I decided to go back to the devastatingly embarrassing high school years for this entry … flipped through the pages of my sophomore year diary … reading all of the tortured ecstatic prose … every page flickering with endless exclamation points.<\/p>\n
Suddenly came upon this relatively simple entry … which describes a memory from 4th grade I had, up until this very moment, completely forgotten. It STILL tickles my funny bone, after all these years.<\/p>\n
So here is the latest installment of Diary Friday.<\/p>\n
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Today has been really quiet. I went to church and Sunday school, and I sat with Glenda V. in church. I had forgotten how funny she was!<\/p>\n
I remember in 4th grade, Dee Dee wanted to get together a rock group – she wanted to call it The Shooting Stars – and we had one<\/u> rehearsal at Erica’s house, in which we sang for about 5 minutes, got into fights, and broke the closet door so that Carolyn got trapped.<\/p>\n
Anyway, the whole thing was so ridiculous. We all sat on Erica’s bed, trying to sing these 60s hippie songs, from one book that Dee Dee had.<\/p>\n
O.K. Now Dee Dee had this old battered guitar that was so out of tune it wasn’t even funny, and Dee Dee’s voice was this weepy off-tune thing. And she looked<\/u> like a hippy with her long disheveled frizzy hair, and jeans jumpsuit, and just watching her strum dreamily along on this twangy guitary and singing a ballad, shakily, swaying, her eyes closed – it was just hysterical<\/u>.<\/p>\n
And Glenda and I have always had a problem with going into hopeless<\/u> hysterics at crucially serious moments.<\/p>\n
So anyway, just watching Dee Dee was enough, but Glenda leaned over to me, during the singing, and murmured, “I’m going to stuff a handkerchief in my mouth so I won’t laugh out loud.”<\/p>\n
Well, this obviously made things worse.<\/p>\n
Whenever Dee Dee opened her mouth to sing<\/u>, Glenda would calmly and matter-of-factly open her mouth wide and stuff the handkerchief all the way in. And that would send me absolutely rolling off the bed.<\/p>\n
So The Shooting Stars obviously didn’t get very far.<\/p>\n
Glenda is so funny. I taped the mass today for people in nursing homes, who can’t go, and I walked home, blasting Devo as I went.<\/p>\n
Today is really wet and windy and the snow keeps sliding off the roof. And the road had steam rising off of it.<\/p>\n
Glenda told me to come to the Prout mixer that was open to all schools, so that a bunch of girls wouldn’t be standing around dancing with each other, and I want to go.<\/p>\n
I mean, who knows? Some kid from another school may ask me to dance. I know now that I have no chance (Ed: The word “no” is literally underlined twenty times. No exaggeration.<\/i>) for romance at my school. I don’t know what it is, but no one looks at me. And I know<\/u> I’m not grotesque. I don’t know what it is. I am not grossly unpopular. All the popular kids like me, but I am not in<\/u> with them. I guess I’ll just have to wait until I get out of this fuckin<\/u> school. My school is really bad with peer pressure.<\/p>\n
But maybe some other guy from other school would stoop to dance with me, because he won’t know about how it is for me at my<\/u> school.<\/p>\n
I really shouldn’t put myself down this way. Because I know I’m nicer than the popular kids, but it’s hard to be confident when all these cheerleaders are surrounding you, trading boyfriends, while I stand meekly by with a head full of dreams and not even one kiss<\/u> to my name.<\/p>\n
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I decided to go back to the devastatingly embarrassing high school years for this entry … flipped through the pages of my sophomore year diary … reading all of the tortured ecstatic prose … every page flickering with endless exclamation … Continue reading