….little Cindigo continues on her journey through adolescent hell.

Tue. Nov. 8, 1983
Dear Diary,
Today I was sick, at least that’s what my mom thought, so she let me stay home. Since I was in bed when she got home, she thinks I’m really, really sick and she said I might stay home tomorrow. Guess what, this Saturday night, I might be able to stay at Hollie’s house because Joan’s boyfriend Rex moved out. Yeah!

P.S. I still hate school.

(So crafty….even then. I had forgotten, but my mom wouldn’t let me stay at Hollie’s because one of her Aunt’s boyfriends lived there for a while.)

Tue. Nov. 15, 1983
Dear Diary,
I didn’t write over the weekend because I forgot. I didn’t go to school today. No one understands what it’s like there. Or they do understand, and they don’t care. The only good thing about school is Patrick and Vince. Patrick is one of my good friends, and I know Vince won’t even look at me. What a babe!

(I still think they knew and were too self absorbed to notice. This may explain the chip on my shoulder towards any type of authority figures. I vaguely recall Vince, but I cannot confirm or deny if he actually was a “babe” or not. At that time, I’m sure Mr. X was a babe, I was just too young and stupid to truly appreciate his “babeness”. So, baby, if your reading this, I’m so sorry. I know it hurts you for me to talk about other men in such a way, but, just know, I think you are a total babe. If you want, I’m sure I can hunt Vince down and we can schedule a fight after school in front of the bike racks.)

Sat. Nov. 19, 1983
Dear Diary,
Today I went to a Menudo concert, it was really fun. The guys in the group are really cute and when they were on stage, all the girls were jumping on stage trying to kiss them. It was pretty funny. We had the best seats in the house on the side of the stage. I went with Hollie and her dad.

(Hollie’s dad lived in Puerto Rico and owned a sound company. He would travel with them sometimes. Yes, I hung out with Menudo……am I cool or what. A fourteen year old Ricky Martin even. Hollie and I used to make up stories about them, and how Ray would fall in love with her and Roy would fall in love with me. In every story they would some how find us and rescue us from our pre pubescent hell and we would live happily ever after. I know I have that canary yellow folder covered with Garfield stickers somewhere at my parent’s house. Every time I go, I search, but it so far has not been located.

My apologies once again to Mr. X: Baby, it meant nothing. I swear it. I was young, I didn’t know.

When I was twelve, Hollie and I spent the summer in Puerto Rico with her dad and her missionary relatives. We saw Ozzy Ozbourne and guess who opened for him. Come on guess. You’ll never guess….Michael Bolton, no joke. At that time, he was trying his hand at the metal genre. We also went to a lot of salsa (the dance, not the chip topping) concerts, where I learned to put my hand on my belly and shake my hips like a hoochie mamma cita. Heady stuff for twelve.)

That is all for today except for two short stories from present time.

1. I had the worst partner in class last night. I have one week to graduate, and by this time, everyone knows who sucks and who doesn’t at massage. When it is time to pick partners, everyone scrambles to avoid the weaklings of the herd. I just didn’t have enough energy last night to scramble. I was partnered up with a man with belly that looked like he was pregnant and a constitution that looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment. When he was working at my head and leaning over my back, his fat belly rested on the back of my head and jammed my face into the head opening. I restrained my giggles and suffered through the hour.

2. Yesterday morning I got up and went into the kitchen, saw an open bag of dried fruit and yelled out, “Oh great, I left the bag of dried fruit open, and now it’s extra dry!” This cracked me up while I ate a toaster waffle.