Ctrl.Alt.Delete. ~ An Open Letter to the Me I Use to Be.

Every day is like a blank canvas
Carving my initials in the planet like I brand it
Hand picked to live this life we take for granted ~
The Roots

What’s the statute of limitations on do overs? Better yet, is there a five second rule that’s applicable for a non descript, non-relationship- relationship? And if so, what does it look like?

As I sit here typing this from the set of Polanski’s “Rosemary’s Baby,” otherwise known as my nearly vacant flat in Sweet Home, my mind swaddled in a reflective state of flashbacks. The last two weeks deliberately carving their way into a brief history of the sublime … What does it all mean? Simple … Spring 02, Psychology 101 … Schemas, the one theory that I remember seems appropriate right-about-now.

“Schema,” is a term often used by psychologists to describe how an individual creates scenarios or outlines before they happen. The actual definition is a “cognitive framework or concept that helps organize and interpret information.” They can be useful, because they allow us to take creative liberties shortcuts in interpreting  visions of grandeur  vast amounts of information. However, these mental frameworks also allow us to twist reality exclude “pertinent” information in favor of information that confirms our pre-existing beliefs and fantasies ideas. A schema is basically the psychological equivalent of wishful thinking or Qu’est-ce que c’est reality as you – (you universal) see it.

A few years ago, say 12 (arbitrarily, of course), I may or may not have written a manifesto in hot pink glitter ink in a Class of 1998 Red & Black Senior Book. The Senior Book, is the high schooler’s Sister Cleo distilled into 217 colorful pages. It’s basically an official “Note to Self” from 18-year-old you to future you. The 18-year-old me, deduced a schema of somewhat epic proportions that not only would I be “Living in a house with lots of windows  — because I love the light (whatever that means),  with my super hot NBA player husband, Anfernee Hardaway,  our 2.5 children and little dogs.”

In the South, we have a saying … “Bless your heart.” And should you ever hear this, understand that you were just insulted and probably pittied, not necessarily in that order. And so, to the 18-year-old Pretty One, I respectfully say tisk tisk … Bless Your Heart.

While your heart was undoubtedly in the right place, things are often not as they seem. ++Hops in the DeLorean with Doc++ 

Border, your high school boyfriend, and you do not end up together. Remember that time he chased you through the Chilli’s parking lot, grabbed you from behind and shook you within an inch of your life??  Well, he does that a lot. In 2008 a Judge Tomlin in Gwinnett County, GA sees to it that he won’t be shaking anyone else — for three to five years (two, if he behaves well). Oh, and remember how totally OK he was with “waiting” until you guys were married. Well, he’s not — which explains why he takes slutty Tracey Ham up on her offer for head “breakfast” after school during Senior Week. Speaking of which, when she asks to borrow your sweater on July 4, 1996, say no. Then strike her pensively across the cheek with your talc stained palm. In 1998, your pimp hand is strong. Real strong. And while you’re at it, tell Border you don’t buy dreams — you sell them.

Unfortunately, breaking up with Border is nothing compared to what happens with Webster, your  borderline little person junior prom date/guy best friend. Even though Webster is the same height as your six-year-old brother; the summer after he graduates he’ll grow to be an astounding 6’4. Seriously, that’s actually going to happen. When you return from Louisiana you’re going to want to make-out with him. Resist.The.Urge. The moment you kiss, Webster has you under his spell and you’ll remain there for the next three years. Webster transforms you into a Stupid Bitch love stoned co-ed. Yes, King of the Itty Bitties puts make-out roots on you. Don’t worry, eventually you come to your senses when he proudly announces he slept with a girl and her mother — AT THE SAME TIME. Which is just the push you need to #1 Get tested for the first time (breathe, you’re good) and #2 Leave him for good and by good you mean for Johnny Cockstrong, the Georgia Peach football player from your Math 11o class.

It’ll take you about a year and a half to recover from that cluster fuck relationship. But once again, you’ll pull through. And that’s when you’ll meet Amistad, the cardiologist. There will be a moment, during your first date, when you realize that Amistad is a whore not the guy for you. Listen to your instincts. The something that you can’t put your finger on is his inability to be happy with one woman for the rest of his life. I know this is a lot to take in, so if you don’t remember any thing I say, remember this … Fraggle of Stitches — rhymes with Gaggle of Bitches, which is synonymous with Amistad. Just say No. Or Just say Hoe – in his case.

When you finally part ways with Amistad, and you will part ways with him … you’ll spend the following year on a much-needed Mancation. While the name is a bit on the theatrical side, the Mancation is anything but. Lancelot, your personal trainer, turned life guru will help mold you into a fitness beast. Mind, body and spirit are in complete and total synchronicity. Around this time you’ll start a torrid and short lived fling with The Graduate. Stop right there. DO NOT BEGIN A SHORT LIVED FLING WITH THE GRADUATE.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and while he’s pretty f’ing phenomenal at eating your free lunch at the Y and everything that implies — He is a stalker  watch-you-while-you-sleep enamored with you and not in a good way. In fact, he’s enamored, in the.worst.way.ever. And there isn’t enough free lunch in the world to help you build a bridge over his put-the-lotion-on-the-skin creepy, behaviour.  You’ll also never be able to go back to your favorite bar again. Forever? Forever ever … forever EVER. I am for reallll. Nothing good can come from this.

