this is the blog where we talk about the stuff.

When I was in 6th grade, I had a crush on an 8th grader named Sam.  I believe I’ve posted what I looked like in the 6th grade, and that was picture day, so just imagine a regular day, and I had the most uncomfortable personality known to man.  I basically wore long, light washed denim shorts, Wal-Mart knockoff Birkenstock sandals with my dad’s old athletic socks, and a Texas Tech sweatshirt that was three sizes too big and had a rust stain on it from where I left it outside in the rain on top of a board with a nail sticking out of it, every day.  I looked like a feral child.

Anyway, I had a crush on Sam.  He was older, had a girlfriend, and you can be more than sure that he was not at all interested in me.  He suffered my presence.  But I was convinced that he would fall in love with me and we would be married.  CONVINCED.  In a very creepy way.  I journaled about him.  I wrote him letters I never gave him.  I planned my walking schedule to each class based on where I might see him.  I was a creepy, creepy 6th grader.

The fact that Sam did not love me back was heartbreaking to me.  I neglected my personal appearance (as if it could be more neglected).  I refused to brush my hair.  I walked the halls in a coma, drawing on the walls with my finger.  I kept my head down, looking at my Birkenstocks wondering what I could do to make Sam love me.  I mean, life got weird.

During this time of introspection, I attended a Math and Science Meet for 6th graders.  This is laughable to most, because it for sure took me four tries to pass Algebra 099 in college.  How I got signed up for this trip, I have no idea.  Either way, the trip insured that we would get to eat at either McDonald’s or Pizza Hut.  I was (and still am) a fast food guilty pleasurer, so as the prospect of McDonald’s was, quite frankly, too good of a deal to pass up.  My friends, who had every right to be on this trip, chose Pizza Hut.  Just another in the long line of poor decisions I would make during the course of my young life.

I wore a large coat, more than likely my father’s, and started out to Mickey Dee’s.  I’m sure I purchased a Quarter Pounder with Cheese meal (including Dr. Pepper), because that is the only thing I ever get at McDonald’s.  I started back, planning to meet my friends at Pizza Hut and eat with them.  It was cold.  I had on denim shorts and a huge jacket.  I had poor posture, which is to say, Quasimodo taught me how to sit in a chair.  As I schlumped past the Pizza Hut, readying myself to cross the street, I was oblivious to the compassionate stares of my friends as they surveyed me walking towards Pizza Hut.  I was later told that the conversation went something like this:

Meaghan: Oh my gosh.  Is that a homeless person?

Jennifer: Oh my gosh.

Terra: Yeah.

Jennifer: Should we give him some food.

Terra: I think he’s got a McDonald’s bag.

Meaghan: Oh yeah.  I see it now.

Jennifer: Wait, he’s coming in here.

Erin: Hey guys.

Terra: Holy crap.  We thought you were a homeless guy.

Meaghan: We almost gave you pizza.

*****

This has been installment 1 of “Awkward Stories from My Childhood.”