"The Bullies Made Me Do It..." Well, that's unfortunate.

I recently watched a story on Nightline (valid news source- it has a pretty intense theme song and that's how I gauge those sorts of things). The reporter was interviewing a 14 year old girl who had undergone plastic surgery this summer to fix her ears and crooked nose because of excessive bullying. While the doctor was in there tinkering with her face he decided to throw in some cheek implants and touch up her chin. The surgery cost close to $40,000. Now, before you go thinking that her father, Daddy Warbucks, foot the bill please note that the entire surgery was paid for by a charity organization. This organization is dedicated to providing surgeries to children who have deformed faces including a cleft palate or perhaps horrible burn scars. And, apparently, elf ears and nose jobs.

Now, I'm not trying to say that bullying doesn't force a child or a teenager into wanting to change their appearance. When you are constantly picked on, day after day, tormented for the way you look or dress, you can't help but beg for some kind of cure-all pill to stop it all. When the girl was asked if she was worried that the kids in school would make fun of her for having plastic surgery she simply responded: "Well, they made me do it so if they pick on me I will just have to deal with it." And her self esteem has skyrocketed as she now wants to do teen modeling.

So what's the point of this entry you may ask (well, truth be told you ask that every time you read this blog)... to verbally slap the doctor and the parents involved in this situation. They won't read this, obviously, but at least I'm attempting to make my point. And I'd also like to throw in a slap for all the Facebook commenters who supported her surgery and compared it to "parents allowing their children to get braces."

Well... now it's personal kids. 

How a $40,000 plastic surgery face transformation and orthodontic procedures are the same thing is beyond me. I've said it before, I'll say it again and I will most likely find a way to get it on my tombstone: I was bullied. From the age of 6 to about 17, I was called names, pushed around, thrown into lockers, poked, prodded, followed, the victim of gum in the hair and spitballs in the face. I pleaded with my parents to help me and to do something so the kids would stop picking on me. Their solution? Well, she's fat so let's put her on the soccer team. Fabulous idea folks! I couldn't run, needed an inhaler and the uniform was purple so it looked like Grimace was attempting to defend the goal. That really helped. And my teeth? Well, I could mow the lawn with my overbite. I required things only Robo-Cop would be given. I had apparati including: a bionater, headgear (denim--- super snazzy), braces, spacers, rubber bands, retainers, and wire wrapping around the back of my teeth. Sleepovers were out of the question (with the few friends I had) and attempting to talk in public required a translator (and towel for those in front of me). I wore glasses. I had a horrible haircut courtesy of Timothy Patchowski who stuck gum in my hair and required inches upon inches falling to the floor in a salon. I wore hand-me-down clothes and at times, out of the pure evilness of her heart, my mother dressed me and my sister in matching outfits. I was the teacher's pet, the cop's daughter, the last picked for the team in gym and I was frequently seen wearing a "Bryan White" t-shirt to school.

My parents knew what was happening in the classroom and on the bus. They knew I was heartbroken and miserable as the girl who everyone picked on. But they decided one thing: She will get through this. We will provide her the love and support she needs at home and one day she will overcome this horror. It will require years of therapy but we'll get her there. I love them but they could have done without the matching outfits and they could have refrained from putting me on the soccer team. (To this day a piece of me dies on the inside when I see Grimace on tv). They never offered me the option of plastic surgery even when the acne on my face could easily have been confused with a large pepperoni pizza outside the box. They paid for orthodontics because otherwise I would have been forced to graze in a meadow in order to eat. 

I thank my parents for their decision to stand by me and make me get through it. There was no easy way out and they did what they could for me (again, mom, the damn matching Hawaiian skort set? Really?) Now I'm sure you are all (well, all 2 of you) reading this and thinking--- "Hey drama queen, it wasn't that bad." Oh my friends. I'm not embarrassed to provide evidentiary support. Below you will find photos. If I had some with the headgear I'd have posted those as well. Or with the glasses but I was bad about wearing them (hence walking into walls all the time). My prized possession, the photo with Bryan White, was the epitome of my early teens. And I thought I looked so goooood. I took jeans tucked into sneakers to a whole new level.

Change the bullies... don't change your kids. Let them grow into who they are going to be. Don't let them get to the level of despair where they can't see a way out (obviously I'm not advocating ignorance here) but a $40,000 surgery on a 14 year old? Epic parenting and physician fail. But please promise me that if your 300 pound 16 year old tells you she wants to cut off all her hair... intervene. Nothing good comes from that.

Everyone will grow up to be who they are supposed to be and look like they are supposed to look. And the bullies? They'll grow up to be miserable, jobless, wash-up, has-been's that revel in the years they "peaked" in coolness- on the playground in 4th grade and on the junior high football team. The bullied kid will look at them all and say... "how do you like me now?"

And then your child, seen here with bacon, turns into a vegetarian.

Crimping your hair? Everyone else was doing it. 

