One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong...

"One of these things is not like the others,

One of these things just doesn't belong,

Can you tell which thing is not like the others

By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which thing was not like the others?

Did you guess which thing just doesn't belong?"

Words and Music by Joe Raposo and Jon Stone

Image. How do we see ourselves and how do others see us? There was nothing more important in HS for me than image. How did we manage to get through HS without our BFF's. I've talked about Joy and Kelley and now I'd like to tell you about Louise.

She attended our enormous HS but shined like a bright star. Brilliant, tall with striking features, excelled at everything. She was also warm, kind and extremely empathetic.

Life dealt her a stern hand and she came up with Aces. We kept each other laughing and crying and laughing again.

I often wonder why she choose to be my friend. We shared our lives with each other, never caddy, always supportive of one another, no teenage girl bashing. 

In HS I was surrounded by opposites. My home life was filled with mental illness, alcoholism, drug use and prostitution. The once ethnic family oriented neighborhood that it started out to be became the opposite. I went to a HS on the other side of town (so I wouldn't get the crap beaten out of me after school). There, on the, "other side of town" I found what I thought was, "normal", two parent homes, nice homes and a place where I didn't have to worry about my safety. 

I got a job after school and wore nice clothes even though most of the people I went to HS with knew of some of my living circumstances. I tried to fit in. I was so conflicted that it was people like Louise who kept me on even ground. I found my voice, literally, in singing, acting and dancing. Louise encouraged me and always told me how talented I was. I was on the drill team, sang in the Glee Club,( that show on TV had nothing on us baby!), starred in plays and I was terrified, always.

I was never a star student in spite of having an IQ of 135, my home life took such precedence over daily thoughts, it was difficult to concentrate. Who was going to be home when I arrived after a one hr. bus ride across town and a half a mile walk home through a dangerous neighborhood?  A new boyfriend of my Mothers? Some Pimp off the streets? Someone doing drugs in the kitchen?

I remember our class president and her best friend suggesting that after I graduate I should become a "hairdresser". Louise over heard that and said, "you can become whatever you want to be, you are a smart person. I didn't hear that very often. Like I said, Louise grounded me. 

What I didn't realize was that although I thought all of my friends lived such normal lives they were far from it. Their fathers may have been Doctors, Lawyers, Professors and Judges but the dysfunction was the same but behind big fancy doors. Ann's father was a famous judge and an abusive alcoholic. Lisa's father went, "away" to prison for fraud. Deaths were really suicides but we didn't speak of it. Wives having affairs, getting pregnant and passing off the child as their husbands (OMG look at that baby he/she looks exactly like my best friend Brenda, uh oh) and that was the only tip of the iceberg. Really, you can't make this stuff up. Yet, still I would have given anything to trade places with them because it was the, "image" that I was looking for. I'll trade my dysfunctional for your dysfunctional family.

My children, Shanna and Scott were the ones to suffer for my, "image" complex but that's for another blog.

Louise was right, I could do anything and I did and so did she. 

Here is to Louise, who danced in the Nutcracker, sang like a Lennon Sister, French Club President, the smartest girl in our school and my dear friend. 

"Three of these kids belong together 

Three of these kids are kind of the same 

But one of these kids is doing his (her) own thing 

Now it's time to play our game 

It's time to play our game."

Tuck This!