The day you’re convinced The Graduate is no longer hiding in your bushes over you, you’ll meet Keebler Elf. And he’ll treat you like the princess you are. Keebler Elf is content bringing you goodies from his little Keebler house daily. Tulips, cupcakes, jewelry, paintings, those coveted cotton panties you adore from Vicky Secrets — you name it.  And you know what … you’ll love every minute of it. You’ll love it until you discover that he too has little Keebler skeletons in the closet. Little Mormon skeletons to be exact. They’re crammed in there next to a meth head tweeker, ex-girlfriend skeleton who enjoys spooning with a bi-curious skeleton he conveniently forgets to mention. I actually could have stopped with the first two which will be enough to facilitate a break-up. Surprisingly, Webster, of all people, helps you see the light — and you part ways not-so amicably with Keebler Elf sending you a farewell, “you’re a bitch” text message. You remember his favorite film of all time is “American Psycho” and you don’t respond.

A few weeks after parting ways with Keebler, you’ll meet the man you’re sure you’re going to marry at a babyshower of all places.  To your dismay, its not Anfernee Hardaway. This guy … let’s call him Straight Eye for The Queer Guy, is extraordinary. He is smart … he’s funny … he’s quirky … he’s not quirky … he’s cultured, but not too cultured where it comes off d-bag’esq. You, the girl who never really believed in love, will overnight understand — really understand, what love is all about.  So much so, that you’ll fly to the other side of the world only to have your heart shattered into a million little pieces.

The thing about love, is that to truly understand what it means and how rare it is to find — is that maybe, one must lose it to comprehend what it means to obtain it. Or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself when the hot pink smoke from his Drag show clears. Remember this, the afternoon he tells you “sometimes I’m not sure, whether or not I like boys or girls,”  believe him. He wasn’t speaking in code … The code is he likes boys. And you know this because, boys that like girls, don’t wonder about liking boys. Kiss him goodbye and tell him you’re going out for a carton of milk and a pack of cigs. Never look back and know that it was never about you. 

While Straight Eye for the Queer Guy was by far one of the hardest hits you’ll endure, eventually with help of Dr. Lieberman and Ben and Jerry’s you learn to trust again. In the process you rediscover yourself and meet an entirely new sect of characters like LLF and Hollywood that renew your hope in hope; transforming you from a hopeless romantic, to a hope-ful romantic.

After JFK was assassinated, Jackie Kennedy once said, you must have something that makes you want to live (she was talking about her children). You don’t have those 2.5 kids yet, but if and when they come to fruition — the something that you were living for, will first– be you. Be sure to take in every.little.thing. Breath it in like antihistimine.

I may be biased when I say, but I think you’re amazing. No really, I do.  Sure, you may not know the square root of thousand. And yeah, there was a time a few years ago that you thought new borns could regrow their limbs — don’t judge me, it made sense at the time. And OK, maybe one of your special gifts may be picking the wrong men to date … blame it on the astros (pisces). However, with every character that weaves in and out of your life, the fabric that is you, becomes richer with each imperfection.

And while you may not have moved into the house with the windows, the hot husband,  the 2.5 kids and the little dogs — what you do have is far more entertaining. You are the woman who while she can’t remember most of undergrad — still managed to finish on time, and look you even retained a little something (i.e. schemas) from your time there.

You’ll meet someone, who while he seemingly may not fit into your definition of Prince Charming and notions of romance; he’s always a heterosexual! #win. You haven’t had your own babies yet, but you’re an amazing aunt to the two your sister has AND bonus — you have a phenomenal brood of nieces and nephews courtesy of your extended family, all of which get to go home with their parents at the end of the day, respectfully. And if all of this isn’t enough, you have the most amazing little pet a single girl could ask for and she loves you unconditionally, crazy and all …

In the end I understand that life is for the living dolls ~ What would you say to the You,  you use to be?? Would you stand in the face of defeat or opt to Ctrl.Alt.Delete. {In my head, that didn’t sound nearly as cheesy as it appears here} #LateNightBlogging


About The.Pretty.One

"I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” - Carry Bradshaw The Pretty One is the youngest daughter of a former 70s pageant queen and her first husband, a wealthy financier. A former debutante and southern belle, this Steel Magnolia is anything but. A visionary, she is the owner and creative mind behind a successful boutique communications and event firm. But what I really want to do is dance ... and blog.
This entry was posted in 80s Nostalgia, Break-Up, crazy people, Fate, free advice, Humor, Love, Notes To Self, random rants, Relationships, WTF. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Ctrl.Alt.Delete. ~ An Open Letter to the Me I Use to Be.

  1. angela says:

    Wonderful manifesto on life.

  2. E says:

    I ♥ this post SO much!

  3. I wouldn’t be commenting if I didn’t like this blog.. you’re a great writer & I’m quite impressed to say the least. keep up the nice work

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