Yesterday’s #reverbbroads prompt was: With what fictional character (book, movie, TV, etc.) do you most identify? Why?
Well, nothing says classy FRONCH titles like Darlene Conner from Roseanne, y’all.
Yeah, I was kind of a sarcastic asshole, much like the young Darlene. Blame my mom for making me do vocab flash cards from age 2, I mean – what the fuck did she expect? Oh man, the only thing I didn’t have was that hair. I would have cut eight bitches down with some blunt left-handed scissors for that shit. Her hair is legend. I will live forever in envy. That and she did have quite the pale, alabaster skin. Dammit. I didn’t wanna stay inside all day to cultivate that.
My mom was nothing like Roseanne, which is probably a godsend, and my family nothing like the Conner family. So it’s strange that I would identify with this anti-meat, little brother-having girl. But the loner aspect and the mouth on that kid reminds me totally of myself at that age (and most of the time, now – minus all that teen-y angst. Sort of). I’ll never forget when I said something so sarcastic my mom actually slapped my face. I was way taller than her, but I lived in fear of my parents and their wrath so there was no way I was fighting back. In retrospect, I don’t blame her. I’m sure I said some terrible shit when I was 14 (and 15, 16…ok, all the way until 22.)
What a dream child. While I never got hooked on drugs or drank that much and made decent grades, my smart-ass comments got me in a shitload of trouble at school as well. Sometimes the class clown, but more often than not, lining up for a “talkin’ to” with our horrifying, crag-faced, snaggle-toothed vulture of a vice-principal. This didn’t stop my unbridled invective from unleashing itself. I am not sure I ever figured out what “too far” was.
I think many people like to think that sarcasm is depressing and negative. I don’t necessarily take umbrage with those sentiments, but I know that my nature is to be that way – to be less trusting than most, and to be more “realistic” than most people want to be. How do I handle difficult times? Well, it’s certainly not by slapping on some fake Pollyanna attitude. If I’ve told you to suck a dick, or a bag of dicks, I probably half-meant it. My mother is a “be cheerful or die” kind of person. I’m just not made that way. Neither was Darlene Conner. We both may not have aged very well in retrospect, but we are both, I’m guessing, less wounded deep down inside.
Also, suck a dick.