When I entered Manhattan High School in 1998, I was a dork. A full blown, space camp-attending, buck-toothed, glasses-wearing, social pariah. I had spent the past 8 years at a private, Catholic school, with only about 15 to 20 people in my entire grade, as opposed to the 200 average at the local public schools. So I only knew 15 or 20 people out of about 400 that were in my freshman class at this new school, and most of them thought I was (as I’ve previously mentioned) a huge dork. I probably had about 3 friends to my name.
But this lack of friends actually turned out to be a big positive in my adolescent life. Because I didn’t have a lot of friends coming into high school, it was easier for me to make friends in all different cliques and groups. I was pretty good at sports, so I had my jock friends. I was nerdy, so I had some nerdy friends. I was into music and goofying off, so I had my hilarious, class-clown friends. And I was (secretly) into acting and the drama department, so I had my drama class friends.
My drama class was set straight out of a John Hughes movie. Very Breakfast Club. There was a nerd, a jock, a couple of goths, a debater, a hippie and a kid who just couldn’t stay out of trouble. And me.
Our teacher was this tree-hugging, happy, insane woman who just wanted us to loooooove the theatre. Many days I felt bad for her, since many of the people in this class just took it because they knew everyone got an A and it would be, basically, a free hour. But she always tried to get us involved, and gave us strange assignments that were supposed to make us less insecure, therefore, better actors.
One of these assignments was to lip sync to a song, any song, and do a complete performance as the singer you were impersonating. We were graded on this. And, to top it all off, we were going to have to perform it in front of the entire freshman class.
You could see how this would terrify someone who had 3 friends in the whole school and was hoping to make a few more, not lose the 3 and become a legend of embarrasment for the next four years.
There was a girl in my class named Rebecca. Rebecca (not Becky, never call her Becky!) had just moved to Kansas from New York and was much more educated in the ways of the world. She wanted to be a movie director and felt that Kansas was stifling her. We were put in a group together. Along with a red-headed class-clown, a gansta’ (yes, gansta’) girl and a hippie.
What group did we end up impersonating? What did we decide to perform in front of the whole school? The Beatles? The Jimi Hendrix Experience? Metallica?
Nope, the Spice Girls. I was Sporty Spice. I attempted to do a flip on stage. I fell on my ass. We got a standing ovation. And I made a couple hundred friends.
OK, maybe not a couple hundred, but at least people knew who I was now.
Rebecca and I continued to be quite the odd couple throughout high school. We were never “best” friends, but we always tried to take classes together. Sometimes we even sat together at lunch, horrifying our respective cliques. She was Hermia and I was Helena in our class production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. We had to create a giant tree out of contruction paper for the set and I forgot my lines and instead shouted, “Lysander….go away!” during a very important scene. I also had to dress up as a cheerleader (our “creative” teacher decided it would be Midsummer Night’s Dream set in a high school) and Rebecca let me know when the audience could see up my dress. That’s what I call a good friend.
We tried to hang out throughout high school, but, of course, we grew apart. We took spanish together for a few years, to the shagrin of our teachers. We created a movie highlighting the Easter Rising for AP History where we videotaped a TV set playing a movie starring Liam Niesen. I was credited as playing the British army. We went to the state history fair and placed.
Then we went to college. She moved back to New York and I never really talked to her again. I emailed her on 9/11 to make sure she was OK. She told me about some of the horrible things she saw. Eventually she stopped using that email account and we lost touch.
But I thought of her today. When I read this. Maybe it’s time for a reunion of our own. I may not be able to do a back flip anymore, but really, I never really could anyway.
http://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.png00Meganhttp://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.pngMegan2007-06-28 10:25:342012-08-13 13:22:41I may have not mentioned...
Have you heard of RLS? It’s a very annoying disease that is advertised constantly on TV because, for heaven’s sake, its keeping people awake! Restless leg syndrome is a VERY SERIOUS problem and nothing to be snickered at! Stop laughing, seriously. Or you may end up like me.
Last night (after a day that started at 4:45 a.m. and continued full tilt, without a break until 11 p.m., the second day in a row like this) I told Trent as we lay in bed that I think I may suffer from RLS. He said he thinks I suffer from “Squirmy Ass Sleeper Syndrome” and that I’m a hypocondriac. He may be right, but this lack of sleep lately is really making me loopy.
And it’s as if Lucy knows that I’m stressed out, that I’ve taken on too many projects, and she wants to make sure I know where my priorities are. So she’s woken up the last two nights in a row at 2 a.m. and proceeded to scream until about 4 a.m. Which gives Mama about 3 hours of sleep total, with only 2 of those hours being in a row. Which makes for one grumpy ass Mama. With RLS.
