My Problem with Ke$ha

First things first, this will not be a blog about my opinion of Ke$ha.  Like I said in my previous blog, I was obsessed with her enough to borrow her surname.  Her music is fun, and she makes the world a more vibrant place by being a unique character, so I still adore her.
Today I’ll tell you a story based on true events of my actual life that haunt me to this day and give me vivid flashbacks every time I hear the song “Timber,” by Ke$ha, obviously.
Our story takes place in a horrifically scarring place called Middle School.  I was a moderately awkward pre-teen, considerably longer than I was wide having just gone through a major growth spurt.  That being said, it was pretty evident that I was not the most graceful creature on land.  I was teased frequently that year, but not for being gangly.  I was picked on when I got bangs, because I apparently was Hannah Montana’s doppelganger, despite looking nothing like her besides the hair cut.  People used to ask me if I could flap away on my large ears that stuck far away from my face, and I ended up changing alone in gym class for a while because some girls started a rumor that I was watching everyone get changed.  I was no stranger to bullying, but none of what I just mentioned relates to Ke$ha.
 This particular event revolves entirely around a Computers class I took in eighth grade.  In this class, we learned how to properly make power point presentations, utilize excel spreadsheets, and various other useful skills.  The least productive students in my class also learned that you can make excel regurgitate anything you write in the boxes.  So, every day of class, before the teacher came in and shut everyone up, there were a lot of robotic voices saying profanity.  Once they all grew bored with that, they began specifically targeting people.  Being Middle School students they were obviously very original and clever.
I will give them one thing; they were very diligent when it came to stalking their prey.  One day I walked into class flustered, most likely homework related.  The room was filled with the normal blather of my classmates, the usual excel robot woman swearing casually. Everyone immersed in either themselves, or their friends and I was hurriedly walking to my computer because I was not in the mood to talk to anyone, nor did I have the patience to hear any Hannah Montana jokes.  As I reached the row where my computer was, my feet got caught in a tangle of chords, and I hit the floor sprawled out like the gawky birdlike little girl I was.  Almost immediately I was back up speed- walking to my chair, and sat down red in the face.  I looked around and waited for someone to say something but it seemed as if no one even noticed I just took a spill.  Then I heard a girl laughing across the room and saw that she was staring at me.  I made a face as if to say “Yeah I fell, what of it?”  And she turned around to face her computer, which was open to excel, and she continued to giggle as she typed something.  “Did you guys just see Julia totally wipe out?” she said to no one in particular, and most of the class looked at her and nodded with smirks on their faces as if they were glad she brought it up, making it okay to actually laugh at me.  Then she turned the volume on her computer all the way up, hit a few buttons, and turned to look at me as her computer blared out “TIMBERRRRRRRRR.”
If it wasn’t mean enough, most of the room joined in and there was a loud chorus of robotic “TIMBER” up until the teacher came in.  I guess it was one of the best ones they came up with because the rest of that year, every time I walked into the class, at least one person made their computer virtually harass me.  Some people even decided my name was Timber.
The reason I decided to tell this story was not because I want pity, but mostly because I think everyone has something like this that has happened to them in grade school, even culprits like my fellow classmates.  Also because I think it’s silly, and I would rather laugh at it, and invite everyone else to laugh with me than to act like it deflated my self esteem.  So really, I’m inviting you into one of my unhappy memories and asking you to think about one of your own, but own it.  Don’t let it own you.  So if you feel like a tree that’s been cut down, think about my story.  I may not actually listen to the song, “Timber,” mostly because I think it’s annoying, not because it legitimately brings back bitter memories.  I’m happy with that memory, because I own it.  My name is Timber, and I am fabulously clumsy.