Monday Memories: Dress Code Discrimination?

I read about this controversial dress code from Delightfully Ludicrous and I just knew that a rant had to happen.

So I thought I could make it more fun by offering you my very own dress code story and incorporating it into Monday Memories.

Monday Memories

So today, friends, Monday Memories is all about dress codes.

First and foremost, I want to state for the record that it’s a sad sad state of things when the dress code of a child in kindergarten is considered compromised. The fact that it needs to exist at all? Baffling.

I got in trouble in grade school for wearing a tee-shirt featuring Spuds McKenzie, because it represented beer.

But never in a million years would my mother have let me out of the house in a freaking push up bra at 7. Or a thong. A freakin’ thong. I see younger and younger girls at Victoria’s Secret every time I stop in. (Which is a lot, because I have an obsession. And it’s not with their underwear. Yoga pants. Yoga crops. Yoga leggings. Yoga shorts.) But these little girls are buying thongs.

I STILL don’t like thongs.

So back to dress codes. After watching the news clip of the little girl who got in trouble for wearing a hello kitty outfit with a skort and tights (for the skort being “too short”), I was appalled. And annoyed. Because school administrators are very picky about who has to turn their shirts inside out, who has to wear their gym clothes, who has to be sent home. I feel like they may have discriminated against this girl. Not necessarily because of her race, but for anything. Maybe the school didn’t like the way her mother dressed. Maybe the school admins didn’t like the mother. I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

It happened to me once in high school. Because I was the chubby girl. Now in high school, I wasn’t fat. But I was bigger than a lot of the other girls. One of my favorite go-to warm-weather clothing items (when I wasn’t wearing pajamas to school-which I did a lot) was a tube top and overall shorts. I know. Classy. But I liked it. I thought I looked nice. My mom thought I looked nice. The overalls had straps that fit the school’s dress code criteria and lots of girls dressed that way. It wasn’t revealing. At all.

But one day I got pulled to the side by an administrator who politely informed me that it was gym shirt or get sent home. I had a sweatshirt in my locker that I was able to throw over my outfit (though I was sweltering) and I made it through the day. She was discriminating against me, because I was the chubby girl with boobs. She basically told me it was because girls with chests shouldn’t wear clothing like I was wearing. There wasn’t even cleavage showing (well, not any more than the skinny girls showed, anyways).

dress code discrimination

This was not the set in question. This was actually MORE revealing than the one that got me in trouble. I wore this on the last week of school as a “Fuck You” to the administrator who called me out the first time. Guess what? No one said a word. So they pick and choose their battles.

I was pissed, but I survived. And fortunately so will the little girl in her Hello Kitty cuteness. Let’s just hope she doesn’t start shopping and A&F or Victoria’s Secret for bras and thongs next year when she’s 7.

Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life for more dress code memories!

So what about you guys? Ever felt like someone in charge was calling you out because you were different?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Bookish Memories

This week’s Monday Memories is all about books! My story is a short, but sweet one…and by sweet, I mean I had a teacher who didn’t know who she was dealing with…and by that, clearly I mean my mom.

Monday Memories

(Note to Mom: If I get this wrong according to the story in your head…just you know…keep it to yourself 😉 )

In 3rd grade, back when I didn’t have a large collection of chapter books for kids, I would read children’s books. Rapidly. I mean, I also chewed through Ramona Quimby, Fudge, Roald Dahl, The Babysitters Club, and other kid-themed books faster than a lot of kids…But sometimes, I would read several books in one night. Especially if they were my Little Golden Books.

There was all that Book-It stuff in which you got free Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas for reading books. And we got extra credit for the more books we read. I’ve always been a fan of extra credit. Always. Of course, upon reporting these to my 3rd grade teacher, she thought I was making shit up.

When my parents went in for parent teacher conferences? She told them I was a liar and had a problem. So my mom asked, what does she lie about. She says she reads all of these books and it’s impossible to read that much. (Bad teachers don’t do research on the names of the books that kids are reading. Bad teachers assume that the kids are telling the truth that the book titles they list exist, unless of course, there are too many books on the list. THEN, those kids are liars. Bad teachers tell parents that they’re doing a piss poor job of raising a kid who stays up late at night to read books instead of sleep.)