Last night during her second awakening I asked if Trent would go get her and give her some Tylenol, as I had to get up in about 2 hours and I’d tried everything else and when all else fails it must be teething, so TIME TO DRUG THE BABY! He got up and I rolled over. He came back into bed and she was quiet. For about 15 minutes. When the screaming resumed Trent rolled to me and said, “Hey, you may wanna go give her some milk and Tylenol.”
“You didn’t give her Tylenol?”
“No.”
“The Tylenol I specifically asked you to give her?”
“No.”
Then he rolled back over. And my head exploded. I went in, gave her Tylenol and she fell right asleep on my shoulder. Then, after I’d placed her back in her crib I stomped into our bedroom and hopped into the bed, pulled the covers off of Trent and smugly “harumph-ed” into my pillow. I showed him. I was right. And he wasn’t. Point, me.
So, where are all of the outakes from the wedding? All of the party pics?
Why, here, of course! In their uncensored, un-Photoshopped glory!
Event #1: Cocktail Hour
What a cute couple!
Wait, something’s different about this one….
OK, this is getting out of hand! We’re not in Arkansas, boys!
What’s a wedding party without inappropriate sibling chest grabbing?
And then the siblings thought their significant others (and Alan, Steve’s brother) felt left out. Poor us. Wait, they have an idea! Let’s take a picture where we all hop on each other’s backs! It will be so awesome! Or not. I’m going with not.
Then it’s time to go home and eat some chicken salad with a ladle. Because that’s how we roll.
Event #2: The Wedding
“I want chicken salad! I want a ladle! I want to dominate the world! Damn the man, save the Empire!”
Event #3: Baby is with the Grandparents, So Let’s Break it Down!
“Eeevery rose has it’s thorn. Just like eeevery night, has it’s daaaa-aaawn. Just like eeevery cowboy, sings a sad sad song. Eeevery rose, has it’s thooorrn.”
I may have not mentioned…
/4 Comments/in Blond, Fun, Space Camp /by MeganWhen I entered Manhattan High School in 1998, I was a dork. A full blown, space camp-attending, buck-toothed, glasses-wearing, social pariah. I had spent the past 8 years at a private, Catholic school, with only about 15 to 20 people in my entire grade, as opposed to the 200 average at the local public schools. So I only knew 15 or 20 people out of about 400 that were in my freshman class at this new school, and most of them thought I was (as I’ve previously mentioned) a huge dork. I probably had about 3 friends to my name.
But this lack of friends actually turned out to be a big positive in my adolescent life. Because I didn’t have a lot of friends coming into high school, it was easier for me to make friends in all different cliques and groups. I was pretty good at sports, so I had my jock friends. I was nerdy, so I had some nerdy friends. I was into music and goofying off, so I had my hilarious, class-clown friends. And I was (secretly) into acting and the drama department, so I had my drama class friends.
My drama class was set straight out of a John Hughes movie. Very Breakfast Club. There was a nerd, a jock, a couple of goths, a debater, a hippie and a kid who just couldn’t stay out of trouble. And me.
Our teacher was this tree-hugging, happy, insane woman who just wanted us to loooooove the theatre. Many days I felt bad for her, since many of the people in this class just took it because they knew everyone got an A and it would be, basically, a free hour. But she always tried to get us involved, and gave us strange assignments that were supposed to make us less insecure, therefore, better actors.
One of these assignments was to lip sync to a song, any song, and do a complete performance as the singer you were impersonating. We were graded on this. And, to top it all off, we were going to have to perform it in front of the entire freshman class.
You could see how this would terrify someone who had 3 friends in the whole school and was hoping to make a few more, not lose the 3 and become a legend of embarrasment for the next four years.
There was a girl in my class named Rebecca. Rebecca (not Becky, never call her Becky!) had just moved to Kansas from New York and was much more educated in the ways of the world. She wanted to be a movie director and felt that Kansas was stifling her. We were put in a group together. Along with a red-headed class-clown, a gansta’ (yes, gansta’) girl and a hippie.
What group did we end up impersonating? What did we decide to perform in front of the whole school? The Beatles? The Jimi Hendrix Experience? Metallica?
Nope, the Spice Girls. I was Sporty Spice. I attempted to do a flip on stage. I fell on my ass. We got a standing ovation. And I made a couple hundred friends.
OK, maybe not a couple hundred, but at least people knew who I was now.
