Oh my dear blog friends, I am so neglectful! I have an excuse though. A really good one. I was sick, as in temperature of 101 degrees sick, all week. So I haven’t checked email, nor returned phone calls, nor blogged, nor left my house, nor done anything other than decide to say the word “nor” a lot. And although I am feeling better today, the week o’ sickness doesn’t really have a lot of grist for the blogmill. In the past few days, I have done the following.
Watched “Little Children” and “The Devil Wears Prada” and “Notes on a Scandal” and “Marie Antoinette” and “Venus” and “The Cosby Show” and “Sex and the City” and “Pillow Talk” and “Gentleman Prefer Blondes” and “Office Space” and “Holmes on Homes” and “Gilmore Girls” and “His Girl Friday” and “Battlestar Galactica” and “Extras” and “Rumours” and Oprah and Ellen and Bob Vila and Amy Devers and Kathy Griffin and James Lipton and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. And maybe a dash of Judge Judy. If you must know.
Oh, and oh my GOD, you guys. Did you know Rick Springfield is still on General Hospital? And he plays TWINS. Could this be true? Maybe I was hallucinating from the fever, but I swear I think I saw him, double trouble style.
That’s about all I’ve done. I guess I could have been blogging about this each day, but I chose not to. You’re welcome.
Before I got sick though, I did have a wonderful visit from my friend Alli, who, for all intents and purposes, has known me since I was born. When I told one of my friends she was coming, one of them said “Oh that Alli. She freaks me out.” Why? “It’s like she’s YOU. She sounds just LIKE you. She has the same references to things. The same accent. The exact same memories. It’s like there are two of you.” And truly, what could be scarier than that? Pair us up with the twin Rick Springfields and you’ve got DOUBLE the double trouble, people.
So after spending a day with Alli, here’s my conclusion. You may think less of me after I’m through here, but I just have to say this. Alli and I (and you too Map, you’re totally implicated here), we were pretty good girls in middle and high school. I mean, as teens go, we were pretty average in our behavior, I think. In our school, there were plenty of ways to get into trouble that were scary and serious. We knew plenty of people that were having sex in 5th and 6th grade, and there were active gang members in our midst with guns and crack and the whole nine yards, and there were fights and all sorts of other crap that was right there, if any of us wanted anything to do with it. So although we did get into trouble in high school, it was tame trouble. We skipped classes, we smoked occassionally, we were mouthy to teachers sometimes. We also got good grades, were friends with pretty much everyone (from the gang-ish people to the geeky people), and our parents almost always knew where we were. Pretty average. But here’s what I am thinking as I hang out with Alli now and we reminisce about the old days.
We kissed hordes and hordes of boys.
Now, let me be clear here. I’m not talking about carnal promiscuity of the bumping uglies kind. I am talking about kissing. First base. Making out. Or, as we called it back then, “mashing.” For a group of average girls, we were getting in a liplock an awful, awful lot. I don’t know how this could be– it just doesn’t add up, like, mathematically. When I think back to high school, I don’t remember constantly running into boys with my lips. But yet now, when Alli and I talk about high school, the subject of who was kissing who just comes up CONSTANTLY. Half of it is lying dormant in my brain, forgotten, until I get with Alli and Map and then it all comes flooding back. For example, on the back of a senior picture that someone wrote me, it said “…always remember Durham boys…” When I was in 10th grade, I went on a tour of England in a youth choir. And we had a stop to perform in Durham. So when Alli read that senior picture to me…
Me: Oh my god. I kissed a boy in Durham and I just am now remembering this.
Her: You did?? Who was he? What was his name?
Me: Um. I can’t remember. I do remember he was wearing a green sweater though. And he was really hot.
Her: Green sweater boy. Wow.
Green sweater boy? That’s the best I can do? What a trampy-lipped young lady I was. It seemed my standard was this- hotness. If you were hot, I would kiss you. Simple as that. My friends, it seems, were not much better. In fact, I would wager that Alli has kissed many more boys than I ever have. The girl’s kiss-list has volume. This is especially funny to me since Alli’s good-girl credentials outweigh any of my other friends, by far. She had an iron chastity belt, and it was cinched TIGHT. But man. She may have been staying on first base, but she was CAMPING there.
Alli: Did I ever tell you that I once made out with Ryan M?
Me: YOU DID? First of all, how did I not know this? And second of all, we were friends with him since we were 5. He was clearly friend material, not make-out material. When did you kiss him?
Alli: The fall of our freshman year of college.
Me: WHY did you kiss him?
Alli: I don’t know. We were at a party. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.
It seemed like the thing to do. What deliciously teen-ish logic that is.
By the way, kisses to everyone who sent me emails asking me where I was and if I was ok this week. It’s nice to be missed. So kisses. Really, I mean kisses. Apparently, I have lots to hand out and I don’t have a problem doing so. MWAH!
Kiss the rings, I’m out.