Nerdy Good

My boss calls me Nerdy Good.  Nerdy for her (I think) means:  responsible, on-time, organized, intellectual, and one who possesses a moderate vocabulary. It's a good way to be. 

Here is some background on my boss. She was probably a cool kid in school - the kind of girl who smoked cigarettes behind the gym and laughed at me because I did not know "getting to third base" referred to anything other than some sort of athletic achievement I could not care less about.  

I doubt she ever valued academics as she is not concerned by her own children's poor performance in school "because I did not like school either". After a particularly tough parent-teacher conference, she revealed that her child's teacher had informed her that her daughter was having difficulty learning the value of money ( i.e - an ice cream costs $1.45, if I have 5 quarters and 2 dimes can I afford the ice cream?) Before I began my suggestions on how to help, she continued - "So I told her that OBVIOUSLY, my little girl does not know about money because money is filthy! Why would I let her hold money?!" I stared into the middle distance and tried to muster a look of understanding. 

It sounds like I am saying she is dumb. I don't mean to. 

She's right, I'm kind of a nerd. 

Even though I get irritated that MJC seems to work verisimilitude into most casual conversations and then pretends like it's just a super convenient word to pop into sentences, I secretly like the pretension.

I like being smart and I like following rules. Call me a hall monitor, but it's true. And maybe that is more of what I am - I am a rule follower. 

I identified with Hillary Clinton's campaign a little bit more when she was compared to Reese Witherspoon in Election. 

It's unflattering, but I'd certainly have to admit to at least a shade of me there.

When I started my first professional job with my first real commute, I remember sipping my coffee and looking out my windshield at my fellow commuters as they stared blankly at the break lights ahead of them. I would smile thinking, 'I love this! I love being part of a group of people, all of us headed to work'! I may have even administered a few "cheers" with my coffee mug to passing motorists. My raising of the mug was usually met with glaring or abrupt lane changes, which amused me more than hurt my feelings.

But nerdy good also means, like Tracy Flick,I want justice for me and for everyone else. I want things to be fair.

That is why when someone compliments me on my dress, I usually point out a stain or a tear in the seam, or at least reveal that I got it on eBay for only $4.99 + shipping. I do this because I would not want to brag or have my complimenter deliver a pat on the back that was not earned.

During our anniversary weekend last summer, I under payed by $150 for our couples massage. I realized the error on my way back to the hotel and although MJC tried his damnedest to convince me this was the karmic equivalent of a Monopoly-bank-error-in-my-favor, we did not even make it 2 blocks before I decided to go back and admit the mistake.

For the last 2 1/2 years, I have been working hard every day at work in the hopes of a promotion. My performance has been dedicated and steady.  My last review said I'd exceeded expectations, but that was it - no next steps. By the end of 08, it became apparent that no one would be getting raises or promotions in 09. My timing is simply off. 

I know I am responsible and smart and that I work hard - Nerdy Good -but here's the thing:

Lately, I feel an awful lot like Tracy Flick. All this hard work and yet MJC and I still may be as much as two years away from being able to save a down-payment for a house. 

Sometimes I drive around our neighborhood and just wonder - with no answers coming to mind- how is it that all of these home owners are doing better than we are? 

I see women younger than me pushing carts at the market, with babies strapped to their chest, peacefully sleeping without a care in the world in their name-brand Baby Bjorn. The mom is  throwing organic produce and expensive wine in her shopping cart; I look at my 4 for $10.00 Lean Cuisines and Miller Lite Ultra, which was on special and my barely female, baby-less flat chest and I wonder what I'm doing wrong.

All my rule-following and responsible decisions, where have they gotten me? I did not get a promotion, I don't have a house and I don't know how anyone affords childcare. So I adhere stubbornly to my nightly regimen of a diet gingerale to wash down a birth-control pill; I get up every day and do my best at work even though I have an ominous feeling that it won't get me anywhere; I pinch my pennies and buy whatever toilet paper is on sale, even if it is scratchy.

What do I get for it? Not Secretary of State.

Sometimes I wonder what if I led my life like my husband, Ferris? How would that feel? 

Sometimes I feel fraught with worry and to-do lists dance across my mind as we stare silently forward, driving in the car together. Once I asked MJC/Ferris what he was thinking just then. He looked at me puzzled and then smiled andshrugged, "Nothing," he said. My mind was blank.

What would I do with all the time I'd free up when I stopped worrying about doing the right thing? What if instead, I decided to pretend I had moist palms and a few other nondescript symptoms so I could not go to school/work and instead  have an adventure? 

If that's unrealistic, why can't I be Sloane? For one, why can't I look impossibly and effortlessly chic in Bermuda shorts, boots, and a fringed jacket? For two, who's stopping me from skipping school too, knowing that as long as I'm with Ferris I'll get away with it?

I'm stopping myself because I am nerdy good. Always have been. If I stop now, I never get to see if justice prevails, and my hard work will pay off. If I give into whimsy at 31 and a half, I'd be lost. So I will settle on house-less and baby-less for now, but still and always, nerdy good.