It's inevitable. I will try to write blog posts about various topics, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and there were just too many gems from my childhood to not take another walk down memory lane. Like playdoh oozing out of Mr. Playdoh's head, These various items helped shape and mold our childhoods.

Pound Puppies

We all had beanie babies. But the precursor to those $5 nightmare "collectables" was a pregnant basset hound. This gift came with an added bonus of "How many mutt babies is your dog going to have!?" None of the puppies in the litter ever looked alike, which was a casual way of showing that mamma was a bit liberal with her morals. Also I vividly remember that if you got a premature puppy or 5 puppies you'd virtually won the pound puppy lottery. God forbid you just get 2 puppies in your litter. As for the absentminded friend that forgot to put all the puppies back in the mother's velcro womb, and one got lost? Insta-uninvite from my sparkles roller skating party. That was my favorite puppy Jamie. Now I'll never find it.

God forbid it if a child nowadays is called anything other than perfect. The Anti-bullying movement is going too far. Yes don't push someone over the edge with it, but forgive me if maybe I told a certain someone I grew up with that he had noodle arms and now he's a personal trainer, you know what I mean? Bullying to a certain extent wasn't only funny, it was required for a hit sitcom. Lest we all forget Clarissa's snotty red-headed brother Furg-wad. Killer name. Or the chunky freckle-faced Donkey Lips. Did anyone ever actually know donkey lip's real name? You didn't see him lose his mind over it. Or really the whole purpose of the character Urkel in general. You know what it taught us? How to take a hit. All three of these characters never gave up. My nickname was Anus-ley Fartwright. I made it though.

Everyone I know that is my age knows A) how to make a fortune teller and b) that whatever MASH says, goes. I literally just played MASH with a coworker at a meeting. She is staring down the barrel of having a pet giraffe and 16 kids, driving a "rape van" and living in a mansion. Real mixed bag she's got headed her way, but to be fair, if she'd stopped me on the swirly thing a second sooner, things would have been different. Also, sign of a best friend: rigging the MASH game so that your BFF lands on the guy she likes to be her husband. Or if you weren't that smart, simply skipping sections or making up impromptu rules so that she really DOES end up with Brandon. And then screaming with joy and saving the paper as later proof at the wedding.

I remember taking my SWEET time making fortune tellers in class. Color coding them, thinking of eight whole fortunes someone could have... In the end did anyone hide theirs well enough to even fully finish a round before it got taken up? Still, worth it.

Irrefutable comebacks. The 90's really started the movement on shutting people down. Someone says something obvious. Response: "doi". You say something stupid and you'd like to pretend you didn't mean it. "Sike". And the quintessential comeback is when someone even feigns over interest in ANYTHING: "If you love it so much why don't you marry it". At no point was anyone's answer "that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard". My recollection was that 100% of the time that landed the recipient of this question in utter defeat. The only, and I mean ONLY possible comeback to this was "I'm rubber, your glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you". Game. Over.

Pogs

Who did this. Who was like "let's take cardboard disks and slam coins onto them to flip them over". It was a revolution. It wasn't even about how many you had really. As long as you had a full sleeve of them you were fine, but it really mattered how cool your slammers were. And this game required clean up every round. Your slammer would fly off into oblivion, pogs flipping every which way. My mom, understandably, wasn't interested in investing in paper-themed toys or fads of any kind so I had the minimum amount to even form a stack really, but one day in the Kroger parking lot fate shined down on me. I found on the ground someone's pogs complete with a grateful dead slammer. Yes I felt torn about taking it into the store and dropping it off at lost and found or not. Yes I absolutely kept them. I utilized the rule "finders keepers". Haunts me to this day.

Candy that actually hurt

There is no doubt in my mind that the painful candy I ate as a child has done permanent, irreparable damage to my mouth. War Heads were so good but would actually make me cry, and my my mouth cramp. My mouth would literally cramp in the back.

