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...

How Don Johnson ruined my acting career

A little over a month ago, I was in our basement tracking down a kickboxing certificate my new dojo required since I started up again after a three year absence. Anyhoo, I located this certificate in a Rubbermaid crate full of other memorabilia, including diaries I kept as a young girl. 

I thought I would briefly look through said diaries. An hour or so later, the blue tinge of my bare feet on the cold basement floor indicating that it was time to go back upstairs, I vowed to share my story with the world of how Don Johnson ruined my acting career. 

You're probably thinking: "But Sassy, what's the correlation between your diaries, Don Johnson and your non-existent acting career?" Well, I'm getting to that because I know you're dying to find out. I came upon a diary I kept for a few months when I was 12 years old. In it was depicted my intense crush on Don Johnson, watching Miami Vice and my brief stint in a drama class. 

You see, I was enrolled in a drama class at the local television station that started at 9 am sharp on Saturday mornings. Miami Vice aired at 10 pm on Friday nights. I just HAD to watch Miami Vice because of my obsession with Don Johnson. However, doing so made it terribly difficult to get up the next morning for my class. 

Therefore, my mother told me: "No more Miami Vice." To which I apparently responded: "No more drama class." Yes folks, I quit the drama class after a few weeks so I could watch Don Johnson on TV on Friday nights. (Insert snide remark here.)

Below are selected excerpts from my childhood diary, depicting what can only be described as a strange, deluded state of mind, addicted to fictional characters on TV.

January 17, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I didn't write to you last night. I was so tired I just went to bed right after Miami Vice (my favorite T.V. show). But I won't be seeing it for a while because my mother wants me to go to bed earlier because my drama class starts at 9:00 and Miami Vice finishes at 11:00. I'm sure gonna miss Don Johnson. I found out that Don Johnson has a son and a girlfriend. Well it's really depressing but I still like him. 

It gets worse people...

February 4, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I want to talk about something. My dream. But I just want to tell you that I had an O.K. day today first. Now, you see I'm depressed because you see I really really want to meet Don Johnson but I know it's never going to happen. I have his address but if I write him a letter he probably won't have time to read it. I don't know what's happening to me sometimes I just can't stop thinking of him. Well, I won't die until I meet Don Johnson.

A mere 11 days later, notice this entry describing a typical Saturday morning.

February 15, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I had a good day today. First, I got up and watched cartoons, ate breakfast, did my toilette and my mother brought my sister to her gymnastics. 

Watching cartoons!!! That's what I was doing instead of perfecting my acting skills! Watching cartoons and nursing my crush on Don Johnson. Things could have been so different for me... I could have been a movie star by now, goddammit. 

I am however impressed with my use of the word "toilette", a fancy French word meaning I actually bathed that day.

Damn you Sonny Crockett and your hotness.