I didn't wear the right kind of jeans

I've been pondering the age twelve through fifteen a lot lately. It started with the poster I did posted to the left [new in the studio] for the birthday girl. I began thinking about what I was doing at twelve. Twelve was the year that changed me forever I would say. My mom remarried and we moved from Northern California to Southern California in the middle of sixth grade.



The second thing that made me think about this time was I was "friended" on a networking site by someone who at first I didn't recognize. You know those sites, people friend you, they're linked to other people you know [this one was all highschool people I knew and loved] but I couldn't place her but I added her anyway. This has happened to me before and I generally dismiss them. But this one stuck... the name... how do I know her? I racked my brain for days trying to place her in my life via school. A week later she posted old photos of herself.



Instantly I knew who she was, this wonderful girl from sixth grade, someone who I hadn't thought of in a very, very long time. But it all came flooding back when I clicked over to her page.

The year that we moved, it was the middle of the school year and I entered my class not knowing a soul and in my own time warp. See I was still playing with dolls, I liked boys but wasn't prepared to do anything about it I wore clothes from Mervyn's and I got straight A's and I. didn't. wear. the. right. kind. of. jeans.



I entered this school and girls were talking about smoking pot, designer jeans, second base, string bikinis and all of the trouble that goes along with said list. I was lost from the very beginning and to be honest, I never really caught up.

The mean girls in class instantly took a dislike to me. They formed a "club" against me. At recess, they met behind the back stop and plotted things to do to me. Like sending the cutest boy in class to follow me home and "ask me to go around" which I really didn't know much about. My reply? "but I don't even know you" I was suppose to be the class joke the next day had I said yes. I survived that test. Generally, the torture was making fun of what I was wearing, or not wearing in my case. I felt like a leaper.

But this woman who just friended me? she was one of the only girls in class who would talk to me. I invited her to chucky cheese that year on my birthday because she was my only friend I could invite. So I sent a "wall" note to my new "friend" OMG it's YOU and I thanked her for being my friend when no one else would.



She said "wow I remember that now...I can't believe you remember it"

but see...when it's happening to you, you don't forget. The mean girl ring-leader...she was on the nice girl's friend list when I clicked over. It all came flooding back.

With all the therapy, all the good things that I have now...I still can't forgive that woman. I'm sure she's different now - maybe she's even a nice. But that mean girl...continued the torture of me through 7,8, and 9th grade until I nearly ended up in a fist fight with her in the hall one day. We have never spoke since even at the 20 year reunion.

If I was a Freudian, I think I would say that my obsession with fashion and beauty is linked to this wouldn't you say? I guess you never forget [and in my case forgive] that stuff but it has shaped me to who I am which is a kinder person [and stylish].

And the mean girl? I know I should be a bigger person than this but...
She's an average blonde from the OC with sun damage, a fake rack and a low cut top like the rest of the "housewives".

and I don't feel one ounce of bad for saying that



great poster via Chocosaur / Flickr
chucky cheese feet pretty n punk