Holly crap ya'll (yes I know I misspelled - I need someway to make life festive)! It almost seems like I forgot I have a blog at all! Life has been one huge hodgepodge of I need, I want, and Do this! Enough of my bitchin' though, I'm gonna put on my gear: safety glasses, hard-hat, phosgene - aka mustard gas badge, coat (correction - rain slicker - I may be cold, but at least I'm dry) and go grab my breakfast (so my stomach will shut the hell up) and then I will get down to a real live post, yo!
As my daughter gets older - we just sent out the invitations for her 7th birthday this week, I find myself thinking to the future and all the hell she is certain to give us. Based on my husbands stories of the things he got away with as a teenager we are in for one hell of a doozy! I had my share of fun as a teen, but I wasn't nearly as prolific as Clint.
I really didn't get much of an opportunity to get away with much as I was the oldest child and expectations for me were set fairly high and rules were very strict. My parents went as far as checking to odometer on my car to make sure I wasn't going further than work and back. Once I got busted for that, I made sure to ride with someone else for after work debauchery. Mostly it just consisted of stealing the broken pallets from the back of the store (I worked for HEB) loading them in someones truck and heading off road for mudding and bonfires. For the most part I only got away with anything when there was a major change or trauma going on in my family. My first boyfriend was a prime example of this.
I had boyfriends in Jr. High that I "went out" with. While this term really bugged my parents all it really meant was we hung out at school, wrote notes, and maybe snuck a kiss in when we thought we weren't being watched. This changed when I got into high school. Within the first couple months, I went from weighing in at a sickly (for 5'8") 99lbs and having one on my least favorite taunts from my adolescence "banana boobs" to a muscular 130lbs (I ran track and worked out daily) and a 34C. The first time I met Ryan, I was leaning across the lunch table to whisper something to a friend, Shannon, wearing a button down shirt that was buttoned in a way that nice cleavage was on display, when he walked up behind said friend. That probably would have been the end of it (at least in my book as a freshman and he was a junior), but soon after that our home flooded to the point that our house was condemned (along with several others who lived along the creek that exceed its bounds that year - we had 14' of water in the house).
When this happened, my sister and I was shuttled off to different friends so we wouldn't miss school. I went to stay with Shannon. Shannon at the time was assigned to do a geography project with Ryan that required out of school work. So, in effect Ryan and I began to hang out outside of school. He was also in track so we had stuff in common. Once my parents got settled into an apartment and I went back to living with my family, they were not at all please that not only was I seeing someone who was older, he was someone who drove a jeep with no top, no doors, and a playboy decal on the windshield. In all actuality my dad would have loved the vehicle if the person driving it didn't want to get into his 14 year old daughters pants! No, he never did, that line wasn't crossed until I was 16 and really shouldn't have been then. He did however provide me with a little more insight into the male anatomy and how it works that I had ever thought to know. At the time I had no clue what it meant when he told me I made his "smiley face boxers have a nose". My guess is that it is best that I didn't, otherwise I may have had a dead boyfriend!
In the typical fickle teenage pattern, I got bored and moved on to the next exciting crush. Many years later, heavily pregnant with my daughter (why can't you ever look good when running into exes), I ran into him at the mall. He was grotesquely over pierced and hinted at having more that weren't visible and working at one of those hydro massage kiosks. Only now do I wish I had taken a picture as a warning to my daughter that first boyfriends don't last, and in many cases end up being the creepy older guy who works in the mall!
I most certainly have my work cut out for me. Do you have any suggestions aside from locking my child in a closet until she turns 40?