I haven’t logged in to El Bloggo Loco in a week because the past seven-eight days kind of kicked my buttocks (see Nix Pix intro Week 3 on Jock site) revolving around a botched Hasselbeck-Alexander hand-off in Arizona . So someone left a lil funny on the comments when I wasn’t in the mood for cheap shot humor after the loss and thus I shut down for a few days. This is also related to why the comments are and will remain off. Plus I never get any so what difference does it make. Exactly. Now I assure you the following is not for pity, its classic using-blog-to-get-crap-off-chest, semi-venting stuff.
The “joke” was based on me and the L-word (not lesbian, sorry), or perhaps I should say my L-word. My skin has thickened much over the years but even at the age of 36 when someone makes fun of my irregular speech if I’m in a foul mood I start loading the shotgun. Sometimes for them, sometimes for me. But let’s face it, I’ve cracked on a LOT of people over the years and when the table turns ya (I) gotta take it.
Maybe I’m hypersensitive at times about it but my inability to talk right has been a battle ever since I started talking (or tried talking). When I was fairly young, probably early elementary school, I had a procedure done on my mouth where I was slit underneath my tongue and then it was stitched down. When it healed it was supposed to help me pronounce certain sounds better but I’d say all it did was hurt my mouth for a long time and made my tongue longer (hi, ladies). I know they still do this to kids today and I still doubt it helps any unless they have a small penis in adulthood or still follow KISS. I can still feel the “dots”, scars I assume, on the floor of my mouth and oddly I haven’t felt for them in years until I read that jackhole comment.
Throughout grade school I was sent to a woman named Mary Doubt who was the school speech therapist at Main, back when it was where the auditorium back rooms and KHS dance studio are today. Now I know it was her job to help me and I’m sure she tried but the experience was absolutely degrading and drove me into a shell. I was shy already and now I had a reason to be afraid to talk. Not talking doesn’t exactly help you make friends and develop right. Somewhat ironically I was also placed in the gifted program so every now and then I was pulled from class with a few other “smart” kids (I guess Anne Marie did become a lawyer) and played “smart” games. And every now and then I was yanked out to see Mrs. Doubt and in later years Mrs. Holzshu. So I never knew if I was brilliant or bozo. One minute I’m using my 140 point IQ to solve a puzzle, the next an adult is in my face going SSSSSSSSS and ZZZZZZZZZZZ. I see Doubt at Safeway sometimes and the first thing I always think of is wanting to kick her in the face when I was eight. She’s the personification of the L-word to me and I still an afraid to talk to her, as if she’ll whip out a tongue depressor and say try again, try again, try again.
But the incident that is burned in my mind was when I was approaching a baseball game when I was in my early teens and my friend was mocking me with no idea I was standing behind him. I tossed his mitt in the garbage but didn’t feel any better, knowing probably all my friends made fun of me when I wasn’t around. So I stayed quiet. And anyone who ever made fun of me I never fully trusted as a friend. Even today I judge people on a tact test based on my tongue. I can name just about every single person who has questioned me with “Why do you talk like that?” (not counting children). Why do you ask? I usually don’t talk to them much after that. One girl I’d been dating a short time asked if I’d been hit in the head. Nope, but thanks for asking. I should have asked her the same thing. Of course I understand there is a relationship to brain damage with L-word although I’m sure much of my problem is based on physical oral deformation. It doesn’t even make sense to me why I can’t pull off a few letters.
I was lucky I was good at sports and that Jim Heikes got me playing ball in 4th grade. I felt my athletic ability made up for my speech and people would overlook/overlisten my trouble speaking. It was my way to climb the social ladder but one I knew it had its own glass ceiling thanks to a few sounds I couldn’t do. There have been plenty of times I didn’t attempt things I wanted to do because of this. For some reason I quit letting it stop me anymore. Maybe I got tired of not doing what I wanted to do.
Over time we get older as do the people we are surrounded by so rarely does an adult make a L-word comment to my face unless they suffer from social FAS or grew up in North Texas. Most of you reading this know I do a little radio, a talk radio show in fact, and sometimes I can’t believe I do it knowing full well how bad I butcher basic words but most of the time I try not to think about it and hope people are cool. Believe me, I wish so badly I spoke better and know I really have zero future in radio with this “condition”. I’m OK with that…I think. I prefer writing anyway. The L-word is why I try not to wear headphones when I record and/or broadcast because I become aware of myself again and it takes my mind off what I’m trying to say. Some days are worse than others. There are times I will be running a five second delay in my head trying to pick out words without those sounds in them so I sound half decent. Its a total L-word mind F-word.
I’d count my “disability” (do I get a parking sticker?) as one of the thousand reasons I didn’t run for mayor this time as well. I can hear some loser on Unplugged (yes, I refer to that show a lot) or calling into a council meeting doing his best Nick Sandin like that stoolsniffer did to Gabriel Saravia not too long ago. Maybe you make those jokes over coffee at Kings Diner but not on the AM/FM. Now if I was mayor and someone ripped my “accent” I’d probably declare martial law and get Dr. Dre on the dude who dissed. Still having trouble growing out of my revenge phase (that’s why I rooted for Dallas over Chicago tonight).
Maybe I should go back to square one and face my fears, contact a specialist, and try and improve my speech if that is possible. I have no idea if it is. I’ve been in partial denial about how this has held me back in life and although I’m pretty happy with myself this is America and imperfection isn’t allowed (wink). I wonder sometimes if this was a blessing is some ways such as did it make me a better writer, a better listener, more tolerant of different people, and as a defense mechanism inject steroids into my sense of humor. If there is a g-o-d I’m sure He/She did this to me to slow me down so I wouldn’t otherwise be so damn perfect. Insert yer bald joke here ___________________________________.
