When You Apparently Strike Fear Into Opposite Sex

Why hello there! It's been a minute since I last posted, hasn't it? I've been on an unstoppable lazy butt blog hiatus as of lately. I'm was a tad burnt out. I don't know about the rest of you guys but at this point in the year, I am DONE with school. Actually no, I'm over the workload, but I'm more than happy to show up, socialize, and be the confused deer in headlights you all know me to be! Being clueless is kinda my thing, and not to toot my own horn, but I'm really good at it. Don't feel bad though if you're not on my " What. Is. Happening!?", level because I get a lot of practice. Well, and I'm super talented. Recently I was talking to my parents about boys. One of my favorite topics. They were asking me if I was getting any attention from the fellas at school. They're so nosy. Which is my playful way of saying, absolutely none. At least none that I'm aware of. There have been a few occasions where I've been hit on but didn't know it until someone else told me. Wanna hear any? ...Eh, I'm good. Well, Don't have to ask me twice, grab a snack and buckle up sister.

The first time someone ever checked me out was at Justice in the mall. I was 12 years old and still was shopping there. The reason? I was on a mission to find swimsuits made for flashy fat children. This was because the women's suits I had seen around had an evil wedgie contraption riding up their victim's backside like a Ford Mustang. Broom Broom, indeed. Later on, I discovered they were called thongs. Personally, I think the word thong sounds like a piece of heavy-duty lab equipment, which makes me think of science class, which makes me think of Bill Nye the Science Guy. I have to connect these dots because I go from point A to F and don't tend to verbalize. How dare you not read my mind! That being said I'm not going to pretend that Bill Nye is not in fact a 65-year-old sex bomb. He must be a major babe at his lofty retirement home.

Ole Billy Nye Nye is just being modest. Anyways, I was strutting to the clearance aisle with mi usual bargain-hunting swagger, when I caught the attention of a boy who looked particularly disinterested as his mother and younger sister were checking out a pile of squishies resembling pastry goods. Although I had turned his head, the only thing turning mine was the price tag on a watermelon tankini made for an eight-year-old with a very loving relationship with food. Sorry dude, priorities. After we left the store, my mom filled me in on what had gone down, and I knew I had chosen the right cardigan that day.

I have couple more stories, but I'm going to put those on the back burner so I can address the title of the article. During my conversation with my parents, it came up that I had heard people say things through the grapevine about me. Pretty typical things...nice, pretty, once I heard scary, it depends on the day I suppose. At first, I didn't understand why people would be afraid of me but then I realized something crucial, they remember. They remember all the crap I've pulled over the years. For some reason, I thought they would all have memories like Dory in Finding Dory, and forget my more unflattering moments, but that does not seem to be the case. For example during lunch in A.P. World last Thursday, a particular young man came into the conversation, and it made me think of an infamous memory I have of him from 7th grade Spanish. Said boy loved to be loud, a showoff, and most of all put his feet on the back of my chair. Now before I tell you how I reacted, I want everyone to know that I had asked nicely many times beforehand, sadly my saintly patience has a limit. Sure that limit is on the lower end of the saintly spectrum, but it still makes the cut. That is in an anger management center for delinquents or Axl Rose from the 80s band, Guns 'N Roses. I googled him, I was grossed. The first time I ever saw a picture of Axl Rose was in 5th grade and I had formulated the perfect nickname for him, OBD. It stands for Old, Bad, and Dirty. Looking back, I can't say I was wrong... but I now realize with the rearrangement of letters it could mean Old Dirty Basturd which also applies. I gave that boy a nickname that I thought fitted him as well, the Dirty Shoed Stinker. This was because he knew he was pushing my buttons and proceeded to ignore my complaints! Which must have taken some unnatural god-given talent because I love to complain! I'm an expert! If something has too much sugar or fat for my liking I will let you know, and then finish it and go back for seconds. It's the way of Julie Renae. So after all of my continual nice efforts, as I walked back to my seat from the group I was working with, I saw his muddy shoes on the seat of my chair. I went over, threw them the hell off, and unleashed my crazy. Oooh, I felt 10 pounds lighter! "Demonica", my alter ego that normally only comes out when I get hungry and lose my mind, had come out to play, and she wasn't gunning for ANY participation trophy, she was an MVP that day. Long story short I said something, he said something, I said something, and I made him cry. He was sent to the counselor and they set him straight I assume because after that day my seat was squeaky clean. The only thing I remember was telling him to "hike up his skirt and put his dukes up" but I must have blocked out the rest.

