Happy Easter Monday everyone!
Ok I can't decide if I'm totally making this up or if this actually happened when I was in school but I feel like we used to have a 4-day weekend every Easter. Does that sound right? We had Good Friday and Easter Monday, right? Because I think that's why everyone would go down to the beach and get plastered on Easter weekend because they would spend that Monday traveling back from Panama City or some other STD-infested city. Is that right? Oh well. I'll just trust that I'm not taking crazy pills and that my high school used to give 4-day weekends (oh you episcopalians!).
So I seem to be crossing paths with a number people from my past A LOT recently. And I'm surprising myself when I say that I'm actually kind of stoked about it. I had a mini-reunion with some of my oldest friends on Saturday night and I swear that all of our maturity combined is that of a 14 year old. I feel bad if people don't know us but they try to meet us when we're all together at once because every other word out of our mouth is an inside joke. Perfect example, one of my friends, we'll call her "halloooh" (and imagine that in a very southern accent, major emphasis on the "oooh") and we'll call her hallooo because back in 1997 when none of us had cell phones and we had to call each other's home lines, her mom would always pick up the phone and say "halloooh" in her southern accent and Erin and I got THE biggest kick out of it every time. And you're currently reading this and going "i don't get it". And I hate to say "you had to be there" but you kind of did. Again, the maturity of 14 year olds here.
A lot of our humor was based on doing impressions of people that we knew. And making up nicknames for people (including ourselves...why? I don't know). There was one girl who was a German-exchange student and we legitimately called her "Shepherd" because German...Shepherd...get it? Ok, and it's not like she looked like a German Shepherd, but she had a really thick accent and we simply had to make fun of it and do impressions without people knowing who we were referring to. Yeah. Genius. No one was onto us at all. But again, we're 14 and we thought we ruled the world and that we were so clever and cool. And you know foreign exchange students are kind of easy targets when you're young and immature. Their clothes are 10 years behind the times, and they're typically fairly low-maintenance (in my experience). They either are naturally good-looking and don't have to wear makeup or worry about their hair, OR they're just about the most awkward person in the world and they NEED to do something to their hair but don't. And language barriers don't help. Shepherd wore white keds, stone-washed, tapered-leg, Mom-jeans, and shirts that were probably supposed to be midriffs but weren't, because her jeans came up so high on her waist that the midriff and the top of the jeans met. Or sometimes she would wear an off-brand polo tucked in really tightly to her high-waisted, tapered-leg Mom-jeans. And her bangs were cut about an inch too high on her forehead an her short blonde hair was thick and stringy (yes that's possible). And when you're a 14 year old girl (in America), all you care about is how you look because you want boys to like you. So Shepherd obviously didn't have a snow-ball's chance in hell at winning the boy's affection. And we simply had to talk about her behind her back because she was an easy target. And looking back on it, I know it was kind of mean and I shouldn't have partaken in the impressions and jokes made at her expense. But I did. I was immature and wanted to be cool with my friends. And the truth of the matter is, I still love to do impressions. Of any and everyone. I love trying to take on accents that are not my own, whether it's a Jersey Shore Guidette, a red-neck southerner, an Aussie from down-under or just one of my friends.
Along with impressions of people, there was "Bong Ditty" and "Skim-da-bam-de-boom-diddly-bom-boom", and there was "Billy-Bob-Joe", and the "Cat face", and the list goes on. And no one will understand anything that I'm talking about so I'm not sure why I'm still blogging about this. You've probably already stopped reading. And I'm ok with that. Guess it's just fresh on my mind because Saturday night we all got together at the same Mexican restaurant we frequented during our adolescent years. Only this time we all got drunk. And it was fabulous. On the night before Jesus rose from the dead.
Was this just the most pointless post ever? Because if you're not one of the 4 people I was with on Saturday night you probably don't understand a word that you just read. Or at least it's not funny to you (whereas I have tears streaming down my face right now). I'm really sorry for wasting your time this morning. My apologies! I promise I'll have something better tomorrow...
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