(And if this got yer attention, wait til I write about beating depression)
The “joke” was based on me and the L-word (not lesbian, sorry), or perhaps I should say my L-word. My skin has thickened much over the years but even at the age of 36 when someone makes fun of my irregular speech if I’m in a foul mood I start loading the shotgun. Sometimes for them, sometimes for me. But let’s face it, I’ve cracked on a LOT of people over the years and when the table turns ya (I) gotta take it.
Maybe I’m hypersensitive at times about it but my inability to talk right has been a battle ever since I started talking (or tried talking). When I was fairly young, probably early elementary school, I had a procedure done on my mouth where I was slit underneath my tongue and then it was stitched down. When it healed it was supposed to help me pronounce certain sounds better but I’d say all it did was hurt my mouth for a long time and made my tongue longer (hi, ladies). I know they still do this to kids today and I still doubt it helps any unless they have a small penis in adulthood or still follow KISS. I can still feel the “dots”, scars I assume, on the floor of my mouth and oddly I haven’t felt for them in years until I read that jackhole comment.
Throughout grade school I was sent to a woman named Mary Doubt who was the school speech therapist at Main, back when it was where the auditorium back rooms and KHS dance studio are today. Now I know it was her job to help me and I’m sure she tried but the experience was absolutely degrading and drove me into a shell. I was shy already and now I had a reason to be afraid to talk. Not talking doesn’t exactly help you make friends and develop right. Somewhat ironically I was also placed in the gifted program so every now and then I was pulled from class with a few other “smart” kids (I guess Anne Marie did become a lawyer) and played “smart” games. And every now and then I was yanked out to see Mrs. Doubt and in later years Mrs. Holzshu. So I never knew if I was brilliant or bozo. One minute I’m using my 140 point IQ to solve a puzzle, the next an adult is in my face going SSSSSSSSS and ZZZZZZZZZZZ. I see Doubt at Safeway sometimes and the first thing I always think of is wanting to kick her in the face when I was eight. She’s the personification of the L-word to me and I still an afraid to talk to her, as if she’ll whip out a tongue depressor and say try again, try again, try again.
But the incident that is burned in my mind was when I was approaching a baseball game when I was in my early teens and my friend was mocking me with no idea I was standing behind him. I tossed his mitt in the garbage but didn’t feel any better, knowing probably all my friends made fun of me when I wasn’t around. So I stayed quiet. And anyone who ever made fun of me I never fully trusted as a friend. Even today I judge people on a tact test based on my tongue. I can name just about every single person who has questioned me with “Why do you talk like that?” (not counting children). Why do you ask? I usually don’t talk to them much after that. One girl I’d been dating a short time asked if I’d been hit in the head. Nope, but thanks for asking. I should have asked her the same thing. Of course I understand there is a relationship to brain damage with L-word although I’m sure much of my problem is based on physical oral deformation. It doesn’t even make sense to me why I can’t pull off a few letters.
I was lucky I was good at sports and that Jim Heikes got me playing ball in 4th grade. I felt my athletic ability made up for my speech and people would overlook/overlisten my trouble speaking. It was my way to climb the social ladder but one I knew it had its own glass ceiling thanks to a few sounds I couldn’t do. There have been plenty of times I didn’t attempt things I wanted to do because of this. For some reason I quit letting it stop me anymore. Maybe I got tired of not doing what I wanted to do.
Over time we get older as do the people we are surrounded by so rarely does an adult make a L-word comment to my face unless they suffer from social FAS or grew up in North Texas. Most of you reading this know I do a little radio, a talk radio show in fact, and sometimes I can’t believe I do it knowing full well how bad I butcher basic words but most of the time I try not to think about it and hope people are cool. Believe me, I wish so badly I spoke better and know I really have zero future in radio with this “condition”. I’m OK with that…I think. I prefer writing anyway. The L-word is why I try not to wear headphones when I record and/or broadcast because I become aware of myself again and it takes my mind off what I’m trying to say. Some days are worse than others. There are times I will be running a five second delay in my head trying to pick out words without those sounds in them so I sound half decent. Its a total L-word mind F-word.
I’d count my “disability” (do I get a parking sticker?) as one of the thousand reasons I didn’t run for mayor this time as well. I can hear some loser on Unplugged (yes, I refer to that show a lot) or calling into a council meeting doing his best Nick Sandin like that stoolsniffer did to Gabriel Saravia not too long ago. Maybe you make those jokes over coffee at Kings Diner but not on the AM/FM. Now if I was mayor and someone ripped my “accent” I’d probably declare martial law and get Dr. Dre on the dude who dissed. Still having trouble growing out of my revenge phase (that’s why I rooted for Dallas over Chicago tonight).
Maybe I should go back to square one and face my fears, contact a specialist, and try and improve my speech if that is possible. I have no idea if it is. I’ve been in partial denial about how this has held me back in life and although I’m pretty happy with myself this is America and imperfection isn’t allowed (wink). I wonder sometimes if this was a blessing is some ways such as did it make me a better writer, a better listener, more tolerant of different people, and as a defense mechanism inject steroids into my sense of humor. If there is a g-o-d I’m sure He/She did this to me to slow me down so I wouldn’t otherwise be so damn perfect. Insert yer bald joke here ___________________________________.
(And if this got yer attention, wait til I write about beating depression)
