Notes & Scraps – Page 5 – Jamais Mayville

Odd Ball

I used to be “normal.”

Not in first grade, when I chewed on pencil erasers.

Not in second grade, when I got in trouble for sending dirty little notes in class — notes with extremely vulgar language! — to my best friend.

Not in third grade, when the teacher sent me to the front office to get checked for head lice — because I had dried shampoo in my hair.

Not in fourth grade, when I suddenly got heavier and wider than all of my classmates.

Not in fifth grade, when I started over at a new school and had a hard time fitting in.

Not in sixth grade, when I missed ten days of class just because I would get stress-induced stomach aches.

Not in seventh grade, when a classmate told everyone I was a lesbian just because I didn’t have a boyfriend. Not in seventh grade, when kids would make fun of my super curly hair.

Not in eighth grade, when kids were still making fun of my super curly hair.

Not in ninth grade, when my hair would get matted sometimes from not being brushed properly, because I was so depressed.

Not in tenth grade, when I felt hopeless and lonely.

Not in eleventh grade, when I struggled with my classes and realized I wasn’t really a good student.

Not in twelfth grade, when I realized I wasn’t ready for college, but that I would be expected to enroll anyway.

Not in college, when I would go to class while I was depressed, when I could barely muster the energy to shave my legs or take a shower or any of that.

Not in grad school — oh, no. Sorry. That is when I felt like a normal person. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was finally pulling things together. At 22, I finally felt normal.

Until later that year — 2016 — when everything seemed to go downhill for everybody — politically, personally, all the way around.

By 2020, I became socially-anxious, silly, germaphobic, and awkward — and it became even worse after 2020. I don’t recognize my own personality, most days. I can tell I rub other people the wrong way, but I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong — because I’m going through the same motions as everyone else. Maybe they can sense the fact that I’m lost — behind it all, I’m lost.

I felt lost between 2016 and 2020, and then I felt even more lost between 2020 and 2023.

I ~~guess~~ know I lost myself — the woman who was normal for one year.

I know it sounds corny, but I’ll find myself again. In 2030, maybe — or maybe tomorrow.

One can hope.

Thoughts On Music: Western Swing and Punk Rock

Bob Wills did for country music what Joe Strummer did for punk rock.

A blend of genres, styles, flavors — the process of amalgamation and unending blending defined the work of both musicians. Strummer and The Clash made reggae-punk-ska-world-disco hits, and western swing was a honky-tonk heaven with pianos, big-band trumpets, and quirky, silly ad-libs. (The same way that Young Thug uses his voice as an instrument, Bob Wills did something innovative with his corny (but fun!) quips.)

These artists both tried something fresh and different, something fun and enduring. Is Western swing the punk rock of country? That’s a question for a musicologist or a music theorist. In the meantime, I’m just enjoying some really, really great songs.

Main Villain Syndrome

Back in 2020, I wrote a thread over on The Dead Bird about how a lot of people have Main Character Syndrome or Main Villain Syndrome. And some people have both, because they’ll do anything to be in the spotlight.

To sum up what I wrote, I said that these people basically want to be cruel to make themselves relevant, to be talked about, to be raked over the coals on nighttime talk shows.

That seems like what’s happening with a certain tech CEO, a certain rapper-turned-fashionisto-turned-preacher-turned-charter-school-operator, and certain infamous influencers.

They think that their bad behavior will be forgivable if they can establish themselves as “fashion geniuses” or “automotive geniuses” — even though their employees and assistants are the ones who are doing all of the hard work.

The only thing they work hard at is performing. When you realize that they’re performing — and that they don’t even have the stones to be good performers — it’s a bit easier to realize that these people are struggling and stunted.

Being the Main Character isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. It’s hardly ever fun. These folks are grinding unnecessarily instead of grinning merrily.

For my part, I would rather be part of the supporting cast — and I would spend my offscreen time doing whatever it is that I want to do.

The Smokers’ Circle

The last man I dated in college — and I hesitate to even call it dating, because I’m so selective that I rarely even go out to eat as a duo, just me and a fella — used to smoke American Spirit cigarettes.

He wasn’t American, I should say. I would hesitate to date an American who smokes, but I’m more inclined to forgive it in non-Americans. I really, really don’t like it — but I know that smoking in public isn’t necessarily frowned upon in some European and Asian countries.

Al fresco cafés are filled with chain smokers and, while I don’t take a romantic view of smoking, I feel a certain kinship with the smoking clown in Edward Hopper’s Soir Bleu.

But I do remember being a little appalled at the fact that, in the 2010s, people were still smoking as a pastime. Even then, it made me feel a bit uncomfortable — and I’ve never dated anyone who vapes, which I imagine would make me feel even more uncomfortable.

I’m not trying to be a hater. I just … I’m not a smoker. I find other ways to cope with my oppressive anxiety, like picking my hangnails and updating my blog.

🐝

If it looks soft, then it’s pettable.

It might not be advisable, but it’s possible. I would entertain the possibility of petting a raccoon, a skunk, and even a bat.

Even a bumblebee is pettable.

Disgusting Stuff

Sometimes, I’ll think of something so disgusting that I make myself cringe. I can usually keep from saying it out loud, but even if I don’t say it, I find myself dwelling on some horrific stuff.

The other day, I described a handsome man as “hot from his pores to his sores.”

I thought I’d forgotten it. I did not forget it. And now, because I can’t forget it, I’m sharing it with you.

