First Ten Memories of the Decade

27 12 2009

As in, one memory per year of the decade. In chronological order. Not the most important memories or the best or the worst, but the first thing I remember about each of the years involved.

AKA, a completely arbitrary list, my favorite.

THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND IN…

2000. I graduated from 8th grade in 2000 and I remember that there were 83 kids in my grade (I think), we all had to wear light colored dresses, and that there was a huge debate about whether Vitamin C’s “Graduation” or Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” should be our graduation song. Green Day won because someone could play it on the guitar, but then you couldn’t hear the guitar anyway. Also this one girl got her period and it went right through her dress into a puddle on her chair and it was probably the most embarrassing day of her life, but I think we all learned a valuable lesson about wide set vaginas and heavy flows that day. Also, about tampons.

2001. Freshman/Sophomore year of high school. This was the first year that I kissed a boy outside of a game of spin the bottle (which I continued to play throughout college and really, hope to play for the rest of my life.) It was super awkward. There was a Spongebob Squarepants marathon involved and a day sledding at the high school and a bout of wrestling. A lot of this encounter may explain a lot of things about me, including my love of Spongebob and also my love of challenging people to wrestling matches. I also kissed a boy at New Year’s that year. In one scenario, I stomped on someone’s heart. In the other, I got my heart stomped on. 2001 was a really tough year for several reasons, those included.

2002. Sophomore/Junior year of high school. While doing my six hours of driving to get my license that year, my driving instructor was nuts. He asked if he could smoke while we were driving. We had to stop at a gas station and fill the car up with oil, which it was leaking. We went to another driving school’s course to learn how to parallel park. A car from that driving school showed up, and my teacher was like, “We have to leave. Now. NOW!” He basically got stared down by the other car while we were leaving. Once slammed on the breaks while I was driving and said I had to be prepared for everything (including, apparently, a driving instructor slamming on his breaks). So. Effing. Weird.

2003. Junior/Senior year of high school. I remember very specifically getting my SAT scores in the mail and not being able to add the numbers in my head, so when my parents said “Sarah!” I couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Only when my mom said the number outloud did I realize that a) it was a good thing and b) it was highly ironic/pathetic that I did so well in math and did not have the math skillz to decipher how well I did. It was the start of a lingering suspicion among many relatives and friends that I might actually be an idiot savant.

2004. Senior year of high school/Freshman year of college. Right before high school graduation, a few of my friends and I went down to our shorehouse to have fun. I’m pretty sure my cousin bought me alcohol – first and last time. Over the course of the few days, we were invited to a party at the house at the end of our street. We attended and realized about half way through that it was a party being thrown by a bunch of police officers. Being 18 (or 17 in some cases), we decided it was definitely in our best interest to stay at this party, do Irish car bombs with these cops, and try to coerce many of the cops into taking pictures with us. In true Jersey Shore form, this is not even the dumbest thing we’ve ever participated in down there, but it was epic to our high school lives. Also constituted perhaps the 3rd time I ever drank in high school, which contributed to a very messy freshman year of college.

2005. Freshman/Sophomore year of college. In the spring of 2005, I convinced friends to both punch me in the face and hit me with their car (very low speed, no worries). For getting punched in the face and refusing to tell my RA why I had a black eye, I was sent to psychological counseling and had to explain to the head of housing why, exactly, I had asked someone to punch me in the face. I was written up. I was told statistics about how many women get abused and murdered in Chicago every year. I was told that I should have just used make up if I had wanted to see what a black eye was like. But, I was happy. Also, I have been punch free since 2005.

2006. Sophomore/Junior year of college. The summer I almost died from a mysterious virus a la a House episode. Still got full credit for my internship, despite missing almost an entire month of work – good thing, since I really needed that .25 credit to graduate (PSYCH. Pointless.) My most clear memory of those weeks in the hospital is that I was in the children’s wing despite being 20. And was prescribed anti-depressants that I refused to take for the following reasons – 1. I had not gotten out of bed in a week. 2. I had not had any visitors beside my parents in a week. 3. I had had the blinds drawn for a week. Reasons why I refused to take them: 1. I could not get out of bed because I had an IV in both arms and couldn’t really “move around.” 2. I was in the ICU, where no one besides your parents were allowed to visit. 3. The sun shone directly into my eyeballs if the blinds were not drawn. There were a lot of choice words exchanged that I later regretted. But to be fair, my doctor also said that depression was not really my main problem when they still didn’t know what was wrong with me. Well-intentioned AND r-tarded.

2007. Junior/Senior year of college. I spent my 21st birthday with my best gays at a lesbian bar, where we basically harassed a lesbian named Sherri who very clearly wanted to be left alone. We bought her drinks and got her wasted while getting wasted ourselves. Later, I got shots while on line for the unisex bathroom once I realized that answering “I don’t know” to the question “Are you into girls?” is a surefire way to never pay for drinks at a lesbian bar. Danced with a big black lady named Choppa who proclaimed, “For a white girl, you sure got moves” which remains to this day one of the nicest compliments I have ever received. She wrote her number on a napkin and told me to call her. I did not.

2008. Senior year of college/Freshman year of life. The best party we ever had at Flop Haus was Paul’s and my engagement party. Not only did Paul propose to me on stage at the premiere of all the films we made that year, we later had a totally ridiculous, totally fun party where we even received presents. I believe our friend James gave us 37 cents, and Jackie made us a wedding mix which I lost for a full year, and then recently found in my room. There was a make out contest. There was a dance party. There was spin the bottle. There were a lot of ridiculous pictures and a lot of things that I can’t actually remember, but all contributed to one of the most fun nights of college. In fact, concluded my suspicions that spring quarter of senior year is the only reason that most people miss college; best three months of my life.

2009. Freshman/Sophomore year of life. While working at the video store with Travis one night, this lady came in and talked to us for at least an hour about a book she was writing about a string of murders that had taken place in our town in the 70s. I had never heard of these before, but she insisted that they were all committed by the same person – her husband at the time. She said that he used to sleep with a machete under his pillow, had gone crazy from being in Vietnam, and had tried to kill her several times. All of the bodies were killed using a machete. She was writing a book about it and promised to give us a copy of it, but then did not leave any sort of way to contact her. Super random, super creepy, and left us wondering if maybe she was actually the murderer and was just telling us the story so that we would not suspect her. Particularly after she used me as an example of “exactly the kind of girl that got murdered.” Too bad Clerks exists, because Village Video is ripe for a movie.

Altogether, a good decade.

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