I Am Not A Pervert

Dear Diary,

The other day I was watching You’ve Got Mail (you know you love it too) where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks meet in an “Over 30” chat room.  And that got me to thinking, “What happened to chat rooms?”

I suppose they have been replaced by message boards and instant messenger.  But I remember the good old days when you would wander into a chat room targeted towards a particular interest you had or your age group.

I remember when I was in the seventh grade my friend Maria and I were all over the chat rooms.  There were two that we went to, some were better than others.  I can still remember our screen names, she was “Strawberry Kiwi” and I was “Sweetie” (the ie is what made me original.)  To be honest I can’t even remember what we talked about in those rooms.

There was a scandalous side to these rooms.  Some people would try and have cyber sex, which at the time was kinda gross, but now is kinda funny.  It usually started off by someone asking if anyone wanted to have sex.  Someone usually would step up to the plate, but it didn’t go much beyond that.  Everyone else would get disgusted and bombard the person with messages forcing them to leave.  There were also monitors on there and you would be kicked out for swearing so if you wanted to cuss you had to say “a$$” or “f*ck”, you know, get creative.

The idea of going into a chat room now doesn’t really appeal to me, now I prefer to chat with only my friends online, one on one (group chats can get complex and hard to follow.)  My innocent mind has been corrupted by shows like Nightline and so I automatically assume that anyone I’m talking to online is a pervert.  I kind of miss the ignorant bliss of a cyber world without perverts.  Oh how I long for the good old days.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

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Waisted Creativity

Dear Diary,

I’m not in therapy, have never been in therapy, and I don’t know that I need therapy, but earlier today I had a very therapeutic moment. It finally became clear to me why I had such an insecure early adolescence. The culprit was stretchy waist band jeans.

Growing up I always preferred a stretchy waist band. For a long time I refused to wear jeans and would only wear stretch pants (the kind with the stirrups). Then when I moved into the 5th and 6th grade, I gave jeans a chance, but to transition properly I stuck to the kind with the stretchy waist band.

Yes, I was a geek, I now know that, but back then all I wanted to do was fit in. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t cool to wear stretchy waist band jeans. I mean why would people care what my waist band was? All that mattered is that I was comfortable… or so I thought.

My comfy bubble burst one day when my “cool” neighbor invited me over to her house for her birthday party. I felt special because all her school friends would be there (we did not attend the same school because I went to a private elementary school.) And her school friends were cool and kinda edgy, they had divorced parent and sometimes smoked. But my neighbor gave me an ultimatum, I could not wear the jeans with the stretchy waist band and I had to wear my pants an inch below me belly button. Now this I thought I could do. But then when the day of the party arrived all my “cool” waisted jeans were dirty! Oh no! So I had to wear the stretchy ones, but at least I could wear them below my belly button. When I arrived at the party I was terrified of being thrown out because my pants were unacceptable. But when I arrived I promptly apologize, “Sorry that I wore the wrong pants, but my mom didn’t have time to wash my other ones.” Instead of being thrown out one of the girls replied, “What your mom still does your laundry?” Phew…

By the time I entered the seventh grade and attended a public jr. high school I only had one pair of stretchy waist band jeans remaining and they were acceptable in my mind because they were baggy. But as my seventh grade year progressed my baggy stretchy waisted pants began to get shabby and so it was time for new pants. But without a job I had no money for new pants.

So I decided to campaign my seventh grade band class for money for new pants. I went around to each person and held the legs of my pants up so they looked like high-waters and tried to convince people I had sad pants. I obtained a few dimes and nickels, but that was about it. Then half way through my rounds someone decided to stop me from having high-waters and so she tugged on my pants and the stretchy waist band stretched over my boney butt and came all the way down. Yes, I was pantsted in band class. I was so mortified, the entire clarinet and brass section saw my white panties. Once I regained my composure I hitched up my pants and returned to my seat in the flute section.

I never wore those pants again. And since then I avoid stretchy waist band pants like the plague. I have one pair of puma sweat pants but that’s it! Any pajama pants I own have the draw string. But it’s not the fear of being pantsed that has me avoiding the stretchy waist band; it’s the fear of being so out of touch with reality.

But then again isn’t being out of touch with reality what enables people to march to the beat of their own drum and break new ground? Without people like me obliviously pushing the boundaries of fashion everyone would end up looking the same. In that case maybe I should bring back the stretchy waist band jeans.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

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