"I feel Pretty", you know like the song from West Side Story, when Maria, played by Natalie Wood, sings the song about "feeling" pretty. Is she blind, can't she see what's in the mirror? Natalie Wood was more than pretty. It's always the obviously pretty ones that ask that question and really mean it. Who really feels pretty, attractive, or even beautiful? Why would someone think that about themselves? Is it something we learn or is it something we are born with? I am having a Tummy Tuck in a few weeks. I had to really contemplate why I was doing it. I had talked about it for years. After two C-Sections (one from belly button down and one bikini cut (like he was doing me a favor by not having a scar show, bikini cut my ass) , menopause and a few extra pounds, the middle of my body looks like I have inner tube around it. All of my body parts have moved south for the winter and they aren't ever coming back.   Is it vanity? I haven't been a bikini since I was in high school (40 years ago). At no more than110 pounds until I was 45 I still didn't think I was attractive. Oh, wait, that's a lie, I did have beautiful hair. Long Jet Blue/Black hair. I loved my hair. But, I always wanted curly hair, I am sensing a theme here. We, as women, are so judgmental of one another. Why can't that person just STOP eating already? Why is she such a bitch? Why doesn't she dress better? She needs a make over. There are shows, "What Not To Wear" where "friends & family" actually nominate some poor sucker that ends up on the show. But, in one week, after they humiliate her on National TV, most don't just have a physical transformation but an emotional one. They feel pretty,confident, the show, "changed their life". Is that really all it takes? Beam me up Scotty. But feeling pretty? I have never really felt pretty. I always wanted to have fair skin, blond hair and boobs. That's what I saw on TV and magazines. I didn't exactly come from a family of supporters, hugs and kisses. I was the darkest of 6 kids, my nick name was, "LBJ" Little Brown Jug. My mother called me ugly, and too skinny. Thank god for a good psychiatrist (and good Meds.) Thank God for that nice jewish couple who worked day and night to put their son through medical school. I was in thearpy for so long that I added on a wing to his house in a very affluent part of town. He was good, no he was great. I healed, slowly but surely and I am still healing. Now, I have this husband this man, my best friend and lover who tells me constantly how beautiful I am, how much he loves me and I believe him but do I believe myself? My hair is thinning, no longer black, no longer long, 125 to 130 pounds (hey, don't go there, write your own blog) and my "inner tube". Pretty? Really? I still don't believe it. But, there is something about my husband telling me every day that I am beautiful, wonderful, that I can do anything I want to do that is cracking the ice. He believes in me, encourages me and is always there for me. He heals me everyday. Back to the tuck. I am excited and scared. What if my expectations are not met? What if it doesn't make me feel pretty? Wait, it's not suppose to make me feel pretty because I am not doing it for vanity, right?. What if I can actually fit into a pair of pants and look good?  Well, here we go, Tuck this!

Three Wise Women

I wonder what draws people together, year to year, day to day. Who we keep in our lives and those  that drop by the the wayside either intentionally or not.  I know two women I went to High School with in San Francisco. We met when we were 14, as Freshman, we were in several school clubs together yet we were three very different girls. Joy was from a typical San Francisco  immigrant Italian family. Her mother was always feeding us! Joy is first generation Italian. Joy has a quick wit, sharp mind and a mothering sense in her that won't quit. Kelley was from a typical Irish family, not first generation but her parents led by tradition that was embedded deep in their life. Kelley is fun and fun to be with. Trusting to a fault in her personal life, but has a BS radar in Business that would make her a great candidate for the FBI. Both pretty with wonderful smiles. I am half first generation Filipino, my father married a Caucasian woman. Daddy, he passed when I was 9 so I always remember him as "Daddy", was a musician, Western Union Delivery Man and Gardner (just like an SNL skit) and Mom a nursing student and singer. More on that later.

We are now 57 and have been in and out of each others lives. We reconnected through Facebook (thank you FB). For the last 3 years we have had lunch every few months or so. Sometimes we invite others but usually it's just us three. Today we talked about why we were so drawn to each other a friends. Why do we trust our deepest darkest secrets to one another? We are not blood related, we did not even grow up in similar homes but we were all raised strictly Catholic. Today we proceeded to tell each other some things that were deeply personal not knowing what kind of reaction to expect but knowing deep in our hearts the trust was there. 

I cannot share my friends stories with you as they are not my stories to tell but I can tell you a few of my stories in hopes that maybe it will help someone else who reads this, has experienced what I've gone through and think  that they are alone. Because today, I felt better when I saw the acceptance of me as a person in these dear friends eyes when I told them something I was deeply ashamed of. I would like to do that for others that do not have someone to talk with or trust. I would also like to share how these two women effect my life, then and now. 

I have always wanted to write a book but didn't know where to start and find the feat daunting. But, with technology the way it is and my like for Computers, I can write a blog and maybe someday put it all together.

So, here goes nothing, off to find out how to put a blog on the www!

Mary Elissa 

San Francisco, Ca.

P.S. Found it!