Wanna be my best friend?

Not too long ago, I unearthed a diary I wrote when I was 12 years old. So far, it's explained why I'm not a famous actress. It's a veritable treasure trove of insights into my young, still forming psyche. Today, I thought I'd share with you what I found out about my friendships back then, that is, in 1986.

Apparently, the "best friend" bond was taken very seriously in 6th grade, as seriously as a monogamous, exclusive relationship. No joke. Check out this excerpt from January 29, 1986. (Names have been altered to protect the innocent.)

Dear Diary,

I had an interesting day today. I was playing with Joanna and so Darlene thought that I was her best friend. But I told her we weren't. But she doesn't trust me so she didn't believe me and I'm never going to be her best friend again. Then Darlene called Christine and told her that Nadine and Savannah were B.F.'s which wasn't true. Nadine and Christine were good B.F.'s. But Christine believed Darlene and now she's Darlene's best friend. Then, we played with the boys a little and we got in trouble by the principal but it wasn't too serious. Well, I had a great day.

I'm trying to determine if I was simply much more emotionally healthy back then or in total denial. After all that drama, I declare I had a great day. What exactly constituted a bad day in 1986 for 12-year-old me? Getting gang raped and shanked in a dark alley? Not that that actually happened but I'm trying to imagine the severity necessary for me to have declared: " You know, today wasn't so great."

What is becoming apparent in this excerpt, however, is my future sluttiness - playing with the boys and getting in trouble - my innocence was already compromised, there was no turning back. 

Also, note my use of abbreviations, i.e. B.F. I was clearly ahead of my time, heralding the day when writing in abbreviations would become the norm. LOL. 

Here's another excerpt, dated February 12, 1986, which vividly demonstrates the apparently dysfunctional, toxic friendships I was involved in:

Dear Diary,

We had a little fight today. Darlene asked me if I was Joanna's best friend and I got mad so at 4:20 that afternoon I became Christine's but I'm Darlene's now. Anyways, Darlene called me five times and she was crying four times. She ripped her Corey Hart poster because of me. Joanna called her twice for me. Besides that not much happened. We got our picture taken and I think everybody took a nice picture. Well, that's it.

I'm amazed at the precision of my memory when it comes to the exact time that I became Christine's BF. These days, I'm lucky if I can remember what happened an hour ago. 

Also noteworthy, Darlene's severe distress over my defection from our exclusive friendship. I don't think any man has ever cried over me or ripped a Corey Hart poster in broken-hearted despair. 

You must understand, back then Corey was the shit and he had a hit album out, possibly his only hit album, but whatever... He was DA MAN. Ripping a Corey Hart poster would have been akin to... oh, I don't know, to boycotting iTunes or something. (How am I supposed to know what matters to kids these days?; teenage stepdaughters notwithstanding.)

Following all this intense drama, is my ever so nonchalant statement that "Besides that not much happened". Dude, the whole day sounds like a total washout - chalk full of crying, destroying personal property and gnashing of teeth. 

I'm not sure what the equivalent of that would be in 2011, but you can bet your ass I would be finishing off the day nursing a potent drink and declaring what an atrociously awful day it was. 

Perhaps there's something to learn from my 12-year-old self who could so easily brush aside personal slights and fights with loved ones, and go on to declare that "everybody took a nice picture". I don't recognize this part of myself anymore because the 36-year-old me holds on to a grudge like a crack addict to a pipe. 

I have a hard time remembering most of the pleasant, beautiful moments in my life but ask me what someone said in November 1998 that pissed me off and I'll be able to tell you in two seconds flat. Sad, I know. 

I haven't yet begun to delve into the other volumes of personal diaries I found, the next one starting in 1991 at the tender age of 16 but I suspect, given my present self, that it's a slow and steady downward spiral. 

"But Sassy", you may be thinking, "why are you so hard on yourself? We've all made mistakes." (Pause) You know what, you're right. I f*cking ROCK, diaries notwithstanding...