A Third Speed

August 17, 2012

Very few people know me (almost) as well as I know myself.

I love AND loathe these people – because I feel vulnerable around them.

For the most part, I know these people know how vulnerable they make me feel – which makes me feel even more vulnerable around them. I cannot hide ANYTHING from them. I don’t even try. And I accept when they say things to me that sting. I typically deserve it.

Yesterday, one of these very few people said this to me…

“Natalie, people like us have two speeds – park and full throttle. I wish you had a third speed – one in between.”

It took me a second to figure out if that statement offended me.

I scowled (during that second), but I did not take offense.

I wasn’t offended for two reasons…

I wasn’t offended because the person that said this to me is admittedly the same – just equipped with a filter…err…maybe even a third speed. No sense in being bitter, right? Good for them. Must feel amazing – to have so much self control. I get it. Being so out of control is spontaneous and scary. I’m terrified of what’s on my own mind ALL THE TIME…because it generally makes its way out of my mouth or into a blog, text or tweet. THAT is embarrassing (at least people tell me it is).

And, I wasn’t offended because I’m pretty sure I’m not ever going to have a third speed.

Let’s face it. I don’t really want one.

I fully intend to either be numb or to over share – for the rest of my blunt-banged life.

It’s what I do.

It’s my specialty.

I think filters are for fallopian tubes (to put it mildly).

What would a filter really protect me from? Myself? It’s a little late for that.

I suppose a filter could protect other people from me. But that sounds boring. I get bored just thinking about tempering my responses. I feel stifled simply considering whether or not I should try to rein it in.

I’m not actually sure why my friends love me (I verified that at least three of my friends still love me – as of late last night), but why in the world would they want to continue loving me if they only received sober, appropriate, sane and sincere communication from me? Why would they want to stick around if I didn’t text bomb them (thanks for that one Garza)? What would be fun about witnessing someone living a life that wasn’t in a constant state of chaos? Who would break up with their boyfriends for them (via email) if I wasn’t such an eloquent a$$hole? Who would totally and passionately drain them (emotionally, socially, financially, physically – you name it)? Who would sing and interpretively dance for them? I would like to believe that people want to be my friend because I’m lacking a filter – because I’m lacking a third speed – not because it would be nice if I had one. I think it would be @#$%ing lame if I had one. I would be just like all of the other fallopian tubes they know. Attached to a giant, immobile uterus.

I can/could be accused of A LOT of things, but no one will ever be able to accuse me of not living. No one will ever be able to say I did not live to the point of sheer humiliation.

I dare you all to do the same.

Just wake up and make a goddamn fool of yourself. Every. Single. Day. Do you really have anything better to do? My neighbor parties pantsless all the time. So I tried it. I went pantsless in a parking lot earlier this week. Totally inappropriate. Totally liberating at the same time. Totally worth it.

And, over the last week or so, I have been sent the following text messages (some more than once):

“Natalie…”

“Stop.”

“Calm down.”

“Jesus.”

“Are you okay?”

“I need vodka to help translate you.”

“You make it through?”

“I heard you are looking for a rich guy to give you an unlimited spending account.”

“I miss your crazy on a daily basis.”

“Just your banged pie hole. Shut! Not just.”

“Better a horrible end than a horror with no end, right?”

“If you forget what to do next, just follow the emoticons.”

“I’ll make a kid cry for you.”

“I’m a giver. Tell your friends.”

“We both know it takes more than that to bring you down a notch.”

“Be my date to the event next Friday. I hate men and I can’t bring my cat. You’re my next best option.”

I call these texts…success (and there are SO many more). You wouldn’t send these texts to a relatively silent, stale reproductive system. Would you? No. You wouldn’t.

THIS is (literally) what my “park” looks like; just think about how much fun “full throttle” must be…

I hope I never lose the desire to get out of the car at an intersection and bust out a little Bieber with a girl I just met at dinner a few hours before. And I hope my bangs are always blunt enough to handle the fact that some people will and won’t love the 0 to 60 in me. I honestly did think about finding a happy medium…for a second. I legitimately felt self conscious about the fact that I cannot resist the urge to constantly tell people exactly what is on my mind. But I’m not ever going to do that again.

Love it.

Or leave it.

I’ve got bigger fish to fry…

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

Lori August 17, 2012 at 11:00 am

Hmmm. Seeing as how I was quoted in this I feel compelled to note that you, -my beautiful and oh-so-slick friend; merely figured out a way to put the crazy on to your friends. While brilliant, don’t think you’re THAT slick.
NOW and far more importantly I share this with you- “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, cigar in hand, favorite beverage in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming WOO HOO – what a ride!!!!”
Boring friends are for boring people. Now – where’s the vodka?!? It’s nearly noon!

Love,
The B.S.C.P.R.

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