Annie Oakley

Oh God, oh God, oh God....What was I thinking?

No, wait - what was my Mom thinking? I'm blaming her for this catastrophe.

I hated junior high. And, not in the, "Man, I wish I didn't have to go to school today" kind of way. It was more like, if I could have gotten away with faking sick every day for three years, I would have.

Seriously.

In grade school, there are popular kids, but they haven't reached that cosmic level of being too good to speak to the other kids yet. We still went to the same parties, talked to the same people and played the same games in recess.

Then, in the three short months of summer vacation between fifth grade and sixth grade, the popular kids acquired this magical quality of superiority and the not-so-popular kids - of which I was a card-carrying member - somehow became even less cool.

Of course, cowboy boots and horse t-shirts have that magical "I'm totally lame" quality about them, I suppose.

Now, I'm not saying that everyone that ran in the popular crowd was a terrible, mean-spirited person because that's just not true. But, there were a select few that really enjoyed cracking jokes at my expense.

Anyway, the point I'm getting at is this: with my membership in the way-too-lame-to-function-club paid in full for three years, by the time I thought I might like to hang out or go to a dance with a boy, it just wasn't going to happen.

I did go to a few junior high dances, but most of the time I went stag with my other girlfriends and when the slow songs came on, I did what any logical, junior high girl would do: I sat on the bleachers by myself.

Then, near the end of my eighth grade year, I went to a dance with my best friend. A boy we both knew casually really wanted to date her (you know, hold hands in the hallways and pass notes in class - that kind of dating), and he was going to be there.

Not being one to pass up my fair share of awkwardness, '90s music (C'mon ride the train...) and bad hair, I signed on as her reluctant wingman - or woman. I put on my favorite and most un-lame dress that I owned and headed off, not knowing that this would be my second encounter with Scoop.

Until next time...