mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I Didn't Make the Pep Squad Everyone seems to be talking about Joe Millionaire this morning. I (un)fortunately missed it - Pet Psychic was on and I just can't live without my Sonya. I did however catch approximately five minutes of High School Reunion on the WB (as well as a trailer or two) and that's about all I needed to determine that this is truly the worst show on television. Talk about a grudge match - sheesh. The premise - reunite all the stereotypes from high school a mere ten years later on a tropical island. Add booze, bikinis, and hot tubs and see what happens. Supposedly, this will be the "ultimate class reunion." The nerd (who is now a very rich and handsome oil tycoon) will finally get to confront his arch nemesis, the bully who drove a Camaro and had a mullet. The jock will at last get the chance to prove that he was more than just a hard body. He was sensitive and brilliant too. The weird girl with braces and knobby knees will have completely transformed into a super model and will mud wrestle the homecoming queen, who made her life a living hell. The guy who was taunted for constantly playing Dungeons and Dragons .... well, he'll still be living in his parent's basement playing D n' D. You get the point though. I've said it before and I'll say it again, high school is simply four years of my life that I'll never get back. When told by teachers and other adults that "these were to be the best days of my life" I'd begin to contemplate suicide and then remember the people doling out this wisdom were big losers. What the hell is so good about high school? You have to live in a house with your parents who monitor your every move and are thoroughly convinced you're on drugs (at least mine were). You don't have any money and all the ways to earn a decent wage are illegal. Your face breaks out regularly in welts and that's supposedly "normal.". You're always waiting around for something to happen and nothing ever does. You're hormones run your life but acting on them is thought of as "immoral" and will gain you a reputation (I had a boy once claim to all his friends that I gave him a handjob in the park, despite this being a complete untruth I was called "handy" for weeks and you know what? it's only now that I recognize just how lame a nickname that is, I cried for a ridiculous number of hours over it at the time). You worry constantly about your image. You have to go to a school everyday where there are a multitude of people you either hate or have no respect for. You despise your body because there is either too much of it or too little of it. You have no idea how to express a range of emotions and thus are relegated to showing only anger, depression, and boredom. I could go on and on about the horrors (remind me sometime to tell you about the girl I smacked upside the head with my gym lock - ahh, good times). Perhaps my feelings stem from the fact that I attended an all-girls, Catholic reformatory .... I mean, high school. Adolescent girls can be so catty and no one in that school was above it - not even me. One girl, a supposed lesbian, was tortured and mocked till she tried to take her own life. Sadly, the same girls who taunted her mercilessly would later get hip to the whole gay scene and "experiment" in college. The kids who called my Doc Martins hideous, they'd be seen wearing them five years later as they tried desperately to fit in with the artsy crowd in SOHO. The preppies who referred to my clique as burnouts all wound up strung out on coke. I think you see where I'm going with this. High school is a breeding ground for close-mindedness and hypocrisy and I think the person who dreamed up this educational concept should be shot. So, as you might imagine, being reunited with my fellow students holds no appeal for me. You may remember that I did meet up with a former classmate last summer and it was so terribly unpleasant that it reinforced my desire to keep that part of my life in the distant past. The one or two people who's company I actually enjoyed during those four years, I still keep in touch with but the idea of being stuck with the rest of those dolts for even a minute makes me cringe. Sure, there's that whole "I'm better than you are" gloating I could do about my life. You know, where I discuss my fabulous marriage and my fantastic home and all the trips I'm taking and how I am one of the only people who made it out of that town despite all the teasing and taunting and general viciousness of my classmates but that and $. 25 will get me the Seattle Times, you know what I am saying? It's a waste of time, much like 1988-1991. 11:16 a.m. - 2003-01-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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