People can be monsters, and I don’t mean in the Lady Gaga sense. They can be downright vicious to others without even realizing the irreversible damage they cause in the process. Though I keep it hidden away in a corner of my mind, I have a lot of memories of this kind of often subtle ruthlessness. I spent most of my young life as “the fat girl.” This is what I remember.

I remember the rough cobblestone steps leading up to my grade school. I sat on them clinging my green vinyl lunchbox for all of recess when my classmates didn’t want to play with the fat new girl.

I remember how my first grade teacher would scowl and scrunch up her dark eyes when she watched me trying to tie my shoes. “How you struggle!” She sneered. She didn’t realize how much.

I remember how other kids in the school would pass me in the hallway and say, quite simply, “You’re fat.” Cue my self-consciousness forever.

I remember how my teachers would pass out school pictures to the class when they came back from the photographer. I knew I was about to get mine when they tightened their lips and dropped their eyes. Then they’d hand my pictures to me with the clear cellophane window face-down. They were that bad. Read More »

So far this summer, I’ve been having the constant desire to re-live childhood summer times, a.k.a hopping in my DeLorean and gunning it to 1999.  The days when I was 9 years old and the world was mine.  The days when the only thing I had to worry about trying not to hurt myself when I was Skippin’ It outside all day.  The days when I was bumpin’ “If You Steal My Sunshine” and getting a perfect tan from swimming all day at camp. Those last moments of childhood where you could run around naked without feeling an ounce of self-consciousnes (knowing next summer you might be gettin’ some new curves).

10 years later, there are so many questions.  What will my major be?  Do I have enough hours at work?  Do I need to take summer classes? Where da party at? When’s the next sunny day for tanning? Does he want a relationship or a hook-up? Did I text too much this month? Should I get that new iPod?  It obviously doesn’t get easier.

Preeeeeetttyyy sure I wasn’t asking myself those questions when I was a kid.  So I say, what the hell? Let’s worry less and bring more pre-pubescent nostalgia back into our summer lives with some fun old-school pastimes: Read More »

Growing up, I always had a very large and disproportionate sense of my own dignity. I was not to be troubled by these impurities of the flesh; I buried my nose in books and ignored the swirling talk of the girls around me. When I hit puberty, I felt violated somehow, as if my body had betrayed me by being real after all, and being a major pain.

While other girls in my class talked easily about their experiences and commiserated about cramps, I was mortified by the whole experience and didn’t want to talk about it to anyone — not to parents, doctors, or friends. The whole business was just embarrassing and shouldn’t be mentioned except when absolutely necessary, I thought.

Only after years of getting older and wiser have I lost some of my adolescent self-consciousness and become comfortable telling someone when I have cramps (in case they haven’t guessed from me being doubled up on the floor). I still don’t have much tolerance for discussing sex, though. I don’t mind it when others talk, but I’d blush like mad to speak about it myself. So am I just a Puritan, or is there a place in the world for the bashful as well? Read More »