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| Boys get the one on the left? Pfft! As if! FRIEND ZONE, muthafuckas! |
I loved the class party, to be more precise.
Sure, writing up the Valentine cards sucked... and I was totally that girl who carefully picked out the cards I gave to the boys. None of this "I pick you" (the "choo-choo-choose you" episode on The Simpsons was totally lifted off my real-life experience. They should pay me royalties) "Will you be my Valentine?" bullshit. Guys got the "Happy Valentine's Day :)" or "You're a great friend!" cards. I kept the hearts and L-word at a minimum. My poor female friends would end up with the lovey-dovey shit. Sorry, girls!
Anyway, once the card thing was over, the fun would start. The cupcakes, the fruit punch, the candies, the music... I loved it.
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| Clearly, a fan of the dress. |
First grade was fantastic, because the teacher turned it into a Cinderella theme, where all the boys had to come to class in dress pants and dress shirts, and we girls had to spend the day in our prettiest dress.
Now, asking me to wear a dress has always elicited the same reaction: Fuck. For real? But it itches!
Basically the same way guys react when they're forced into wearing a suit, tie, and cufflinks. Is it really necessary? Can't you just imagine me looking good?
Sure, you look good in that shit, but I'd rather be wearing chucks, jeans, and a t-shirt. However, it happens... just to oblige the uptight fuckers... and because, ok, sometimes it feels good to check out how badass your calves have gotten after upping your incline on your morning jogs.
ANYWAY, back to my story: I was forced to wear my fluffiest dress. It was pastel pink, with silver, glittery, minuscule polka dots... and it had SO MUCH tulle. I couldn't run in it very well because my calves would always get poked by that bastard material, and I'd almost rip the damn dress off out of the anger it inspired (uh... yeah... anger management issues since forever).
However, I did it to oblige the teacher, and because a "winner" would come out of all of this. The winner would be the queen for the day.
So, considering how fucking competitive I am, I made that extra effort and put up with the pain... to be the motherfucking queen, damn it!
A "king" would be chosen in a similar fashion, and since I had a crush on a couple of boys in class (always. It's the only way I could ever really concentrate in class. There must be a cute guy in there or else I die of boredom), this only served as more of an incentive.
The king and queen were chosen first thing in the morning, and the moment I stepped foot in class, even the girls were like "Ohhhp! Give it to AnoMALIE! We'll just be her BFFs." And since I've always been nice, I was like "Cool! You'll all be little princesses who help me find my prince!" and we were all happy.
When the "king" was selected, it wasn't any of my crushes, but one of the only two boys who dressed up. The boy, David, was a tiny, shy boy (who, ironically enough, grew up to be a drag queen)... but since he was my good friend, he basically let me rule the class with an iron fist.
I spent the day having my gaggle of friends (all the girls in class) run after boys and attack them with kisses once caught. We shared a Coca-Cola-flavored Chapstick to paint our lips on the boys... and we spread our terror like that.
Luckily no one suffered from cold-sores... that would have sucked.
Second grade is the other Valentine's Day party I remember.
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| God, how I fuckin' LOVED you! |
I was excited because Mom had allowed me to volunteer the not only the fruit punch, but also some cookies. I had done the whole preparation thing the night before... the cards, getting the cookies and gallon of fruit punch for the class... all that.
Mom had driven me to school that day, so that I wouldn't have to carry all that bullshit to the bus stop.
As I was jumping out of the Jeep to rush to class, I felt a cold chill as I realized I had everthing... everything but my Lisa Frank trapper keeper.
Nooo! My homework!!!
(and we all know how I felt about homework)
Mom cussed, as is her custom, and told me not to go anywhere, to wait for her as she raced home to get me my stupid trapper keeper.
Sounded easy, however, there would always be a teacher watching to make sure no kids ditched in that area where Mom dropped me off (the back of school). The moment the teacher saw me idling away, she screamed at me and told me to get "in school." I went ahead and sat on the wooden bench in front of my class... and I fucking lost it. I was crying my ass off and my friends would come over and try to comfort me.
My mom is gonna be SO mad!
I sat there feeling like I had been punched in the gut each time I'd think of my angry mom.
After about, five minutes, I saw kids pointing and laughing their asses off.
My friend Teresa came over to me, covering her mouth because she was smirking, and said
"Your Mom is over there, looking for you."
I rushed to the back area of school... but saw Mom inside school, heading towards me... trapper keeper in hand... fuming mad... in her white long johns she had been wearing as she drove me to school.
Jesus Christ... I'm dead.
Mom handed me my shit, and gave me that "You are in SO MUCH TROUBLE, idiot!" look, then headed back towards her Jeep.
If that doesn't say "LOVE" I don't know what does. That's fucking love... even if she did virtually murder me with her stare.
Anyway, my day didn't end there...
Later that day, Teresa once again, came up to me and gave me some horrible news:
Judith is going around telling people your mom is ugly.
Judith was my supposed good friend... because we looked a lot alike, so our friendship sprang from there.
She was going around describing to people what had happened that day... and would go into detail describing my mom.
Now, I may talk a lot of shit about my mom... she might drive me crazy WAY too often, but NO ONE talks shit about MY mom. EVER.
So I immediately confronted Judith during recess, as she stood surrounded by about five other girls who were listening to her talk about my mom.
Me: So you ARE talking shit about my mom!
Judith: She's the one who came to school looking the way she did.
Me: SHE HAD TO BRING ME MY HOMEWORK! She didn't have time to change out of her pajamas!
Judith: Well, that was really hilarious.
OtherGirl: What are those marks on her face?
Me: What? What marks? You didn't even see my mom, bitch!
Judith: She has all those dark marks on her face... scattered everywhere.
Me: SO DO YOU, and you're eight!
Judith: But they don't make ME look ugly. Your mom is U-G-L-Y
And that was enough. I pulled Judith's hair and began pounding the hell out of her face.
No one stopped the fight, it just ended once Judith ran into our classroom.
When the teacher pulled us to the side, she asked us to describe what happened... the situation was mediated... and while I did get in trouble, she understood why I had gone off the deep end like that.
That day my friendship with Judith died, but hey... Mom learned to change into some decent clothes whenever she heads out of the house, regardless of the occasion.
Happy Valentine's Day, ladies and gentlemen.
(Look at that, I was not bitter whatsoever this year. Money!)
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