Meanness, Part II

(Or Meanness and Mortification) I WAS TWELVE!!! I feel the need to shout this before you read any more. H, K, and I got into songwriting in 7th grade, right about the time that we saw a presentation on Covenant House, also known as Under 21, a refuge for runaway teens. Our parents were so unbearable we felt the need to sing about it. I have a twelve year old now, and I'm sure he's somewhere writing nasty things about me as I type this, since I'm so unsympathetic to drama that is his life.

At least I had the good sense to censor my own work. Odd, given the atrocious language I used in my notes from that era. And here we have the songs written about our victim at the time, a former friend on whom we had turned. The "diapers" thing was because she once dared to wear sweatpants, and she was very skinny, so they drooped in the butt. I think we should just round up all the sex offenders and turn a group of middle school girls loose on them--worse than prison, worse than the death penalty, I tell you. Those of you out there with middle school girls of your own, be on the lookout. I'm sure our parents would have never imagined we'd have been so nasty.

Meanness.

As Matt Groening said so well in Childhood Is Hell, "The cruellest group in the universe: A roving pack of 11 year old girls." I'm not proud of my nasty middle school self, but I will say that I was seldom this nasty.

An 80's Staple: Sr. Christian's Guide to the Perfect Mix Tape

Having a big garage sale cleanout this weekend, and I'm parting with my cassette tapes (I know no one will buy them, but it's the first step to throwing them out.) It makes me sad, because, although I'm making note of the songs I want to download, and even digitizing a few of the tapes, listening to the odd song coming up on my ipod mixed in the the 40's-current stuff just isn't the same as listening to them in a particular order chosen by a friend or boyfriend. If you ever wanted to turn me on to your music, all you had to do was make me a mix tape. I not only saved every tape made for me, I have a bunch I made for my husband in our early dating days.

But this post isn't about choosing the perfect mix--that's up to you. This post is about the art of the mix tape.

1. If possible, choose a cool looking tape.

Or my personal favorite:

2. Be sure to give your tape a toally random, cool sounding name. If necessary, pull from ain anside joke between you and the recipient.

3. Don't forget your list of songs. I can't tell you how many mix tapes I have with unidentifiable songs on them. Thanks to Sound Hound, I can finally identify them, but remember, it's the 80's--way before the internet. If you had no idea what the name of a song was, you had to hope the DJ might announce it. Can anyone guess what was done wrong here? No artists!

Now, I always liked to decorate the tape, but since I was lacking in artistic ability, I'd simply cut a nice pattern out of a magazine to fit the tape case, or, in some cases, trace something.

Et voila--a personal gift your most nostalgic friends will spend an entire weekend mourning giving up twenty years later!

The Hungriest Girl In The World Doesn't Like Turkey

We worked at a grocery store. This note isn't all that until the P.S., which is hilarious because I remember it happening to me more than once. Remember when grocery stores had salad bars?

As I haven't blogged in quite a while, thought I'd post more than one today, since I have tons of material. If you check out Sister Christian's mugshot in the previous post, it will match up quite well with this award. Most Phone Calls Home refers to the fact that I spent about 25% of my middle school years in the principal's office, mostly for mouthing off. My poor teacher.

And in that vein, I vividly remember this day. In 8th grade religion class, and I got into some verbal jousting with a boy I clashed with often and we both got kicked out of class. Then, I believe we ended up fighting in the hall. The amazing this is that this guy now lives around the corner from me and has kids that go to school with my kids, so I see him every once in a while. He's the nicest guy!

BACK TO SCHOOL!

The end of summer scramble is kicking my butt. Less than ten days till school starts, and I'm counting down as excitedly as "N" is counting down to the end of school in this note.

The Hungriest Girl In The World

This weekend, we have no big plans. We're just sitting at Two Pesos.

I swear, I don't think I have one note from C that doesn't mention food or being hungry. She was teeny! (And still is.) Did her parents not feed her at home?

Oh, how I miss Two Pesos. In Houston, Two Pesos was around before Taco Cabana, but Taco Cabana eventually sued them for stealing their idea, and Two Pesos was no more. I don't care, they might have stolen the concept, but they made it better. Many a late night party postmortem was help at Two Pesos in the 80s.

My senior year Christmas Dance rent-a-date and I. He may have been holding me up.

Goosebumps Are a Form of Punishment

I agree. I have vivid memories of being in a freezing cold classroom.

Oh What a Tangled Web We Weave...

That's a lotta planned deception!

It's party time!

Happy Friday! Raise Your Hand If You're Absent!

What are we doing tonight? Looks like we're going out with "H", which is only a problem b/c she's so beautiful and we'll all be jealous of her. Too bad we don't have tickets to the David Bowie concert.

Yikes! Sr. Christian's mug shot from seventh grade! Anyone remember the barettes that we made back then by braiding verry narrow satin ribbon onto the barette, leaving the ribbon hanging down and attaching beads to the bottom? Classy! Circa 1982--you can tell by the feathered bangs.

