June 11, 1999

I know that I make a lot of comments in my journal here that I was a dork in high school, but that really wasn't the case. I mean, I wasn't the Prom Queen or anything, but I had friends who liked me and, you know, I was voted Best Actress in Drama Club during my senior year. I still have the tall, tall, taller than life trophy, the only trophy I've ever won. God, I wonder where that is? It would look nice on our bookcase... <Thinking to myself...was that the highlight of my life? Hoping not.> However, I have always firmly believed that I was a dork in junior high. I moved to Illinois from Florida in the middle of 6th grade, and when I entered my new school, I had the following strikes against me: --I was tall, tall, taller than my Best Actress trophy --My mom and sister Peggy convinced me that a short, tight, perm was a good look for a 6th grader --The small Catholic school I transferred into consisted of a group of people who had mostly known each other since kindergarten --I was inept at sports, the key to popularity --Have I mentioned my perm? So I became the butt of many cruel comments, hated lunchtime and group work, and yes, I did fart while doing sit-ups during P.E. that one time, but Keith Schultz didn't have to announce it to the entire class. By the time high school rolled around, I became good friends with many of the girls who had attended junior high with me, and I used to revel in telling them stories about the horrible things they did to me. In fact, if there is a lull in the conversation, I still do it. Keith Schultz, fart-overhearer, spent all of Language Arts class sketching a large, fearsome, hairy lizard on his desk using a Bic ball-point pen. I sat in the desk next to him and although I knew he was way too popular for me to be talking to, I couldn't help but watch him draw. As the class wore on, his monster grew more and more hideous looking as he added scales, bulky feet, a mustache, and small piles of dung surrounding its bulky caboose. Just as the bell rang and I headed off to another lunch period spent hiding in the library, Keith labeled his monster: "AMY COUGHLIN!" Further discussion with my friend Sue, who was definitely a part of the elusive popular group in junior high, reveals that things weren't so great on the other side of the fence. It seems that one morning during 7th grade, she and three other girls walked to school and arrived on the playground to find some type of contest going on. A group of 8th grade girls were selecting the 7th grade girls that they liked. If you were chosen, you stood behind the 8th graders in some kind of act of solidarity. Of the group of four Sue had arrived with, only three were chosen to stand behind the 8th graders...and Sue wasn't one of them. But that wasn't the worst part of the story, in my eyes. The worst part was how the girls make their selection. Sue and her three friends had to stand before these 8th grade skanks and the previously selected 7th grade girls while they were looked over and judged. "Let's see...Giovanna, you can come over..hm...we'll take Kathy Mauer too...Midge, you can come...and...O.K., that's it." Sue said she cried when her friends abandoned her to walk over to the chosen group. I asked her who else was left, who hadn't been chosen. I mean, Sue was pretty in. She didn't have a tight perm. "Oh, you know...Monica Otto...Tricia Pariso...you, probably..." The scum of the school. I am very angry at how junior high worked. This entry has no focus, and if one of my journalism students handed it in, I would scrawl "WHAT'S YOUR ANGLE???" across it, but you know what? There is no angle to junior high. There is no point. If I ever have children, I am going to home school them. Wanna be notified when I update? Send mail and thou shalt receive!