Malibu & Cream Soda

I’m cruising down memory lane today, rocking out with a classic rock station, just thinking about life after a great hard day of household chores. I have still been working on moving furniture, cleaning area rugs, but the piano I saved for tomorrow. Please magic fairy can you move it for me?

With a beer in hand, my head bobbing and every now and then I break out into song, Mr. Jones laughs while he watches football. I know you are thinking what football? It’s not on yet? Just saying CFL is on! Go Esks Go!

Nazareth is on and of course my Alvin voice is singing the lines, “Now your messin’ with a son of a bitch.” I’m sure my neighbors are loving my rendition.

As I am not too sure how loud I am, it starts bringing back memories to both of us (Mr. Jones and I) and my head starts down the rabbit hole as it so normally does. Falling, falling, deeper and deeper into the back of my mind.

It is junior high, the awkward hormonal, big hair and I mean, I had big hair, it is a purple eyeshadow kind of time. We were being wild and adventuresome on a school dance and decided we were going to sneak in cream soda, a root beer and an orange pop, all mixed with Malibu. Yup, wild and crazy were we.

Off we go to our lockers in between dances, as we let the hairspray loosen on the hair from the movement and flipping of the hair. I’m not sure why, but certain things trigger my head back to that day. It was the season of the jumpsuit. Oh my, I looked fricking fantastic, so I thought.

There were pages and pages to look at and I chose a new blue jumpsuit, written with Aztec looking writing all over it. I had to order that sucker in from Sears for $29.99, it was so expensive. I could hardly wiggle my shoulders into the padded shoulders as I already have the Russian build. When it came in they ask, does it fit? I need this so I will make it fit; it’s great I respond. (I didn’t have a whole lot of clothes then). Now remember you don’t want to pee, don’t drink too much, getting this thing on and off is a chore.

Well that didn’t happen, to the lockers we march gossiping, laughing and being loud. In no time my hair was reglued, lipstick reapplied (been wearing that a long time) and a swig or two has gone down the hatch. It was quite strong and a few shots made us think our dance moves were off the new much music videos we began to see after school.

We had a chaperone check on us often, but they couldn’t see anything at the time, that we thought and the beverages were gone quickly. As this was the time of the guys not really dancing a lot, except the seniors, us girls put ourselves in our group and rocked out.

Just saying, if you get the opportunity to learn how to dance, do it! Every girl loves to swept off her feet with dance. Mr. Jones always is laughing when he dances and does the wiggle pretending he is shaking the dice, saying that’s the only move he has.

If he is intoxicated enough he dances with me. I think that has been only a handful of times in public, in twenty years, he becomes too self conscious but at home he gets down on the KDP nights. (This is from a previous post).

Jimi Hendrix has me swaying around the house. My legs are like rubber and my butt shaking. I’m sure I still have the same dance moves as back then, maybe worse or better, however you look at it, as now you let your guard down and let people see the real you.

I adopted some of them from Robert Palmer’s, Addicted to Love. I also adopted that signature red lipstick for a good portion of my life and have just returned to it this past year.  I had hoped more for Janet Jackson’s dancing, but I wasn’t that coordinated.

I graduated a few years later at the same school with 86 people. I laugh as everyone at some point might have had a crush on someone that previously drove them crazy.  Not me, I had a crush on the same guy since grade two. Needless to say that was all it was, as I certainly was not considered a popular girl or was the mysterious grade a head of him girl.

I did run into him many years later and he spills that he liked me, but I was too intimidating. Hello! That hasn’t changed, but I did realize I had changed in other ways and had outgrown so many things and people.  I had packed my bags and ran as fast as I could and was determined to start over. Determined to make a name for myself. Determined to conquer, determined to become someone awesome.

I may not have millions, I may still be awkward and I may still have the same dance moves but I think I turned out pretty good. I had planned on going to my first high school reunion, then life happened and from what I was dealing with then I didn’t bother. Pretty feeble excuse of me, as it is only a couple hours away, but that was the choice I made.

I do wonder at times what happened to the jokesters of the class? What happened to the debator who taught me to put cheese whiz on my popcorn? Just saying it’s incredible. I also add butter first and a seasoning. Many of the girls I have seen or have friended on Facebook. I am curious about a few others, but they may never cross my path in life now or maybe they will, as someone did today.

This weekend, pull that yearbook, look at that rocking hair and attire and think; thank god I made it through to the other side. Not sure if anyone ever escapes junior high school or high school without, being scarred by something.

image

To the girls that shared everyone’s secrets, a reminder, karma. She gets a person, when they are not looking.

For a good laugh, I found some awkward yearbook pictures. At one point my hair was at least six inches high on top. These pictures make me say, what the hell was I thinking?

Love always, the high hairsprayed hair, I don’t like Malibu now, Woman in Process

 

 

We love a reply, thank you!!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s