The House as Beast

Over ten years ago I sold my first house (the first one that I owned) after my divorce. At the time, I admit that I was relieved that the house was no longer my responsibility; this was after two basement floods, a swarm of field mice and a garage that almost caved in on me. The house had become a beast, a monster, Gilgamesh at his worst (when he slept with all the wives before their weddings). Not only did the house test me at every instance, it also represented the years of being married to a serial cheater, represented the two years of cancer treatment and the ultimate removal of everything that made me a woman and represented the underlying anger and violence that met me daily. No longer was this building a home where a family could grow and succeed; no, the house roared at me each time I drove up, its voice filled with rage and hatred. I wanted it out of my life as soon as possible.

Most people in suburbia dream of home ownership as it represents the pinnacle of belonging. In my eyes the house was not a dream but a nightmare; in fact, I never want to live in a house like that again. Nope, a condo where someone else worries about getting rid of vermin and fixing the roof, a co-op where an elevator takes me to my floor and snow removal is no concern, that is what my suburban dream is made of.

A New Day A New Traffic Pattern

One of the worst parts about living in suburbia is driving; personally I am a huge believer that if you can't walk somewhere you probably don't want to go there. Most weekends I simply shut myself in my house (usually in my room under my Linus blankie) and refuse to leave the house; traffic on the one main thoroughfare is miserable what with all the suburbanites going to the Gap or ShopRite. If I do leave the house, I put on my radio and blast some "fuck you" music with the force of a frontman for the Insane Clown Posse; that way I get myself into the appropriate mood to handle all the hell that awaits. Yup I become a Juggaloo for the weekend and if you don't understand the reference then you are definitely a person who needs to move.

What the Hell is Hooking Up and Why Am I Not Doing it?

Okay I am eavesdropping on my daughter and her friends. They're talking about hooking up and blow jobs...hmmm. The question I always have is what the hell is hooking up? Is it getting to first base? Does first base even exist anymore? Is it actual screwing? Is it just kissing? According to my son it's kissing but according to my daughter it's having sex. I've even gone so far as to ask some of my former students what they think it is and have had more answers than I can share. What is remarkable to me is that fact that blowjobs are nothing in the scheme of things nowadays; its the Clinton excuse - it's not sex if I'm just "going down on him." In my mind, there is nothing more intimate than being that close to a penis but hey, I'm old-fashioned. The best story I've heard this week is that one of my daughter's classmates just got a tattoo (her mother had to have signed off as this is a state that does not readily give under 16 year olds tattoos) above her vagina that says "STRENGTH" in chinese letters. Of course the guy she's sleeping with took a photo on his IPhone and sent it to everyone in the town. What did the girl's mother say when she found out about the sexting of her daughter's vajayjay? Well her response was (and I quote), "She makes her mother proud, the slut." Yup, that's what mama said. Suburbia rocks.

Yup These Are my Neighbors

I live amongst Stepford Wives.

New Year's Here!

So my daughter's friends have begun to arrive as I hide upstairs dressed in my PINK sweats, North Face jacket and UGG slippers (who said you can't be fashionable on New Year's Eve?). I am trying to remain positive in the face of being miserably alone on NYE; okay so it's clearly an overrated night that is associated with the pressure to be going out with someone but I have to admit that I'm feeling a bit sad. Part of that sadness comes from the fact that alot of parents are dropping their kids here so they can go out to local parties; it would never even enter their heads to invite moi, the single mom. The suburbs are filled with the same mean girls and boys from high school - they have simply grown up to become mean adults. Part of that mean behavior is to exclude anyone that doesn't conform to your view of what an adult should be and I certainly don't conform in any way.

A story that comes to mind is when my daughter was in 6th grade and the PTA was planning their graduation party. Thinking I'd be a part of the event, I volunteered to help out. I came to the party and discovered that I was given clean up duty with the janitors; as one of the head bitches handed me a broom, I smiled and attempted to be as lady like as possible (even though I wanted to slap her across her Botoxed face). As I cleaned, I talked with the janitors (who were really cool) and tried to be positive even though I was seething inside; the moms stood against the gym wall and watched, smirks on their faces. It was clear that I would never be one of them and it was clear that I would never want to be one of them. What killed me was the fact that my daughter watched with shame; she knew that if her mom was not accepted it would be that much harder for her to be one of the popular kids. Mess with me but don't mess with my children.

So here it is a big night in the suburbs and I am dressed to kill (literally and physically), praying that my daughter has a good time with her friends and that my son doesn't drink and drive. At least if I was in the city I would be able to walk outside and see another adult.

Where did my cool go?

It's almost New Year's here in suburbia and as I'm a single mom of two teenagers who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, I will spend another New Year's eve in my room listening to my kids have fun with the liquor cabinet as they hook up to MTV. It's been years since I've been invited anywhere as no suburban woman wants an unmarried single lady around; I'm a threat even though I haven't had any interest in sex (unless it has batteries and is pink) or men in quite some time. They can't even consider me a threat to their own sexuality as I don't have any interest in women either.

Years ago I was cool; I'd spend my nights hanging in the best club with the greatest, most artistic, creative people in NYC or LA. There was never any question that my Docs and I would be dancing the night away to Duran Duran, The Cure or The Smiths. I was the girl that never waited in line, the girl with the Vidal Sassson cut and the Fiorucci pants, the girl who got the guy with the awesome leather jacket and the Mohawk. Now I sit behind these suburban walls feeling jealous that my 18 year old son went to Pasha for teen night. How does one lose their cool?