Sunday, October 31, 2004

Every Bulldog Has Been Taught. . .

Lately I’ve been reading blogs written by teenagers because, well let’s face it, I’m immature. Their musings on high school remind me of my own 4 years at PHS and a few choice teachers who I made way too much fun of. Now that I am a teacher with my own set of quirks and, perhaps, even a few students who hate me, I feel some compassion for those teachers but it doesn’t lessen the strangeness of a particular A.P. History teacher’s obsession with the federal prison system, “They like the blondies,” she would quip. I still don’t understand the glee with which she told us that they hide bloody eggs in chocolate cake mixes. “That’s why I only buy white, kids. And you should do the same!”

Hearing present day accounts of teachers I used to have makes me feel a little dumb. (At this point in my bloglife you must be asking yourself, what doesn’t make you feel dumb, embarrassed or uncomfortable Kacy? Not much, my friends, not much.) Why does it affect me like this? Because I thought I was so original in my day. But it’s like, oh. Everyone gets that she was bald and he was a pervert. I guess I wasn’t hilariously insightful. Nevertheless, it serves to bond any and all PHS graduates within blogging distance. You know what I’m talking about. That’s right. I’ve referenced 3 oldtimers in the above paragraph (4 if you count you know who’s roommate.) There. We’ve all bonded, remembered the good old days, and I’ve slandered no one so I won’t have to delete this blog. (I’ll do it too!)

But what I really want to talk about are 2 trips I went on as a child and the disbelief I feel when I look back on what seemed normal and fun to me at the time. When I was in Jr. High I went on a school trip to Cancun with Senor Urish. I totally ruled at Simon Dice and spoke some of the best Spanish in the group. Nevertheless, that doesn’t really seem to qualify me for the job of “guide” among my fellow 13 year olds. We were allowed to jump in taxis at night and leave our hotel. I always sat up front and did the talking. “Miguel, my hell” sung to the tune of “Michelle, my belle” always got a BIG laugh from the drivers. “A la corazon de la cuidad!” 15,000 pesos later and hopefully we would make it to the mall where we would eat pistachio ice cream and talk to anyone and everyone who gave us any attention—which was a lot of people. A couple of my friends accidentally got kissed on the mouth. I was propositioned by a man (a tourist) who said (in English) that he had an incredible urge to kiss me. (1) What a pervert and (2 )Where was Senor Urish? Near molestations aside, we thought it was a riot. But we were 13. Could I be remembering this wrong? I guess it all turned out ok. I spoke lots of Spanish and bought great souvenirs. I don’t remember eating any Mexican food though. Ay Carumba!

My next trip was the U.S. History Tour in High School. There was one teacher and maybe a few parents on the trip with us. For me this trip was all about getting to the David Letterman Show. Sadly, it was during the infamous “writers’ strike” so I didn’t get in. Of course, I didn’t have tickets or anything, but I cursed those writers for ruining my trip. My friend, Jenny, and I were left to plan our day and make our way around New York City. By most standards we were pretty square. (Even though we did develop a little bit of a rep when we retired early to our double bed before the other 2 girls who were sharing our room had returned to the hotel. So when some people came into our hotel room to visit us there we were, side by side in a double bed with a perfectly good, empty, double bed right next to us unused. This was one of those situations where explaining made it seem worse.) Were all the chaperones focusing on the real troublemakers who might have been trying to buy booze or steal? Wait a second, was I afforded such freedom because I was so lame? Did Mrs. B. know that all Jenny and I wanted to do was visit Just Bulbs and Just Shades and take pictures of each other hailing taxi cabs? Well good for her. I guess she’s getting the last laugh. Nevertheless, I’m still appalled. We totally got lost and stuff. Like, I went to Maryland. Which was not on the itinerary. And there was another near molestation involving Jenny and a person named Takuji at the Kennedy Center. Yikes.

These were great times. It’s only when I think of it as a grown-up that it all seems a little questionable. Speaking of questionable, at my Senior Dinner Dance the assistant vice principal told me I looked like a ZZ Top girl. What's that supposed to mean?Does that seem like a compliment to you? Doesn’t it have all kinds of implications that are unflattering? Anyway, I looked lovely. I know I’ve mentioned a few boyfriends here and there on this blog and there was the whole Robert Plant bra thing (which, by the way, can be done in a very modest and perfectly circumspect manner if you plan ahead) but I was a nice girl, not ZZ Top girlish at all and I don’t think I deserved that. I really don’t. Would a ZZ Top girl let loose in NYC spend the day trying to find Just Bulbs? I think not.

7 comments:

  1. OK, 2 things
    1- I had the bald teacher- and after the first term, we came into class the next day, and she had written in big letters on the black board "First Term Was Easy, Just to Break You In, NOW THE WORK GETS EVEN HARDER"
    Boy she was a riot.

    2- Christian, you may need to talk to your wife about keeping the bra on, there has been several mentions of it throughout this bra.

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  2. Cameron, with that attitude it's no wonder you're single.

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  3. Wow, I don't know what to say. Will I too someday grow up and realize how unfunny I really was? I sure hope not. I sure hope not.

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  4. That won't happen to you, Nate. You're funny. But I'm just a hack.

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  5. OK...where do I begin... how about with... you make me never want to have children. You were the cool-but-good kid that I hope my kids hang out with (well someone like you...you may not want to hang out with my kids by the time I actually have any...) Strange tourist men wanting to kiss you? Thirteen-year-olds in Mexican taxi cabs? I am panicking! I'm not even a mother. But then again, when I think about all the alcohol poisoning and black vomiting that went on during my high school trips I am pacified. Funny, I never thought vomiting would pacify me.

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  6. Anonymous12:08 PM

    A beautiful coming-of-age film will one day be culled from Kacy’s archives.

    Important morality tip I learned on a school trip: A respectable young man (from another Wasatch Front school) assigned to our room at the Phoenix Hilton explained that dangerous liaisons could be avoided by always making sure that your feet stink -- he recommended omitting socks while wearing synthetic leather shoes. He reasoned that no one was ever "almost molested" with their pants on, and that pants can’t come off without first removing shoes. He knew his limits. No matter how tempted or weak he felt, he would never expose the object of his desire to the stench of his dogs. I sincerely hope this worked for him. I was probably four years away from my first kiss when this secret knowledge was relayed to me, but some of my innocence was lost that day.

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