Friday, July 19, 2013

My So-Called Life



 In theory, I'm living the American Dream...2.5 kids (seriously, my brother has been here all summer and eats $100 worth of groceries every 3 days...that has to count for at least 1/2 a kid), 2 cats (the equivalent of 1 golden retriever), and a 4 bedroom house with a white picket fence...ok, there's not really a picket fence, but we have a front porch overlooking the neighbors across the street who have currently moved their indoor furniture to their front lawn and invited every unemployed friend over to hang out around the clock...but yeah, other than that...the American Dream...or so I thought, until I started stalking the profiles of some of my high school classmates (Go Dutch!).

I don't know exactly how it happened this morning...but I started by looking at my news feed...which led to checking out a friend of a friend...which led to profile pages of people that I literally haven't seen in 20 years...and voila! 2 hours later I was sitting in a puddle of self-pity.  That's the trap of Facebook...you post all of the great things that your kids have done, and then you realize that while you were cooking and cleaning and going to Little League games (ok, not really cooking and cleaning...who has time for that? I mean...if I wasn't on FB for 2 hours...but that's besides the point) your classmates were out in the world being awesome.  Seriously, here's a little snippet of what I found...

One of my classmates is a supermodel.  I'm not joking...believe me, I wouldn't joke about that...it's too depressing.  She's my age and she just had a bikini layout for Mercedes-Benz fashion week...in Miami...she looks 18.  I'll be honest. She's hot. I hate her.  I'd post the pics for you, but then she might see it and know I was stalking her...although let's be honest...she wouldn't see it...she too busy BEING A SUPERMODEL.  I almost grabbed a glass of wine to soften the blow...but it was 10am...and I'm out.

Another classmate is an artist.  Like for real.  I read her resume...she has artwork on display in L.A, Toronto, New York, Italy, and Chicago.  And she's a professor. At a University.  With a degree from U of M...I mean, I'm pretty happy to be a Spring Arbor Cougar (I think we were the cougars...wildcats? Not sure) but I'm a bit jealous...about the degree, and the artwork, and the university.

But she's not the only one, another classmate is also a professor...of urban studies...at a big university...and he's not even a classmate, he was my little sister's friend.  I think pushed him in a pool once and he almost drowned. He has his own website with head shots.  And I think he might be published.  I'm not published. I"M. NOT. PUBLISHED.

I seriously need to get going on my life.  I mean, I have a Bachelor's degree...ONLY A BACHELOR'S! and I went to a small university...after I had kids...seriously, they came to my graduation. And I've only written 1/2 a novel.  And I'm 5'2"...with hips...child-birthing hips...I'll never be a supermodel.  Ugh.  Facebook almost ruined my day.

But then Carson (aka: Little Buddy) got up from watching T.V. in his middle class, mid-west house and came over to the computer to sit on my lap for a few minutes. Sigh...and my life makes sense again...and anyway, I don't have time for self-pity...we have a 2 day Little League tournament to be at this weekend, and I have to pick up my baby girl (who's no longer a baby) from her babysitting job, and reschedule cheer practice for next week...and well...I might not have a picket fence, and I might never have a website and a head shot and illustrious career, but I have great kids, and a great hubby, and a great job (which will all be looking fabulous on Facebook, just in case anyone from my high school class starts stalking around) and really, who wants to be a model anyway? All that standing around looking fabulous...no thanks...I'll take my so-called life...unless Mercedes Benz wants to make me an offer...then of course, I'm all in!

That's all for today from a Little League watching, 2.5 kid having, middle-class, Midwest,
Small Town Girl.

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