When the Mothership Comes, I'll Be Ready

All right, I'll say it again, Facebook is turning out to be a wonderful thing. I've been getting in touch with all sorts of folks that I knew way back in my childhood years. Not only are we sharing memories, we're having real, live, actual conversations about who we were back then, the accomplishments we're most proud of, the regrets that just won't fade, and who we are today. Ever notice how rarely we adult humans do this anymore? Maybe it's just part and parcel of growing up, settling down, and getting into a routine--it doesn't seem like there's so much new to talk about anymore, certainly not like when we were adolescents and everything was a new and exciting (or excruciatingly painful and dramatic, but still).

Anyhoo, some friends have been posting pictures of our sweet selves back then, and it got me to thinking about that box o' stuff in my garage labeled "memorabilia." (Who labels things "memorabilia," I ask? Me, apparently.) So I dragged the thing out and have been going through it for the last two days. Oh, lawsy, the memories it's bringing up! It's a funny thing how you get used to yourself after a while and forget how you once were, and probably still are underneath all those layers of adulthood. Going through the box has been enlightening, disturbing, but mostly just plain delightful. And while it would be easy to wax on about youth and its energy, vitality, focus, loyalties, intensity, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, I would really prefer to talk about this:




Holy mother of gawd, would you look at those GLASSES?! Let's forget, for a moment, about the caterer's outfit I'm wearing. And it's really not a good time to discuss those bangs, as that issue has never completely resolved itself. Setting aside the adorable fluffball named Myrtle who could almost distract you from the moon goggles, though, one wonders what in hell was I thinking?! Who left me unsupervised in the industrial frames section at the optometrist's office?!


Oh, and folks, this wasn't just a one-time fashion don't made after one too many sips from the communion wine. No, no, this was a bonafide trend. Behold:

Preparing to embarrass myself in front of a crowd

Embarrassing myself in front of God and his staff

Unafraid to go out in the light of day in those things. My niece was unaffected due to her missing front tooth, which made her look like a doofus, too. We were soulmates.

My poor nephew, cool even at this tender age, was forced to sit next to me and my BIG, HUMONGOUS GLASSES for this picture. He's been scarred ever since. Just look how depressed we both are.

Thank goodness my brother A.J. did not abandon me in my time of need, when no doubt sirens were going off in his head and escape hatches beckoning. He was so cool even I couldn't break his stride. I love you, man. Thanks for not leaving me in the dust. And for giving me a ride on the back of your motorcycle. I probably had to wear my glasses over my helmet, didn't I? Sigh...

Hmm...Apple? Tree? Anybody?

The pièce de résistance. Horrifying, yes?

All right, in my defense, I would like to say two things. First, I was not alone. Say hello to Tamara, a friend and fellow fashion idiot from summer camp (Hello, Tamara...).

See, see? It wasn't just me. Thank you, Tamara, for serving as an object lesson. Power to the bug eyes, my sista!!