Also need I remind about fireballs (appropriately named). As in keeping with making a game out of everything, we'd see who could put a fireball in their mouth the longest. No you can't hide it under your tongue either, so don't even try. You always knew when I'd eaten one because my hand was also red from spitting it out every 5 seconds. Sometimes you'd try to wrap the gum from a blow pop around the fireball to create a buffer if you will. That gum was never big enough. Also did anyone enjoy the blistering, Lysol-themed pain of a lemon head? Sick.

When I think back on these experiences, the underlying theme here is "where in the world did I get access to this many pieces of candy simultaneously?" and "Did my mom ever let me go back to this person's house?". There must have been an underground ring of torture-candy drug lords running Addison Elementary.

Unnecessary Causes

There are some causes out there that directly affect people. They change lives and make the world a better place to live in. One such cause is the “don’t wear white after labor day” cause. Things like this are critical to distinguishing ourselves from absolute hooligans. But there are also causes out there that drive me crazy. Mainly for how unnecessarily passionate they are, but also for how much they blow up my facebook feed:

Waiting on Christmas

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry that Christmas is most definitely the most wonderful time of the year. Once Halloween hits, like clockwork, people start moaning and complaining that other people are celebrating Christmas too early. “Thanksgiving is next, people!!! Stop decorating for Christmas already!”. Oh, how silly of me! I should apparently dedicate the next 4 weeks to singing all the festive Thanksgiving songs and start decorating with turkey legs and gravy. Sick.

Thanksgiving isn’t a real holiday. If it’s a day that is solely celebrated by eating, it’s not a holiday for real. Also, I’m pretty sure this “shout out to Native Americans” every year by us eating to the point of needing a nap really soothes the sting of the trail of tears. Were all these haters traumatized beyond belief by premature carolers? Where is this passion for anti-Christmas coming from? It’s real band-wagoney is what it is. Stop trying to be sassy and hate Christmas for the next week or so. Also, don’t deny yourself the pleasure of listening to “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey. You’re only hurting yourself.

Kickball

Stop. It. How in the world did this sport take off?! Besides the fact that I’m playing pretty fast and loose with the term “sport”, this was the red-headed stepchild of activities in elementary school even. Now war ball… that brought the heat. I can’t believe that everyone is blithely allowing people to claim that they are in kickball leagues without simply calling them out for what they are actually doing. Trying to find a spouse. I’m sorry, this whole concept is a hop skip and a jump away from Events and Adventures, “It’s Just Lunch” and Match.com. The teams are always co-ed and include at least 3 girls that will never EVER catch a pop fly ball. Ever.

Thus proving it’s not meant to be competitive. Everyone’s drinking when they play, proving it’s not athletic. It’s a meet and greet dream come true is what it is. And everyone that plays is in such raging denial of their intentions, it’s got a real Jonestown feel happening.  The best part about this cult-like activity is when people meet their significant other on the kickball field they feel the need to be supportive of you, their single friend, by saying “The right person will come along for you when you least expect it. When you’re not even trying”. Right. Like what happened for you? Zip it.

Peanut Allergies

If I had a real allergy to peanuts, like carry an epi-pen around and maybe have to wear a bracelet I’d be ticked at the sudden take off of this allergy. I refuse to believe that so many people are all of the sudden allergic to a nut. If this is the case then our species is weeding itself out and we’ll become extinct eventually. To the point where we have nut free schools? Peanut allergies are the new ADHD. I hope the sunlight allergy is the next one to take off. It’s making the Seinfeld episode with bubble boy not so far fetched.

Twilight

I don’t even know where to start. First of all, if you’re going to acknowledge twilight for what it is, then by all means, yuck it up with vampires and werewolves. It’s a 7^th grade reading level, double spaced series of books that people are capable of reading in 1 sitting and I have a feeling it took just about the same amount of time to write as it did to read. So if you’re going to be like “it’s a guilty pleasure of being silly and using imagination” then you do you. But do not, DO NOT say things like “Don’t knock the movies until you read the books! I thought it was going to be dumb but I read the books, and they are great”. Jane Austin rolls over in her grave every time you act like this is a literary work of art. And no, Kristin Stewart isn’t amazing. She’s a pinched faced broody teenager.

