I want to make this friday's post kinda fun. Seeing as the weather outside is shitty, snowy and de-morale-izing, plus I'm very tired and merely wish to lie down upon a soft horizontal surface, perhaps with a blanket and pillow, to curl up and sleep. (on the other hand, i had a really scary dream last night that there were these flesh-eating zombies and then there was this guy named "Kato" who looked like Jeremy Irons with bleach-blond hair who was shooting the zombies like a sniper...it was nuts. I am *so* scared of Zombies that I woke up poor BF in the middle of the night and kept saying
"I had a nightmare!"
"Mmmmmarrrrgh. Blurggghhh. Urnnnnnnnnnhh.")
So anyways, on fashion. When I was a little kid, my mom used to get quite infuriated with me because I said, kicking and stomping and throwing a bow down on the floor, "I don't WANT to be your little Barbie doll!" I hated submersing my head in water--washing my hair was a real epic task--but somehow I ended up with blond 'banana curls.' I guess I was cutely dressed in little pinafores and sundress type things. When I hit seven, though, I was in first grade in Mrs....shit, McGruff wasn't her name, that was the name of that "Take a Bite out of Crime" dog. Anyways, I was in her first grade class and I was pretty darn tough. I was the tallest girl, and I loved playing goalie on the soccer team. My idea of what to wear? Well, in 1993, what I wanted most were comfy sneakers, and big t-shirts, and legging-pants (eeep, the horror). Plus a big puffy purple jacket. I remember one time, I was on the playground in first grade while it was raining during recess, and all the kids were out. My mom had dressed me in a particularly...unusual?...outfit that day. She had good intentions, I guess...it was a white turtleneck shirt with a really bizarre bell-shaped short green plaid jumper with big gold buttons. It made me look like a leprechaun of some kind. This big sixth grader guy came over and insulted me, so I kicked him really hard in the shin. Then he pushed me down in a really big puddle. I got myself up and ran away and cried inside the loghouse.
Also, I first got glasses in first grade. They were the big plastic framed kind, with pink plastic frames. I looked awful in them. I remember the first day I wore them to school--and I had a lot of friends in first grade--and I was so nervous, I put my head down on my desk and cried because I was scared that nobody would want to be my friend anymore when I had glasses. Also, my goldfish Nickelodeon had just died. But I remember everyone being really nice.
I was homeschooled for 2nd-5th grade. So I didn't care what the hell I looked like, at all. No fashion sense whatsoever. When I went back to school in the end of 5th grade, it was St. Robert's Catholic School. I was in Sr. Dorothy's 5th grade class. I only had one uniform, this (could this be a theme?) really ugly dark green plaid jumper with GOLD BUTTONS! It was hideous. People were kinda standoffish to me, since I wasn't dressed like everybody else. Hardly any of the other girls wore jumpers-they all wore St. Robert's sweatshirts, and polo shirts, and slacks. But one day on the playground I started crying, and for some reason that broke the ice with the other girls, and after that point I remember 5th grade as "the year I was popular." Which was weird, especially for me (and my one jumper).
6th grade, transferred to Atwater school, same place where I went for first grade. Fashion sense: tragic. Dear God, my class picture of myself with everybody else makes me want to cry. Peach sweatshirt, tapered white jeans...Urgh. People were so=so nice to me. They were really nice to me whenever something artistic or creative had to get done. I had a nice collection of big t-shirts with random colorful things on them. And a pair of green clogs that I really liked. I wore hiking boots all the time--those ugly clunky ones that look like a bastard child between Lumberjack boots and Reebok sneakers.
7th grade, entered Shorewood Intermediate school, also known as HELL. The place was awful. I was so miserable, I developed an eating disorder and wouldn't eat anything except the cup of "malt ice cream" or a piece of pizza for lunch. I also got into the whole "reallyreally WIDE leg jeans" thing. I wanted to look cool so much. I really did. I thought that if I wore the right clothes, people wouldn't be mean to me. My parents wouldn't let me get cool big t-shirts with bands, music groups, etc. on them. I cut off most of my hair, getting the Mushroom hair cut of death. Awful, awful haircut. Tragic. All my friends turned on me, basically, except for Robin. Got my first pair of Nikes with my own money--guarded them zealously.
8th grade: got better from eating disorder. More hopeful. My art teacher and french teacher were the best. Had some really good friends who helped get me through it, like Isabelle who had only that year arrived at the school.
9th grade-12th grade: Hallelujah. Highschool. A new start, pretty much. It became cool to wear "vintage" clothes like I had been wearing vintage clothes for years--hooray! I never got my hair under control during highschool, which is probably a good thing. I didn't even know how to apply makeup, either. I basically learned over freshman year of college, teaching myself. It's okay to wear pretty much anything, and that's a comfortable thing. Loved sweatshirts--Saul St. John stole my red hoodie one, though, and I didn't want it back since he didn't wash his hair. (* he did fix my watch, though :)