My mom decided to announce my blog to my entire extended family, so now everyone who shares genes with me knows that I don’t shower. Truth is, I’ve been ‘blogging’ (and not showering) since ‘blog’ became a verb. My first webpage was an Expage account, back when dial-up was a viable option and I tried not to wake up my parents as it “REEEE-urrrrrrrr”-ed to start at 2 in the morning. I stayed up late, AIM chatting with boys, pretending I was 16. Why was 16 such an impressive age?
Like any 16-year-old is going to be on the internet. No. They’re sneaking booze in water bottles and going to the movies to… Ahem.
If you want to become my facebook friend, you can read my entries as far back as ‘Xanga’.
Now that I know my grandparents are involved in this, I’m going to try and stop cussing.
Mother Flunker. Piece of Ship. Stupid Beach.
So, it was finally acceptable to wear shorts, and though I was blinding people with my pasty stems, I pulled out last years’ questionable athletic bottoms. Evelyn and I were learning to play volleyball that day (just like the week before, we were learning tennis, and the week before that, we were learning whiskey. We like to learn.). Ev said she knew of a park with a sand court, so we went and practiced our serves, then discussed how there would be no spiking between the two of us, ever, unless we’re talking about punch. Just like tennis, there would be no returning serves, and with whiskey, there would be no memory of it. We’re constantly scheming.
Anyway. The sand court was more like a gravel court, and there were pine needles everywhere. We made it work the best we could and tried to play as children ran around us, fascinated by the two white girls who, sadly, couldn’t jump.
That’s what alarmed me at the park that day: there were families playing. Moms threw baseballs at daughters and sons. Dads cooked hot dogs and sipped on gin and juice. Just kidding. There were bikes, and couples, and all varieties of parents, siblings, and child molesters.
Why do I feel like there was never anyone at the park when I was a kid? My mom used to take me to Big Lake, slapping together some peanut butter and honey sammiches, but I never felt like actual people did this.
Maybe I just didn’t see them. Maybe it wasn’t “cool” to go to the park.
You know what else isn’t cool? My face while I eat salad.
I needed that picture to be made public, but couldn’t figure out where to put it. Saving it for future posts I guess.