The hardest part of this series for me to wrap my brain around is how are 2 guys fighting over her? All they ever do is have to save her stupid ass at every moment of the day. Exactly what are they fighting for? Someone who wears flannel non-stop and never has a scrap of makeup on her face? It’s beyond comprehension. And worse its teaching our youth that you can completely give up on your looks and still have guys lined up for you. Good luck. You’re staring down the barrel of multiple kickball leagues in your future if this is your approach.

Deep, Important Thoughts

Generally my posts have had a theme. Sometime the theme is a little of a stretch, but there’s a common thread that runs through each one. These topics I have here are the bastard children of the thoughts I’ve had that just couldn’t hack a 5 paragraph summary, but are equally important and needed to be shared.

Child Locks

There’s nothing in this world that can catapult an adult back to the crappy parts of childhood like sitting in the back seat of a friend’s car that has child locks enabled. We all want to go back to the days of yesteryear when we were being punished in class by sitting “boy girl boy girl” or we were more than fine to pour chocolate milk over Count Chocula and call it a breakfast at grandma’s house. I’m talking the days of wearing a leash and being sent to bed without supper. There’s very little that still remains from that time, minus the childlock. Inevitably the person who has the button next to them to deactivate the childlock gets a temporary wave of power, and like a bus driver wielding their power unmercifully, they will keep you locked in to torture you with 2-3 badly delivered jokes about the situation.  FYI my quintessential example of a power monger is a bus driver. They couldn’t be higher on their high horse about standing behind the white line and it’s like “I’m standing anyways. You wreck this bus that little white line isn’t going to stop me from flying through that winshhield, friend”.

But I digress. The childlocks have gotten smarter too, and you can’t outsmart them by just using the opposable thumbs God gave you and pulling up on the lock to assert your adult power and get free. No no no, that’s locked in tight. Access to the outside world is dependent on the car’s electrical system and the maturity of the driver.  Which forces me to exclaim that it’s a fire hazard and I can only hope we don’t go careening down a cliff in Atlanta in a fiery ball of glory because if we do, I’m toast.

Alliterations and Rhyming

What is it about baby showers and weddings that forces even halfway intelligent women to become a modern time Dr. Seuss? You probably don’t know this, but there’s a sales person out there that doesn’t sell specific products, but he’s more like an assassin for hire. He’s practically a billionaire at this point, but he keeps working. He’s the reason that about 7 years ago the cranberry was popping up in every food imaginable.  He was selling cranberries at the time. Then he moved on to pomegranates, and has now landed on alliterations. No I do not want to join you for “Fun and Frivolity in the sun” for your bachelorette party. I hate that you think you should append to the already established definition of fun by adding frivolity. I hate that thesauruses are apparently being sold at Bed Bath and Beyond and you get one free when you register.  I hate that this wedding invite already tells me that you’re going to start all of your kid’s names with the same letter on purpose, and you’ll throw your dog in there too for good measure and claim it’s a family tradition.

Also, enough with the pomegranates, no they are not the elixir of the gods, they are impossible to eat is what they are. Also, they are full of sugar so enjoy that calorie packed snack.

Food You Have to Work For

Call me crazy, but I’m not really interested in breaking a sweat and popping my jacket off to eat a meal. The trend of eating food that requires WAY more work than it’s worth is baffling to me. For example, the restaurant Melting Pot. So you hand me raw meat and veggies, and I have to wait 3-4 minutes per bite to enjoy this delightful meal I’m making all on my own. Just to leave having spent $40 per person and smelling like an IHOP because you had boiling grease at your table. You know what I call that? Instant salmonella because I’m not going to wait for the chicken to thoroughly cook, I’m starving. Also, please don’t tell me that boiling a brick of Velveeta counts as something to dip your food into. Disgusting.  