Thank you Timothy Patchowski for the short bob. And yeah, I rock the one piece jumper.

It took me days to pick out this outfit. Awkward 13 year old? Says who... 

Really... an intervention would have been appreciated here. 

And by the way... I remember who you were that picked on me. I will never forget your names or your faces. And I will always think fondly of you as I look back at my youth. You're usually being hit by a bus when these fond memories arise, but I still thank you for making me the person I am today. And for teaching me that people truly can suck at life- they're called bullies.

                                     

You Say "NO" to Drugs... Not Toppings.

So that dreaded moment has arrived when I decide: I'm going to go on my first date since the epic breakup 4 months ago with Mr. Big. (Why do I still refer to him as Mr. Big you ask? Because if I use his real name, even though the secret is out of the bag as to who he is, I may punch the computer screen. And I'm too poor to replace that. So hence, "Mr. Big.") 


I'm a simple girl, looking for a simple guy. I don't want a lot of drama. I don't want someone who gets a manicure or carries a man purse. I also don't want someone who is missing most of their teeth and thinks a trip to the Piggly Wiggly for pickled pig hooves is a date. I want someone who loves country music, long drives through the country, has an education, enjoys baseball, is Irish, has a southern accent, perhaps has a Ronald Reagan photo framed in his office, and believes World War II documentaries are fabulous entertainment as well as Monster's Inc.. See, that's not too much to ask for right? I'm not picky. My friend argues the contrary though. She says, "Kristen, if they don't like country music it's not that big of a deal." Really? In comparison, given my job and my passion, that is the equivalent of an emergency room doctor dating someone who doesn't believe in modern medicine. Just saying.

So I find someone to go on my first date with. We will call him Michael. Why? Because that's his real name. Why else? So because I'm looking for a southern country boy I decide to go on a date with an Italian guy from Brooklyn. Makes sense, right? He seemed like a decent guy. The New York thing threw me for a loop but perhaps we are creatures of habit and we go where we feel most comfortable. Perhaps I resorted back to "little Kristen" and wanted a little New York back in my life. Unfortunately, I think my mind was looking for pizza and cannellonis, not an Italian Brooklyn guy.

Our first date was at a frozen yogurt place in the afternoon. My favorite place too. They have a lot of flavors and a toppings bar that will make you physically have to wipe up drool. Do you want Cinnamon Toast Crunch on your cake batter yogurt with a side of cheesecake chunks and sprinkles with a swirl (or six) or whipped cream? You do. Well, then we've got something in common. But this visit to the happy fro-yo paradise was different. My "date" went straight for the vanilla lever- never once taking the time to look at the other flavors in the beautiful dispensers. And then, much to my horror, he walked right past the toppings bar. He didn't even blink.

Now, let me say this once and for all. I skipped breakfast for that damn toppings bar. I was ready for my "Kristen Concoction." I politely asked, "Did you see all these toppings here? Are you going to just have it plain [you psycho mutant freak]?" He responded, "Have you ever just had yogurt without messing it up with toppings and extra calories?" WHAT?!? Have I WHAT?!? You don't simply "mess yogurt up" with toppings. You make something beautiful. You make a masterpiece. You make something that warms your heart and reminds you that God actually does exist. I knew if I put my toppings inside my bowl he would find the nearest "Over-Eaters Anonymous" meeting for me and our date would be over. So I threw one strawberry in the bowl, and whispered to the other toppings that I loved them, it was nothing personal and I would be back for them later. I then went up to the counter where Sargent Vanilla was paying for our order (perhaps with a pout).

I should have walked away then. I should have just seen that the guy had gotten a bowl of plain vanilla frozen yogurt and was satisfied. What did that say about him exactly? What did that say about the guy I had chosen to go on a date with? Frankly, no New Yorker in general would pass up a freakin' sprinkle, so who is this guy and what does he want with me? I started to worry a little bit. He was shifty obviously and without a doubt, I could not trust him. I don't trust people who don't believe in sugar.

My fear of being murdered on a first date goes back many, many years. That's why I always leave a note for the cops to find should I disappear. I leave some of my hair for DNA. I had impressions made of my teeth for dental identification. And I leave a little extra cat food out just in case. As I sat across the table listening to a man go on and on about his love for break dancing (yep, I know how to pick them), I started thinking about that note on the counter. Did I describe my outfit enough? Should I bite this guy's arm so that my teeth impressions are there? Should I pull out pieces of my hair and throw them on him so that my DNA is there too? The moral of the story is simple: if a man can pass up a toppings bar, he can't be trusted and is capable of anything. I've watched "Dates From Hell." This was one of them. When the date was over and I had practically lied about everything I did for living, where I lived, and who I am in general, I walked to my car knowing I had dodged a bullet (or some other form of an untimely death at the hands of Mr. No-Toppings).

