Childhood Memories of the 80's
Christian Vs. Keanu
I’m ashamed to admit this now, but my first celebrity crush was on a crazy Scientologist. Granted, I didn’t know when I was in third grade and watching “Top Gun” what a complete freak show Tom Cruise would turn out to be; all I saw was a cute guy with a great smile named Maverick. My crush on Tommy boy lived all the way through grade school until junior high, when I discovered a little hottie named Christian Slater.
Oh, Christian! He was always the rebel. The bad boy. I lusted after his prepubescent body in “The Legend of Billy Jean” and “Gleaming The Cube.” Then, he grew into full-blown hotness in “Pump Up The Volume,” “Young Guns,” and “Heathers.” LOVED him in “Heathers!” He was channeling a creepy, Jack Nicholson-esque vibe and I dug it. He even starred with Patrick Dempsey in “Mobsters.” Patrick was my secret crush because he was still pretty dorky back then (who the hell knew he would turn into McDreamy?!), but according to my Seventeen magazine, he and Christian did not get along on set. Patrick found Christian to be very temperamental, but that only made me like him more.
As I matured into a high schooler, my tasted in men changed as well. That’s when I saw “Point Break” starring one Mr. Keanu Reeves and I was instantly taken by him. OH MY GOD he was HOOOOOT! And he still is! Sadly, Christian’s hairline has seen better days, but Keanu looks almost exactly the same after all these years. I think this just proves the fact that stoners age quite well 
Sure, he sounds like a surfer when he speaks, but I was willing to over look that one tiny flaw. He was just too beautiful. “Speed” really sealed the deal for me. I had a snow day at school, so my mom and I rented that movie and watched it to pass the time. I think even though my mom can’t pronounce his name to save her life, that she had a bit of a crush on him, too.
I distinctly remember cutting out pictures of Christian and Keanu from all my teeny bopper magazines and taping them to the full length mirror in my bedroom. It was like a shrine of hotness. I fully believed I was going to grow up and marry one of them. And you know what? I do believe they are both single at the moment…
Gifts of Christmas Past
Since my heart has been blackened from my years in retail, I must look to my past to remember a time when Christmas was actually a joyous experience. A simpler time, when I would lay awake all night on Christmas Eve just thinking about what gifts I would open the next day. Sometimes I kind of knew what I was getting and other times it was a complete surprise.
One of my all-time favorite gifts was, in quintessential 80’s fashion, a cabbage patch kid. I wanted one SOOOO badly, as did almost every girl my age. I ended up with four altogether, but I’ll never forget my first. Her name was Marla Jolla (yeah, I DID NOT pick that name) and she had long brown hair that was tied in two braids. I LOVED HER. My mom bought patterns and sewed outfits for her. I even had a little cheerleaders uniform for Marla that matched my school’s uniforms. I took my adoptive parent’s pledge quite seriously and Marla still lives with my parents (her grandparents) to this day. My mother, a University of Illinois alumni, eventually had an Illini outfit made for her and she’s displayed in their computer room.
Another great gift I received was a “Disco Barbie.” That was not her real name, but it fit her well. This Barbie was smoking hot! She had a tan, and came dressed with a gold lame’ hot pants outfit. Her hair was a dark blonde color and it had streaks of gold throughout it. Yeah, I would catch her and my Ken doll in compromising positions all the time .
As I got older, the gifts I received became a bit more sophisticated. When I was in 8th grade, I got a Nintendo Gameboy! I was not expecting it and was beside myself with excitement. Now, this was not the sleek Gameboy with color screens that they have out now. No, this behemoth of a game was big & awkward, and required two hands at all times to hold it. I think it also operated on twelve D-size batteries. The screen was black and white and the games were large square things that you stuck in the back of the Gameboy.
The games I received with it were Tetris (of course) & Super Mario (of course). I spent the next two months trying to rescue Princess Daisy, to the point my thumbs would hurt from pressing the buttons too hard. I’ll never forget the first time I actually made it all the way to the end. I felt like I’d just won Olympic gold! I’m proud to say that the Gameboy was passed down to my nephews, who played it when they were young (and until they got the newer, better version).
Yes, Christmas is better when you’re a kid and someday when I have my first child, I’m hoping to relive all that excitement again through their eyes. Until then, I’ll just have my memories.
The Booger Corner and Other Nasal Memories
Yes, That Is Booger!
As I was growing up, there was a part of our home that was lovingly referred to as “the booger corner.” This was a small patch of carpet by an armchair in our TV room that my older brother Alex would wipe his boogers on. Just in case anyone thinks we were total white trash, I assure you, we were not. Both of my parents are college educated, owned their own businesses, and we had a beautiful home. Why either one of my parents would allow my brother to do this, I’m still not sure. I don’t think they really believed he wiped his boogies there, but I swear that patch of carpet was stiffer than the rest of the living room. Oh, and I saw him do it…many, many times.