It’s not just fondue places, it’s also seafood. People from Maryland all the way up the Eastern Coast to Maine have an unhealthy level of pride in eating crustaceans. They’ll have crab bakes and lobster parties. I’ve named them lobster parties because I’ve never been invited to one so I don’t know what they are called. I’m sure if I were invited, it would be for a “Magnificent Maine Morning of Munchies and Music”. Facts about food: I don’t like getting stabbed by any part of my food. I don’t like having to spit out shell. I don’t like that crabs have yellow “mustard” in them which is supposed to be the best part and I’m convinced is 100% feces. I don’t like dripping from my elbows with the “juices” of said food and smelling like the Gorton’s fisherman after I eat. Call me crazy.

Home Remedies

It doesn’t matter how much time I’ve spent in higher learning institutions. How many friends I have in the medical field or even my level of logic that I use daily, when tragedy strikes I’m hurled back into home remedies as my first go to. I was thinking this the other day: What if I knocked a tooth out of my head not during normal dentist hours? Obviously the only think you can do is put it in milk, like my mother told me. I never have milk, could I put it in expired milk?? What about ice cream? What about sorbet? I have that. 

I refuse to believe that milk is the answer to this. But I guarantee you the second I lose a tooth in a pick up game of soccer, I’m headed to the gas station for some Mayfield. I think you only have 45 minutes before the root dries up and dies. What!?!? Why am I a brainwashed robot. Also, don’t even get me started on a myriad of ailments that can all be addressed and cured by merely “letting it air out”. And by some witchcraft magic just because our moms say this it turns out to work. I’ve contacted the Susan G Komen association to let them know about the magical powers of air. They told me they knew, but didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag because they really love the races and the ribbons and all the pink. Fact.

The Constant People in Our Lives

No matter who you are, what you do, or how old you are there will always be a consistent group of people in your life. No, I don’t mean parents, loved ones, friends. Not everyone has loved ones. Look at Charlie Sheen. Literally no one loves him. I’m talking about the people that you might not even know their names but they fill this void in your life.

The Person That Reads Large Signs Out Loud

This is not the guy reading something that’s small to someone squinting to be able to read it. This is the guy reading billboards as you drive down the road. Literally yelling “ATTENTION!” as if you didn’t see the words written 30 feet high. Are they under the impression you’re illiterate? Have they designated themselves the narrator for your life all of the sudden? This person also crops up in movies when at the beginning of the movie there a word or two dictating the starting scene. “SUMMER 1435….”. Question, why are they yelling? They’re always yelling.

 The Person Who has No Business being on a PA System

This often times happens on an airplane. The flight attendants are given a script to recite for buckling seat belts and “in case of an water evacutation blah blah blah”, but should circumstances call for them to deviate from the script it’s always the person who’s the least comfortable with public speaking who grabs the mic. These people don’t even begin to think about what they need to say until the speaker is already picked up. They fill the space with the usual “umms” and pauses, but my favorite part is that they try to overcompensate for their lack of preparation by using the biggest words they know. I swear on a recent trip when they were trying to tell everyone they were out of Fresca the lady said “trapezoid”. Fact.

 This is just unsanitary. Also, this chick couldn't be more the 4th type of person on this post...

The gum guy

I don’t know how they do it. I buy a pack of gum and manage to lose the entire pack without having even chewed 3 pieces, yet somehow still get about 1000 wrappers in my car. But the gum guy is ALWAYS prepared with gum for sharing purposes. To the point where you almost take advantage of that fact and don’t purchase your own ever again. Are they having to budget for the gum consumption every month?? Like “Rent, check. Car payment, check. Utilities, check. Gum from Costco, budget officially busted”. This guy is also very uppity about their gum and will judge the crap out of you if you didn’t know that 5 came out with a new flavor of gum recently. It’s like “I’m sorry that weird company comes out with even weirder gum more often the lil wayne releases a song, but yes I will still take a piece from you every day.”

