    Remember cassette tapes? Those were SO 1996. Actually, by 1996, most people probably had CDs, but I was behind the times. I know I've complained about cassette tapes before, so I won't ramble on too much now... but it's still weird to me how archaic seem today. My cassette tapes will be to my children what my parents' 8-track tapes are to me. The time-consuming concepts of rewinding, fast-forwarding, and flipping a tape over are totally foreign to kids in the 21st century. And yet, possibly a cumulative hour of my childhood was spent performing those tasks. Sigh. Nostalgia.
What is this "sign from God" business? Where did I learn that? What a load of crap. If it wasn't 2 chipmunks that was the sign, I would have noticed something else odd... or I would have waited a few hours until I noticed something odd and then would have taken that to be the sign. Apparently, I didn't put much faith in God or take my religion 100% seriously at the time if my next step was to try the not-so-Catholic Ouija board.
My mom would have never let me get a Ouija board under her watch... so I went behind her back and told my friend to get it for me for my birthday. When I opened it at my party, I quickly ripped the plastic off the box so that my mom couldn't make me return it. Sneaky.
Unfortunately, neither God nor Ouiga came through for me convincingly on the Craig issue. Where's the magic 8 ball when you need it?
So I hate to half-ass this entry, but I'm just gonna be honest-- "NYC Prep" is on right now and I'm trying to watch that, write this, and get to bed no later than 10:30. And unfortunately, I'm too stubborn to budge on any of those. Have you watched this show "NYC Prep"? It's more teenage drama than my diary entries. I love it and am totally addicted to it.
Oh yeah, back to this entry...   That's probably the longest play-by-play possible just to communicate that Craig and I slow-danced. But I guess the fact that 5,000 people had to ask him to dance with me was a valid detail because it showed his original hesitation. And I guess the fact that he didn't want to dance to "Head Over Feet" is a valid detail because it shows that he actually wanted to dance to a slow song... not just half-ass it and get it over with (like I'm doing to this entry). On the other hand, the "meeting under the basketball hoop" and "shortest girl" details were pretty irrelevant.
If you know me, you know I love cheese. I have always loved cheese. My nana tells stories about me as a little girl begging "cheese please!". In elementary school, my dad used to cut shapes out of cheese and arrange them into a picture on a plate for me as a bedtime snack. In high school, all of my friends brought various cheeses into school on my birthday. For my Senior Prom in high school, I ate an 8oz block of cheddar cheese every night for a week before the dance to try to gain weight to help fill out my strapless dress (it didn't work). Before leaving for college, my dad gave me a really nice wooden cheese board/slicer. In college, my friends saved me an entire cheese tray that was leftover from one of the campus events. Just last night for dinner, I made a grilled cheese sandwich... with four types of cheese.
And apparently in middle school, my crush Craig and I discussed cheese cutters while slow dancing. I am not surprised.
My husband... can you guess who??Seriously, get ready for the trip to the museum. It's so intense I had to break it into four separate clips!
 Damn, I wish I had some details on how fast Craig reportedly moved. It was seventh grade. Was it just kissing? Was it making out? Was it... more??? I have a feeling it was just kissing or maybe making out. And if that is the case, what the hell was I so freaked out about?
I wanted a boyfriend so badly but I hadn't put much thought into what would happen after I actually got a boyfriend. To me, a boyfriend would be someone to write notes to during school, dance with at school dances, and perhaps even hold hands with. But kissing? Apparently I wasn't ready for that. I wonder how long I thought would have been an appropriate length of time to date a boy before kissing would be okay.
I am just so appalled and confused by the suggestion that I would have actually DUMPED a boy if he tried to make out with me. Fast-forward to college when I basically had an open invitation for guys to get fresh with me with very few prerequisites. Seventh-grade-me would not have thought very highly of college-me. Just as conversely today, I don't for a second understand my seventh grade rationale. The naivete of it is kinda cute though.
I can't decide... is it a good thing or a sad thing that all the shit Doug put me through (and in his defense, nothing was even all that traumatic) led me to find a "Maybe, probably not" response from Craig to be *hopeful*? Aw.
  If I had a nickel for every time I promised I would never like Doug again... Honestly, it's kind of ridiculous.
Anyhow, I feel so bad for my poor misguided preteen self. I basically said that I would have rather been stupid and attractive than smart and ugly. Aw. Sad. That's middle school for you. Middle school was the first time popularity became an issue. All I wanted was to be pretty, funny, popular, and to have boys like me. The last thing I wanted to be was a nerd.
Apparently in high school I said "F all that" and gave up on the whole popularity thing. However, I don't remember whether my participation in Drama Club, National Honor Society, and Key Club in high school was responsible for sabotaging my popularity pursuit or whether I gave up on popularity first and then joined those activities. I think it was probably the latter because I don't really remember anyone caring about popularity in high school. Probably mainly because I went to a big high school and everyone kind of did their own thing.
But the "new" issue of popularity in middle school caused those years to be especially interesting and full of drama. It sure as hell sucked at the time, but you gotta love looking back at it now for its entertainment value!
Here's a fake interview I did with my favorite "professional radio dude"...Martin was on "Martin & Warvel In the Morning" on Jet-102. I don't remember why I liked him so much and researching online only led me to one web page of relevance: http://erieradio.tripod.com/jet/id5.html
And from that, all I can gather is that Frank Martin was OLD. I wonder if I knew that then. He must have been older than my grandparents at the time. Well, older than my grandparents today too... but you know what I'm saying.
