high school

I Wasn’t Allowed to Watch Anything Cool in the 90s

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What do Beverly Hills 90210, Friends, Melrose Place and Dawson’s Creek have in common? They all coaxed major hormone levels out of junior high girls and taught us the hottest 90s fashions (remember carpenter jeans?!). Also, I wasn’t allowed to watch them.

I wouldn’t say I was sheltered, but they definitely made sure I didn’t get any ideas about the glamours of teen pregnancy, drinking, or staying out past 10pm. Instead, we stayed home as a family and caught “Nick at Nite” reruns of I Love Lucy, Happy Days, and The Munsters. Listen, I had a nice childhood, but the fact that I couldn’t watch any “cool” shows or wear strappy tank tops like everyone else did was a real struggle no guidance counselor prepares you for. I can deal with my impending menses, but not being able to describe why James Van Der Beek would be the ideal husband? I might as well have joined Theater Tech.

Showing up to 8th grade and not having any fucking clue who this problematic “Jen” was that everyone was talking about was my Vietnam. Did no one catch that hilarious debacle Richie Cunningham got into last night? Good luck that the Fonz was there, am I right? No one? This damn crick (was it an actual creek? A metaphor? Does anyone even know???) was all everyone talked about – for like four years! My locker didn’t have pictures of Joshua Jackson or James Van Der Beek plastered all over my locker. I had a poster of Karl Malone and Kermit the Frog’s “Got Milk” ad.

I did what any other no-boobs, trumpet playing 8th grader would. I just acted like I watched it, too. It’s shocking how far generic statements like “yeah, I was surprised,  “OMG, right?” or “that would be so romantic to lose my virginity in an empty cabin on a school trip” will get you. I was pulling the wool over my junior high contemporaries’ eyes until I was asked the question of all questions: Pacy or Dawson?

I don’t fucking know! Yet feeling cocky with my ability to skate by with a smile and a nod, I threw them a curve ball and said “neither. I like Joey.” So while everyone thought I just accidentally outed myself during third period band, I quickly backtracked and said I was joking. I’m just saying that if you don’t want to be convincing people all through high school that you are NOT a lesbian, keep your mouth shut about must-see-TV programming you don’t know about.

When I became an adult and realized I could do whatever the fuck I wanted, I watched 5 seasons of Dawson’s Creek (after they all went to college and Joey slept with her professor, (played by Ken Marino?!!?) I was over it. But, I get it. I guess). I bought the entire “Friends” series on DVD and watched it during an extended unemployment stint. So THIS is what everyone was talking about! Rachel was so pretty and had the best clothes! Chandler was classic comedy! Monica is like that crazy person we all have inside of us that we try to hide until we get married and it’s too late to get dumped! It was glorious. Plus, there was another Joey, but this one was a guy (twist!). Never mind that I was walking around 8 years later, saying shit like “we were on a break!” and singing “Smelly Cat.”

So you can imagine my delight when Melrose and 90210 were getting a reboot. I could be one of the cool kids now and actually watch (and it would save me weeks of binge watching the originals). Unfortunately, everyone else was already over those ‘90s shows and no one else watched them. Now I was the loser who actually watched 90210?

The moral of the story is that I should have just stuck to being my own rainbow and watching The Brady Bunch. Because you all might pick up on way more cultural references than I do, but the memory of sitting with my parents and watching Marcia Brady get rocked by that football before her date with Doug Simpson is priceless. Okay yeah, I don’t believe that either. I’m totally watching all of Twin Peaks  before the new one comes out.

Prom Date, Revisited

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I don’t have a terribly embarrassing high school yearbook photo, and I never skipped outdoor recess to play Dungeons and Dragons in the library. I was witty and got along better with adults. Cute, but didn’t have any interest in wearing full makeup to school, slash…ever. I didn’t even known how to use it, as evidenced by the one day I DID attempt to use some concealer to cover the dark under-eye circles my father so generously passed down; my mom politely informed me that it wasn’t supposed to look like a nude-hued football player’s eye black.

