Are you a man? Do you have an overpowering urge to have Jemaine Clement pick you up? Then I want to hear from you! This section open for comments. I completely understand the urge for a female, but for a male I am at a loss. Inquiring minds want to know!
I remember the dark look Andy shot the two boys laughing riotously in the back of the class. "There really isn't anything funny about this." he scolded as he continue to remove the pieces of smashed science beaker from my hair and scalp. "Who throws glass at people?" he sighed shaking his head. I think it was that small act that made me look more and more his way after that. He was my nerd in shinning armor.
Andy was a nerd then. He would joke and others would roll their eyes, except me. I would laugh. I cherished those dorky jokes. I was happy just to be around him, to talk to him now and then. I wasn't ready for more. Just having him glance my way every so often, it was enough and I was content.
My mother and I were on our own for the first time that year. We had moved to a small farming town with a population of 2oo. A tally which I believe included more pigs than any one would admit. Up until that point we lived in a very large house, with much of our extended family. To leave the violence, abuse and havoc and see only open fields was sacrosanct and divine. Instead of yelling, I now heard the wind sweeping through fields of cotton. Oh, and also the sounds of pigs. There really was no getting around the pigs. Other than the atrocious smell, it was very peaceful at first.
I was in 8th grade, when I met Andy. My first time in public school. I could finally cast off the trendy buttoned to the throat collared shirts and ankle length homemade skirts from my days of private southern baptist schooling. I started finding the real me. My school clothes for that year were dramatically different, and quite by accident they were all black. It was a good year all in all, even if I was a lot like this.
By freshmen year, my web of fragile happieness shattered. Something intangible shifted in Andy. The dorky jokes were gone. He fit in more. It changed nothing. To me, he was still the sweet boy that picked glass out of my hair. I still had someone to dream about and that's all I wanted.
His cousin, the school janitor, began to notice my interest. She ripped the secret out of me one day under the guise of friendship and a trip to the movies. She began to meddle. His sister began to meddle, followed by much of the town. I suppose they simply had nothing better to do. They began to arrange scenarios for me that always ended in confusion and pain.
They had him retrieve me at a extra curricular event at a nearby college. He walked well ahead of me, so fast I could not keep up. He even ran at times. They sat him at the same table at the restaurant that followed. His back turned for the entirety. I simply immersed myself in my book ignoring his disdain. I received the same turned back at a school dance that I was persuaded to go to. He remained turned around in his seat the whole dinner prior. When it came to take pictures with your date, he hung back and I went up alone. I left soon after in tears and humilation. The meddlers beckoning to me the next morning that, "he really wanted to dance with me and that I shouldn't have left." I was talked into making him some of my art, which he ripped to shreds in front of me, blithely tossed in the trash and walked away.
The last straw came when Sylvie offered to take Andy and I to the local connivence store for snacks. Andy drove and she stayed ducked down in the seat the whole time. It was weird for both of us. She was apparently attempting to make it look like we were on a date. I was met by his cousin, who was in on it, in the stores parking lot. "What was that?" I asked. The ruse was explained to me as I caught the look of pure hate in Andy's eyes as he went to the store. Something in me finally snapped at that point. 3 years of this, but I had finally had enough! The owner of the store had been making benches, my eyes flashed on the 2x4 left unattended in the parking lot. I hefted it and swung in a matter of seconds. His cousin ducked, the board connecting with only the brick of the building. The cheap wood shattered. I now had a stake.
"I thought you liked him!" His cousin exclaimed skirting around the other side of the minivan.
"I did." I said lowly and calmly, stalking after my prey. A smile touched my face but not my eyes. I was in a very dark place. I felt powerful for the first time in my life. The fear gracing her features filled me like wine, giddy and lovely. "Not anymore", the low calm voice returning.
"I was just trying to help!" she called out, scrambling to the other side of the minivan.
"Help?" I giggled. "You crushed me at every turn. Who did you help mortal?" Now I was seriously creeping her out. It was fun. I no longer needed to hurt her. Passive to the core, I couldn't have except in that first moment of anger and that had past. The mind games proved to be a much more delicious a revenge and all I needed to back her down.
I turned around and saw my company at the counter ready to depart. I leaned over the hood of the van still working the eerie smile. "Don't even breathe in my direction again..or..." I ran the sharpest part of the stake down the curve of my cheek, following it down the line of my throat. My eyes slipped closed. My head thrown back in a sort of ecstasy as I took in a shuddering breath and let out a little moan. I paused with the stake held above my heart. My eyes opened dazed as I giggled. I laid the stake on the hood of her car reverently, carefully. Smiling brightly, I turned to the others exiting the store,ready to depart. "Are we ready?" Sunshine and light, all traces of my dark menace vanquished. For her benefit, I smiled the half baked smile once more over my shoulder before settling myself in the truck for home.
