Dear Mean Girls of 1993,

04May08

7th grade.

Back then, I thought my world ended when you, the mean girls of 1993, decided my place in our junior high social society. I couldn’t understand why we, who had said we were “best friends forever”, who had necklaces purchased from claire’s that were the shape of hearts split in half…my half saying “be fri” another half saying “st ends,” were suddenly no longer friends.

My frail 13 year old mind could not believe what was going on. I understood that my friendship with you all equaled popularity at its finest. I got invited to the raddest sleepovers. It was expected to eat lunch at the coolest table. I was protected in the jungle of adolescents.

And then one day it stopped. I was no longer cool. I didn’t know why. I was thoroughly traumatized. Scarred in ways where I wished Zach Morris and his mondo outrageous cell phone would come and save me.

But talking to my best friend the other day. She eloquently explained what years of buried teenage angst couldn’t tell me.

“You didn’t like being a slut or shoplifting…”

She’s right. While you were out at the Panorama Mall five fingering guess jean overalls or at Thrifty’s pocketing cover girl lipstick and loreal eyeliner, I was happy at home watching Animaniacs, Histeria, and Freakazoid. While you were off at make out parties and partaking in sips of boons stolen by your older siblings, I was happy riding bikes in the neighborhood with my cousins. I simply did not want to be an “adult” as much as you did. I enjoyed my childhood as much as I could. I let the warm San Fernando Valley days blaze memories into my mind that I would always cherish.

And you all, the mean girls of 1993 peaked in the middle of high school. Got pregnant, got abortions, got stuck in the valley, got stabbed in the back by each other, got stuck in your own world of ineptitude.

So thank you. Thank you for the shit you put me through. Thank you for crappy junior high nonsense that was 1993. It was the best thing that ever could have happened to me.

L

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