one of the more
interesting horrific aspects of finally going through all those storage bins i pilfered from my mom's attic, is that i found a lot of memorabilia.
namely, my yearbooks.
i have them dating back to 6th grade, but i won't terrify you with my 6th grade picture. or the shirt i was wearing. thanks, mom.
7th grade. if you could see my picture from 6th grade, it looks as if i've aged 2 - 3 years by the time this was taken. but no, i was thirteen.
notice the incessant cowlick. i will never get rid of that fucker. instead i finally figured out how to "style" (aka mash it down) around it.
this was probably me at the height of my "popularity." they still hated me, but you get certain "respect" when you're a cheerleader, yo. even if you are in the 8th grade.
i'm going to blame this on spirit week, because i have no idea why i would have sprayed my hair with that orange color otherwise. at least it was temporary...
and at least the snipey yearbook staff refrained from actual insults.
8th grade photographer? i hate you. you can see it in my eyes.
probably my least flattering picture in the history of all time, where i'm not making some sort of weird face.
freshman year. our photos are nearly indistinguishable, because we could only wear white polo shirts that year. to this day, i will not wear khaki, or white. fuck those "colors."
want to know the best way to make an entire school clinically depressed? stick them in neutral colors usually reserved for use in preppy assholes' house paint, in a grey school. ugh.
sophomore year. i fucking hate this picture. i can't quite explain why, but i do.
i made history in my school, by being the first person to bring a same-sex date to prom. and she wore a tux, woo!
i'm still proud of this.
that, and we dominated the prom page (usually filled with the popular assholes) with this picture. booya!
oh, junior year. you were so unremarkable, i don't remember a damn thing about you. but my hair was really dark, i can see that.
oh thanks dude, thanks for putting me in the yearbook looking really fucking confused in science class.
i have to admit though, it's nice when you finally get a few pictures in the yearbook where you're not directly staring holes into the dipshit photographer.
and that's what happens to my hair, when i have layers. never again.
for some completely unknown reason, i decided to try to color correct my dark hair, right before senior portraits. one of my friends later commented that i looked like i had a "rug on my head." you can't see as well in this picture, but my hair did go from blonde, all the way to dark burgundy at the bottom, so... yeah. i probably did look like a rug. yeesh.
just in case my "rug-hair" wasn't bad enough, seniors also got a small space that their parents or friends could dedicate to them. i okayed the pictures my mom put in the ad....
right before i broke up with the above complete douchebag. gah! so now, whenever i see my senior yearbooks, i still have to see his asshole face. no es bueno.
i considered not blacking out fucktard's face, because frankly i think people should be warned never to date this dipshit, but perhaps i'll save that for another day.
after all, i AM Satan. i reserve the rights to shit-talk about my enemies, any day, any time.