The small town rumor mill began to turn. "She's a witch!" "She has bodies buried under her house!" Everyone was talking about that; "girl that wears black every day." All school bullying for the first time in my life immediately stopped. I no longer had to endure my belongings being coated in pig feces. No more greetings of "Ugly bitch!" as I walked down the hall. My locker carving of "Ugly freak" remained, but that only served to make finding my locker most convenient and I no longer minded.
By senior year my love of fantasy fiction and horror had grown. I undertook writing my own novel and that's how I spent much of my time not involved with Andrew Lloyd Webber music and reading. My look began to evolve as a complement to my taste in fiction. I happened upon The Sandman Series, immediately falling in love with the characters "Death" and "Delirium". I borrowed Death's neat eyeliner, complete with curly mark under one eye.
I began exploring medieval dress as well. Capes followed and I donned feathers in my long, thick hair giving me an ancient badass vibe. I thought of this look as "Sorceress chic" and wore it often wandering through the town, walking staff in hand. The sounds of car doors locking as unfamiliar townspeople passed became as peaceful as windchimes in the breeze. I had distance from their cruelty. Who knew peace could be purchased in a ren faire catalog and with a momentary lapse of judgement? Oh yes, fear me little town! I'm cautiously carrying a bug in a jar outside that I don't have the heart to squish but, I'm doing it in a cape so it's scary! OOoooOOOooohhhh! Small town people... How delightful!
Crazed fan girl, groupie... a lot could be said of my fotc fascination. Not to mention every fotc's fans secret fear that they are traipsing down the Mel path.
Perhaps I have sauntered down it a little more than I might like to admit especially with artistic contributions such as this. The question is how does this happen? How do you go from being a casual fan to this? Short answer, daily repetition and focus. But, to explain what would draw daily focus, perhaps a longer reflection is in order.
My introduction to the "guys" was by happy accident. I was suffering from burnout career-wise and saddled with very poor work conditions. My one and only relationship has been a brother sister affair for most of it's existence. I've always had at least a friend, but congestive heart failure had put the only person in my life into a daily coma of sorts. His new barrage of meds kept him asleep for all but an hour a day. It was a very lonely, stressful time. Being in the hospital while they tested, operated, poked and prodded was especially difficult. I would stand on the edge of the waiting room, never entering the door. Everyone seemed to have at least someone to lean on. I had no one I could even call. I felt numb and tired and I wanted more than anything to have someone that could just hold me, just for a bit. Since that wasn't possible I did the only thing I could do. Wander aimlessly and try not think about it.
We had always struggled, but after the hospital my life became a life of survival. I stopped wanting things. I stopped dreaming. I became the thing that grooms and pays bills. I worked, slept and care-took. There was nothing else. There was no room for anything non-practical. Asking what I wanted for christmas per se, would only leave me puzzled. If I managed to come up with something then it was something needed, like tire alignment for the car. I didn't want things anymore. Dreams or goals, in my mind, were mere machinations of moronic dementia. I no longer gave my needs even a backward glance. I didn't think about myself at all.
I tried the HBO show, one day just to see what it was. For a little under 30 minutes I had a space of peace in my brain. It occupied me entirely. I'm a professional worrier, but there was no room for anything else. I could only watch and laugh. It was Zen by accident.
Eventually, I wandered over to the fan forums just to take a peek. I've had bad experiences in the past with message boards. It can bring back every high school outcast feeling you've ever had. Do I fit in? Should I even be here? Would these people rejoice if I left? Print can be cruel and unfeeling even in the best of hands and devastating to the more sensitive personae. Something about this place told me to plant my feet and not budge despite past experience. I started opening up. Being Aspie, making friends proves to be nearly impossible and shrouded in mystery. I began to show myself totally to these people and a very unexpected thing happened. They liked what they saw. The outcast girl that had "Ugly Freak" carved into her locker for years, suddenly had friends and lots of them.
My biological family is warped and comprised of the stuff of Stephen King novels. In my adventures in chat I have found a new family, one that gets me. In this fandom construct I have been given a taste of the childhood I have never had. It's a belated invitation to the slumber parties that excluded me as a girl. We swoon over the guys like girls with their issues of tiger beat, and we play. Most of all we play. We're grown women who still play pretend, maybe because we never got to in the first place. It's the childhood that was stolen handed to me with a big red bow. It's many ears who will listen when I just have to talk to someone. My hugs may be virtual, but the compassion and understanding they have shown me is very real. They have taught me to fantasize, to hope and to dream especially when things are darkest. It has given me coping skills I previously did not have. I have been trying new things lately. Reaching out to others when I wouldn't have dared before. Doing things that scare me, because they have helped find the part of me that dreams again. Even the brightest stars fall down sometimes, I am starting to have branches to catch me.