So that phone number I mentioned (838-9KRI) was clearly made up on the spot considering my own phone number growing up coincidentally also began with 838-9. And do you like how I yawned in the middle of giving the numbers that correspond to K-R-I to give me enough time to pick up my phone and figure them out?
The legit phone ringing was pretty impressive too, huh? Did you ever used to do that trick? All you had to do is call your own phone number and quickly put down the receiver and then the phone would ring. Magic. I don't know how we figured that out as kids or how we used it (other than making the phone ring for our fake radio shows)... but it was a pretty cool thing to do I suppose.
Too bad I fired the weather guy on air the other day... see how it all comes together like that?
  I've always appreciated a nice set of choppers!
I can't even relate to people with naturally perfect teeth. Or people with perfect eyes either. Or perfect skin! If natural selection applied to humans, I probably wouldn't be alive today. My weak crooked-toothed farsighted dry-skinned ancestors would have been killed off long ago.
Every time I look at pictures of myself pre-braces, I am reminded of how much orthodontia has changed my life. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration but I am pretty sure I would be a completely different person today if I still had that mangled mess of misplaced teeth in my head. My first kiss probably would have been delayed at least 10-15 years and I may not even have friends. And I wouldn't laugh as often or own mirrors.
I hated having braces for six freaking years, but it was definitely worth it. The worst part though was when they took my braces off sometime in sixth grade for a few months... just to give me a break or tease me or have an excuse to bill my parents more or something... and then - SURPRISE - put the braces back on for another two years. Which in middle school felt like a lifetime. But in the end, like I said, it was worth it.
So... thanks Mom and Dad for investing in my smile! Laaaaaaaame, I know. But for real, thank you. :)
There is nothing worse in the entire world than a diary with thin pages.
Diary #4 was my first real experience with this, as you can see in the entry below. You can practically read the next entry right through the paper! After dealing with this issue once, I've intentionally inspected the paper of every diary I've bought since to ensure proper thickness and opacity. At some point I moved on to using 5-Star brand spiral notebooks as diaries but got pissed when I bought a new one and later realized they'd cheapened their paper on me. I remember that my first entry in that diary was a tirade against 5-Star's paper change.
Anyhow, I apologize if you have trouble reading this entry. I blame the shitty paper. Fortunately though, a few scans later I figured out how to change the settings so the images don't look quite so horrible... but I was too lazy to go back and re-scan the first few... so deal with it. :P  YES. Two swear words in the first entry of this diary! Off to a great start already. Seventh grade was a crazy year... I can't wait to re-live it. Sike.
Here's what happens when you "accidentally" leave the mics on when your fake radio show goes on a fake coffee break...To all professional radio DJs out there: make sure you do not make the same mistake because if so, you will most likely:- fire your weather guy simply because he's stupid and annoying
- reveal your crush on Rider Strong, describing him as "so cute"
- learn that your co-host has the hots for 90s supermodel Claudia Schiffer.
 Onward to Diary #4!
I apologize for not posting in almost a week... but this summer is crazy. Especially with work. I've been working ten and eleven hour days recently... yikes. But I'm not here for sympathy. I'm here to share with you this drama-filled gem:
(ha... funny the diary entry also starts with an apology for not writing often...)
    I can't imagine a more legitimate reason to hate your life other than having a little sister tease you and not give you mints. That is, unless she's also sitting in the highly-desired front seat of the car when she does it. In that case, you might as well wish death upon yourself and apologize for your birth.
Seriously?
There are children in this world with no sisters, no mothers, no cars, and worst of all- no breath mints... and yet I was the one with such a sucky life? I'm embarrassed now by the drama I caused. Sure my sister played instigator... but why was my gut reaction physical violence rather than calmly saying, "Mom, Kasey won't give me the mints" and waiting for Mom to make her hand them over? Sure it'd be kinda whiney, but it definitely would have solved the issue better and faster. Oh the joys of sibling rivalry.
So quick comments about my seventh grade teachers. It's interesting looking back and comparing my first impressions to my last (and current) impressions. In backwards order...
Mr. Jones: First impression = "weird". I'd say that's somewhat accurate. I mean, he wasn't that weird... but he did grunt a lot and had a crooked finger or something. But other than that, I think he was a decent guy.
Mrs. Chandler: First impression = "really nice". I honestly can't even picture what this woman looked like. All I remember is learning about variables. I thought algebra was awesome. Yay math!
Mr. Lohse: First impression = "okay". He flirted with my mom big time when she came to take-your-parent-to-school-day or whatever it was called. He even wrote "Say hi to your mom for me!" in my yearbook at the end of the year. Awkward. He ended up being my favorite teacher that year. He was always super nice to me... probably because he had the hots for my mom.
Mrs. Decker: First impression = "okay". Ohhh Mrs. Decker. She was really supportive of my creative writing (she even read some of my stories out loud to the class) and was really nice to me... until I f-ed up royally. Unfortunately, I don't have enough time right now to discuss the details of the traumatic events I caused in her classroom... but hopefully we'll come back to that soon. Definitely before my 7th grade diary entries are over! Don't you worry!
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