Recovered Memory Tuesday

Greetings from the hazy myst surrounding me today, ladies!

I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone. It’s not mystery that I have the worlds worst memory. Short term? Long term? You name it, I can’t remember it. I blame all the brain cells I killed off in college, but maybe it’s because of all the migraines I get or potentially being dropped as an infant (or as a cheerleader). In any event, sometimes I go back and read our emails and laugh hysterically at something that I totally forgot reading – and I’ll get to the bottom – and I wrote it. Yikes. At least I amuse myself.

Anyway. Today, I’m having flashbacks left and right. Literally, I feel like maybe my past self took LSD, present self forgot about it and now I’m having all these memories I didn’t know were in there.

I’ll only bother you with the two most amusing recovered instances.

Recovered Memory #1
Getting In BIG Trouble in Junior High for Ordering Pizza
Possibly spurred by: Having Pizza Delivered for a Meeting Today

In junior high my besties and I did everything possible to make the lives of the faculty and staff more difficult (as do all junior high students which is why I will never step foot in those God forsaken places – I’ll stay right here in fourth grade, thank you). We’d make preemptive calls home before {insert administrator here} could reach our parents telling them exactly what they should say to the (vice) principal, we’d meander off school grounds up to the high school whenever possible and bring to light every “injustice” our little 13 year old brains saw.

Our favorite form of debauchery was lunch. When we weren’t eating Twix and a Mountain Dew for lunch (Dear Junior High Metabolism, I miss you. Love, Bridget), we were “ordering” food from someone’s mom, dad or older brother. And here’s the best part: They’d actually bring it. I remember my parents once showing up in the front circle of the junior high with 12 Happy Meals.

Well. Since this worked so easily, I figured, “Hell. I bet I can order a pizza, give the driver specific instructions to meet me in the front circle and pull this off no problem.” (Our moms must have been “working” this day and unable to bring us fast food.) Needless to say, my plan didn’t work out and the delivery dude went in to the office, my vice principal had to pay for the pizza and my ass got in big trouble. I still can’t figure out exactly why. I had the money to pay him back… But no, he insisted it was HIS pizza now and that I should hand over my cell phone (YA RIGHT – I told him I ordered it from AOL Messenger in the computer lab.) HA. Scary side note: I find myself doing stuff like this to my students. “Mine now.” “Because I said.” “Hand over thy cell phone, sneaky texter.” 13 year old me would hate 25 year old teacher me.

Recovered Memory #2
Kissing Dr. Douche
Possibly spurred by: Dr. Douche Asking Another DW on a Date

First of all I’d like to start this out by saying: DR. DOUCHE IS NOT ACTUALLY A DOCTOR. He’s a physical therapist. Yes, there is a difference. My pilates instructor also has her doctorate in physical therapy, but I don’t call her Dr. Pilates Instructor. I mean, have you ever seen Dr. So and So for physical therapy? No. You see First Name Last Name, special physical therapy initials after.

Yep, you are.

Anyway. Dr. Douche was the worst first date of my WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. Ya know what? I’m not even going to qualify that: Dr. Douche was the worst date of my WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. He picked me up in his VW Cabriolet Convertible (I know, I shouldn’t be a car snob, but let’s just say, it was no Prius) and then we went out to a seemingly normal dinner. I had DWAsian “on call” as I usually would for first dates, even though I never had to use her. Until then.

After our dinner he started to plan a post date activity. Meh. I was having a “good enough” time, sure, I’d go see a movie with this dude. And then, he suggests hitting up the liquor store so we could “take pulls” during the movie. (Note: I’m all for taking something special into movies with my girls, but on a first date?! And when your THIRTY SOMETHING ass is supposed to be driving me home? No. Thank. You.) I quickly made up an excuse about how I “promised” to hang out with DWAsian after our dinner date and I’d really hate to be a bad friend and ditch out on her. Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he snapped and went ballistic. Got angry, drove me all the way home in silence and then as I got out of his car yelled, “Ya. Nice date. Looks like you just wanted a free dinner.” And flew off. Jerk. Off.

I later found out that was third date in a row that ended before 7 o’clock. I wonder why? Him being so charming and all.

Here’s the recovered memory part: The weekend before, I was super blitzed at Gracie’s and I totally kissed him. Ew. Thus, the first date of impending doom.

It’s still early, ladies. Who knows what else I’ll come up with since my memory is working so well today! Hurry, tell me something important and I might not forget it!

Your very own time machine,
Bridget

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