Retro Diary Week

The blog is so fun. Ever since the blog started I've found that I don't write as often in an actual paper journal. In fact, in the last few years I've found that I don't write with a pen very often at all. All of my creative writing is done on my computer, correspondance is all electric...journaling is with the blog. I realized once that I couldn't recognize most of my friend's handwriting if it was put in front of me. It's a little sad, I sort of like to see the way people write, especially when they write to me. Were they careful? Did they scratch out mispelled words or let them go? Did they use white out? Did they use their best handwriting? Did they doodle in the margins? The idea of writing a letter now seems so ridiculous because the information enclosed would be so dated.

However, there were many years that I did write, diligently, in a diary. A "Blog on Paper" for you youngsters. I have about 15 diaries, starting with covers that have kittens on them and the words "Keep Out Tate!" written inside...as though that stern warning from a ten year old girl would matter. Then we move into the Fairy and Rainbow covered journals of my adolescense. Such a hilarious time, and when I say hilarious I of course mean tragic. Then we move right along into the Salvador Dali covered high school experience where life is so hard and everyone hates me and what will I wear to the prom and why don't my parents UNDERSTAND me? We end with the black and white photographed covers of college diaries filled with insecurity about knowledge and large general statements about my thought on issues.

Now, I've decided to make this retro diary week where we will all take a look at some of the most hilariously misinformed moments of my youth and see what we can make of them. I know this seems a little selfy, but...it's my blog so who cares. And also, I'm not feeing especially witty or full of stories this week so I'm going to rely on younger me to do the work. I'm not going to dump my life story out here, just going to find a MAJOR problem from the kitty cat journal and see how it might relate.
Here we go.

I'll start by saying that I always carefully labeled my diaries on the first page and wrote the dates and the year on every entry, which is very helpful. In this diary I also seem to have a quote on the first page from "The Diary of Anne Frank" which is either setting very high or very low expectations for myelf. Hm.

Setember 11, 1992
Tody I turned 13. I got the best coat in the world, it's SUEDE! Plus I got this book, my own phone AND phone line and a necklace with 13 gold beads on it. I tried to call a few people, but no one was home. We went to a good movie, it was called "Death Becomes Her". I might cal ***** tomorrow although my parents would kil me if they knew I was calling long distance all over the place. I'd like to talk to him though, although there wouldn't be much to say. When I'm face to face with him sometimes I can't think of anything to say and when I write him I write too much about myself. Maybe the phone will be a good mediator. I can't believe I'm 13 years old. So old. I can still remember looking up to all the big thirteen year olds. I'm sleepy...goodnight diary, and goodnight childhood...now that I'm 13 I've just closed one chapter of my life and opened a new one. I'm saying that because ***** says I'm an optimist. Night.

Wow. So old. I'd like to go back and say, "Wait till you're pushing 30 kiddo." The boy I'm talking about here was some guy who was older than me that I hung out with the summer before...last I ever heard he was in jail. Suede coats were the bomb and you had to have one and wear it with your guess jeans and listen to Mariah Carey or you were nothing. There are photographs in existence of me opening the box with the coat and hugging it with delight. It was like, "Here, here is your chance to try and impress a bunch of snobby kids you don't really like to begin with." I lived in Ohio at the time and all my friends lived...everywhere else. Living with actors made me have a tendancy toward dramatics, hence the farewell to my youth at thirteen years old. I lost the necklace about a month later, which mom pretended to be sad about but it was one of those cheesy add a bead necklaces that everyone at the time had where you add a bead each year...so maybe she realized she was actually going to save money. I still think Death Becomes Her is a pretty good movie. We came home and our fat cat Oliver was on the counter licking all the icing off my cake. I definetely remember yelling at him "Why are you ruining my birthday?!" And then feeling really guilty when he yarfled.
All I know is this, there is no amount of money you could pay me to go be 13 again...and one day when I have a little girl and she morphs into that prepubescent blob of insecurity I'm either going to ship her out or make her crazy for my own enjoyment. "I HATE YOU!" "You hate shoes?"
I'm off to eat lunch now, goodnight Childhood...and goodnight teenagehood...oh, and goodnight early adulthood...oh and goodnight...yeah...that's it, whew.