like or agree with and for the most part you let things go because as grown people we don’t expect everyone to be exactly like us.  You’re different from me and I’m okay with that.  We can co-exist.  But today the light went on.  I’m not going to nod and get along with people who are a blight on society.  People like her are among the most terrifying – all the appearance of that which is right and good but behind closed doors she’s a card carrying member of the Narrow Minded Assholes Club.  I’m not going to pretend otherwise anymore.  I can’t.