The Really Unique Person

These aren’t people that are genuinely unique. These are completely ordinary, average at best people that intentionally spend what I can only assume is hours a day trying to think of the most unique things to do so as to judge you. The guy that couldn’t be caught dead at a chain restaurant and knows every hole in the wall place to eat in the world, and couldn’t be higher on his high horse about it but in every other respect is an overgrown frat boy. The girl that is “so different and it’s cool” because she drives a pick-up truck and has a pink John Deere sticker on her windshield but is from Alpharetta and hasn’t ever actually shot a gun. The people that, again as I mentioned in a previous post, prefer lemon flavored jolly ranchers, skittles, starbursts or sweet tarts. Other favorites are people that have on facebook that their favorite book is “The Bible” and that’s it. As if they are trying to convince me that they’ve read that book cover to cover. I flipped through War and Peace one time but I’m not claiming it’s my fave. Also, I highly doubt that the WHOLE BIBLE is your favorite. Have you cracked into Leviticus? I wasn’t on the edge of my seat with that one.

The Debbie Downer of your Hi-Larious Joke

This person is always there to derail a perfectly innocent, hysterical comment that you’ve made by getting serious. For example, someone says something rude to me and I respond with “Oh really? Well I hope your kids get diabetes, so there”. Which is abruptly responded to by someone that, to be honest, no one even knows who invited her to the event, saying “Can I just have two minutes of your time to talk to you about what you just said? Diabetes is not a joke. My grandfather had it and he lost his big toe.” And you’re forced into a 30 minute conversation about chronic illnesses. Not to mention now every time she invites you to her weekly charity fund raiser to raise money for prosthetic toes for the diabetic elderly you’re forced to attend. This person is everywhere, I get busted at least once a week for this infraction. To the point where I’m positive someone will be emailing me after this post saying “I’ve actually read the Bible cover to cover and it is my favorite. I am unique and I don’t appreciate your criticism about Leviticus either. That book is what made me become a believer.” I’ll more than likely be at church on Sunday with this person out of guilt, see ya there.

Why I’m Convinced I’m Charlie Bucket from Willy Wonka

I am convinced that just about everyone I know can have their life summed up by a children’s movie. For example, I’m convinced that my friend Erin’s life is defined by the movie “Labyrinth”.  I can’t get into details, but let’s just say if I barged into her apartment and saw her talking to puppets and singing songs with David Bowie, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Or my friend Allison can’t escape the movie “Beetlejuice”, and is consistently stalked by garments that are black and white stripped with purple accents. That being said, I’ve determined that my life is summed up by the movie “Willy Wonka”. No, not that creepy new one with Johnny Depp, but the trippy 1970’s version that we’ve all seen like a bajillion times. And to be more specific, I’m without a doubt the blonde kid, Charlie Bucket.

Reason #1: Gas Stations are the Chocolate Factory

You don’t need a golden ticket anymore to go to the Chocolate Factory. No one needs to scarf down a Scrumdiddlyumptious bar and get sick, or fish candy out of a rain gutter to win the trip of a lifetime to a wonderworld of candy.

Not today people. Now all you have to do is go to a gas station. To the point where I’m convinced that gas prices are not longer affected by the fed, inflation or the Middle East. Gas prices are sky high to compensate for the cash flow required to maintain the candy stock currently rolled out at every Kangaroo and rinky dink Seven Eleven in town.

FaveREDS. That’s right. Starburst got the memo that their Pine-Sol flavored “lemon” candies aren’t doing it for anybody. And don’t be that person that’s like “I love the lemon ones”. We’re all really impressed with how unique you are. For the rest of normal society, Startburst rolled out this magic stick of flavor. Every favorite Starbust you’ve ever had. You no longer have to look at what flavor you just grabbed in a dark movie theater. I got these this weekend and I honestly didn’t breathe until I was surrounded by red wrappers and had 2 cheekfulls of Red 40 food dye in my mouth.

