The ghost of birthdays past

21 Sep

Well hello there, lovelies, and good morning to you. And happy birthday to me. I’m currently sitting at work, been here for an hour, mind you, because we had a meeting scheduled for 8am, which apparently I didn’t really have to come to because only half of our team showed up. So I woke up at 6:30 on my birthday to come to work early, where i’ll probably stay late because I dicked around too long this morning writing a blog. But complaining, as good as I am at it, was not my intention for this post.

I’d say I’m getting ornery due to old age, but we all know I popped out all hot and bothered, so let’s just cut to the chase here. I’ve decided to share a special birthday from years’ past with you. My 12th birthday to be exact. I had decided on a roller skating/sleepover combo – God bless my mother who put up with 16 shrieking teenagers in her household almost every weekend for most of my junior high/high school years. It was September 1997… I was in the 6th grade, AIM was booming (CS974, represent), and everyone and their mom was still rocking the Rachel cut.

…..Except me that is.
The 6th grade may have been the peak of my awkward years… maybe. I’ve been internally battling whether I should describe myself as a chubby Daria with a bob cut or a 12 year old version of Molly Shannon in SUPERSTAR! *jazz hands* I’d say I was probably more Molly Shannon than Daria, I mean Daria would never have red and gold flecks in the frames of her black glasses, and I preferred white tube socks to combat boots, despite my obsession later that year with “alternative rock” and my self proclaimed punk rocker status. 311 shirt with limited too jeans anyone?? Yeah. Mortifying.

ANYWAY, I’m envisioning the picture we took in my front yard. You know, the pyramid of girls with acne and braces? Actually I didn’t have braces yet, I just had a small gap between my front teeth. And there I was, front and center on the bottom row, wearing what I’m sure was some God awful denim on denim ensemble. But you see, my outfit wasn’t that important. It was my jewelry that really shined.

Around my neck, was a barbie head.

Yes, I actually popped the head off of one of my sister’s barbies, tied a ribbon around it, and hung it from my neck.

Did you hear me? I. Tied. A. Barbie. Head. Around. MY. NECK.
Did I not have a perfectly suitable Claire’s choker I could have been wearing??
And WHY did these so called friends not stop me?
bitches.

Then I continued to wear it to the roller rink, where I probably skated around giggling and waving it around when Aqua came on, because COME ON BARBIE LET’S GO PARTY! Omg! I totes brought Barbie to the party!

At some point, we eventually headed back to my house, presumably to make prank phone calls from my papasan chair, jump on the trampoline, or maybe TP someone’s house.
Actually I still actively participate in these activities and am mentally high fiving my 12 year old self for perhaps her only saving grace.

Of course, being the good host that I am, I declared the rules of war before we settled in for the night. First one to fall asleep gets it! Unfortunately, the first one to fall asleep happened to be my next door neighbor. Hey, sorry you didn’t listen. I TOLD you that you were going to get it, and it’s not my fault that you crushed all the cheetos we put in your sleeping bag and rubbed your eyes and got shaving cream in them…. well, it kind of is since i tickled your face with a feather, but that’s how slumber parties go!
Are you new?

Really she had my mother to thank for that. Since turning 12 marked that special right of passage where I was allowed to shave my legs. Because it doesn’t matter that I was rocking the chubby Velma look, it was clearly that Arian-race hair on my legs that was keeping the fellas from asking me to slow dance at arms length.

Anyway, the neighbor ran home and we pretty much ceased all communication for the next 6 years despite the fact we were next door neighbors.
I’d like to say my 12 year old self felt bad, but she probably didn’t. I mean, how can you be preoccupied with apologies when your dad brings home pigs in a blanket and chocolate frosted donuts with sprinkles?
You can’t.

So kids, the moral of the story is that if you are a total fucking weirdo as a pubescent , you’ll lose a few friends along the way but gain some great stories to tell as an adult.

And for the record, I turned out pretty good looking. Bonus.

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3 Responses to “The ghost of birthdays past”

  1. Courtney 2 September 21, 2011 at 11:25 am #

    Why do I feel like I participated in these activities? Was this indeed the prime of the three Courtneys? Kinda seems like it. Frightening. Want to go TP some houses?

  2. Traci September 21, 2011 at 1:24 pm #

    I died from laughing so hard at this post. I am literally dead and posting from beyond the grave. So glad I’m not the only one who made horrible faux-punk fashion mistakes in junior high! (And, um, high school. And possibly college.)

  3. Jeff Abbott October 3, 2011 at 7:50 pm #

    Great blog, glad I stumbled on to this… reading it makes me want to pop open this bottle of Ketel One (definitely a good thing). Investment banging? That had me in tears.

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