Throw in some tiki torches, Jeff Probst and a tribal council and we’re good to go

Last week, I happened to mention to a friend how grateful I was that Zoe had managed to make it all the way to her junior year of high school without becoming immersed in the depraved, psychotic, pus-filled staph infection that is teenaged girl drama. It had been relatively smooth sailing within her group of friends and I was *this* close to exhaling.

Know what happened next?

If you guessed “someone spiked the air with laxatives and then two tons of runny shit hit the fan and sprayed all over your optimism?” DING DING DING DING DING! Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

By the way, since when is a chicken dinner a coveted prize? And if it is, then why isn’t my family a little more grateful five days out of the week?

It’s kind of like the time I emailed another friend “Oliver’s gone a week without pooping in the house! Woot!” And not five minutes later, Oliver flipped me the bird by excreting a reasonable facsimile of the Rocky Mountains behind the couch.

Or the time I posted on my blog that we were all healthy and happy and not ten hours later, we were all Welcome to the Barfiarreah! PULL UP A TOILET AND STAY AWHILE.

When will I learn to not tempt fate? And how come when I say stuff like “I’ll never see my abs again without an X-ray or an autopsy,” fate ignores me?

I’m not going to get into the nitty gritty of the drama. Suffice it to say that it was a whole bunch of “she said/she said/she said that she said” crap transmitted via touch screens or QWERTY keyboards because God forbid these kids today use their cell phones to actually speak to one another. Why bother using a larynx to share some vitriolic screed when it’s so much faster to use your thumbs? Back in the day, it took us a few minutes to spread miscommunication and misunderstanding, depending on whether we had a rotary or push button phone with a cord that reached into our bedroom for privacy. Today, it can be done in nanoseconds from the couch while watching Big Bang Theory, delivered in short, abbreviated phrases peppered with an appalling lack of punctuation and grammar and an overabundance of acronyms that I either have to Google or tweet with a hashtag of #whatthehelldoesthismean?

It’s all over now and the dust has settled upon new alliances and the carcasses of friendships gone by the wayside. High school is once again a simmering nine month stint on Survivor but without the exotic locale and diet. Unless a cafeteria and fiestada pizza can considered exotic?

Zoe only has a little over one and a half years to go before she’s off to college and with any luck, beyond this rite of passage which, as far as rites go, sucks big, fat, orangutan scrotum. But Helena is only in fifth grade which means I don’t even need to use binoculars to see another round of it coming down the pipe and honestly, I’d rather experience my first period or breaking my hymen or maybe even back labor again than have to deal with more of this kind of petty, hormonal, estrogen-infused angst.

But that’s not likely to happen so right after I write this, I’m off to practice holding my breath for another seven years.



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14 thoughts on “Throw in some tiki torches, Jeff Probst and a tribal council and we’re good to go”

  1. Avatar

    LOL!! My daughter is also in 5th grade (turned 11 today!) and I’m DREADING the high school years!! This is one of my favorite lines from your blog: “High school is once again a simmering nine month stint on Survivor but without the exotic locale and diet.” πŸ™‚ Have a great weekend and thanks for the laughs, as always!

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    Mine is only 3…so I have a long way off, but thanks so much for spoiling my iconic view of teenhood, which I was carefully tending. You sure tromped that little flower bed.

    I will be crawling back into my denial of things to come…. now


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    The sad thing is that it doesn’t end when you’re an adult! “mommy groups” are the worst!! I’m about to leave my current one because of all the stupid drama!

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    Aww poor Andy – this too shall pass…and then happen again….and then pass…

    Why am I feeling overly blesses this morning, that my 14 year old is socially inept and I don’t have this problem?

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      @ Tammy! LOL – I was thinking how blessed I AM that my girls all survived (& so did I btw!) and now I get to watch THEM suffer! One has a dtr going on 9 who is going to give her a ROYAL run for her money! that’s the mom curse working at it’s highest and best! (maybe you girls need to call your moms and apologize? MAYBE she will lift that curse – maybe not! πŸ™‚ )

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    Sadly some people never get past it. I refuse to join the kids’ current PTA because I *did* my time with mean girls in high school and then went on for the bonus level in a college sorority.

    Probably why god gave me boys. There is still social angst but usually it is solved by punching someone. Boys are more direct that way

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    Wow is this what I have to look forward to?! I have a 6 year old boy, 4 year old girl, a 17 month old girl, and another (most likely a girl) on the way coming in January. They will all be teenagers at the same time. Maybe poor planning on mine and Dad’s parts, but we are considering bars on the windows and deadbolts on the doors. Having 3 teen daughters at once is a very scary thought. I was hoping for boys!
    I love the part of your blog β€œsomeone spiked the air with laxatives and then two tons of runny shit hit the fan and sprayed all over your optimism?” I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants πŸ™‚ Thanks for another good laugh!

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    I think my gal has the drama but just doesn’t tell me about it. I guess.

    Seriously though, a really, really good book if you like that kind of thing is Best Friends/Worst Enemies, The Social Lives of Children (Thompson).

    And very funny post!

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    Andy – I have to think that these are valuable life-lessons for Zoe (and maybe Mom) because this crap STARTS in high school and never stops. From Scouts to PTO to professional organizations I’ve seen some of the worse high school minded backstabbing, pettiness and ugliness.

    Now I’m going to look at pretty pictures to try and get the image of a big, fat, orangutan scrotum out of my mind…

    Stan at Scrappers Workshop

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