Rebecca and I continued to be quite the odd couple throughout high school. We were never “best” friends, but we always tried to take classes together. Sometimes we even sat together at lunch, horrifying our respective cliques. She was Hermia and I was Helena in our class production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. We had to create a giant tree out of contruction paper for the set and I forgot my lines and instead shouted, “Lysander….go away!” during a very important scene. I also had to dress up as a cheerleader (our “creative” teacher decided it would be Midsummer Night’s Dream set in a high school) and Rebecca let me know when the audience could see up my dress. That’s what I call a good friend.
We tried to hang out throughout high school, but, of course, we grew apart. We took spanish together for a few years, to the shagrin of our teachers. We created a movie highlighting the Easter Rising for AP History where we videotaped a TV set playing a movie starring Liam Niesen. I was credited as playing the British army. We went to the state history fair and placed.
Then we went to college. She moved back to New York and I never really talked to her again. I emailed her on 9/11 to make sure she was OK. She told me about some of the horrible things she saw. Eventually she stopped using that email account and we lost touch.
But I thought of her today. When I read this. Maybe it’s time for a reunion of our own. I may not be able to do a back flip anymore, but really, I never really could anyway.
When RLS Strikes
/1 Comment/in Grumples, Lucy, Trent /by MeganHave you heard of RLS? It’s a very annoying disease that is advertised constantly on TV because, for heaven’s sake, its keeping people awake! Restless leg syndrome is a VERY SERIOUS problem and nothing to be snickered at! Stop laughing, seriously. Or you may end up like me.
Last night (after a day that started at 4:45 a.m. and continued full tilt, without a break until 11 p.m., the second day in a row like this) I told Trent as we lay in bed that I think I may suffer from RLS. He said he thinks I suffer from “Squirmy Ass Sleeper Syndrome” and that I’m a hypocondriac. He may be right, but this lack of sleep lately is really making me loopy.
And it’s as if Lucy knows that I’m stressed out, that I’ve taken on too many projects, and she wants to make sure I know where my priorities are. So she’s woken up the last two nights in a row at 2 a.m. and proceeded to scream until about 4 a.m. Which gives Mama about 3 hours of sleep total, with only 2 of those hours being in a row. Which makes for one grumpy ass Mama. With RLS.
Last night during her second awakening I asked if Trent would go get her and give her some Tylenol, as I had to get up in about 2 hours and I’d tried everything else and when all else fails it must be teething, so TIME TO DRUG THE BABY! He got up and I rolled over. He came back into bed and she was quiet. For about 15 minutes. When the screaming resumed Trent rolled to me and said, “Hey, you may wanna go give her some milk and Tylenol.”
“You didn’t give her Tylenol?”
“No.”
“The Tylenol I specifically asked you to give her?”
“No.”
Then he rolled back over. And my head exploded. I went in, gave her Tylenol and she fell right asleep on my shoulder. Then, after I’d placed her back in her crib I stomped into our bedroom and hopped into the bed, pulled the covers off of Trent and smugly “harumph-ed” into my pillow. I showed him. I was right. And he wasn’t. Point, me.
Then my alarm went off.
Crap.
Steve & Allison’s Wedding, Debauchery Addition
/4 Comments/in Blond, Family, Photos /by MeganSo, where are all of the outakes from the wedding? All of the party pics?
Why, here, of course! In their uncensored, un-Photoshopped glory!
Event #1: Cocktail Hour
What a cute couple!
Wait, something’s different about this one….
OK, this is getting out of hand! We’re not in Arkansas, boys!
What’s a wedding party without inappropriate sibling chest grabbing?
And then the siblings thought their significant others (and Alan, Steve’s brother) felt left out. Poor us. Wait, they have an idea! Let’s take a picture where we all hop on each other’s backs! It will be so awesome! Or not. I’m going with not.
Then it’s time to go home and eat some chicken salad with a ladle. Because that’s how we roll.
Event #2: The Wedding
“I want chicken salad! I want a ladle! I want to dominate the world! Damn the man, save the Empire!”
Event #3: Baby is with the Grandparents, So Let’s Break it Down!
“Eeevery rose has it’s thorn. Just like eeevery night, has it’s daaaa-aaawn. Just like eeevery cowboy, sings a sad sad song. Eeevery rose, has it’s thooorrn.”
Trent busts a move, and almost busts his ass.
They’re break-dance fighting. Practicing to be future contestants on “So You Think You Can Dance.”
It’s, like, 11 o’clock! Party animals! Now, where is my bed?
A rousing rendition of “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany.
“I think we’re alone now, there doesn’t seem to be anyone ah-rou-ound.”
Drunk enough to take a photo together, not so drunk that we both can’t look just a little awkward about it.
At the Scott Peters Center For Children Who Can’t Read Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too, we teach you that there’s more to life than being really, really good looking.
Thanks to Erin for all of the great shots!
