Can you be friends with everybody?

Yes, if you're a first-grader. That was a very happy time, wasn't it? Everybody was friends with everybody. You just go to school, listen to the teacher for a bit, then you eat, play, sing, dance... do whatever you darn please. Then, in a few years, you hit fifth grade. Do you hear a loud thud? I do.

The politics start. You can be friends with so-and-so, but not with so-and-so because of the silliest reasons. An absurd but true example: everyone in your "group" has pink backpacks, so you can't hang out with that girl who has a yellow one. I'm serious, this actually happened. Here's another one: don't hang out with so-and-so, because the car that picks her up isn't nice. What the hell?! Downright cruel? You bet. And true. Kids can be mean sometimes. Especially the snobby kids whose parents are somewhat twisted themselves.

Fifth grade is the beginning of the Queen Bee's evolution. You know who that is. The bossy girl who kinds of leads everyone into thinking that there has to be "groups". The nerds, the sporty kids, the quiet ones, the popular kids... She thinks she's Hitler. And almost everybody thinks so too. She even approves the "guest list" for the kiddie birthday parties. Mean, mean girl.

The Queen Bee is an evil creature. Oh yes, she is. She bullies the other kids into alienating the kids she doesn't like, she bullies the alienated kids into staying home instead. You know who she is, there's at least one in every school. My old school had at least 3 that i know of. Oh, the terror!

She gets even worse during high school. I don't need to elaborate on this. We've all seen more than enough teen movies to know this fact by heart. (Think: Mean Girls, Bring It On, Jawbreaker...) But, alas, people grow up. And they usually outgrow being in the clutches of the Queen Bee. When you're all grown up, you can choose your own friends and do your own thing. Or so it seems.

God forbid that the Queen Bee should stay the same throughout the years. But this happens too. You know some of the frou-frou old ladies in high society who can blacklist people from social events and stuff? You know of at least one, I'm sure. That's a shriveled up version of the Queen Bee for you right there. It's actually kind of sad. She gossips about other people's careers and financial situations, other people's kids, other people's parties... Life is pretty boring for people like those, I suppose.

The girlfights just don't stop.

Nursery School Terror

I am starting a blog out of sheer
boredom. I shouldn't be bored. I should be busy. Busy with
work, pending further studies and what-not. But I'm bored because I'm too
busy. Does anybody even know what that means? It means I have so
many things to do and think about that my brain is actively blocking everything
that should be coming into my train of thought. The result: a blank
state of mind, which equals to boredom.

What are blogs anyway? A way to put
your thought into words? Yes. But keeping a diary does just that,
right? Or do people have a compelling need for other people to know what
they're thinking (and vice-versa)? I think so. But whatever blogging
is, I'm gonna give it a try. I want to take part in this modern
phenomenon.

For my first topic, a tribute to my blog
page title: the evolution of girl fights. Read and
enjoy...

When I was four years old, I was skinny and had funny-looking
teeth. I had a Sesame Street lunchbox and a Transformers juice
bottle. An odd choice for a girl, but I liked it just fine. I had a
classmate, let's call her Sunny (because she's the exact opposite of that), who
was the class bully. She was taller and stronger than everyone else, even
the boys looked puny next to her. She would break our crayons into two,
hide the good pencils, pull on our neckties and disarrange our
chairs. My babysitter would often find me in tears everytime she picked me
up from school. As the weeks went by, my Dad noticed I wasn't excited
about going to school anymore. To think that I longed to go to school
since I was two, or so I was told. Being the smart and perceptive man that
he is, my Dad asked me if I was having fun in class. I told him about
Sunny, the big girl bully. My Dad didn't teach me how to fight, he made me
learn on my own by calmly telling me these very important lessons that I always
try to keep in mind: there are a lot of people you will meet in this
life. Separate the ones worth keeping from the "barking dogs" (the ones
who are just bothering you and wasting your time). From then on, I ignored
Sunny. When she pulled my hair, I would just leave and talk to my other
classmates. When she broke my red crayon, I just got another one and
continued coloring. But when she screamed in my ear, I screamed right
back, with all the power in my tiny lungs. Sunny lost her power over
me. The power to instill fear and annoyance over my pig-tailed Nursery
School self. Seeing this, my other classmates stopped being scared of her
too. She began to act nice to everybody, much to our teacher's
shock. Nursery School went on as a happy experience. Girl Fight
Number 1 was a success.

More girl fights soon.