I got to thinking tonight, after visiting a Facebook page dedicated to the small town I grew up in, about how much fun it was to grow up in the 80s as a teenager.
Yeah, we didn’t have the Internet (eeeee gawds!).
We didn’t have cell phones.
I had to get my lazy ass off the dent in the sofa to change the channel. My tolerance for mis-aligned rabbit ears was quite high. I could watch a show even though its horizontal tuning made the picture flip up every 10 seconds.
I didn’t even have caller ID until I was 22.
My 1973 Buick LeSabre (the boat) had an AM radio that would change stations if I took a sharp turn (doing 85mph!).
That same “boat” saw tons o’ backseat action from my friends (and occasionally me) at parties at the Peach Orchard or on someone’s farm or backyard.
I hid my smokes and my birth control pills under the seat in my car and blamed them on my friends when my mom found them.
We had tons of parties most weekends since my mom was newly married to my ex-step-father and they’d go out and come home very late with leaves in their hair.
At those parties, everyone would throw their beer cans into the snow in the backyard, only to be discovered by my mom when the snow melted. I lied on the spot SOOOO well about where the beer cans originated that I somehow managed to not only NOT get in trouble, but garner sympathy from her.
At those same parties, we once had someone take the bananas in the fruit basket and half eat them, then stick their gooey remains all over the house to be found by my mom upon coming home. That was harder to explain than the beer cans, but I managed.
After those awesome parties, boys would toss rocks at my sister’s and my bedroom windows to get us to sneak out–we typically did! We just had to wait for either the AC or the heat to kick on as it was so loud you couldn’t hear the suction noise the front door made when it closed.
At one of those sneak outs, I had I guy tell me we could use his dad’s hot tub. When we got to his dad’s apartment he filled the bath tub with hot water and said, “Voila! A hot tub.” No, he got no ass that night. 😉
I remember having a teacher at one of my high schools and the sluttier my friends and I would dress, the more he’d let us skip class and hang out in his office drinking his liquor and smoking stogies.
I remember another teacher who was a total perv, and I had him for 2 classes, so I skipped both of them for an entire year and right before summer break my vice principal called me into his office and asked where I’d gone for those 2 classes all year long. My response was, “Away from that pervert….” Yeah, I didn’t get in a bit of trouble. All was forgiven.
I fondly recall driving by hot guys’ houses and writing in chalk on the road in front of their houses things like “You’re hot.” God, what a doofus.
Once, I went to the Rock-n-Roll Revival (an awesome music show my HS put on) and doodled my love for a certain guy all over the show’s program while leaving comments (most of them flattering) next to all of the cast members’ names, then stupidly dropping it in the floor instead of the trash can so that EVERYFUCKINGONE could read it. I still feel bad about doodling that one girl had duck feet. She was so nice and I didn’t expect for anyone else to lay eyes on it.
I loved making mix tapes for boyfriends and misery tapes after the breakup. Kids nowadays have no idea how hard it is to skip through every radio station looking for THE song so you could get it on tape, just to miss the first 5 seconds. That wonderful stress of NEEDING that song but knowing the challenge you faced actually finding it for your tape.
I remember putting bologna slices all over a dickbag’s car because, well, he was a dickbag. Boy was he pissed (that was as bitchy as I ever got, and I know it wasn’t really nice). But seriously, he was such a dick, he had it comin’.
I recall when one of my best friends kicked the glass panel in the exit door by the Ertzman Theater and put her foot through it. Yep, their was blood.
I used to get such a thrill out of running away from Jack the Hall Monitor at my first high school and buying Ruby the Hall Monitor at my second HS some McDonalds so that she’d let me skip and not bust me.
I thoroughly enjoyed wearing bra tops and miniskirts with 4-inch heels to school ’cause, yeah, that’s appropriate.
I was terrified when a different vice principal at my second HS came and dragged me out of my 12th grade English class to “explain” the state of my locker to him. It was OUR locker, not my locker. But luckily for my locker-mates, they all just happened to not be in school that day, so I had to scrub the fucking thing clean with Ajax while wearing those 4-inch heels. Oh, and yes, I was MORTIFIED by the nasty shit written in that locker when the VP was standing next to me. We had drawn perversion all over it. It was awesome!
I longingly remember making out with sexy boys and not letting them get to 2nd base because I liked being a good girl (sometimes, not ALL the time!).
I loved going to OC (the beach at Ocean City) and not going to sleep until the sun came up and praying no one would smell the pot under the door of the hotel. I never had a desire to go to jail.
Walking a mile in deep snow to get to the High’s for an ice cream cone was awesome and well worth it.
I’d make visits to the Sandy Spring Bank, all dolled up and smelling pretty, to go flirt with an old flame.
And I’d eat at “The Deli” with my mom all the time. They had the best grilled provolone on Rye with tomato sandwiches and veggie soup I’ve ever had!
All of these things I loved so very much and I miss my hometown all the time.
To all of you who grew up around the same era as me, I hope you had as much fun as I did.
And much love to all of the wicked, naughty friends I had that contributed to my debauchery! I know I corrupted a few of you back, and damn was it fun! XOXOXOXO