Current mood: nostalgic
A conversation on Friday has sparked a whole steaming heap of fresh blog post ideas, so you're all in big trouble now.
For this one, I've busted out good old "dear diary" and some of it's friends as reference. For a visual on Dear Diary, picture a sad little lockable mint green diary with a unicorn on the cover, so full of ticket stubs and little white strips of paper fortune cookie fortunes that the binding is streched to the hilt and the lock will never again function. It looks more like a fanned out paper doorstop than a journal, and it's only four inches high. Every entry was started in the usual fasion "Dear Diary..." It was the first (and probably the tackiest) of many notebooks that have littered my life and been filled with my thoughts, hopes, dreams and desires since I was about 10 years old. If you truly wanted to see the progression of a person from child to woman, the box of these little treasures would be the perfect place to start your study.
I sadly haven't always posessed the same eloquent way with words. My first cursive missives are barely legibile and it pains me to read some of the subject matter that was important to me back then.
Let's take a look at who I was as a reflection after reading some of this fine literary fodder.
I was never a girlie girl. I was tom boy who liked to play rough, get dirty and never wore pink willingly. Because of this, I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to seeing boys as anything more interesting than sparring partners in imaginary battles with space aliens and ninjas. My best friend since kindergarten is a boy. I believe we met because he made me eat sand during inside recess one day. We grew up with only 6 houses in between us. We used to ride our bikes everywhere. I had this awful pink bike with a flowered basket strapped to the front and he always had some cool boy BMX bike thing. In the summers, he'd deliver newspapers and I'd always tag along as company. When we stopped at the local bar, the New Milford Cafe they'd give us PayDay candy bars as a tip and after we were done delivering, we'd go a quarter mile down the road to a little mom and pop gas station called Girton's and load my basket up with Orange Crush in glass bottles, nacho cheese Doritos and stacks of Garbage Pail Kids. I'm sure when they autopsy my body when I die, that most of my innards will be dyed an unnatural shade of orange thanks to this.
He taught me how to play chess and a variety of card games, cheat at Trivial Pursuit, and we used to have marathon phone "conversations" that were mostly him, giving me the play by play on a video game he was beating as I listened and laughed.
I still remember one moment around 4th grade. I was one of the first people in my class to get boobs. Most girl's would be ecstatic. To say i was pissed was an understatement. During one extra rambunctious wrestling match in the middle of my livingroom, he accidentally pinned of of the girls under his elbow and I squealed like a stuck pig. When he asked what was wrong and I told him, he told me to send them back and proceeded to try and kick them back into my chest. (Funny, I think I am the first girl to ever have a guy tell her to send her boobs back LoL) This was the first time I think we truly acknowledged we were different in that way and there was no hiding it.
Even though we don't talk as much nowadays as we did back then, he's one of the people who know me best and probably always will. Eventually kids are cruel to a twosome like ours. They assume you can't just be friends and spend that much time together and not have any hanky panky going on. Because of this, we had a huge blowout and didn't speak for almosty all of our 3-year long middle school career. No offense to him, but kissing him would've been like kissing a toad... Not because he's not a good looking guy, just because he's him, he's like the brother I never had. Yuck! As I once told his mom in the grocery store "I will always love him, just not 'that' way." LoL God, I was melodromatic even as a kid!
Since much of the first installment of the Herbie Diary collection includes info on stupid fights we had and goofy things we did, I thought it best to start with a story about the two of us. This is only one of many....Let's hope he doesn't kill me for it. He's not on blogs, but his sister is. Maybe I can talk her into not telling him. Afterall, she was willing to trade him for a goldfish sometimes just as much as I was. Guess it's good we never found a buyer and there was no eBay back then. ;-)
More to come soon. I'm on a roll...