Back-Up Boy (BUB) and I have this weird arrangement where we share our social calendars with each other. It’s something not so weird between a guy and girl who are dating, but do I really need to know that BUB went to the gym for an hour yesterday?
Further, BUB’s calendar is driving mine to shame with his new party-hardy friends. I consider them as new friends still, as it has not yet been a year while I have been friends with him for over two years and Girlfight Girl (GFG) and he have dated and they have been friends for over ten years. Anyways, BUB provides all the details for his outings including where, when, and who with. Yes, all the people in attendance for a dinner party are listed.
I felt hurt when I read BUB’s calendar and saw the attendance list to a dinner in honour of BUB’s most recent wooing-victim. People. People BUB’s meeting, partying with, FB-friending. I’m not thinking about it in the context of my own recent and very quiet dinner party at all. While I seethed that BUB went to “the hottest club in town” while The Boy and I merely walked by it during the day, I took consolation in knowing that The Boy’s BFF#4 refrained from clubbing with that group and joined us fuddy-duddies at The Boy’s BFF#2’s place on Saturday night. I further consoled myself that BFF#2 passed up the party to hang out with us.
I told The Boy about the social outing and my inferences. This is ammunition The Boy can later use about how I stalk. I told The Boy that our life, his friends, and mine are boring.
I told him about my frustration with my BFF#2 bemoaning that BFF#1 and I don’t live in Metropolis but - thanks to FB - we see her doing her favourite things anyhow with a second tier of friends. (The Boy likes to remind me that she’s not a real/good friend.)
I relayed to The Boy how one of the party-hardy girls was talking smack on an FB group about a showdown/game between The Boy’s BFF#4 and someone named Gwen and about betting on Gwen. The Boy was skeptical that the Gwen mentioned was me when BFF#4 and I never got into a rivalry over that sport. (Gwen is a popular name in my generation in my culture.)
Then, I saw the FB pictures from the dinner party are up and tagged (hence I am able to view them). There is one particularly happy group picture with BUB where everyone’s happy and hugging each other Motherlander-style and my heart sinks. There is a picture of BUB about to take his first taste of some special shooter and my heart sinks. There’s a picture of the guest of honour and her adorably adorned cake and my heart sinks. There’s a picture of a cute girl named Gwen and my heart sinks. (She reminds me of the youngest Zuppa sister, Carrie.)
I took the time supposed to be used to get ready for work to look at all the FB pictures of the party-hardy girl(s) tagged.
My rage/cultural identity crisis/disease of the soul flares only every few months. I told The Boy that I wanted to be mistaken as a Motherlander (of the classy variety): by my actions, body, voice, penmanship if, alas, never in my wardrobe. Being consider “American” really bites and this terror of it flares up every now and then.
While BUB was out being accepted by the Motherlanders - a feat he seems to easily do with cash flow, a hot car, and an easy-going novelty-seeking attitude - I was learning more about my culture by installing their fonts on my computer. While we are both learning more and “improving”, the differences are enormous.
