hair is there. awkward.

The other day I was having a delightful colloquy with my dear friend Jenjamin (co-founder of Jenjamins Jammies LLC) about our lives, as we knew them throughout middle school, and beyond.

Puberty, if you will.

It all started with a lovely maturation program in FIFTH GRADE. I remember, we went into the library, and I was given a blessed maturation kit; jam packed with deodorant, pamphlets, pads, and tampons. I was so taken back! I didn't even have pubes yet!! OR BREASTS FOR THAT MATTER! I remember thinking, "Listen lady, spare me the details, I got the picture at 'bleed out of your crotch for a week.'.." But of course I was too shy to say so, and I went ahead and watched some horrendously awkward movie, about hair, blood, and B.O.

Needless to say, my children will be exempt from such awkward programs as this. I will teach them myself. But I'll make it fun. You know, with boob cupcakes, tampon towers, and condom baloons. And rap songs about pubes.

Anyway, don't worry, I think I'm done being gross for now..

So then, came middle school, and for me, my down fall at the time was greasy hair (acne galore and horrific cramps came a little later.) Hair was kind of important. But it was hard to find something that was simple and also GORGEOUS. I remember Brittney, the leader of "Brittney 'n them." tried for all 3 years to start hair trends, and came so close, but fell short. But we all knew what it was that would solve all your adolescent hair woes: a PERM. You'd stare at your lame straight hair in the mirror and imagine all the boys after you, and probably even being asked to star in a hair commercial. And that's when you knew, you need a perm. Most girls had to beg their mom, but I was fortunate enough to have a hair stylist for an aunt, so I did whatever I wanted. The appointment was set, and everything was falling into place. Soon, flawless beauty would be in your grasp. You'd brag to your friends the whole week before about how you were getting a perm and they'd envy you, outwardly, and inwardly. Then you'd wake up, the day of your perm appointment, and you'd go to school, with nothing else on your mind, except the beautiful curls that would soon take residence on your head. And before you knew it, the bell rang and you were on your way to the salon. Perms took a really long time, and as a 12-13 year old, a long time is a lot more than that. The sylist would style it perfect, and you'd feel like a million bucks, wishing you could go to school right then to get a boyfriend and probably some sort of award for most beautiful hair, or something dramatic like that. Then, it happened. You wake up to go to school, and you wet your hair (cause you cant wash it after a perm.) and you can't get it to look anything like it did the night before, or like anything you'd hoped. It's crunchy, frizzy, and flat. And accents your braces. You failed me perm.

Also, there were boys. I had one boyfriend for each year of middle school. BUT, they all only lasted 2 weeks. and we didn't talk. Except on the phone, but not face to face.

Usually, they'd have a friend ask, or they'd call you themselves. Either way, there was always an appointed messenger for your relationship. They usually dealt with any communication that happened during school hours.

Anyway, so they'd call you up, write you a note, or send a friend to you and say, "will you go out with me?" Now, we were ages 11-13. We did not go "out" anywhere. That just meant "Wanna be my girlfriend but we dont actually talk or kiss or hold hands?" and depending on that boys place on the "disgust-o-meter" you'd say yes or no. And when you'd had your fun, and you were ready to end it, you'd call on your messenger to send the bad news. If you were lucky, there was a dance at the time of your courtship, and you had someone to dance with.

My favorite dances, were the 6th grade dances. Because they were held during the day, at the end of the day. They'd block off the common area and play a mix tape that consisted mostly of SmashMouth. Whether or not the song was fast or slow, we were forced to dance the same. And we couldn't say no to anyone, or we'd get a ticket (a ticket was a piece of paper that threw you in *time out* for I think the entire day, correct me if you went to EMS and that's wrong.) It was a pretty harsh punishment, so you didn't say no. How we danced was as follows: The boy would come up to you. You'd walk out onto the dance floor, and depending on how gross you thought they were, you'd dance as close as one foot apart.. or as far as ten feet. There was no touching, you'd stand across from eachother and step side to side, in sync of course. And you usually didn't talk to one another you'd probably be having a conversation with one of your friends, or staring at the ceiling.

This is what the 3rd grade version of me would have called "torcher"

There's more to come...