For those of you who wonder if Marvin wears briefs or boxers (yes, people do write in and ask me that very thing), the answer is boxers. I should know, as I am wearing them.
My life is out of control, dawgs. Out of control. I opened my underwear drawer this morning only to see three sports bras and the straps to some long-gone strapless brassiere. And that's a khaki skirt. I know it looks like some sort of dreadful pleated khaki pant. It isn't as awful as it looks.
Really, all I do is work a full-time job and commute a bit. I mean, other people do that and have kids. And they don't have to wear their husband's underpants to work. I considered wearing his dogs-holding-peanut-butter-toast-in-their-mouths boxers, but I went for classic plaid. The Chanel of boxers.
Anyway. Can we move on to high school? I can't find junior high, and I think that's a crying shame. Because if there's anything I was in junior high, it was cool. And I'm sure my diaries reflect that mightily. Anyway, bad spelling and punctuation remain:
Monday, September 1, 1980: Happy Barry Gibb's birthday! Well, I start [high school] tomorrow. I can't make myself believe I'm really going... Kevin hasn't called all day. We've been going together 110 days today! Wow, how exciting. Kevin's mood is pretty weird. He keeps mentioning breaking up, and always hangs up from conversations so quickly. I'll die if he drops me. Well, write after 'it' is over tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, September 2, 1980: I'm so tired! Walked all over today trying to find my rooms! I get out at 1:30! Let's hear it! Kevin and I talked till late tonite. I may break up with him because of Jeff and all the other available guys. Wish I weren't grounded...I guess school is okay, as long as I find my way around by my senior year!
What is sadder? The fact that I still remember that it is Barry Gibb's birthday every September 1st, or that I am still flaky enough to think I will die without someone one day and want to dump them the next? Also? I was grounded EVERY SINGLE DAY OF HIGH SCHOOL. Honestly, I do not know why my beleaguered mother even attempted this punishment technique. I had a deficit that extended until the year 2012.
Monday, November 3, 1980: I am madly in love with (well, I know who it is, so I will call him-)X. He had a party on Friday. He had everyone leave and I stayed. They came back soon. I REALLY love this X guy. I'll identify him if he shows he likes me. He did put his arm around me and gave other signs Friday. Sigh.
Okay, first of all, what village was clamoring for these state secrets that I had to go with the whole "X" thing? And nice punctuation with the dashes and the bad parenthetical use. Plus, what was with the crowd leaving so he could put his arm around me? Subtle. It reminds me of that scene in Bugs Bunny where he pulls the "Intermission" handle and everyone rushes out of the theater in a group and smokes in a big huddle, then he pulls the thing again and they all rush back into the theater.
Wednesday, November 5, 1980: Old Mr. 'X' still lives quite heavily in my heart. God- I'm IN LOVE WITH HIM! Sigh. Occaisonally I hate life so much.
I have no idea who Mr. X is. But it was big of me to keep him heavily in my heart for two days like that.
Tuesday, January 27, 1981: I've just been sitting around watching the hostages come back home.
Guess what?!?! Last night I was 'kidnapped' for Klub Kantagree for their sorority! Let's hear it!!! I'm going to be tortured, probably. They took me to a bunch of houses & we had dinner & everything.
If they cancel General Hospital for the hostages, I will kill someone.
The teenage years. A time for thinking of anyone but yourself ever. And I know that my home town was the only place on earth that had sororities in high school. It seemed normal to us, because all our high schools had them.
Marvin sometimes says he and I are still in Klub Kantagree. Who gets a kick out of his own self?
Thursday, November 12, 1981: I've got a lot more going for me than many other people. I'm very smart, I'm NOT ugly, I'm not shy, I'm not a social outcast, I'm not fat, I've got nice hands, a pretty class ring, a nice house, expensive stereo, leniant rules, straight teeth, thick hair, and a good voice.
I can. NOT. wait until Marvin reads the "good voice" part. I am not allowed to sing ONE NOTE in this house. And surely I was not referring to that nasal Michigan speaking voice. Really, do you know anyone more horrible than I was? Am I this awful now?
A pretty class ring. Now THERE'S an asset. Not to mention I bowl a good game.
I hope we all talk again tomorrow. I'll die if you drop me.
