remember junior high?
Saturday, mar. 15, 2008 | 0 comments
he salad days when the year ended officially in June and started in September (leaving two months un-accounted for). When you saw every single one of your friends every single weekday...Hold on, I'm having a thought. OK...here it is: That's the reason why that era of mi vida was so freakishly different and potent. It's 'cause, NOW I have to meet friends over coffee, break-y, dinner parties. I never meet my friends to just stand there (without even a cigarette to do), like we did at recess. Nowadays there has to be a reason to clump. OK, thought two (electric bugaloo): You know those parties you go to now where, thru some freak set of circumstances, three of your exes are there, along with your current, plus your current sick crush. You usually get this mad fight-or-flight flutter (feel my pulse you guys, fuck, do I have an hyper thyroid?), get pit stains, end up drinking too much and thus telling everyone just EXACTLY how they make you feel, and then wake up under the piano (alone only if you're very lucky). Well, that's the way every day of juniour high felt like. Everyone's there. Passing you notes, calling you every night, throwing things at you.
Sixth grade was junior high in name only. It was exactly the same things as fifth grade. I weighed 85 pounds and was really into the Mayan Indian culture.
Seventh grade was the quintessential JH experience. It was the year that every one of my friends voted to not allow me to hang out with them. The year that I saw valley girl and got my first huge crush on a movie star/started "getting really into music" ("I'll stop the world and melt with you"/"who can it be knocking at my door"), plus had my first kiss (sans tongue).
But eighth grade was the year that my friends started having sex (which led me to start thinking that I was a late bloomer: WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?) Eyebrow raised? Well, jeez, in my day the summer between seventh and eight grade was the equivalent to 5 earth years (lord KNOWS what today's eighth graders are doing...now the summer probably=46 years and kids-these-days overshoot the sexual years entirely and just play golf and wear comfortable clothing). It was the year that I got drunk for the first time (yep...split a bottle of old crow, ate a handful of maryjane, and gobbled all these no-doz, went to a party at a POPULAR girls house, laydown on the couch next to Peter, my first exboyfriend, and promptly heave-hoed all over his lap and mine, "woke up" (i.e., came to) in different clothes, puked a grand total of 16 times over the next two days, and thereby gained a rep for being a party girl that lasted way into highschool, even though the whole experience left me a converted drug prude). I mean, it was the first year I even TOUCHED a base.
[JUST AS AN ASIDE my life just seems to be one aside after another I JUST GAVE FIVE DOLLARS TO SOME BORNAGAIN CHRISTIANS! what the fuck's gotten in to me? THEY CAUGHT ME TOTALLY OFF GUARD, AKNOCKING AT MY DOOR THE VERY SECOND I EXPECTED MY FINE FRIEND AMY TO ARRIVE. THIS LITTLE BOY IN A SUIT STARTED GIVING ME THE SHPEEL ABOUT LETTING GOD INTO MY HEART + HAVE I READ THE WATCHTOWER? AND I HAD THIS INSPIRATION THAT THIS TIME, INSTEAD OF TELLING THEM TO LEAVE ME BE, THAT I WAS GOING THRU MENOPAUSE AND COULDN'T TALK TO THEM NOW (WHICH IS SOMETHING THAT THIS WOMAN TOLD MY MOM WHEN SHE TRYING TO MAKE $ JUST OUTTA COLLEGE SELLING MAGAZINE SUBSCRIBPTIONS DOOR-TO-DOOR), I'D PRETEND TO ME SYMPATHETIC AND SEE WHAT HAPPENED AND THEY LIKE WANTED TO COME IN AND HAVE COFFEE AND CHAT! SO I GAVE THEM FIVE DOLLARS, SINCE I DIDN'T HAVE A ONE, WHICH IS WHAT I REALLY WANTED TO GIVE THEM, JUST SO THEY'D LEAVE. ohmygod! the enemy! I've just given funds to the enemy!]
OK, so my mom's been clearing out the attic, and much to my chagrin and delight, she unearthed all of my JH yearbooks, report cards, AND, most amazing of all, the box that contained every single note that had been passed to me during those years in the pokey. That's what got me athinking about all this. Most sordid was the junk circa de grade 8.
Check it OUT:
First of all, in my eighth grade yearbook, there's this pic of me ohmygod HACKING (as in sacking).
And then there're these aMAZing signatures...
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Ev, I liked being bored with you in Social Studies [SOCIAL STUDIES? what does that even MEAN? How could they call a CLASS that?] and being your friend [this was at that age when it was really important that boys indicate early on in every communique that you were a FRIEND. actually, it's still this way, so, yeah, not really a timely observation, so never mind]. You're a very intelligent and fulfilling person to be with. [Ummmmm?] Well, be nice to little bunnies that hippidy hop [NOTE: the glorious non sequiter! one-year-old MTV was was already making an impact!] and my name is Sal and you're my Pal!
Paul Pickard [NOTE: the inclusion last name+his name's not Sal!]
Ev,
Evany,
Love,
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