"Grannies Gone Wild" aired on the WB network on November 11, 2005. As of today, it's been 6086 days since "Grannies Gone Wild" first aired.
A few events that happened around the globe: three British soldiers were freed from captivity in Iran; Albania suffered a terrible electrical power shortage; a Pakistani cargo plane crashed, killing "eight to ten" people, causes unknown (it's weird they don't even know how many people were on it, right?); bird flu infected someone in Kuwait; Saudi Arabia became a member of the World Trade Organization.
Back in my small corner of the world, I was living a crushingly normal high school existence. It was a Friday, so I had school at La Salle College High School. Even though it was Veteran's Day, I don't think that we had off.
According to information I gathered from my old xanga (plus a little info from my head), I had six classes, plus band (a graded class, but it was tough not to get an A) and lunch. I don't remember the order of my day, but I do remember most of my classes. AP English with Mr. Dempsey, who was kind of an asshole in the way that only the varsity basketball coach could be. Spanish 3H was with Senora Zoeltsch (spelling?), not much to say about that class except that I knew that it would be my final year of Spanish. AP Calculus was with Mr. Ponisiak, who was the fucking man. Very mild mannered, which was funny because he was married to Mrs. Ponisiak, the batshit insane chemistry teacher. Definitely some "ah ah ah call me by my number!" stuff happening in that bedroom (maybe "call me by my number on the table of element" or "call me by my derivative" depending on which subject was being "taught" that night). Honors Physics was with a dude named Mr. Russell. He passed away a few years ago. There was an urban legend about the guy—no way this was true—that he asked a student of his to dogsit one weekend while he was away, and this student had a big party, during which a bunch of guys broke through a locked door in Mr. R.'s house to find a BDSM-style sex dungeon. Morality was with Mr. Clarke, who a lot of the guys looked up to (not literally, as he was short), including myself. I was honest enough in my essay that he chose me to be a Kairos leader. I feel like he was probably younger then than I am now, which is wild to consider. I had U.S. History but I sincerely do not remember who taught me that year. Some things get lost in the sands of time.
Luckily, xanga was also there to let me know what I was doing that night. I know exactly where I was and what I was doing during the 30 minutes of the "Grannies Gone Wild" premiere. I was at Little Flower High School Harvest Dance with a friend from the neighborhood. I actually have some notes about this event in both my public xanga and my private xanga, and it's interesting to compare the two. In public, I was effusive in my praise of the event, comparing going to a high school dance to "walking
Wildwood’s boardwalk" and "drinking a cold beer on a cold night." Seems like a little much, but it makes sense in retrospect, since my date in question obviously read my xanga at the time (she even commented on the post "Thanks for coming.!"), and so maybe I was hedging my bets a little.
Because the private xanga post also states that I had a good time, but the enthusiasm was a little tempered.
The LF dance was excellent last night. **** opened up to me more then she ever did in her life (besides when she was drunk). And I opened up to my full, crazy, dance self. And we danced. Didn't grind though, she seems to be shy of that. Nevertheless, we danced, and had fun. Thank god.However, I don't think a relationship would work. I get bored with the people she hangs out with, and she'll probably be her usual self next time we hang out again. So I figure we should just be friends.
Being shy! Using alcohol as a crutch in other situations! Just being friends! Grinding! This very high school diary entry has it all, baby.
It's weird to think about being in a high school gymnasium in a dorky blue sweater, opening up to an on-again off-again crush, awkwardly dancing but not grinding, and all the while Cheyenne is gussying up some nice old ladies and Barbara Jean is causing a mistrial. Also weird to consider that a popular network sitcom aired on Friday nights?
I'm proud of young Joey for having the foresight to think about potential relationships in the way that I did in this xanga post. I could've easily been a Van in this scenario—started dating someone who isn't right for me just because she's "hot and ditzy," become bitter over time because they weren't right, not growing the relationship because she's "too shy" to "allow me into the loop," however you wanna phrase it.
I guess there's an alternate universe somewhere in which I instead stay home on this particular Friday night, maybe sick in bed or something, and I catch an episode of Reba that happens to be airing. I think I probably would've learned the wrong lesson from it. All that stuff about "the marriage growing" probably would've made me think that our differences was something I'd have to get over, that there was room to grow past the shyness and the boringness.
It's interesting, because I see some similarities between my then Harvest Dance date and my first girlfriend in college. For that latter relationship, I really did ignore the difference and try to "grow" the relationship. I also spent a lot of time making out with other girls in frat basements. Plenty of Barbara Jeans at La Salle University. I was a total Van.
I don't really know what I'm trying to say in this blog post. It's six in the goddamn morning, give me a break. I guess I'm trying to give you a broad portrait of my life on November 11, 2005, which "Grannies Gone Wild" was airing? But it's also painful to do that, since my normal high school existence was much like many other normal high school existences—cringeworthy, awkward, and easy to criticize in retrospect. I'm sure that 80-year-old Van, before he dies of a heart attack, is doing a lot of sitting around and contemplating the awkwardness of his teenage years.
No comments:
Post a Comment