My first two-parter!
Some people send out vibes. Sexy vibes. Creepy vibes. Confident vibes. Winky I’m-Running-For-President-Without-the-Goods vibes. If-You-Come-Closer-You’ll-Learn-I-Smell-Like-the-Innards-of-a-Moldy-Crockpot vibes.
I send out the “I Really Mean the Exact Opposite of What I Say, so Please Do Something About It” vibe. I need to that looked at, if only because that’s a really long name for a vibe, and if I ever get a bio in a professional program in a Lifetime Movie of the Week in a True Crimes Magazine somewhere, that’s going to be too wordy.
For brevity’s sake (and because if you have to keep reading that, you’re going to lose your place. It does not make a good acronym – IRMtEOoWIS, SPDSAI), I’ll call it Antonym Action Vibe.
After spending over a decade working with teenagers who have a wonderful habit of making every thing sound like a question, I speak definitively. (Teenagers also have the wonderful habit of being sarcastic about everything. Like that’s original.) A period is a period, and a question mark is a question mark. My voice only goes up at the end of a sentence if I seek information or am suddenly pinched. I was actually pinched the other day at a crowded fundraiser by unseen fingers. Come to think of it, I did not actually ask a question after that. I went straight for the interjection. Somewhere, a certain Divinity is blushing and is waving my soul straight to the I-94 at rush hour Hell.
Lately, people seem to think my comments are insecure interrogatives hidden under declarations. They also see themselves as answers to my questions. It’s like I’m a trivial pursuit game and folks are trying to jam their personal pie pieces of opinion and action in my orifices. It’s just as pleasant as it sounds.
I assume it’s chemical or genetic, wired deep within my DNA on a genome next to the programming that makes the big toe on my right food crack with every single step. This must be a medical condition that should soon get sloppy treatment on Grey’s Anatomy, hopefully sandwiched somewhere between a conversation between the impossibly beautiful Sara Ramirez and Eric Dane, and, if I’m lucky, a little Chandra Wilson thrown in, all of whom I adore. I hope my fictitious condition is not treated fictitious by Little Grey. I would ask for Meredith, but it seems she’s all but disappeared from this show. Maybe she’s hiding in Derek’s hair until he finally gives up the Chief position he doesn’t deserve or really want, if he’s honest.
Sorry. Sometimes I pretend I write for televisionwithoutpity.
Once diagnosed, be it in real life or on TV (House! House would totally diagnose this problem after a few missteps and jamming me in the MRI machine and Taub doing…something amusing…and Cuddy would absolutely wear clothes that no self-respecting Head of Hospital, or serious business woman anywhere would wear) I can get one of those medical bracelets that tells people that, despite appearances, I really know what I’m talking about, or if I don’t, I’m pretty quick to say so.
I really am quick to announce the barriers of my knowledge. I learned long ago when in conversational frontiers, to either shut my trap or ask for a communications Pocahontas. Unrelated, but I want to create a character named Jackiegawea.
Apparently, my Antonym Action Vibe is a dormant condition that has flare ups. It’s like conversational herpes without the cold sores or cool dating site.
I’m not talking about people sharing opinions. Opinions are like elbows: everyone’s got a couple and usually aren’t particularly careful with where they put them or how many crusty layers have gathered due to age and neglect. Have you looked at someone’s elbows lately? Who wants to deal with that? I am talking about people who not only tell you want/believe/need the exact opposite of what you want/believe/need, but proceed to act on it. Antonym Action Vibe is insidious because it’s never really about big things, important things. No deal breakers, here. It all involves small insignificant things, things that if you acquiesce, it’s not a big deal. It builds over time, like a cavity, creating a small hole of discomfort in your soul. Or perhaps your big toe, which may be why mine creaks. It causes revisionist listening…you couldn’t have possibly heard what you think I said.
Side effects include shame, self-doubt, mild to moderate annoyance, and an erection thoughts of “I wish I’d said/done/smacked…” lasting more than four hours.
Forceful blocking and rewriting of what I say seems to occur in the milestone areas: weddings, marriages, pregnancies, kids, and dream pursuit.
The story of my affliction with this disease o throughout my life. I conquered the more chronic and potentially life-altering similar diseases of Not Speaking Up For Myself and the ugly Doormat Syndrome. Antonym Action Vibe seems to be incurable, in my case.
I had an AAV flare-up when planning my wedding. Apparently I did not want my hair down, my dress in two pieces, no program, and to do my own makeup, despite the words that actually came out of my mouth. Actions were taken by others in my best interest, 180 degrees from what I had expressed. That’s another post entirely.
I know I am not the only victim of this devastating condition.
We have family friends. I’ll call them Barney and Betty, but their real names are Marcy and Roy. Barney and Betty’s son has three young children. Occasionally, Barney and Betty get to have the kids stay over for a night or two. Barney and Betty’s son, Bam Bam (also not his real name) asked specifically that Barney and Betty not take the kids for fast food. Bam Bam purchased frozen meals for Barney to make and gave them money to take the kids to a restaurant if they wanted. Just no fast food.
Barney and Betty, for some reason, delighted in taking the grandkids to McDonald’s. Really pulled a fast one there. Everyone was a winner except for the kids, who got terrible diarrhea. And Barny and Betty who had to deal with that. And Bam Bam heard all about it and bam bam’ed his head against the wall.
This is an extreme case, of course, of low stakes, high frustration Antonym Action Vibe. Oh, how Bam Bam suffered. And when Bam Bam suffers, in a way, the world cries a little bit before biting into its collective Brontosaurus burger.
Right now I’m having a flare up, mostly in the parenting department.