Reese’s Mini’s with no Wrappers. I’d contest that this is the closest thing to the chocolate river in the movie that I’ve ever seen. In case you haven’t seen this yet, they’ve actually come out with an ENTIRE BAG of reese’s mini’s (which is the best chocolate-to-peanut butter ratio out there) and there’s not a wrapper in sight. Not the annoying gold one that you have to peel off in pieces. Not the black one underneath that just takes off the chocolate from the bottom of the cup and reduces you to licking paper as an adult. Not to mention and the end of the aftermath, you don’t have 67 wrappers lying around you as evidence you have to destroy so as to convince everyone that you’re “really trying at your diet this time”.  How long did it take this company to realize we don’t need doubly, individually wrapped candies? It probably took til Willy Wonka took over, that’s when.

This gum actually terrified me, and sealed the deal on my being convinced I’m Charlie Bucket. I almost feel I don’t need to point out how weird this is, but for those of you who aren’t seeing the obvious similarity… They’ve made dessert into gum! Do you think for one Rickity-Red-Hot second I’m chewing this? Do I look like I want to turn into a giant lime and get rolled away by a dozen Snookies to the juicing room? Limes don’t even roll straight, who knows where I’d turn up.

Reason #2: The stages of my life are like the rooms of the Chocolate Factory

I lived with JBush my senior year in college, at which time I got a demon cat I appropriately named Lucifer, and JBush got a Willy Wonka reincarnated cat. How appropriate. This picture is of her cat, and what I’d claim was her cat’s favorite past time. I’m not sure if the bananas taste like bananas here, or the apples taste like apples, but let’s get real. It’s more than likely that the schnozberries taste like schnozberries.

Reason #3: Wonka Themed contraptions in my everyday life

As I’ve mentioned before, I travel quite a bit. This requires me to utilize the conveyor belt at the airport security, which, as pointed out before, uses wonka techonology since the baggage goes in at a snails pace (and might I add sometimes reverses briefly) yet shoots out the other side like a rocket, forcing you to utilize the dexterity of your toes as additional hands to catch everything before the TSA people snag it and roll it down to the end. But the wonka technology doesn’t stop there. Do we remember the wonka-mobile? I can’t seem to forget it since Avis consistently rents me minivans for my road trips. (Actual picture of the car I got this week)

For those of us who haven’t given up, gotten the butchy mom hair cut and reduced ourselves to driving Astro vans, the minivan has actually turned into a space ship. There’s buttons that open every door automatically, buttons that alter the dimness of the interior lighting for day-to-night transitions, and buttons that blow foamy toothpaste all over the 7 people riding in your vehicle. No I haven’t found that button yet. But that’s because I’m Charlie, not Willy.

Reason #4: Simply Look at us

It’s like he could be my dad (unlike my actual dad who can tan by the light of the refrigerator bulb and had a head full of jet black hair til he turned into the silver fox that he is now). No, my mom doesn’t use a larger than life spoon to stir people’s laundry, and my 4 grandparents don’t all lie head to toe in a queen sized bed. 

But like Charlie, I’ve been savvy like a fox all these years. I’ve avoided the pitfalls of the chocolate factory that is my life.  And I’m sure, at the end of the day, my life will result in me one day running the chocolate factory. Which translates to me being the manager of a Conoco. Bring it.

The Best Years of Our Lives

We all did it. We all went to elementary school when we were little, and it’s become apparent to me that regardless of age or geographic location, we all had the exact same experience. This fact aside, what blows my mind even more is how did we all experience the same events and not ONE of us ever asked “what was that?!”.

The Cafeteria

First of all, only an 8 year old could handle the smell of this gigantic, linoleum, no-window catch all of a room and still manage to eat a meal. This was the place that we all learned how to “pick our poison”, especially in the drink section. You get a plethora of milk options which is always my beverage of choice when eating pizza or a hot dog.