I’m pretty sure my mom went off on her. She was already holding a grudge that I wasn’t in the “gifted” program at school. I just made my own gifted program. By reading more than anyone else. Whatevs. I was reading flipping picture books and writing that shit down. Documentation, my friends. Documentation.

Speaking of which, I wish I still had that shit.

The Best Reading Chair

I’ve been reading in this chair since I was old enough to read. It lived in my Gram’s house for years…she gave it to me when I grew up, because she knew I loved it so much.

Want more bookish memories? Go visit Lily over at It’s a Dome Life. I swear she and I are kindred spirits. If you like me, you’ll love her!

Tell me your favorite bookish memory? What was your favorite book when you were a kid?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Hoarder? Who, me?

Today’s Memories are all about childhood collections. I have a feeling that my soul sister in New Mexico (Lily from It’s a Dome Life) is going to have a similar tale to tell, so go check her out!

So I may or may not have mentioned my childhood bedroom. I collected everything. EV-RE-THING. It looked like a tornado had come through, tossing Barbies, Barbie clothes, books, dress up clothes, Cabbage Patch Dolls Little People, She-Ra, My Little Pony, trolls, cassette tapes, key chains, buttons, pins, patches, birthday cards, photographs, and a crap ton of LEGOs around like a boss. The piles of single socks, clothes, and toys that adorned the floor of my bedroom was astounding. In a not-cool sort of way. For some reason if everything was “organized” in a pile, it was okay…for me anyways.

These days, I still have piles of clean laundry (in a laundry basket, though). But my crazy collections have finally ceased. Sort of.

The Nook helps with the book hoarding. It really does. I saved only the cards that have personal notes in them. or the ones that were from my grandparents. or the really funny ones. But I got rid of the dumb ones. The Barbies and their accessories are boxed up on my parents garage shelves…collecting dust, but who cares. They’re freakin’ Barbies! With pretty dresses! The trolls, little people, she-ra, and the ponies disappeared, though I’m not sure where. Mom gave away all of my children’s books. I suppose that’s what happened to everything else. I mean, I’ve still got the important stuff. The original CPKs.The BARBIES. The Disney VHS tapes…You know…the important stuff.

Now I just collect…clothes. And shoes. And purses. That I don’t wear or use. And seashells. That are sitting in shoe boxes on my closet shelf.

OK. So maybe I’m still a hoarder. Just a little bit. But I mean…two closets and three dressers full of clothes. Plus several Rubbermaid crates…Hmmm…Maybe I should get rid of things I don’t wear.

Well if that wasn’t the rambliest post ever, I don’t know what is. Next Monday, we’ll be writing about BOOK MEMORIES! Write about your favorite memories with Lily and I. Just let us know that you’re in so we can link to you!

Did you collect strange things when you were a kid? Did you collect anything?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Stargazing, Meteor Showers, and Me

Today’s Monday Memories is brought to you by FIRSTS. First loves, first kisses, first free ride in a police car, first meteor shower…you know…whatever you want as long as it’s a first.

Monday Memories

In honor of the Lyrid Meteor Shower this weekend/last night/this morning/whatever, I’d like to take a moment to remember my very first (and I think only…) meteor shower.

I was in college. A sophomore. In a city. In the middle of Cornfield, IL. And there was going to be a meteor shower. Like every quasi-teen-girl in the history of ever, the idea of watching a crap load of shooting stars is ridiculously romanticized. Especially when the girl in question has a ridiculous crush on one of her dude friends. One of her dude friends who suggests an evening of meteor gazing.

OBVIOUSLY this was fate calling.

Except that we were a part of a fearsome threesome (Get that dirty image out of your minds, blog friends. Not THAT kind of threesome. Just FRIENDS. UGH. It’s like you don’t even know me.)

And so we made a plan. Robert, Cletus and I would venture out to the cornfields to watch the stars fly. I was so excited I thought I might pee myself. (Not really; that’s gross. It’s just an EXPRESSION, guys.)

Except that much like this weekend, it was FUCKING cold out.  (Don’t even get me started on the torrential flooding rains turned snowy icy death pellets two days later.) So we stayed up all night with a South Park marathon and left in the wee hours of the morning to watch the shower of meteors. After packing a comforter and some folding chairs, we were set.

