Diary Sessions: Part 1


When I was last visiting my parents in April, I brought all my old diaries back with me and realized…they’re kinda amazing. I was in such torment over everything. Now, I don’t want to invalidate the feelings I had as a kid, because I went to a small school full of awful little children being awful to each other (I think a lot of us can agree on that regardless of where we grew up)…but it’s cute to see how I described this torment. I thought I was such a grown up and was just so dramatic sometimes (not much has changed on that front, probably). I also had the habit of getting myself into ridiculous situations out of sheer boredom.

So. As I was reading my first diary from 5th grade (age 10 was a particularly ridiculous one for me) I came across a few lines that I wanted to share. My comments are, obviously, in italics.

November 4, 2003 — Study Hall We didn’t have study hall. I don’t know who I thought I was tricking other than my older self, but surprise! I have not been tricked….

I wish I could finish a diary sometime but I never have anything to write about other than my problems and I don’t have a vivid memory Spoiler alert: I have three diaries full of “problems” and vivid memories sitting directly in front of me that were written from ages 10-18, plus a few half-filled ones somewhere else.

Sometimes I read peoples diaries who have died already and I wonder, how did they not get writer’s cramp?

At the moment all I want is a friend (single tear). Megan isn’t a friend and never will be because if she even tries I’ll die. Okay, hold on there sister. A little less drama please. She probably wants me to die. I want  her to die. Gosh, diaries are just so private! Not anymore. I am making no sense, even to me. I don’t get it either, you tiny murderous child. 

Cramp! Will write later. I guess I wasn’t like those dead diary-writers who never got “writer’s cramp.”

“Shane is so annoying…sometimes I want to tell him he is an ass and slap him across the face. That would be very rude though!” TO. SAY. THE. LEAST.

Then, later that day, (there are several entries from the 4th of November…I must’ve been channeling my inner dead diary-writer) I wrote: If someone asked me if I don’t think girls’ body parts are fair compared to boys’ body parts I would tell them that girls can get breast cancer, they get a period, because of their period they have to wear a tampon/pad, they get breasts, because of breasts they need bras, blah blah blah. I would be very open about that sort of thing. I really don’t think it is fair…I miss being a little kid and not having to worry about maturity. Oh, kiddo. If you think that’s unfair, you have no idea what you’re in for. Also, though, I love that I already wanted to be super open about the female body. 14 years later and I haven’t changed on that front. #BabyFeminist.

November 5, 2003 — Early in the Morning

As I was saying last night, all you have to worry about when you are really little (You are a child. Please just embrace that and stop feeling so woeful about your old age) is whether or not your friends will share crayons with you. Whoa boy. Times have changed. P.S. The worst thing that can happen is having the same pants as the same person who didn’t share crayons! Ba-dum-chhhhhhhhhhhh.

Then I described some weird incident where a girl named Morgan asked me if I was smoking on the bus and I said I wasn’t and everyone else said I was. What the fuck was wrong with these children?!

Sidney is so sickening (Hello, RuPaul) sometimes. When I was at the drinking fountain she kept bumping me. I almost turned around and said, “Sidney, is something coming to attack you?” (Zing) Seriously, that girl has some kind of problem. See, she sits right in front of me and always wants to use my stuff. I, being the generous person I am, never let her use it. HAHAHAHAHAHA that was actually pretty good.

A few lines later, I made some weird joke about George Bush being the leader of all the girls who were mean to me. I don’t know, y’all. I don’t know. #PoliticallyActive10YearOlds

Dad had surgery on his wrist. He’s gonna show us his cut. What’s so gross about a cut? I don’t know — who are you asking, exactly, and why are you so sure they’re going to argue with you about this cut business?

The next few entries are just me calling everyone I know a “jurk” and a dope, the latter of which I must’ve picked up from my father. After that, it was all about how I was in love with Jesse but he loved Janelle, and then I “made Megan talk to the hand.”

Okay, y’all. I think that’s all for now. Trust me, there’s plenty of material here for next time…

 

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This One Time I Put My Pants on Backwards


I should start this by saying that I was 6 at the time, so please refrain from worrying that I struggle daily to put my pants on. Okay, actually, you might want to worry, because I basically fall down every day putting them on. Tights are a different, even more horrifying, story (nobody has ever looked attractive putting tights on. Ever.) So, moving along…

I was absolutely infatuated with this boy, Peter, who was in my class when I was 6. It was a 1st and 2nd grade combo class, so he was older than me (ooooh, he was 7, what a stud) and smart and tall and apparently quite the hunk. So every day I would try to get him to notice me, but I’m pretty sure he never did, until the day that would forever be known as the Pant Debacle of 2000.

I was standing in the back of the classroom, about to wash my hands for something (they made us wash our snotty little hands a lot back then) when Peter came up behind me and said, “Your pants are on backwards.” And then he looked at me for a couple seconds and walked away. I’m pretty sure I’d turned bright red and practically peed myself (which wouldn’t have helped the pants situation), then ran into the bathroom.

Guys, I was wearing jeans. With a zipper. AND A BUTTON. AND A ZIPPER. GUYS!!!! How did I do that? I have a few hypotheses:

1. Aliens dressed me that morning and, because of their unfamiliarity with human clothing, thought that was how they went.

2. I somehow slipped them on backwards without undoing the button or zipper. Except I have never done that in my entire life. Also, I don’t think my mom buttoned my pants when she folded them.

3. I am a contortionist.

4. I am insane.

I am writing #2 off as completely impossible and going for number 4, but still…this is a serious issue and I need answers, fast. I’m considering hypnotherapy so that I can delve into the depths of my brain and understand what occurred on that terrible day.