Another example from my reign of terror was also in 7th grade Science class during our dissection unit. We were dissecting owl pellets, which is a fancy way of saying cracking open hardened owl vomit to find out what they ate. Although it was unsettling, it was much better than the frog lab where I had to gut that thing all by myself without any help from my partner. I'm looking at you Salma! I have to say I can't blame her, if someone else was willing to take the reigns on that one, I would have done the exact same thing. Anyways, for the owl pellet, the partner I was assigned was a squirmish boy who let's just say wasn't cut out for the medical field. Maybe the theatre? That's because from the way he was acting you would have thought we were performing major heart surgery. As I was breaking open my owl pellet, much like all the other girls in the room were doing as the boys sat beside them and watched, I heard an odd groan escape my partner's mouth. At first, I thought he just needed a second to pull himself together, after five more minutes it became clear that was going to be my responsibility. It was a period before my snack, and like my blood sugar, my patience was running low. Demonica had made an appearance. After the sound of it breaking made him dry heave, I tried to give him friendly words of encouragement and lowered my voice about ten octaves to do so. I sounded like a mix of Darth Vadar and Lucy from Charlie Brown because of my low voice and snarkiness. I have to say Charlie Brown was a sad show, inconvenient things always happened to him. It's like the producer looked at my life and was like, bingo! I am convinced he based the character off of me. I didn't get my copyrights but, that's a Charlie Brown moment itself, isn't it? For instance, this is my second attempt writing this article because it didn't save to my computer, but I'm reframing that as a good thing since this version is much better in my opinion, fewer detours from the actual story if you know what I mean. I'm kidding! I get distracted all the time, can't believe you fell for that one sucka! Back to me and the Dry Heaver, after he almost threw up at the sight of a broken owl pellet and I had got in position to lower my voice, I whispered in my Lucy Vadar voice from behind him as he swiftly turned away from the pile of bones that were popping out, "Be a man." In response he dramatically placed his arm on the table, his hand covering his eyes, and in a high-pitched voice went, " Nooooo!" Goodness, It sounded like me when I have to wake up for school. I swear the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is the knowledge that there's a buttered bagel waiting for me at the dining room table. And not the low-fat butter my mom has to eat now that she got her gallbladder taken out. Don't be trying to fool anybody Upfield Food Markets Company, I CAN believe your not butter! Unlike my thoughts on my mom's fake butter, I couldn't believe that this teenage boy was throwing a tantrum and on the verge of booking it. Which after I told him through gritted teeth that I could only be the guy here for so long, he did. Straight out the door... I think I motivated him that day. I would like to plead hungry for that one, Demonica can be a little irrational. For me, a lack of chips is comparable to the necklace Horcrux in Harry Potter that made everyone go nuts. Ummm nuts! Those would have also proved useful at the time.

Along with hunger, competition seems to be where I get a little intimidating. There is a certain degree of aggression it takes to be Julianne. I would like to think going after what you want is an admirable quality, yet for some reason when you come running at people in Fort Knox when they're about to cross the line and you tackle them to the ground, they don't tend to receive it well. You need to work for that plastic chicken on my turf sweetie. Not to say that strategy always works for me but you can't really hesitate mid-sprint, by then you're knee-deep in and need to commit. It's not like I always caught them anyways, sometimes I would dive headfirst into a pile of dirt, or get grass stains, or and trip over my own feet. I may not be the fastest person, but in the words of my mom, " Honey, you're kinda a brute, control ya self you little freak." Unfortunately at soccer practice yesterday there was an incident involving my foot, a ball, and a girl's face that I feel really bad about. I should make her a card or something because she went down like a cartoon character. In my card, I was planning to write something sweet and from the heart, wanna hear what I got so far?

Dearest Victim of Mine,

I am terribly remorseful your face got in the way of my shot. The ball hit your head like the side of a building, and for that, I can only hope you'll move quicker next time. Anyways sorry for clocking you.

Lots of love,

Your teammate, your friendly acquaintance, your abuser,

Julianne

It's perfect, isn't it? Personally, if someone wrote that to me I would find it funny, but I don't really know this girl's sense of humor yet, so I'll probably opt for the less offensive route.

To wrap this thing up, I guess boys are scared of me, and after reviewing I can see why. That being said, many would agree I have matured into a very nice girl and turned a leaf, so if anybody's looking for a good time hit me up!