 Also, what weight conscious 1^st grader really opts for the “skim” selection? Everyone went for chocolate. There was also that weird juice option that I would venture to guess was never replaced for my entire elementary career. Now, some genius had the brilliant idea to make the milk situation we were all forced to deal with even more luxurious. He thought “How can I make kids permanently hate milk? I know! Let’s make it taste like paper” and poured it all into small cardboard cartons. Thank you, milk guy.

Lest we ALL forget that 1 year where the carton vanished and we all got weird bags of milk that you had to stick the straw into the middle. Really? You’re going to give a 9 year old a balloon filled with milk and expect we’re not all going to slam them on the ground and stomp on them? Hence that lasting exactly 1 year.

P.E.

Everyone loved this class the most, which in hindsight is beyond my comprehension when I look back and the activities we were forced to participate in. Scarf juggling. That actually happened. Frequently.

Also I feel like I was always being forced to try my hand in joining the “Presidential Fitness Club” which to be fair, Stretch Armstrong wasn’t flexible enough to qualify for. Really, the V-Sit? I would pull a hamstring every year and still miss it by a mile.

And need I mention the to-the-death competition “Jump Rope for Heart”. It starts with helicoptering around to make sure you’re not going to slap another kid in the back of the head with your rope. Then there’s always one kid that gets out on the first jump. This kid instantly becomes the tattle tale, and calls out everyone that even THINKS about messing up a jump for the next 40 minutes. His name is always Evan or Patrick. The girl out first is always Tiffany. Fact. Next people drop down, one by one, until it’s 2 people left. That’s when the coach decides to make this a cirque-de-solil competition and he’s like “CRISS CROSS! NO DOUBLE JUMPING! HIGH KNEES! BEHIND THE BACK!”. It takes a special person to not just say "screw it, we're doing the parachute today". That was everyone's favorite anyways.

I always managed to be outfitted in a wind suit when any competition happened. Which was basically like when people work out with trash bags all over themselves.

Art and Music

More importantly, smelly markers. Oh my gosh the red one and the pink one. They were always the first to go “missing” and the color-coordinated moustache on the thief didn’t exactly require Nancy Drew’s detective skills in order to find the culprit.

The hunter green smelled like pine sol and the black one was formaldehyde. No question in my mind there. I remember every art teacher had an unhealthily level of love for their kiln. Like, you couldn’t even think about touching the outside of it. It’s a 2 ton oven, crazy art lady. I weigh 55 pounds, we’re good. Also can we acknowledge that EVERY year art class started out by teaching ROY G BIV and the color spectrum? As if like Alzheimer’s patients we simply forgot our colors and needed to start over from scratch? 

And then next door was music class. Everyone always talks about the recorder, but let’s get real, you couldn’t even touch those bad boys til like 4^th grade. Remember what we were playing before then? Sticks.

Yep, we had the ones with the grooves on them that you’d rub back and forth or tap with, and they were blue. What kind of terrible error did someone make in their fine arts college to end up teaching sticks to a bunch of 7 year olds? Also, the triangle apparently required adult instruction. 

Side question, why was there a piano in the room? No one, again like the kiln, was allowed to even touch it.

Corrective Orthodontia

Note that I didn’t say “braces” here. And there’s a reason for that. The extremely aggressive apparatuses that decorated the faces of the kids I grew up with reached far beyond the standard definition of braces.

There was that weird cage thing some kids had glued to the roof of their mouth for their tongue to go in (unknown the purpose of that), braces with rubber bands criss-crossing, and head gear to name a few. Also, apparently dentists required people to get their “hours” in, so they would have to keep these torture chambers on their face for at least ½ the day. 

How did it escape all of us that the more annoying the student was, the more severe their headgear got? They don’t need rubber bands, their parents just wanted them to shut up. Backfire of the century, they just talked with a lisp, but still, fair effort adults. I never needed braces (I have a gnarky tooth that will disagree with that) and it’s probably because I was never, ever annoying as a child.