Another fond nasal memory I have is the time Alex and I decided to shove pretzels up our nose. Hey, doesn’t EVERY kid do that?! They were the long, stick-like kind and we did this for quite some time. And being the thoughtful children that we were, we then just left them all lying on the coffee table. We left the room to go do something else and when we came back, there was my mom eating the tainted pretzels and enjoying every last bite. Yes, we laughed very hard at her.
Not to be outdone, my older sister has a nasal memory, too. Apparently, when Kelly was three years old, she stuck a lima bean up her nose. And no one knew…until a few days later when a horrible stench was coming from her and no one could figure out what it was. So my mom took Kelly to the doctor, he looked up there with a light and saw what was causing the smell. He then pulled the rotting lima bean out and everything was fine. Just thinking about what that lima bean must have looked like makes my gag reflex kick in.
I have no clue why my family is obsessed with putting things in/pulling things out of their nose, but so far this trait has not extended down to my nieces and nephews, so apparently it must skip a generation. What a shame.
80’s Flashback: Tales From The Darkside
One of my all-time favorite scary shows as a kid was “Tales From The Darkside.” I also liked the new “Twilight Zone” and “Amazing Stories,” but there was just something extra freaky about The Darkside. Maybe it was the way each episode began. First, there would be a picture of a serene country side in color and then, BAM, it would turn to black and white and a Vincent Price-like voice would say:
“Man lives, in the sunlit world of what he believes to be reality.
But… there is, unseen by most, an underworld, a place that is just as real,
but not as brightly lit…..a DARKSIDE.”
CREEPY. And the music sounded like a deranged women banging away at the harpsichord. And each episode would end with the same voice saying:
“The dark side is always there, waiting for us to enter, waiting to enter us.
Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight.”
EXTRA CREEPY. Darkside was produced by George A. Romero who made the “Creepshow” movies so it’s no surprise it was pretty twisted. The series aired from 1983 to 1988, but for some reason, NONE of my friends remember it. I had actually forgotten all about it, too, until a couple of months ago when I stumbled upon the SYFI Channel showing reruns. I was in heaven!
Watching it now, more than twenty years later, the series is more kitschy than scary, but it’s still a good time either way. Watch it…if you think you can handle the darkside [insert deranged music here]
Teacher, May I Be Excused To Vomit?
With summer coming to an end and kids everywhere preparing to go back to school, I can’t help but reflect on my own school days. What do I have fond memories of? Is it learning to read, making new friends, or getting an A on a difficult project? No…I only remember each and every time someone in my class puked. Here are some memorable vomiting stories circa 1986-1988:
I remember being in second grade and going to the gymnasium to hear the local TV weather man, Neil Kastor, give a presentation on what it’s like to be a meteorologist. Everyone sat cross-legged on the floor. As a treat, the teachers gave us cheese popcorn to eat while we listened to Mr. Kastor. We were told to be very quiet and not talk or else we would get our name on the board (which was the ULTIMATE punishment). Half-way through Mr. Kastor talking, I could hear that familar gagging sound. My classmate, Jenny, had thrown up all her cheese popcorn, which was still bright orange, and it was slowly spreading across the floor like a giant neon blob. All the kids were too scared to talk or raise their hands, lest we be punished, so everyone just started scooting silently away from the evil orange mass. It smelled wretched. Finally, one of the teachers noticed what had happened and cleaned up the moving stench.
I also recall that same year on Halloween getting all dressed up and having a costume party in the classroom. Everyone was eating candy and having fun when Corey, who was dressed as a vampire, puked all over his desk. And, unfortunately, all his candy was on top of his desk.
Then there was the day, back in 1988, when I was in fourth grade. I can’t remember what was served for lunch that day in the cafeteria, but something tells me it contributed to three kids violently vomiting right after eating it. If memory serves correct, my friend Val was the first to up-chuck. We were at recess in the gym and she puked on the floor. One down, two more to go. After recess was over, we went back to the classroom and started in on our lesson plan.
Pretty soon, Noah was franticly raising his hand. As soon as Miss Blankenship called on him, he stood up and projectile puked all over the floor. It was bad. I never thought that much puke could come out of one kid. Miss Blankenship called for the custodian to come and put that gross pink saw dust crap on it (which I think makes the puke smell even pukier). While all of us were trying to avoid the aisle o’puke, my friend Audrey started gagging. She ran to the bathroom and Miss Blankenship moved us out into the hall because the smell was so fowl. I swear that room smelled horrible for a week afterwards.
