Get On Top: Sandra Griffins' Autobiography

By Sandi Griffins and MJ Brault

PART 1: I BITE BUT SHE BIT ME

I'm born Sandra Elaine Griffins March 7th (1) 1983. I'd like to say that I'm born in a little house near the Thame, but I can't. I'm not. I can't tell why I'm born is such a fucked family, but I can't. And even if I could it would't help me much. I was four when my brother was born. Before I guess I was okay. Not that I'd remember anyway. Before the Pre-Sam (2) period, my memory is pretty mixed up. That's like, feelings and smells and blurry images. I'm not even sure if it really happened. I've always enjoyed getting all the attention. Once, when I was about 5 or so, I had decided that I'd be an acrobat. I got all the way up of the big slide at the playground and jumped. Three weeks at the hospital. 6 bouquets of flowers. 15 "get well soon" cards. I'm made to be an only child.

Sam spent his days crying and crying and eating and sleeping and crying and sleeping. And eating again. That's when I talked about killing myself for the first time. Jumping from the same slide. I wouldn't really do it. 4-years-olds talk, they don't act. But Mom took me serious. She brought me to that weird shrink's office. He was really into zootherapy. So he told Mom to buy me some animal.

One day, she came home from work holding a cage.

-"Saaaaaaaaaaaaandiiiiiiii!, she said in her "look-what-a-great-mother-I-am" voice. I hated that voice. Especially When she believed it. "Look what I brought you from work" (She worked as a VP-marketing-at-the-TV-station. Not a place where you usually find cats)

And there it was.

"His name's Fluffy." She told me.

If he would not had been (3) named, I'd have called him "Little creature From Down Under". I hate cats. They're cunning and mean. They look at you, perfectly innocent, then they come bite you.

I lived for *years* in a world of phoniness and bitchiness. No surprise that I've became a phony bitch myself. My mother loved only herself, so I love only myself too. People tell me how much I look like her. That's true. If only they knew.

She told me how to get on top. Crash into everybody, get your own place in the sun. Be bitchy be scary, nobody gotta defy your authority. You're the strongest. Get em to know. Who might want brains when you can have popularity? Who might want true friends when you can have the whole school at your feet? Life is just an inscription in the yearbook.

I was just a little kid (a bit paranoiac) but I saw through her wicked game. She didn't loved me. Nobody ever loved me.

Sure thing, there was plenty of people who tried. But I blew them off. All. Who tell me that they're not some kind of people that'll get on my weak points to get "Things" out of me?

Crack my shell and it's all squishy inside. I may look strong, but it's all comedy. But nobody have to know.

PART 2- I KNOW IT AIN'T COOL BUT I LIKE IT LIKE THAT

You know Lawndale. Boring town. You think you just want to get the hell out of there. But when you try...

At the Lawndale= 15 km sign, you chest get tighter.

At the Welcome to Lawndale, there's something weird happening in your guts.

And when you reach the big Strawberry, you know you're at home.

I don't know why I,m telling you this. It's a autobiography, not the Complete Idiot's Guide to How Do You Know You're a Lawndalian. I just don't know what to write.

When I was 8, our class went to a field trip in Leeville. Stacy, Tiffany and I decided that we didn't want to go, so we skipped class and went into our tree house. That's how the fashion club was born. Off course, it wasn't named Fashion Club yet. It was The Tree House Conpany. Tiffany wrote the name on the house and she mispelled company. We didn't have enough paint to correct it, so it stayed. We didn't even talked about boys. We talked about the teachers, the homeworks, our families, and what web wanted to be when we would be older (Stacy told us that her big sister was putting makeup and staying out late and getting into troubles, so we didn't really wanted to be teenagers.) We didn't went to field trips at Cashman's. We went at the playground and at the mall to spy people and sometimes we sat under the bleachers and watched football games.

At house, things were okay. I had another little brother, but this time it was easier to adapt. Chris cried less and was cuter. I remember spending hours carrying him around the neighborood. Fluffy was going well, I took care of him. Everything was so well. Why did Mom had to screw it up?

*Madam* decided that our life was too dull for her. She had an affair with her boss. Chris was 3 months old. It was like sleeping on the casting couch I guess. But the thing is that she never *thought* of us. She was thinking about her and herself as usual.

But somehow Dad discovered it. And he got really mad, once he even punched the wall and they were fighting all the time. I used to get up and look at them through the stairs.

They almost divorced.

Part 3- HAVE YOU EVER

I was 12. I was about to enter Junior High. Tiffany, Stacy and I spent the summer talking about school and guys and fashion. That summer The Tree House Conpany became the Fashion Club. We weren't saving our allowances to buy candy anymore. We were *almost* teenagers now. And we were damn proud.

I know, I've jumped to 12, omitting 9, 10 and 11, but nothing really happened those years. Just the usual. But Junior High was a big step for me. I was old now. I was a big girl.

That summer, I stopped crying. I haven't since. I'm proud of this. I know, that's not something people are usually proud of, but all the small things have always been important to me.

So, as I was saying, the Fashion Club was born that summer. We began going to Cashman's often and Tiffany began worrying about her weight.

Once, I saw a movie. About 4 girls and their last summer of perfect innocence. That's how I was feeling. Life would never be the same, because I knew too much.

Anyway. Mom decided that it was now ime for me to get my place on the sun. I cut my hair (before they were falling all the way down my back. It was beautiful.) and bought new clothes. I was ready. But I had never really looked closely to popular people before. I didn't know that they were just *attracting* people, like some kind of magnet. They were like that. And I wasn't.

I've developped my empire all by myself. And I wasn't ready to let someone else govern it.

Part 4- 16 JUST HELD SUCH BETTER DAYS

And Quinn arrived. She was all I wasn't. She was cute, she was attractive, she had that *thing* who make that people come talk to her.

I don't know why the hell I told her : You look cool. But sometimes I wish I haven't.

She was getting on my nerves. And people say that *I'm* the bitch. Okay, maybe I am. But that doesn't mean that she can't be one too. I hate myself.

I was so angry when Quinn got the part at the play. But I was even more angry when Mom decided to play the involved parents and defend her daughter against the bad bad world. I hate her for that.

And the show must go on.

Theme from Cola, by Moist plays as the credits go on

ours is the legacy of waste

waste all the things we turned to dust

simple if we would like to find

punished by words i'm takin

finally pressed you'd like to know

known for the trip unfolding

pleasantries building as we go timid

the way i'll take it now

memory is over, memories over

are you still remembering

never meant to go there

are you still remembered

all through the dress i lie awake

tearful as i've been ginding

only in your mind to make

helpful or not i take it

now memory is over memories over

are you still remembering

never meant to go there

are you still remembered

END

Whoa. That was tough to write. I hope it didn't turned too bad. I'd hate that. Ah yeah, and you can e-mail me at mj_brault@antisocial.com.

LITTLE TRIVIA- The title for each parts are a line from a song from the following bands (NOT in order) Blink 182, Aerosmith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Offspring. So if you know from which songs I took the line, just e-mail me.

Okay I've given credit to everybody who deserve it, I think I'm done

17:17 99-10-23 Marianne J. Brault



TRIVIA FORM

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Email: mj_brault@antisocial.com