Funky junkie vs. Soccer Mom
Last week I wrote about feeling like the pharmacist thought I was a junkie looking to score more Lunesta than the insurance company would allow. So I lamented and then came to the following conclusion.
“Although now that I’ve said the word “junkie” enough times it sound kinda cool. I’m a funky junkie. I’m fun. I’m funky. And junkie rhymes with funky.
I guess if I had to choose, I’d rather be a funky junkie than a soccer mom. “
And then Cate left a comment asking me to clarify what soccer mom meant to me and why I would rather be a drug addict than a soccer mom.
So Cate, this one’s for you.
I guess it boils down to stereotypes, right? Soccer mom has such a dowdy connotation. Immediately I think of high-waisted jeans and white Reebok tennis shoes. I’m not sure if anyone is actually manufacturing high-waisted jeans anymore but I’m sure I’ve run across a few pairs at the Salvation Army.
I steer clear of those.
But that’s not to say I’m into low-rise hip huggers, either. Junkies don’t wear hip huggers. I don’t think they have any hips to hug, what with the drugs overriding the appetite. Which brings me to my next stereotypical conclusion. Soccer moms got back, most of the time.
Junkies do not.
Yes, I’m a slave to my temple. I’m trying to keep the drywall intact and the rooms neat and tidy. I want to keep this body well within the normal BMI range. Actually I’d like to skew on the side of low-normal but it doesn’t seem to be happening anymore.
If cocaine didn’t have crazy side effects like addiction, possible brain damage and death and if it were legal I think I’d take some daily for weight control. But I wouldn’t want to sniff it cause that seems weird and uncomfortable and I definitely wouldn’t want to inject it with a needle (is that even how it’s done?) So if I
were
going to
take cocaine, someone
would have
to come up
with a tasty gummy
bear made of the stimulant.
And if it were legal, it would be covered by my prescription drug plan. For sure I would stop taking it when I hit my goal weight. I don’t want to be cocaine-skinny, just thin enough to make me stand out from the soccer moms.
So junkies are skinny and I’m down with that.
Soccer moms get all fanatical about their kids and refuse to believe Junior could be at all responsible for the skirmish at school. There’s no talking to a soccer mom about her kid’s behavior because she believes it is above reproach.
Now a funkie junkie realizes a deal may go bad and it can be anyone’s fault. That dude is not going to hang around and argue about the details.
Shet happens, right?
It’s the same with kids. Sometimes both of them are equally responsible and both of them need to go to jail. I mean go to time out and deal with the consequences. Junkies realize life is a gamble and sometimes you lose. That’s a chance they’re willing to take.
But mostly, I think, a funky junkie walks a somewhat solitary line. Clearly I am using an analogy here.
I don’t want to live like a drug addict, but neither do I want to be a stereotypical dowdy Mom who rarely sees past her own front yard. Like Caine who walked the earth in Kung Fu, I am a chick who seems to walk alone and I am trying to be cool with that.
In a non-confrontational way, I want to be an individual who is not lumped into the pack. I want to mostly fit in, but reside one step left of center. To me the soccer mom is one of a herd of many and can be self-righteous and narrow minded. She can also be uppity and exclusive creating a clique that does not easily accept others.
My kind of junkie realizes all of us stumble and most of us fall. And if there’s a hole in the knee of my jeans, the funky junkie can relate and still makes small talk with me.
And that is why I prefer to be a funky junkie, Cate.
