I'm back! Bigger, better, and with bells on. Not really, it's still just me, but a short break has brought me to the realisation that (1) I love writing and (2) I miss you lot, when we're not chattin'.
One thing I've been giving some time to recently has been rereading my old diaries (I have avidly logged life's events - both the mundane and the slightly more ridiculous - since the age of eight). One day, when I'm feeling
brave drunk enough, I'll take you through some of the most hilariously cringe-enducing extracts. In the meantime, I've written a few summaries. I'm going to put up the first one now, and if you like it, let me know, because there's plenty more angst-ridden rambling where that came from, so maybe it could become a once-a-week thing? If, however, you think it's pants, feel free to throw rotten cyber-eggs in my direction.
I figured that if you're still suffering through adolescence, maybe a few war stories will cheer you up. If, like me, you've been there, done that, got the Busted t-shirt*, then enjoy the trip down memory lane, titter at my misfortune as a yoof, and feel free to leave any similar tales of woe in the comments box! Because I can't have been the only one who (according to my diary entries, at least) was so thoroughly miserable, right?
Ok, here goes. Welcome to Angstville. Population - Me.
*Sadly, not really, all I got was a commemorative inflatable guitar. Yes, seriously.
1: The Unrequited Crush
I was fourteen, and quite firmly planted in the most ungainly phase of my adolescence. My mouth still bore more than a faint resemblance to a barbed wire fence, and my 32AA Marks and Sparks bra was sadly flapping around my ribcage, totally pointless, and convincing me that never, ever, ever would I have the things which would make me normal - breasts. My Big Bro used to take me along to social occasions, pitying me for being so hopelessly unsocialised due to my attending boarding school in a convent.
Inevitably, these gatherings would always find me hanging at the edge of the party, a lukewarm WKD clutched in a hand that's unpleasantly sweaty due to nerves. Luckily, I'd usually be rescued by one of Big Bro's more sympathetic pals, who would come and hang out with me for a while, debating the merits of the Super Nintendo Entertainment System versus that of the Sega Megadrive, making sure I had a drink, and basically all treating me like their own honourary little sister. Naturally, given that I was fourteen, fairly naive, and hopelessly insecure, these small kindnesses sometimes resulted in possibly the most devastating of adolescent phenomenon - the unrequited crush.
There was one boy, in particular, who would keep me company for hours at these parties, always laughing at even my feeblest jokes, giving me my first ever cigarette, and giving me the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't some kind of mutant that the opposite sex found utterly repellent. Our time together was always drawn to a premature close, however, when his eye would inevitably be drawn to an older, cooler girl, who actually inhaled her tobacco smoke and filled out her (not 32AA) bra. Which would always leave me heartbroken.
Before abandoning me to the social Siberia which was the edge of the party, alone, this boy would always stroke my cheek (making sure to avoid the mouth area, which was pretty sharp), and tell me "Oh Mo, you have so much potential. But you're just not quite there yet, chicken." Or, "You'll be so pretty when you get the braces off, but you still won't have any sex appeal, darling." Which he claims he meant kindly. A pat of the head, and he'd run off to his poonhoundery. I would sigh, take another shudder-inducing swig of WKD, and wish I had Hogwartian powers and could curse the girls in the room who had bigger boobs than me (i.e. all the girls in the room).
Yeah. Crushing stuff.
P.S. I can happily report that life got easier. The braces came off, I got bumped up to a 32B (ka-chiiing!) and I eventually came to the realisation that I was not actually in love with that boy. We're still good friend to this day, and actually, when I was seventeen, had straight pearly-whites, and managed to develop some sex-appeal (apparently), he tried to kiss me at a party where I was NOT sitting on my own in the corner. At which point I jumped up and down, screamed "I WIN!", and rejected him. And victory was very, very sweet.