Sunday, January 17, 2010

Throwback

Everyone on FB seems to be posting their Throwback Photo-- visions of bad fashion, spiral perms, and braces on their teeth. You will notice that I have not posted a Throwback Photo, partially because I choose not to follow the crowd, and partially because I hate to shame you all with just how awesome I was, even in my younger years. (However, should you want to see my OWN spiral perms, bad fashion and braces on my teeth, you are welcome to peruse my photos, as there are several.) Despite marching to a different beat, I am marching nonetheless, which means you get a Throwback List:

REALLY BAD DECISIONS FROM HALEY'S YOUNGER YEARS, LIMITED TO ONLY THOSE YEARS DURING WHICH HALEY WAS UNDERAGE, MEANING AGES 5-17, NOT BECAUSE I WAS NOT UNDERAGE AT AGES 1-5 BECAUSE I WAS, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I ONLY HAVE A COUPLE OF MEMORIES FROM THOSE YEARS AND THEY DO NOT SEEM TO BE MEMORIES OF MYSELF MAKING PARTICULARLY HEINOUS DECISIONS, OF WHICH I HAVE BOUNDLESS FODDER FOR SUCH LIST POST-AGE 5

1. I kissed a girl and I liked it~ I may have touched on this before, but my first "boyfriend" in kindergarten was actually a girl. In my defense, she had really short hair, thick Coke bottle glasses, and a 5-year-old swagger that resembled something out of a bad John Wayne movie. It was not until I had announced to the world at large (aka: both kindergarten classes) that "that boy over there is my boyfriend" that I was informed that that boy was actually a girl named Pam. Oops. The relationship didn't last.

2. I see London, I see France~ Still testing the limits of kindergarten, I was once nearly kicked out of school for consistently exposing my underwear to my classmates. It only happened on one day, but it was a LOT that day. My mother (in a flash of poor decision making) had allowed me to wear my dance class red satin poodle skirt to school, and beneath it I had on a pair of bright red, ruffled panties that I thought were THE BOMB (they were, of course). Such devotion to one's panties can only lead to trouble, as well as the incessant urge to show other people just how awesome your underwear really are, which is exactly what I did. It did not go over well with my poor British teacher, or her strict Baptist assistant. (Side note: To this day, I think they could have just been jealous of my cool panties.)

3. Papa Don't Preach~ In the 3rd or 4th grade, my mother once again ventured into the world of poor decision making, deciding that sure, it was a GREAT idea to let me go to school dressed as Madonna. I wore no skirt, just a big-ass slip from my clogging days, a bright pink sweatshirt with the neck cut out (a la Flashdance--how that was related to Madonna, I'm still unsure) lots of jingly, tacky bracelets and necklaces, and my permed hair in a side ponytail with an ENORMOUS bow tied around it. My awesomeness was unsurpassed. My Mother should really have been turned into child protective services for that, and frankly, she'd better be glad there's a statute of limitations for things like that or her ass would be in trouble. Seriously.

4. In-vested~ Has anybody seen the photograph from the 7th grade Homecoming Dance on my FB page? The first dance of the school year, with my first junior high school boyfriend (Michael, are you reading this?)--I could not wait. Mom and I went to the mall one night to shop for an outfit, something casual, yet dressy. I suppose the 7th grade version of Business Casual, circa 1990. We found the perfect ensemble at Belk: gray pleated pants with blue striped cuffs, a blue shirt, and a floral brocade vest that incorporated both the gray and the blue, but added a lovely pop of maroons and peach. All I can say is, how can you go wrong flaunting your sex appeal with a brocade vest? You can't, I say.

5. Let's explore the string of bad romantic choices I made in high school. After finally ditching my junior high boyfriend, who had the IQ of a string bean and refused to get his hair cut in any way that did not involve shaving either a V or a lightning bolt into the back, I roared into high school ripe for romance. After developing a mad crush on a boy I met nearly the moment school started, who then promptly broke my heart by starting a long term relationship with a friend of mine, I plowed through a string of seniors (predominantly the baseball team), none of whom impressed me or were very good kissers. I then moved on to part of the football team (too dumb), interspersed with a handful of boys from the opposing high school (too dull), and a couple of guys from a school in Chattanooga (by far the least intelligent men I have ever met--didn't stop me from a lot of making out), which took up most of the rest of my sophomore year. Tiring of this flurry of silly boys, as a junior I decided it was time to find a boyfriend. Who did I choose? Brad. To this day, I have no idea what on earth possessed me to date this boy. There was nothing particularly wrong with Brad, other than his family, but he was not quite what I was looking for. However, time passed and he was fine, if a bit on the tame side. Thank God I didn't marry him.

6. Why I now need therapy~ Mom, I know you're reading this. And you need to know something. You fucked me up, at least in regard to my hair. Remember how you would always hassle me about wearing my hair down, how you liked it off my face? You gave me a complex, Mom. You damaged me to the point that my hair was never all the way down until I moved away from home and out of the clutches of your hair manipulation. You know why I always wear it down now? It's out of defiance for the many years of your Hair Nazi-ism. Yes, it is.

Wow, it felt good to get that off my chest.

7. Just getting warmed up~ My senior year in high school, some genius (whose name I will not name) made the incredibly intelligent decision to purchase WHITE warm-up suits for the cheerleading squad. We would wear them to school or over our uniforms when it was cold, we would wear them to various functions we had to attend, etc, etc. I'd like to mention again that THEY WERE WHITE. Why in the hell would anybody put a bunch of weight-conscious, 17-year-old girls who were ALWAYS starting their periods unexpectedly in WHITE warm-up suits? WHY? It makes no fucking sense. Not only did those things make us look fat AND showcase every drop of unanticipated menstruation, but they also got dirty within seconds of being worn. We were cheerleaders, for God's sakes. We were on the ground a lot (side note: some of us were on the ground more than others, particularly a few who spent an inordinate amount of time of their backs), so the white faded to a nice mocha or latte rather quickly. NOT good decision making, girls. Not good decision making at all.

While there is enough Throwback in my life to write an entire novel, I shall end with seven. I hope that you have all learned something from this. At least that way, I will not have suffered (in my floral vest) in vain.

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