So, as if my list of "must haves" for a man isn't long enough, let's add: Must Love Sugar. Any man that does not, in my opinion, is twisted and capable of just about anything. If they can pass up Fruity Pebbles on Cake Batter ice cream, they can make your skin into a suit. I'm just throwing that out there.

Bring on contestant Number 2 please. And he better have a freaking cavity... or two.

10 things I learned while being 27:

10) The person you were in high school is not the person you will be when you are a “grown-up.” The 10 years that pass from wearing that cap and gown to your 10 year reunion are filled with lessons that could never have been taught in a classroom. It’s called LIFE and that is what makes you who you are. (By the way, you’ll never fit into American Eagle again, so throw that whole “I’m the same as I was in high school” idea out the window.)

9) That no matter how far away you are from home, a piece of you is still there. In a time of tragedy you are a part of that community and you feel the pain that they feel. Our time here on Earth is precious and short. Love those around you and make sure that they know they are loved. Follow your gut in any situation and if something doesn’t feel right, then it probably isn’t. Treat others as you would want to be treated. Love those who need it the most. And know that “Love Wins.” Thank you for that very important lesson Melissa… I will never forget it.

8)  Miles and time zones can separate you from your best friends but with one laugh and one hug you pick up right where you left off. 1.5 years of not being together in the same room and we never skipped a beat. Boys have come into our lives and hearts have been broken. Dreams have come true and some have been let go of. But no matter what- we’re always the Brunettes and a reunion of the four of us is just a beautiful disaster.

7) If you think you’re being lied to you… you probably are. Let those who you don’t love go and let those who break your heart go as well. Hopefully the door will hit them on the way out but know that the door won’t open again. No matter how much you loved him, how much he was a part of your life or how happy you thought he made you: let him go. Any man that breaks your heart isn’t worth a moment of your time. It leads to the more exciting prospect that you haven’t met “the one” yet and he is still out there. Now the map to finding him would be a bit helpful in this case…

6)  I can finish grad school. Every time I called my parents in tears saying, “This is too much. I can’t do this. There just isn’t enough time. I’m not like the other students and it’s just too hard” was just fuel in the fire. Hearing the words, “I can’t” come out of my mouth and then hearing the words “You can’t” come of the mouths of others was all it took. If you want something bad enough go get it. Don’t let what you think “makes you different” hold you back. Work harder. Stand taller. And get it done. No questions or debate.

5) Volunteering is my passion. I never really thought I would find so much joy in helping others but apparently I found one of the little pieces that was missing inside me. Sleepless nights, chaotic fires, comforting broken hearts while standing in the rubble of what was once a community, and handing a little girl a Red Cross teddy bear which she clings to because she has nothing left to hold onto except hope… those are the moments that shape my soul.

4)  That old song “Make new friends but keep the old” is a little skewed. I have been blessed to have made some incredible friends this past year and to watch some friendships develop into something truly beautiful. Surrounding myself with those who bring positivity to my life meant saying goodbye to some friends from the past. But sometimes in order to move forward you have to stop looking back. And sometimes old neighbors can be replaced with new ones- even ones you meet knee high in mud and wearing a mask at one of the scariest moments of your life.

3)  The scale is not your friend. Now I learned this lesson years ago but my preoccupation with losing weight this past year showed me that what really matters is not the number I see (Lord knows it’s never what I want to see) but it’s how I feel. It’s taking the time to look in the mirror and compliment myself that matters the most. It’s giving it my all (and then some) and living with no regrets. If I do my best and come in last in the 5K- at least I did the 5K (even better if paramedics aren’t called). If I slip and fall off the “wagon” by eating a bowl of funfetti batter- I’m not a bad person. I’m human. And I have a lot of people who love me… love handles and all.

2) Healing is never a completed process but there comes a time when you can face your fears headfirst and say: “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” My trip to New York for the 10^th Anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center was a trip that I truly thought I would be too scared to take. With my Dad on my right and my Mom on my left I stood in front of those beautiful waterfall footprints- my feet planted firmly on hallowed ground. I ran my hand over their names and took my time to reflect. Precious moments to surround myself with the beauty of the area around me- no longer filled with billowing smoke and destruction. All the while the Island was slowly flooding. It was as if those above knew, “If you’re going to face this fear, you might as well face them all.” And I did. And my gratitude for my parents for walking me through the gates to that sacred place can never be truly expressed to the fullest.  

1)  I’ve made it almost 10 years living on my own in Nashville. From that teenager who hung out for hours in a horse farm hayloft in Peacham, Vermont listening to country music and dreaming of Nashville to that 28 year old sitting in her office at the Grand Ole Opry... Things have changed. I live in a tiny apartment, I can barely pay the bills and I truly believe peanut butter and jelly is an acceptable meal… but in the end I “made it.” I’m calling Nashville home and watching my dreams come true more and more. In the words of the Sara Evans song I wore out years ago on those bales of hay, I was “born to fly.”

Now... what to call the blog since "27 and Perhaps a Little Crazy" is outdated. :)