Song Contest

Our school had a song contest where each class had a song, we rehearsed them, and then all sang them in the auditorium. Don't know what the prize was--probably free dress or something. Here's our lame submission our senior year. I remember we had to wear paper bones on out head with our names written on them in glitter. I also recall that we were trying to redeem ourselves from the previous year, where one of our songs wasn't well received--apparently, teachers don't like it when your song lyrics include "Teachers, you need to take a chill pill."

Seriously, I can't believe that S even tried to read this note. How incredibly annoying! Look below for a transcript.

Hey, what's up? I'm in biology, the high point of my day. Anyway, your notes were cute. I have to remember to bake a cake tonight for tomorrow and get N and H birthday cards. DON'T LET ME FORGET! So what are we going to do about RN? He can't get away with this! The guinea pig is asleep. Let's kill it. I wanna name it Champagne. It'll probably die before tomorrow of fright (or boredom.) Dr. T will tell the story of her life. It was so nice not having the guys at lunch. I didn't miss anyone!! I can hardly believe Christmas Dance is a month and three days away!! I just don't know about D any more. I mean, I like him and he knows it--nothing has happened. I think the pursuit is fruitless. What do you think? If I don't ask him, Who will I ask? Help! Running out of room! Gotta go! Check ya later!

Female Don Johnson

These notes are soooooo dated! Anyone watch Miami Vice? I didn't, but N was a devotee.

In other news, I have no idea why S was considering lending money to J, nor do I know which J it could have been. But she sure was stressed out about it in this note-fragment I found.

Nazi Punks *&%$ Off!

To this day, I have no idea how "Kricket" knew I was the one writing to her on the desk. Nor do I have any idea why I felt so defensive when she ragged on "preps". I certainly wasn't one!

And in other news, he's a lovely list I found on the back of a boring note. I'm guessing this list would be titled Guys I've Kissed (To Date), and probably compiled sometime my senior year.

Oy, The Guilt!

Or, since my family is Italian, not Jewish, should I say "Mamma Mia, the guilt!?

This is neither high school or 80's related, but after a guilt-ridden encounter with my grandmother this weekend, I felt compelled to post these letters.

So, I went to the University of Texas at Austin--a HUGE school. And, like many from my generation, I took more than four years to graduate. So I was graduating at Christmas. At UT, many students don't attend the official graduation ceremony. It's very impersonal and boring, what with the huge number of students. You literally hand the announcer a card with your name on it as you walk across the stage, grab your Xeroxed letter stating you'll get your diploma in the mail, and walk off. I never planned to attend. About a month before I finished, my parents started asking me about graduation, and when I informed them I wasn't going to walk, they freaked. Apparently, when your parents spend God-knows how much money on your education, they want to see you walk across that stage, dammit, never mind the expense. So, at the last minute, I ordered some announcements and bought a cap and gown. Sent the annoucements out to family only, and received countless phone calls and letters from my furious grandparents insisting that the late invite was essentially a non-invite as there was no way they could get across the country in time to attend. I bet they're still pissed about it almost 20 years later. Here's one gem I found in my stash of letters:

And here's a family newsletter, sent by my grandfather ONE YEAR later, still referencing their disappointment, and driving the point home by emphasizing how thrilled they were to attend my bother and cousin's graduation.

Mind you, this was the only family newsletter my grandfather ever wrote.

Whomever says the Jews have the market cornered on guilt haven't met my Italian family!

Chinese Whorehouse

Happy Friday all? What should we do tonight? Party at G's? Memorial Party? Go to a Chinese whorehouse? Dinner and a movie? JUST KIDDING! I don't have a clue why dinner and a movie was such a big joke for us. At this point in my life, dinner and a movie is the highlight of my social life. C, if you're reading, please refresh my memory about the Chinese whorehouse. I know it had to have been a really funny story.

Anyone remember Love Boat? It came on each Saturday night, and the standard comment used to reference your lack of a social like was "I'll be at home watching Love Boat." I'm not sure, but I'm guessing this was a universal thing, not just something said at our school.

I Wanna Get Wasted! I Mean REALLY Wasted!

Sure. We were all talk. Three Seagram's Red Berry wine coolers and we were "wasted". I did get wasted twice my senior year--once in the fall (gin screwdrivers, ugh, haven't had gin since) and once on graduation night (white wine, puked out the window of my boyfriend's Camaro), but other than that, it was the three-wine-cooler-buzz for us.

I did not, in fact, take "N" to the Christmas Dance. I had a rent-a-date that year. (A guy we knew from another school who owned a tux and loved going to dances.) Best time I ever had at a school dance, too. I think he's gay now.

Patriotism and Politics

The fact that we were so political at 14-16 cracks me up, as most of us didn't have a clue what we were talking about. BFF has been through many incarnations as liberal and conservative and now lands somewhere in the middle, probably left of center, but right of me. It's obvious this was a far right phase, although STOP was Students and Teachers Organized to Prevent Nuclear War, so go figure. We were adamant about our beliefs, even if they didn't jive with any other of our beliefs. I was in STOP, and also in the Pro Life Club and didn't see any conflict there.