This isn’t the only 🥴 thought I’ve had this week. The other thought was about a line in Megan Thee Stallion’s “Simon Says.” The part where she talks about tights and … parts of the human anatomy. Big-built parts of the human anatomy, in particular.

I listened to that song on the day it was released, IIRC. In all my years of listening to that song, I’ve never said anything unsettling or cringeworthy about the lyrics. But now, in 2023, I managed to make myself cringe by saying, “He can tell this ain’t no Slim Virginia.”

Meg, girl — I — I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll only post peer-reviewed bars.

I immediately wanted to tape my own mouth shut. I absolutely need to spend time on something more productive.

I should probably invest in some duct tape, anyway. I never know what horribly corny thing I’m going to think of (or say) next.

4

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I make the number 4.

I do this with my legs. I put one foot under my knee, in an attempt to warm my feet — which in turn (usually) helps me fall back asleep.

Just throwing this out there, in case it helps anyone else who’s struggling with falling asleep. Melatonin probably works better — but making-a-4 is free!

The Squelching ‘20s

“It suxx that I was born in 2047. I wish I’d been a 2020s kid!”

I want to preface this by saying that I’m not a bitter or mean person. Whenever someone says something like that, it generally means that they’re about to say something wildly cruel, ignorant, or insufferable.

I promise that this isn’t the case. (This time, anyhow.)

Let me start back at the beginning — that manufactured quote, about life in the 2020s — and life as it’s going to be perceived by future generations.

I try not to fall back on pessimism, but it’s safe to say that we’re living through some wild times right now. In spite of that, in twenty or thirty years, our kids (or our grandchildren, or perhaps even our great-grandchildren) are going to romanticize life in the ‘20s.

But these are not the Roaring ‘20s. These are the Gasping ‘20s, the Sobbing ‘20s, the Squelching ‘20s.

Certain things have made life in the 2020s so … disconcerting. There are many lovely things happening right now that are worth celebrating — but there are plenty of trends that are less than swoon-worthy.

The same way that Millennials have cringed over photos of their Spandexed, bemulleted, and acid-washed ancestors? Generations Beta and Gamma will scream-laugh when they see an IG Reel featuring their grandpa’s gas-guzzling, vinyl-wrapped, Carolina-tilted Ford F-250 Super Duty. They will hoot and holler when they see their meemaw’s Shein dresses and Fashion Nova janties.

And I’m not a hater — I swear! After seeing The List — a compilation of the side effects of pregnancy, meticulously logged by a young TikTok user — I felt like I could do something similar. I wanted to start a catalog-slash-index of the worst trends/moments/crises of the 2020s.

And so I did.

Here’s a running list of things that have made the 2020s less than romantic:

anti-intellectualism
artificial intelligence, misuse of
cryptocurrency
Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization
dogs inside restaurants
facial-recognition technology, abuse of
fast fashion
high-beam headlights
hostile architecture
housing crises (mortgages, rent, and homelessness)
hydraulic fracturing
inclement weather, higher frequency
insurance ads, unfunny
insurance companies, greed
janties/jiapers
low-rise jeans, revival of
main character syndrome
Marvel movies, ubiquity of
mass shootings
media illiteracy
monthly subscription services
multi-level marketing schemes
non-service animals, service vests on
opioid crisis
over-the-shoe bodysuits
pandemics
pivot-to-video
plastic, single-use
politicians, authoritarian
price gouging
public health crises
1. See pandemics and opioid crisis.
push notifications
road rage, increasing
Shein
1. See fast fashion.
side hustles
spam callers/text messages
streaming services, enshittification of
SUVs, increasingly large
tip creep, self-service checkouts and
tornadoes and tropical storms, increasing prevalence of
Twitter, downfall of
vaccine denial
vindictive landlords/AirBnB hosts
wage gaps

I believe that the only way we’ll be able to counteract the worst of this stuff is by talking about it, so … let’s not sweep it under the rug. Let’s acknowledge it. Let’s talk about it.

And in the meantime, I’ll keep adding more entries to this list.

Tasty Treats

I’m trying to eat Bauducco wafers while writing (and revising) from the comfort of my bed, and I’m failing miserably.

My bedroom looks like a sawmill. There are so many teeny-weeny flakes of golden crumbs that it looks like sawdust. Or glitter.

Vanilla-flavored glitter. Mmmmmmm.

Then again, the flakes make my bed look like it has cradle cap. Eeeeeeeeeeewww.

Food has been giving me trouble this morning. Earlier, I said Harby’s when I was trying to say Hardee’s.

Please don’t blame me when Arby’s-Hardee’s fusion food becomes a trend in 2024. I don’t want to eat a Roast Beef Gyro Goodburger Thickburger, either.

Please Be Kind — And Help Me Find My Mind

Over the past four years, I’ve lost my mind.

Before the pandemic, I was a normal person, and a normal coworker — if a bit quiet and shy. But in the wake of stressful times, I’ve become completely anxious and overly-precise. I’m not too particular when it comes to other people — but I constantly chastise myself.

I’ve also become dull-witted, tongue-tied, and poorly spoken. I used to be able to make jokes, but now, I just sit with my anxious thoughts. I feel like even my voice sounds weak and sad, when it used to sound so … warm and full of life.

Sometimes, I hope and pray that I’ll win the lottery – even when I haven’t bought a ticket. Just so I can start over somewhere else, where no one knows me. Just so I can reinvent myself — this time, as a happy person.