I hope as all these youngsters go back to school, they truly appreciate and remember all the new, puke-filled memories that await them. I’m getting misty-eyed just writing about them.
Freedom Fest
2009 Freedom Fest Page 1
2009 Freedom Fest Page 2
With the 4th of July approaching, I’ve been reflecting on the celebrations of my youth. My small hometown puts on a “Freedom Fest” every year and it’s quite the spectacle. Here’s how the agenda for the day would usually go down.
7:00a.m- Wake up and walk across the street to the park to stuff myself full of pancakes and watch the runners come in from the annual 5k race. Is there a better way to celebrate our country’s independence than to wolf down a butt-ton of carbs while watching people have mini-strokes running in 90 degree heat?
12:00p.m.- Line up downtown and get ready to watch the big parade. Or, more accurately, get ready to pounce upon all the candy that will thrown my way and elbow any kid that tries to muscle in on my turf. Lay off, bitches, those Smarties are mine!
2:00p.m.- Go out to the park district and watch the mud volleyball/softball/tractor pull tournaments. It will also be at this time that I devour all the tasty carnie food that is being sold. Cotton candy, onion rings, elephant ears, & lemon shake-ups will be the bulk of my food pyramid.
3:00p.m.- I mentally prepare for the Lion’s Club Penny Scramble. My father is a member, so I always feel I will have the upper hand in searching through the stacks of hay for coins. Yes, I said stacks of hay. There really is no better sensation on a hot summer’s day, than having to (again) elbow a bunch of little kids as we all frantically search through hay for pennies. There is always one coveted silver dollar in the stack. Do you think I ever found it? No. Did I come out feeling morally defeated, with hay stuck to me with my own sweat? Yes.
4:00p.m.- Vomit up all the carnie food I gorged on.
5:00p.m- Go to the Methodist Church’s Ice Cream Social. Because I am now hungry from purging up all my food, I stuff myself again with cherry pie a la’ mode.
6:00p.m- Quick nap in preparation for the evening’s fireworks display.
9:00p.m.- Let the fireworks begin! Now, one might think that a small town would have a shitty fireworks display. Well, think again! The townsfolk work all year to raise the money (I’ve heard it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars) to bring a company in from Chicago to put on the show. It’s AWAZING and draws a huge crowd from all over the state. It’s actually better than most big city displays…Ha!
Sadly, I haven’t been able to make it home in the last few years to truly enjoy the opulence that is Galva’s Freedom Fest, but I am there in my heart. I wish everyone a Happy Fourth of July! Have fun and be safe wherever you celebrate!
“And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free…”
Karma, You’re A Bitch
When I was in 4th grade, my friends and I started a club and we dubbed it “The Snob Squad.” Yes, we were little bitches. I don’t think the club had any real purpose, other than making us feel cool. And I was a force to be reckoned with. If a member crossed me, then may God have mercy on their soul. I once tore up a fellow member’s card (yes, we made ourselves membership cards) in front of her face in the bathroom and kicked her the fuck out. It was almost mafia-like in a way. Had I known how to use a gun, bitch would have been taken out execution style.
So now I’m sure that karma is repaying me because I’m in danger of being kicked out of a club. Well, not technically a club, but I like being a member of it. Humor Bloggers (not to be confused with Humor-Blogs) has decided that they shouldn’t have allowed people to openly enroll on their website. About a month ago, this site, which you previously had to be voted into, decided to allow any humor blogger to join in an effort to grow their membership. Now they’ve decided that wasn’t such a hot idea, and, like ducks in a row, they will be kicking bloggers out that they don’t feel meet their standards. So now I get to anxiously await and see if I’m funny enough to be in their club. All I have to say is,” Karma, you’re a bitch.”
Simply Cybill
As my previous post stated, I had a pretty shitty Monday. The cherry on top was the fact that I thought I opened at work and showed up at 9a.m, only to realize I actually closed. That, paired with my ballistic bitch customer, had me feeling very defeated when I finally got home that night. I stopped to grab my mail before I came in and amongst the bills and magazines was a peculiar-looking envelope. My name and address were hand-written and the return address was Studio City, CA. My heart jumped…I knew instantly what it was.
A few months ago I had written to my favorite childhood actress, Cybill Sheperd, and requested a new autographed pic of her. I actually had one when I was little (that had a personalized message for me on it) and to this day, I’m convinced it was stolen by a classmate of mine at my 9th birthday party. That same classmate got knocked up last year by a one night stand…take that, bitch! That’s karma’s way of telling you not to steal autographed pics of Cybill Sheperd!
I raced up to my apartment and carefully opened the envelope (my hands were trembling with excitement by this point) and there it was… my new autographed pic of the one and only Ms. Sheperd. No personal message and she’s not wearing the sassy strapless purple dress with zebra stripes from my first pic, but somehow, it’s enough.
