Youthful Lust

When I was in high school, I had a crush on a brainiac. I once chose to be in an advanced-advanced group because I thought he'd be in it. My English teacher decided that for one of our projects, she would let students who worked faster be in an advanced group and they would do more work when they finished early. Sounds like every nerd's dream, right?

It was already AP English, so there really was no need for an advanced group within the advanced group. There still ended up being two workaholic groups, because brainiacs are competitive and enjoy showing off. Once I found out the hot guy didn't opt into the I-have-self-worth-issues-and-need-to-be-validated-through-extra-credit group, I decided to just be in a regular group.

I have to admit, my opinion of the guy slightly changed after the incident. Like, maybe he was actually lazy and that's why he didn't want to do the extra work. Chances are, he was too cool to work with the nerdy girls in the advanced-advanced group.

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During middle school, I developed a crush on a boy because he could do both The Dolphin and The Worm. Plus, he sort of looked like Devon Sawa, who played Caspar the friendly ghost in the movie. All middle school girls had a crush on Devon Sawa, even though you could only see him in the flesh dancing with Christina Ricci for about three minutes of the movie. I am happy to report that as an adult, Devon Sawa has made appearances in several episodes of Nikita, and he's really bad ass in them.

Smoking hot during his middle school years.

Despite his bad ass character, he still got captured by Nikita and chained to a bed so that he couldn't kill her. But she only wanted to nurse him back to health so that they could both take down Division.

I was going to write a bit more, but I think I'm going to go watch a certain TV show on Hulu instead. Sorry.

My Sue Sylvester Track Suit

When I was in middle school I thought I could fake athleticism. I thought I could wear Adidas stripes down the sides of my pants and look svelte. Like maybe I really could run a ten minute mile, but I did it all the time so why prove it to you now?

Oh good gracious.

I was at the gym last week when the woman in front of me made me grin. She was wearing navy blue athletic pants and a navy blue top. Both had white stripes down the pant legs and shirt sleeves. It immediately launched me back to age 13, when I was trying to fit in. All I did was look like a moron. But that's okay. It built character.

This picture of Sue Sylvester basically is an exact replica of the outfit I had in middle school. Only my jacket was an actual waterproof jacket with a hood. And it was more of a navy blue. No wonder I had no friends.

Let me tell you the extent of my athleticism:
*Off an on again from age 7 to age 12: gymnastics. Only I have a total crap knee cap that likes to dislocate itself quite frequently, so I was out of commission every three weeks or so.

*Age 13: B string softball team. Only I majorly blew out my knee at practice one time and missed most of the playing season, since I was on crutches. It was basically a favor for my teammates. I played outfield and I can't throw.

*Age 9 to age 17: horseback riding. If you count that as athleticism, which I really don't. But boy does riding bareback tone your inner thighs.

*Age 15: I went to tennis camp for two weeks and realized it was all in vain. I have weakling arms, bad aim, and poor hand-eye coordination.

*Age 18-2: I went to the on-campus college "gym" a few times. Like maybe six times per term.

*Age 23-present: I actually have a legit gym membership. I kick ass and take names while I'm there. I went four to five times a week for two years, but the past eight months I have been slacking down to only twice a week. But I am not going to get into the bitter story about that. Chances are, you already know it.

I am hoping to venture in to my childhood dream of learning martial arts this summer. My mother would never let me. But one of my co-workers is actually a tae-kwon-do instructor down town, and she said she'd be glad to have me as an adult student. Chances are I could blend in with the 12 and up crowd. They'd never know I'm twice their age. Just gotta talk about Justin Beiber and wear Silly Bandz. Oh, and not wear a track suit.

Middle School Misery

The year was 1999. The last of the millennia. That was when I entered the system known as public education. I was 13, turning 14. A hellish age, if you ask me. I had formerly been a home schooled child, and when I entered the 8^th grade, I took my home sewn floral printed jumpers and head bands with me. Kidding. This was 1999. Wide legged jeans were all the rage, if you can recall. I took pride in my up to date fashion sense. After all, I did read Girl’s Life magazine and Seventeen when I was at the library, which was often.

I did not embrace all of the new procedures and polices at this public school with open arms. For example, their drug policy. All medication had to be turned in to the office in the original container with a parental note. You couldn’t so much as have a cough drop in your pocket. Now, there is a medication all girls require when they are near the age of 13, and have horrible, bloody periods that make you want to throw up. It’s called Aleve. Or maybe Midol.

You can imagine my shock when I learned that if I was cramping, I’d have to ask my male teacher to leave class, go to the office, and ask the receptionist if she could let me have some of my previously brought in drugs. It would have been mortification. Might as well announce the changes of my body in front of the whole class. My mom was all ready to send me with a bottle and a note, penned on the paper of the yellow steno-pad near our answering machine (this was before voicemail). I took the bottle, and I took the note, believe me. I needed drugs.

What I did was pop a few of the blue pills into a Tic Tac container, and I took the Tic Tacs to school with me. What I would do is smuggle them into my mouth during the bathroom break or at lunch. Heaven forbid I self-medicate. I did this for about half a year, until I made the decision to just go to public school half-time, so that I could pursue art lessons and read literature not packaged in some text published by Houghton-Mifflin. After that, I would just take my pain relief at home before I went to class in the afternoons. 

 A few other policies that baffled me were the strict prohibition of liquid white-out, and why did my teacher make such a big deal when I asked him if I could see the answer key for the math problems? In all my previous years of schooling, I had free access to the answer keys. I knew the rules. I had to work all of the problems before checking it. So why was my teacher giving me guff for wanting to check my work? How was I supposed to understand how to do a problem if I didn’t know what the correct answer was? It just didn’t make sense.

Yes, public education made me look like a cheating drug smuggler, when all I was trying to do was take care of myself.