Well. I ALMOST called her today. I got busy with several things:
- Eating some licorice
- Thinking about how much I hate my dog
- Plotting ways to get rid of the dog without someone noticing
- Taking my kids to the library
- Thinking about ways to become magic
- Listening to songs on my IPOD and imagining the corresponding stories
- Finishing a bid response, finally
- Waiting to hear something about my super top secret Big News (nothing yet)
- Being extremely annoyed after going to the grocery store with my kids, getting my groceries, realizing I forgot my debit card, putting groceries in produce cooler, going home and getting my debit card, going back AGAIN and getting groceries.
- As a result of Kristy’s crush post, remembering all of the millions of painful crushes I had, realizing I can't blog about them because too many people I know read this blog and then subsequently REMEMBERING THE STORY THAT FOLLOWS:
(Whew. That was a reaaaaallly long way to go to get to the reason for my post.)
Once upon a time…
No, wait, that’s not quite right…
WAYYYYYY back in the day,* I was a sixteen year old** senior in high school. I was young for my grade and young for my age - I didn’t hit puberty until I was fifteen (almost the end of my junior year), which made high school a TON of fun for me. Seriously, it was AWESOME.
Like almost every other teenager on the planet, I was incredibly grumpy and hormonal. I slammed a lot of doors and felt a LOT LOT LOT of rage.
“Good morning to you,” my mother would sing cheerily when she came to make sure I was up and getting ready for school.
“ANGRY ANGRY FOAM GRRRRR.” I would growl back at her on my way out the door for my early morning Madrigals class.
I took Madrigals for three reasons.
- I was attending a school I wasn’t zoned for, and the “official” reason for my variance was the fact that they had a Madrigal group. So in order to stay in school I had to stay in Madrigals.
- It got me out of early morning seminary.
- Even without 1 and 2, I would have been in Madrigals anyway, because I was a total choir geek. We would go around and sing all over town at Christmas, wearing our stupid faux renaissance outfits. They weren’t even real renaissance outfits, they were just these polyester monstrosities. We looked RIDICULOUS. Looking back at the pictures, I sort of want to beat myself up.
But in my head, I wasn’t like the other choir geeks. I was DIFFERENT. I was an ANGRY REBEL who would NOT CONFORM TO THE SYSTEM.
Granted, I was a wanna be preppy mainstream rebel who didn’t drink or smoke or swear or dress goth or have sex or do anything even vaguely rebellious. But I had the angry thing down pat, and I was rebelling in the most important way I could – by openly loathing the choir director. This was ground breaking, because everyone around me worshipped her.
I distinguished myself via my hatred. For a teacher. GO ME!
Seriously though. She was a HORRIBLE woman. She was like that teacher on Mr. Holland’s Opus, except NOT. Like that but with immaturity and picking favorites and playing social games and acting as though she was our peer and not our teacher.
We once had a contest where we took a musical pitch/tone test in class. I got a 99 out of 100. Her favorite, Michelle, got a 94 out of 100. Mrs. E announced that Michelle was the winner, and I responded by calling her out and foaming at the mouth. “ANGRY. ANGRY. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. FOAM.”
I can’t imagine why she didn’t like me.
In the spring of my senior year, I lost a bit of weight*** and was sort of approaching a normalish size, which would have been a good thing socially speaking if I wasn’t constantly glaring at everyone and giving them the death eyeballs.
As it was, I’d been on ZERO dates, and had been to approximately ZERO school dances. That probably had less to do with my appearance than with my extremely crappy, negative, I'll-hate-you-in-advance-before-you-get-a-chance-to-hate-me attitude.
(Oh dear. I haven’t actually gotten to the crush part yet, but it's really late and now I'm just sort of sitting here staring at the screen in a heavy blinking stupor. I’ll have to pick this up on another day. Or not. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. ONLY TIME WILL TELL.)
*THE DAY = November 17, 1988
** I skipped a grade. BECAUSE I’M A GENIUS.
*** Don’t look at my weight! RUDE!!!