Hello class! Mom-Brain here. Everyone get settled, put away your back packs, make sure your pencils are sharpened, get out your notebooks, shut your traps, keep your dirty hands to yourselves, turn off your phones, and pay attention. Today we are going to talk about bullies.
When I was a kid I never really got bullied much. There are only 3 instances that I can remember. Two culminated in fist fights that were actually started by me, just to put a stop to the endless hallway threats of a fist fight. Nothing shuts a bully up when they’re yapping on and on about how much they wanna punch you in the face faster than you just hitting them in the face already. The third one was diffused by me distracting the bully with a made up story about someone talking bad about her. Someone that didn’t even exist. Causing her to spend weeks actually obsessing over beating up a figment of my creative imagination. It was one of my finest moments, really. Oh sure, I’ve had many people over the years who didn’t like me for one reason or another, but if they decided to pick on me I could usually win them over with humor or distract their tiny little minds with something else that pissed them off more, like I did by inventing that invisible person.
Even though I didn’t have many run-ins with bullies, I was nothing if not prepared for the possibility. I did, after all, have a total asshole of a girl neighbor that was bully-ish in a Mean Girls kinda way, as girls often are, and I had seen enough movies like Karate Kid, The Outsiders, and various others, to know the basic outline of a bullying type situation. To mentally prepare myself for the possibility of a physical fight, I often practiced my mad mad street fighting skillz. Skillz that I’m sure were about infinity times more bad ass in my imagination and in the reflection in the full length mirror on my closet door, than they ever would have been in any real life battle of brawn. But more than the physical part, I practiced the mental aspect of a possible asshole showdown. Even as a dumb-ass pre-teen I could usually see through a person and the show-offy BS they were up to, and figure out at least a little part of the why, and realize that I really had very little to do with why they wanted to beat me up. I understood that if it wasn’t gonna be me, it was gonna be someone else. That’s why my imaginary distraction technique worked so well. All a bully needs is a victim. If it’s not you, it’s gonna be someone else. A bully has to have someone to hate, and it might as well be someone who doesn’t actually exist.
Now that I’m a grown up (quit laughing), I don’t often have to deal with that anymore. Sure, a few years ago, some woman in my neighborhood got all pissy with me after her son was bullying my son and I tried to talk to her about it. She totally flipped out and tried to kick me out of the Bunco group that we were both in. She actually told me, and I quote, “I started this group, and I don’t want you in it anymore, so here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna send out an email to the group and tell them you have to quit for personal reasons.” To which I replied something along the lines of “Girl, what are you smoking? Have you MET me? I’m not doing that! And by the way, thank you for answering the burning question as to how your kid became such a bully.” After making a few calls about getting me out, she ended up quitting herself, and being, in her words, “The bigger person.” Which is always what someone calls themselves when they aren’t even in the same zip code as the bigger person.
Other than that situation, I haven’t really had to deal with it. Thank you baby Jeebus. I mean, I am 41-years-old, and if I was dealing with that shit every day I might as well regress back to petting my Shaun Cassidy posters, writing love mail to Ricky Schroder, wearing Wonder Woman training bras with matching unders, and practicing the art of the french kiss on the side of my hand.
On Facebook there are trolls galore. But compared to lots of other pages, mine really doesn’t get very much. If I DO get them they are not normally what I would call “bullies,” but more like people posting something rude or mean to see if you will bite. Trolls aren’t usually trying to strong-arm you into anything, or intimidate you, like a bully would. They are just playing a game of “let’s see if I can get this person all worked up.” I wrote a blog about that a few months ago
, and have since then learned to ignore it better, which in all actuality, is the best weapon you can use against them. All day, errday. Having a blog also means that a few people are going to email me with a diatribe about how they don’t like what I write and why. Thankfully it’s only happened to me a few times. And honestly, the people who do it are usually well-spoken and somewhat kind about it (if that makes sense), and I just write back and say “I’m sorry you feel that way,” and move on with my day. I personally don’t consider that trolling or
bullying. It’s just someone with a misguided view of how much their opinion might mean to me. That’s just a personality trait. It’s also just one person’s opinion. We all have opinions. It’s just that most of us would feel really a-holey sharing them like that. Thank balls.
The reason I got on the bully soapbox here isn’t due to anything that happened to me. It’s all because of Phillip. Yes, my sweet, lovely, and actually hella muscular and large Pilates God, Phillip. While I WANT to go all momma bear psycho in depth about the situation, I will refrain for Phillip’s sake. Even though his bullying situation took place waaaaayyyyyy back in school when he claims (although I have yet to see proof) to have looked like a weaker, nerdier version of Urkle, he still doesn’t want to give me and my big mouth and go big or go home attitude, the full scoop about it. What I do know is that it was pretty much the usual situation, where some big, giant dude picks on someone who is completely the opposite. Yes. Bullies are pussies like that. And I do know that this childhood bully is now an actor and was just in a blockbuster movie. And I do know his name. And I googled the crap outta him and it’s totally KILLING every cell in my body to not email him and demand an apology and a suggestion that perhaps he use his little spotlight to do some sort of anti-bully campaign. Which I would for freezies make some posters for. And write speeches for. And promote the hell out of. And forgive him for being an asshole, for. Maybe. But alas, my Phillip wouldn’t want me to do that.
I suggested to Phillip that we get a Bully Crime Fighting Team together and tour the US putting bullies in their place, because sometimes what a big time bully needs is to get their own ass kicked. I thought that while we were at it, we could totally perform some anti-bully musical numbers so that I could get my groove thang shaken. Phillip claims to dance like Michael Jackson, and I KNOW beyond the shadow of a doubt that I sing just like Beyonce, so I think that we would totally be wasting our talents if we only kicked bully asses and didn’t perform a musical number about the kicking of the bully asses for the people who were so happily watching the kicking of the bully asses. And as Phillip should know, I’m totally always right about everything.
^^^^^^THAT’S what I’m talking about, you guys. THAT is how you start a campaign. THAT is how you spread the word that if you act like a wank, you are goin’ down. Then we will perform a musical number about how you just went down. And I REALLY beyond REALLY want to send this to The Bully Who Shall Be Nameless and ask for an apology for my Chocolate Thunder. But I won’t. And I won’t try to make Phillip let me do it either. Cuz that would be ME being a bully, and then I’d have to help him kick MY ass and perform a musical number about my own ass kicking. I like to do lots of non-sensical things, you guys, but that one would take the cake.
P.S. Here is the first photo we took. I was going for a Karate Kid/Chuck Norris situation. It didn’t really work out how I pictured it in my head. Usually things don’t.
P.P.S. Phillip does not do Facebook OR read my blog. So it’s always a surprise to him when people tell him about whatever the heck I have written about him. Or photos I have shown of him. Poor, sweet, Phillip.