Oh, and needless to say, Peter and I never fell in love. Although I did mail him a love note with a million frog stickers all over the outside of it and told him never to tell anyone that I loved him. I apparently did that a lot as a child.

Fortune Cookies Suck


This is an example of a useless cookie.

Stop being a vague cookie!

I don’t think Fortune Cookies are living up to society’s expectations of them. They are like the black sheep of the family, though which family that is I’m not quite sure. Basically, society (the parents) expected great things of fortune cookies but they just let us down. They didn’t go to college, they got pregnant at 17, and now they’re doing crack in an alleyway behind an Albertson’s just waiting to die.

Well, I say: DIE. Die, you useless piece of cookie.

I hate when they say stuff like “you have a great sense of humor.” Yes, yes, I know. Thanks. That wasn’t even an ego boost. Or “you will take a great trip.” Well, my next vacation isn’t for another EIGHT YEARS, so…basically you’re slacking off on your duties. Stop doing crack and tell me my fortune.

I want very specific fortunes. “You should totally stay with your boyfriend through college. It’s a wonderful idea, and my goodness your outfit looks wonderful today.”
Or “Today, you’ll want to flip someone off because they’re tailgating you. By all means, go for it; they will not have a gun.”
Or even “You might want to carry some pepper spray on your jog today, cuz someone’s gonna try to rape you.”

Those fortunes are helpful because they contain vital information for our everyday lives. Telling me I’m gonna go on a trip is not going to be helpful, because I either a) already know that or b) am not going on a trip.

How about specifics? Specifics! Names, dates, compliments on my hair, etc would be very much appreciated. And the stuff about my hair would totally be true, so… Even “Oy, miss, you have food in your teeth” would be appreciated.

But it’s hopeless. People have even made up games to make fortune cookies better. Adding “in bed” to the end of each fortune has become popular with the teenagers of the world (and my 25-year-old co-worker Scott). But even then, “you will have a wonderful trip in bed” isn’t a great fortune since it sounds a little violent, and “you have a great sense of humor in bed” is pretty insulting, to be honest.

I just wanted to write this post so you’d all know how disappointed I am in our child, the fortune cookie. Somebody get her some rehab. She’s all cracked out.

The Decline of the Barney Empire


I watched a few minutes of Barney today on PBS and was severely disappointed. Barney is not a good television show anymore, and I am sure it’s not because my tastes have changed. My tastes have not changed – I still love Elmo, the Teletubbies, and Mr. Rogers. Yeah, at least I have the guts to admit to it, unlike all you closet-Teletubbies-watchers out there.

But Barney has really let me down. I remember singing along to rousing choruses of “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” (because his name is my name too) but am now forced to hear songs like “Shapes.” I’ll give you a little snippit:

Shapes, shapes, it’s easy my friend.
You can tell a shape by the shape it’s in.
Shapes, shapes, sing it again…

What does that even mean? It’s like they’re trying to tell me something…Of course shapes are shapes…I don’t understand. If I can’t understand, I don’t think a 5 year old can. Please don’t argue with me on that.

Barney and Riff sounding annoying together.

And Barney’s new voice is really annoying.  It always kinda was, but this guy needs to listen to himself a little, because it’s terrible. Or maybe it’s been the same guy since 1991 and he’s just gotten steadily more…and more…and more annoying. His new pally Riff (added to the show in 2006) is pretty obnoxious too. We all know that every dinosaur on the show is a human in a costume, right? But I think it should be noted that the actual voice of each dinosaur is the voice of a completely separate actor. So these people are selected specifically for their voices. I think the Barney people need to get their ears cleaned out before auditions or something.

While I’m on a roll bashing television shows for small children (oops), I should probably add that Barney’s reputation was ruined by the rumors (I call them rumors because I don’t think they could possibly be true) that the old Barney actor used to hide heroin needles in his tail.

But then again, I got that information as a child from another child who thought that Kokanee beer was actually cocaine.

Long Time Ago When We Was Fab


Once upon a time, there was me. I was pretty cute, little, and very (shockingly) blonde, in a 4-year-old model sort of way. I still look like that. Incredibly attractive, blonde…did I mention incredibly attractive? I don’t look 4 anymore though…

Anyway, I had this great friend, Jenny. We were pretty tight until she got married to Mark (it was customary in ImaginaryLand for people to get married at the age of 6). She had to move away, but I became President of ImaginaryLand in her absence. My new best friend (sent by the palace to replace Jenny) was named Annie and was my second in command.

We were on top of the world. Literally, as ImaginaryLand exists in the troposphere. I would make my daily speech (broadcast from my driveway), then Annie and I would go out into the wilderness and search for criminals to defeat. One day, on a family trip to California, the evil Cup Hand (so named because he had a cup on one of his hands – it had been placed there by Jenny years earlier when he’d tried to kill her with his bare hands) surfaced. Literally. We met him in a pool.

The point is, Cup Hand surfaced and Annie and I tried to defeat him, employing our mermaid army. But Cup Hand escaped in the crowd of small children wading through the water and wasn’t seen for a few weeks. Finally, he found my fortress (house/palace) and challenged Annie and I to a duel (he was pretty cocky and thought he could take both of us on at once). A battle ensued, ending in the death of Cup Hand (I shot him with a soda bottle) as Annie and I emerged with minor injuries that were quickly healed with root potion.

That was, in the words of George Harrison, a “long time ago when we was fab.” I like to think we still are.

Annie and I went on many more adventures. Boys tried to infiltrate our ranks, but we never let them lest we become weak with love. Jenny and Mark visited a few times, but the bond Jenny and I once had could never compare to the one Annie and I still do. And you’ll be pleased to know that the ImaginaryLand government defeated Sadam Hussein long, long ago with love and compassion (and maybe a few mermaids) and there is still peace throughout the land.