Ah, the glory days
I admit it: I got sucked into watching The Unauthorized Saved by the Bell Story on Lifetime this weekend. Yes, I tuned into Lifetime and got a look at what life was like behind the scenes of the SBTB set, at least according to Screech, errrr, Dustin.
To say this was a giddily-enjoyed guilty pleasure is an understatement. I sat perched on my couch with a glass of Skinny Girl peach margarita and soaked up every minute of the flash back to the 90s. The 90s…the good ol’ days. The 90’s…when Mark Paul Gosselar rocked big blond hair and dark caterpillar eyebrows.
The scream heard round the neighborhood.
“What happened?” I asked as I ran down the steps, hair still wet from the shower. “Why was there a little girl screaming outside a few minutes ago?”
My stepmom didn’t even look up from her cookbook to answer.
“It wasn’t a little girl,” she said. “It was your father.” Continue reading
I’m hot, sticky sweet.
Before I got the ol’ heave ho from Catholic school at the end of my 6th grade year, I had been quite the model student. Hell, even during and after my ousting from Catholic school, I was just about as perfectly behaved of a student as you can imagine. Did I just write “hell”? I guess I’ve come a long way.
My parents and brother did a good job insulating me as a child. And being 7 years younger than my brother and the 2nd child, I had a lot of experience entertaining myself. I spent hours sitting underneath the dining room table and reading books. Or saddling a Strawberry Shortcake doll on one of my My Little Pony dolls and letting them gallop around for a while. Or gaping at the TV. I was a pretty self-sufficient kid. Continue reading
The clouds in the background give this statement extra gravity.
At a very young age, I learned that every action we take has consequences. And that we must live with those consequences and accept our reality.
A prime example of this? When I was about 9 years old, I decided that I absolutely had to have the same hairstyle as one of my television “heroes.”
Not a day went by where I wasn’t decked out in some plaid flannel
It took me almost 13 years to discover that I loved – that I lived for – music. Blame it on the fact that when I was a young child, my mom’s radio tendencies skewed toward classical music, Neil Diamond or Katrina and the Waves. Or perhaps my dad is to blame for my lack of interest in music as a child. He showed zero interest in music then, and to this day I have no idea if he prefers Dave Matthews or David Lee Roth. All I know about my father’s musical tastes is that he vomited during a Kenny G show many years ago, and for that, I am a proud daughter. Continue reading