The process has been slowed down a bit because I'm so sentimentally attached to things, I find it hard to throw them away. I have things saved that should have been thrown out years ago (seriously, I was saving my bookstore receipt from my first semester of college? WTF, as if I'm so fond of those books!). However, each time I bump into them, I get this silly smile on my face because of the memories (as bad as they were to initially go through) they bring.
The two best examples I can find:
The Space Jam watch.
It was given to me as a Christmas gift when I was 13...ok...
Space Jam came out when I was in 6th grade (age 11).
Not only was this gift 2 years late... I was 13 and lived in the ghetto... meaning I went to a ghetto school... where NO ONE rocked Space Jam shit... unless they had a death wish, of course.
I remember getting the wrapped gift (from my "coolest" Godmother, nonetheless), and thinking
Ok... it's a watch... but I'm sure I'll love it 'cause my Godmom ROCKS!!
(I was going through a phase where I sort of worshipped her "bodacity," to quote Kung Fu Panda, aka her awesomeness)
When she gave me the gift, she said
"I wasn't sure if you'd like this... or what I gave CrazyDrivingCousin... but I decided this because you're growing up."
Sweet! An adult watch!
I had to open the gift in front of her, since it was past Christmas when it was given to me.
I was at her house... in front of her mom and dad (she's only 5 years older than me, my Godmom)... and I opened the gift carefully.
I remember seeing the white case, turning it over... and BAM!
SpaceJam...
Great...
When I looked up, everyone was smiling that stupid "You like?! You like?! Isn't it great?!" smile at me.
Godmom: it sings!
Me: Really?... Coo... L.
The watch was bulky... and heavy... I imagine it was like that because it could "sing."
I sat quietly... with that smile I typically do that sort of quivers... because I'm actually fighting off a scowl and tears.
Godmom: I gave CrazyDrivingCousin that Barbie that comes with the walking dog... I originally bought it thinking of you, but then my mom told me you were 13, you don't play with dolls by that age
Me: Oh... (internally) CDC is 11!! I still play with dolls!!! I still like dolls! Who the hell rocks Space Jam at my age?! Thanks a lot... "mom."
Once Mom said it was time to go, I race to the car and started to cry.
I never did learn how to use that damn thing... I could never make it sing... and I didn't want to. Fuck Bugs Bunny and Lola Bunny's love affair.
I stored that shit and never wore it... not once.
And that, is the memory I have of my first SHITTY Christmas present... the shittiest of all.
Then there's this thing:
5th Grade Shit-talking note.
Hey, at least I came out of it victorious, right (circles mean "yes")?
The culprits behind it? My two (out of three) best friends... my third best friend was the poor girl on the note that they didn't like.
Oh, and Mario... he was my "boyfriend."
How's that for 5th grade drama?
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