To celebrate the gloriousness that is Cybill, I’m also re-running a post I wrote about “Moonlighting” back in March. Enjoy!
Blue Moon
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Brooke Amanda. She was a happy child, cheeky if you will. One crisp autumn night back in 1987, Brooke’s mother turned to her and said, “There’s a new show premiering tonight that I think you’ll really like. It’s about a detective agency. I’ll even let you stay up past your bedtime to watch it.” Brooke was very excited because she NEVER got to stay up past her bedtime. This must be a really special event. What was the name of the show that would change Brooke’s young life? “Moonlighting.”
Brooke did stay up past her bedtime that night and every Thursday night from then on out. She was absolutely mesmerized by Bruce Willis and Cybill Sheperd as detectives David Addison and Maddie Hayes. Those two had a tumultuous and sexually charged relationship that little Brooke couldn’t get enough of back then. She wanted to BE Maddie Hayes. All she’d have to do was grow up to be a gorgeous blonde who wore fabulous designer dresses all the time. How hard could that be?
Brooke plastered her tiny bedroom with pictures of the two actors and she even wrote a fan letter to Ms. Shepherd, who was gracious enough to send little Brooke an autographed postcard back. Never mind the fact that some bitch at her 9th birthday party stole it from her room and to this day she is bitter about the whole thing; it was still a really nice gesture from such a famous star.
Brooke considered becoming a private detective for a while so she could go on zany capers just like Maddie and David. She also wanted to have a love-hate relationship with a wacky male counterpart that was filled with sexual tension. David and Maddie’s relationship would set the standard for how Brooke wanted her romances to be.
To Brooke’s dismay, once David and Maddie finally consummated their relationship, the show went downhill. The chemistry they once shared was gone and the show, like Brooke, just never recovered. Brooke even remembers having a lengthy/inapporpriate/awkward conversation with her mother about how those two should have never slept together. So boys and girls, the moral of the story is, if you find someone in your life that you can verbally spar with, don’t fuck them. The End.
Pet Cemetary
I’ll just say it, I’m not a big animal person, nor is anyone in my family. I did always want a puppy growing up, but was denied one because, “I don’t want an animal peeing in my house.” Those were my mother’s words. My dad HATES cats with a passion and would probably sign a petition to start a genocide of the entire feline population. As an adult, I’ve always lived in apartments that didn’t allow cats or dogs. Maybe it’s a good thing I never had a large animal, because things didn’t work out so well with the small pets I did own.
Tom, RIP, 1987-1988
My first pet was a rabbit named Tom after Tom Cruise (he was my childhood crush before he got all weird and Scientology.) The ONLY reason my dad let me get Tom was because my uncle bred rabbits at the time and had hundreds to choose from. Tom was NEVER allowed in the house, even in the winter. We had a hutch thing for him and my parents swore he was warm in his fur. If it got too cold, my dad would put him in the (unheated) garage. Yeah, I’m sure his fur and the hay in his cage kept him really warm in a sub-zero Illinois winter. I got Tom in the summer, by winter he had developed a weird skin rash, and by New Year’s… Tom was dead. I should have called the damn ASPCA on my parents.
Sonny, RIP, 1994-1996
My next pet faired much better. It was a parakeet I bought from Wal-Mart and I named her Sonny. Actually, I have no freaking clue if it was male or female, but I decided it was a lady. I bought her all kinds of toys for her cage and cleaned it out (semi) regularly. Sonny actually lived for three years and I thought that was a long time for a pet bought at the same establishment they sell hunting rifles.
Romeo & Juliet, RIP
When I got my own place a few years ago, I decided to go the parakeet route again. After all, I had done so well with Sonny, what could go wrong? I bought two parakeets at PETCO (so they could keep each other company) and named them Romeo and Juliet. How freaking cute was that? Everything was fine and dandy all day as they adjusted to their new environment. I even covered their cage before I went to bed. When I woke up in the morning and took off the cover, one of them was dead on the cage floor. WTF? They didn’t have to take their names so literally! I almost puked trying to get the dead one out, but I managed it and immediatly threw it in the dumpster outside. When I called PETCO to inquire about a refund, they told me I had to bring the dead bird in along with the reciept. So, no refund. I later gave Juliet (I decided it was Romeo who had died) to my sister-in-law to keep in ther first grade classroom. I’m sure she was much happier surrounded by all the children.
I’ve been thinking lately about getting another pet. With Easter coming, I’m looking into getting a cute little rabbit, but this time, it would live INDOORS and I would take amazing care of it. What do you think, readers? Bunny or no bunny?