I must say I'm very happy this movie now exists. For years I've sufficed to say that I'm shy. While technically true, Aspergers is a far more complex animal to deal with. I feel like I'm pretending to be "normal" and an eccentric normal is really all I can manage. My interests are limited but intense. Things that people take for granted, that should be easy, are hugely challenging to me. Talking to someone on the phone can be as difficult of a venture as scaling a mountain. I have to think about things I have learned come natural to others. Eye contact is very distracting to me in a conversation. I have to consciously think about it. I have to not only focus on what the person is saying to me, but I also have this running dialog in my head. "Meet eyes, okay, long enough... Now, glance at that tree. Okay now look back." I'm giving myself direction as in a movie, while trying to listen and absorb the conversation. If I'm tired from my day, I may forget completely, or if I'm comfortable with someone. The other day someone actually remarked "Hey! you're looking at me while you're talking!" They were delighted, which made me self conscious. I was so comfortable with them that I had lost the need to have the eye contact dialog with myself. We have brief glimpses of normalcy. It always surprises people when it happens. Dealings with people are extremely challenging, very draining requiring huge amounts of alone time to repair and often leave me feeling flawed abject failure. Yet, I continue to try. Loners we may be, but we do get lonely.
This movie has given me such a great reference point. When I've tried to explain Aspergers before I get frustrated and ask the person to "Google" it. They never do, which leaves things at an impasse. Explaining, summarizing can be so hard for me. I think more in pictures. Finding words for the pictures can be difficult. Having a youtube link I can now send...most handy!
Scenes that really speak to me in this preview.. The opening scene is fairly indicative. There have been so many times where I am on one of my little babble sprees. I'm in my own little world oblivious to the fact that this person doesn't want to know the history of Coton De Tulears, for example. Shocking! I know! Aspies have limited interests. We tend to lock onto something and become little encyclopedias for a passion. I told a friend this, but it's true, we are for the most part socially awkward nerds.
My passions shift from time to time. There was a couple years where I was pretty intense about folklore and mythology. Now it's dogs and flight of conchords. People who give you direction much like Adam's friend in the park are so wonderful. Rather than writing one off as weird, it is vastly comforting at times to just let me know what you expect of me. It's far easier on ones heart than outright rejection. Aspies need people to be very clear with them. We tend to not be able to pick up signals. I can look at someone's face and have no idea what their facial expression is. Not even a clue. I tend to assume anger if I don't ask, so I've learned to ask. You see Adam applying the same logic to see if his neighbor friend was feeling what he was feeling or how to respond once he understands she is upset.
I also love the scene where she has to be very specific with Adam that she wants a hug. We take things extremely literally. Yes, technically he can preform a hugging function, it's not til she asks more clearly that he understands. It's a bit of an exaggeration, but it's a good one. Rhetorical questions and sarcasm tend to not be our strong suit.
Why is it always my legs, you may ask? I am applying an Anita Blake Vampire Hunter (author Laurell K. Hamilton) stratagem. Let them chew up the non-dominant part of you so that your dominant hand remains unscathed. In my case my legs are what tends to take the the most damage as I tend to use both of my hands in grooming. Not to say my arms don't get well clawed. I've only been bitten a few times. I can read a dogs body language like a ninja, so I tend to know they're going to bite before they do. If only I could the same with people.
I tend to take the cast away dogs. The dogs the other two groomers that share my salon perhaps don't wish to manage. Not that they don't have their cases, but I must say the bulk falls on me. If it's large, matted or difficult it's likely on my schedule. Many of these dogs can not be groomed safely on my small table so I am often crawling around on the floor for much of my day. Yet another reason my legs take on much collateral damage. The big ones especially but some of the little guys are more easily managed on the floor. Better than to risk them jumping off. The middle image was actually a very small dog that I was trying hold in my lap to keep calm for a nail trim. Needless to say, it didn't work. I no longer groom this dog because she was so very hyper and wiggly. I didn't feel safe grooming her. A dog that won't hold still is always a huge risk around sharp blades and shears.
There's more to grooming than love and tail wags. Dogs do not get the concept of "spa". They just know you are holding their foot and they don't like it. The fact that the nails could grow into their foot if left unchecked is not common knowledge amongst dog brains. They react often out of pure emotion that can not be reasoned with. Attempts to soothe can be lost entirely. Although for some useful, often the emotion is too strong, too overpowering. Sometimes it's a bit like taking a child to get a vaccination. It must be done for childs health and well-being, but they're not going to like it. In such cases the best thing to do is proceed as quickly and mercifully as possible. Much like the best nurses in the worlds. Those lovely sneaky types that can give a shot before you've realized it. I try my best, but sometimes you get the crap knocked out of you anyways.
Why is it always my legs, you may ask? I am applying an Anita Blake Vampire Hunter (author Laurell K. Hamilton) stratagem. Let them chew up the non-dominant part of you so that your dominant hand remains unscathed. In my case my legs are what tends to take the the most damage as I tend to use both of my hands in grooming. Not to say my arms don't get well clawed. I've only been bitten a few times. I can read a dogs body language like a ninja, so I tend to know they're going to bite before they do. If only I could the same with people.