Yes, I’m old enough to remember accessing the internet by means of dial-up, slow-as-balls 96 baud connection to BBS boards… and well, when there wasn’t really a world wide web of shit to distract. But at least we had computers (even if I was doing even crazier shit like learning dBase). No cell phones in the 90s high school either. I had a lot of black lipstick and crazy socks and ear piercings to keep me busy though.
I realized with this blog post, I have a lot of old school computer memories. Consider this your first.
In my sophomore year of high school (where I took an actual TYPING class… on a typewriter. With white eraser ribbon. For SHIT), we were asked to fill out some kind of survey about likes, dislikes and the like. It could have even been on a Scan-tron (I wish I remembered that portion of the “test”). Just before Valentine’s Day, passed out with Candygrams and pink-smeared cookie deliveries, we were handed a super-secret envelope.
The results — I imagine were shoved into something much like an ATM, regurgitated letters like a anagram, jumble-jumble-jumble, spit out, wiped on an admin’s ass or two — printed for us on some crack-baby rolling papers, was a list of ten (or twenty?) students of the opposite sex to whom we were most compatible. An additional list was also computed with the names of students from schools AROUND THE COUNTRY. Their HOME addresses. (I imagine if a school today was asinine enough to create such a match, we would be bombarded by spam email by classmates.com).
Be that as it may, I was matched with every dork who I pushed into a locker at some point during first semester or used as my alibi for being MIA in “Performing Arts” AND *ack* someone from Boston! I was watching Wheel of Fortune tonight. Can you tell? Boston was on my mind. Boston’s name was Steven Bissonnette. He was, by my standards today, a fucking douche.
We actually exchanged several handwritten letters. He included his school photo (I think he was even a year or two older than me), and told me about… cars. He wrote back, paying me such compliments as, “DAMN! Girl, all my friends think you fine” because OF COURSE I sent him a picture too! Imagine how sexy that sounds in a Boston accent for one second.
Why would a high school do this? I have no clue. It was Ashtabula. Everyone there is seemingly one generation from being related to the next. The girl beside me during our graduation commencement was OVERDUE — meaning beyond the nine months mark of her pregnancy. I knew another chick who got pregnant TWICE in high school.
Then there was me: I would skip the first three periods to learn all about boobs, Cheech & Chong and aforementioned rolling papers. All while making breakfast. I made omelets like it was my JOB. You know, until the Assistant Principal showed up and sent us all to in-school for a week.
‘m fairly certain if I were in high school today, I would be jailed for “sexting.” And probably posting non-flattering ass shots of, well, my ass, on MySpace (because whores don’t use Facebook… I mean, underage hoochie whores don’t use Facebook. I obviously do).
One day, I will attempt to find those letters from my Pen Pal. Duh. Of course I’ll post them! And hopefully, car-loving Boston boy will never attempt to “friend” me on Facebook.
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November 18th, 2009 at 1:26 pm
I KNOW I could find my old middle school notes and diary in my old closet at my parents’ house if I wanted to.
Somehow, I just conveniently “forget” every time I go home…
November 18th, 2009 at 9:04 pm
OH, how I loved my typing course! I’m pretty sure I kicked ass at my typing.
Did you guys have notebooks? I remember in middle school having notebooks between one friend.
Ohhhh, middle school.