I’ve had a Facebook account for a while. But I never set it up.
My friend Jeremy has been pressuring me to go on so that he can send me Fraggles. I love Fraggles. I love Jim Henson and Kermit. Jim Henson was a genius.
So I set up my page. I looked for old friends from high school and found some of them. It’s already been worth the effort. I also want to do some networking and maybe find some oppertunities to get some more Aflac accounts.
I didn’t care for high school much. Up until my junior year I was overweight. And you know how that goes. But my junior and senior years was great. I’d lost thirty pounds over the summer and everything changed. Yeah… now I was cool.
But it’s sad how there are always a few morons in the crowd that feel a need to belittle others.
Over the years I’ve run into some of those unkind high school jerks. And I can tell you of at least five stories in which that person has practically cried on my shoulder about their pitiful lives.
So yeah… I’ve put some weight on since my ankle surgery and I still have a bit of a stutter (some people are shocked to hear that because I can hide it so well now), but I’m very comfortable in my own skin and proud of the man that I’ve turned out to be. Everything seems to come around full circle.
I taught all of my children to accept people for who they are. That we are all different. That we are all special. That they should never look down on another individual or be a part of a group that does.
That said, there are two or three people from high school that I would love to get in front of to kick their asses. In fact, if I found them I’d go out of my freaking way to see if they remembered me and if they are still assholes like they were twenty-six years ago.
I know, I know… it goes against everything I’ve been preaching and I should be ashamed of myself. Well… maybe I should be. What is it about revenge that makes it sweeter than four packets of Splenda?
I think it’s the need to let that person know that what they did was hurtful. Hurtful, and mean, and unnecessary. And you just want to smack them in the face with a little of what they gave to you.
F**k everything I said above. Bullies need to be taken down a few notches even if it’s twenty-six years later.
I need to hold a meeting with all of my kids. I want them to track down anyone that was ever rotten to them and to punish them for their actions.
Facebook, MySpace, Friendster… THEY CAN’T HIDE. I WILL HUNT THEM DOWN! I’ll wipe those silly little grins off their nasty, older faces. Let’s see who’s looking cute now. Let’s see just how tough they are now… BUCKOS!
I can only hope that their own children were hideously ugly and pissed their pants during eighth-grade gym class. That would be sweet.
At least I grew up into a wonderful, well-adjusted adult. I don’t let things in the past bother me now. What’s the point?
Now that I think about it, it’d be even funnier if their kids were too stupid to remember to buy them Christmas gifts.