11:15 p.m. - 2004-10-20
A Loopy Little History, Second Installment
A Loopy Little History, Second Installment
I probably should have typed this whole thing at once and THEN posted it. But this is more fun. I know you're all waiting with bated breath for my next thrilling installment...because my life is so unbelievably fascinating. Of course, all of us D-Landers think that, or we wouldn't be here, obsessively checking our stats, trying to come up with new and interesting banners, and reading many, many diaries in an attempt to convince ourselves that we're really not so fucked up after all.
Chapter Two: In Which We Move Back to Houston, I Suddenly Have No Friends, and My Life Generally Blows the Goat Ass
After my friend's party, a last night of Barbie-playing with my best friend Sarah, and tearful goodbyes and promises to write, we move away from Pittsburgh. In this process, my mother had some seriously fucked up dreams, one of which my brother and I still tease her about. She dreamed that the moving truck was in the driveway, and they were trying to load the freezer, and it was full of popsicles. Chock full. Popsicle-o-rama. She keeps trying to give them away to all the kids in the neighborhood, but all the kids HATE popsicles and don't want any. This causes my mother to completely freak the hell out and scream "Doesn't ANYONE want a popsicle?!?"
Maybe it's only funny if you know my mom. She's the type who spazzes about everything. Don't get me wrong, we get along very well and I love her very much. Sometimes, though, she really needs some valium or something. Holidays are particularly stressful in mommy's world. It's like she thinks our family is going to quit being dysfunctional and weird for a day and pretend we're like, normal and stuff. This usually results in a complete breakdown about something like side dishes for Christmas. Therefore, for the last two years, my sister-in-law and I have been in charge of beverages. As in, we make sure mommy's wine glass (and our own) are not empty. This has many amusing repercussions. My mother SO cannot hold her liquor. Christmas is much more fun this way.
Okay, back to the moving away from my true home story. We move back to Houston, same house, same neighborhood, same elementary school, and I thought, same friends I had before I left. Wrong. My friends had all MADE OTHER FRIENDS. I was totally rejected and no longer a part of the crowd. I made some new acquaintances, but basically spent the next two years without a real "best friend."
Some stories from this period:
(1) Parents drag children, kicking and screaming, on a motor-home tour of Texas. My favorite part was eating junk food (velveeta and pepperoni on ritz crackers) and suffering the consequences in some remote West Texas wasteland when my dad wouldn't stop the freaking motorhome so I could get over the sick part. I hate camping. And fishing. And hiking. And all of that nature shit. I'm a city girl. I need concrete and pollution and traffic noise and malls. I don't like bugs, slippery rocks, sunburns, lack of showers, port-a-potties, or my family in an enclosed space for two weeks.
(2) My friend April in fifth grade taught me how to TP a house. That's still the only time I've ever done that.
(3) I fell off the swingset in the backyard and chipped my two front teeth. I'm so coordinated.
(4) In fourth grade, our Reading book was the same one we did in third grade in Pittsburgh. I told the teacher this, and she ignored me. My mother finally had to call the principal, they gave me a test, and sure enough, I had done the fucking book the previous year. I got my very own reading book, and a whole shitload of other special activities. At first, I thought this was cool. Then I started feeling all lonely and left out.
(5) At the end of fourth grade, I tore a ligament in my ankle playing softball, and spent the last day of school on crutches.
(6) In fifth grade, my homeroom teacher was a moron. However, our English teacher, Mr. Bridges, was the coolest ever. We all had crushes on him.
(7) Fifth grade also marked my introduction to orthodontia. I had a bad overbite, because I sucked my thumb long after I was old enough to know better. Can you say oral fixation, boys and girls? (And I wonder why I'm fat and I smoke.) I had to wear this nasty big ass retainer thing. At school. All day. That lasted about a week. Then I wore it out of the house, shoved it in the case as soon as I got out of sight, and put it back in when I was walking home from school. Ironically, the orthodontist was very pleased with my progress and let me out of it early. What followed was less fun, but I'll save that story for the next installment.
(8) At the end of fifth grade, we had a pool party. This kid I'd known since preschool or something asked me to be his date. I was horribly rude to him. Like really mean. He was kind of a dork, but then, so was I. (I won the fucking spelling bee, for fuck's sake.) I still feel really horrible about this. His name was David Rodgers. If he by some chance stumbles across this, let me say that I SINCERELY apologize for being such a bitch. On some stupid superstitious level, I wonder if this is not why I've had completely shitty luck with men.
That will be the end of tonight's thrilling tales. Sixth grade belongs to junior high, which was a whole new dimension of suck. Sounds like a lovely project for tomorrow at work.