So when it came to being asked to the Prom, let’s be honest here, I didn’t have any real prospects. There was one boy. We’ll call him Spencer. He was in my AP Biology class, got better grades than I did, and wrestled for the school in the Under-132 lbs category. By no means a “catch” by high school standards, I was pretty sure he was going to grow up to be one of those Maury Povich “Nerds to Knockout” success stories. So I felt pretty good about getting in on the ground floor of a future hottie. Plus he was way smart and I knew hot jocks grow up to own used car dealerships and nerds grow up to invent things like Facebook or Spanx. So enlisted my friends to not-so subtly encourage him (OK, fine, make him) ask me to Prom. But I also offered to go Dutch because I’m not a total sociopath.

The night was fine.  We went with a group of other unlikely couples. We got our awkward photo, where his hand is placed precariously just below my left breast and we both look sufficiently uncomfortable standing butt-to-crotchal region (My dress was also handmade by my crafty mother. Later shortened to attend some other function in college. Let’s here it for Midwestern thriftiness!) I think we went out to dinner, then piled in Ben’s car (i.e. his mother’s Subaru) to get to the venue downtown. I danced the whole night to Eminem and Britney’s greatest hits, and Spencer…well I don’t know what he did the whole time, because he had no interest in “grinding” on me, as the other sweaty youths were doing.

He later dropped me off at my friend Kaitlin’s house where the gals were having a sleepover. Spencer bid me goodnight with a half-hearted wave and a “That was fun.” Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the recreation of “A Walk to Remember” I was hoping for (I didn’t become mysteriously ill and no one proposed!!??), but I went to my Senior Prom, had fun with my friends, and my date was definitely going to be a real catch in 5-10 years. And since I was his Senior Prom date, that gave my precedence over any other 2-bit whore he meets in college who tries to marry him.

Flash forward 5 years. I was home visiting my parents and as luck would have it, my high school bestie, Carolyn Ashe, was also home. So we met at a local watering hole for a drink, to gossip about people who gained weight, dropped out of college already, accidentally got pregnant…as you do. All of a sudden Carolyn said, “ohmigod, is that Spencer?” It was! And, spoiler alert! I was totally right. He was tall, well built and totally adorable. (Lesson to high school girls: meeting men is a marathon, not a sprint. Put in the work early and hope for the big payoff. The hottest guy in school, by that time, married his high school girlfriend and they already had 2 kids. “Friday Night Lights” isn’t just a TV show, it’s a cautionary tale, kids). Carolyn confirmed that he did, indeed, grow into his looks and gave me the green light to flirt.

Spencer saw that Carolyn and I are blatantly pointing and rubber-necking to get a better look at him, and being the more mature one (which I knew he would be! Totally nailing it!), he walked over to greet us. We exchanged hellos, how-are-yous, why-are-you-in-town-because-it’s-not-a-holidays, all while I’m thinking of the best way to slyly sneak in “Listen, I know we never hooked up on Prom night but I can make it up to you, tonight.” While I was thinking of ways to not sound like a date-rapist, I suddenly heard my future husband say “…finished seminary school and now I’m at a parish in Minnesota.” Umm what? Seminary school? In my good ear??? It sounded like you said you said the only wedding ring you will ever wear is to signify your marriage to God. Without much to commiserate on that one, Carolyn and I quickly wrapped up the conversation and he sauntered back to his table that I can only imagine was full of other do-gooders.

A Priest?!?! My mind reeled as Carolyn and I laugh, but I couldn’t help but think: this is my fault, right? I broke the cardinal (no pun intended) rule of Prom! I didn’t even kiss him, and now he’s gone and joined the cloth. One lousy Prom night with me and this man gave his life over to Jesus? I wasn’t a cool, self-aware kid at all! How could I have missed this glaring mistake? Were there signs? Did he offer to turn my water at Applebee’s that night into a wine cooler? I can’t remember!

So my plan didn’t exactly “work out,” but I still think the most important take away here is that I was totally right! Take that, more popular girl whose date still works at the Sendeck’s super market! My guy might be a priest, but that’s better than bagging groceries when you’re flirting with 30!!! Granted, I should have done more Facebook stalking to see who got cute, but didn’t come out of the closet or dedicate their life to Jesus. Thank God I was such a prude in high school and, more importantly, didn’t ask him to hookup in my mom’s minivan that night. I can sleep soundly knowing he didn’t have to do 5 Hail Mary’s to save my slut soul.