We drove to the middle of nowhere, “parked” the car, and set up the chairs. In the middle of a dark two lane highway in the cornfields. And watched the stars. And it was GLORIOUS. For 5 whole minutes. Before both Cletus and Robert gave the fuck up. 5 minutes of stars and those whiny bitches were DONE?!? (I mean that with the utmost sincerity of love for my pals). I sat out there shivering for another 15 minutes before they made me pack up and get into the car.

I watched the stars out the window all the way back to Peoria in awe. This were some amazingly beautiful performance put on by the galaxy. And I wanted to soak it all in.

But the romanticized part about stargazing with one’s crush? Fucking ridiculous. That shit should be shared with EVERYONE. Except that now that I’m nearing 30, I’m old and cranky and can’t bear to think of waking up before 6:15 in the morning. Or going to bed after 11:30 at night. So no stars for me this week. But to all you stargazers out there, I’m with you in my mind.

Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life for more Monday Memories! If you’d like to join us next week, our topic is going to be: “Write about something you collected as a child.”

Ever seen a meteor shower, friends? How about a shooting star?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Yes.

No.

Well…not anymore anyways.

First things first: This post is a part of the Monday Memories to Make You Laugh Series. Each week, you can join me, It’s a Dome Life, and First Time Mom and Dad in our adventures of remembering. If you’d like to jump on our little bandwagon, we’d love to have you. Today’s prompt is all about being afraid of the dark.

When I was a kid I used to have these recurring nightmares.

  • A giant gorilla escaped from the zoo that smashes through our kitchen wall from the backyard. (I blame Disney)

  • A pack of wolves chasing me around my dining room table.
  • Vampires – hiding under my bed.

I couldn’t fall asleep without the hall light on. In the holiday season, I had to have Christmas lights in my room (but NEVER red ones. Red ones were evil. They made my pink room glow with scary red walls. I suppose my disdain for the color red makes it a little ironic that I wrote a poem about the color red…)

If I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would JUMP from my bed to the middle of the floor, so that anything hiding under my bed would have to come out from under there to grab me, thus giving me time to sort of run away. Really, it all worked out in my head.

Nowadays, I can’t sleep without complete darkness, but I’ll always look fondly on the days of vamps and wolves. Oh crap. My childhood was like a clip of Twlight.

Blog friends! Did you have nightmares when you were a kid? Crazy fears of the dark? Worries about something under the bed? Tell me about it!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Because Polish Girls Have Some Crazy Arm Hair…

Today, thanks to Lily from It’s a Dome Life, our Monday Memory is all about Beauty Gone Painful. I’ve already told you about that one time I accidentally cut a giant bald spot in my hair (Seriously, go read that) And there was the time that I was visiting my aunt and we took some SERIOUS glamour shots…This one is all about unpleasant hair.

I’m Polish. (And Irish. And English. And German. And Jewish-ish. And probably a little bit Scottish.)

So regardless of the blond hair as a child, the brownish hair speckled with gray hiding under the red dye, I have some black as black can be arm hair. Or I would if I didn’t shave it all off weekly.

Yep. I shave my arm hair. But long before I thought to just…you know…shave it all off…my little sister and I invested in NADS Australian no-heat wax. With money from my grandfather.

We thought that it would be an excellent way to get rid of that pesky arm hair. And so we lathered ourselves up, and let that shit dry. The we let-er-rip. Holy fucking crap, did that shit hurt. It was like trying to get gum out of your hair and pulling your hair and stabbing your skin and burning your skin (no-heat wax or not) all at once. And it didn’t even do a good job. So what did we do? We tried our legs. And that didn’t work at all because apparently your hair has to be ridiculously long for it to work.

The lesson? Even if it leaves the occasional need for Mickey Mouse Band-Aids…Bust out the razor.

Band-Aids

Check out my Monday Memory partners in crime, as they tell you all about their beauty mishaps!

Monday Memories
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Melba Toast and Me

I know. I know. I KNOW. You’re sitting there thinking, Melba Toast? Really, Chrissy? But there’s a lot going on in this post…so bear with me.

The Bloggess and Me

FIRST, this week is a very exciting week for me. In honor of the excitement of my meeting Jenny Lawson (AKA The Bloggess) on Thursday and creepily stalking her err…. making her my new best friend getting her to autograph a book at a bookstore 10 minutes from my apartment…I am dedicating this whole week to just a few of the bloggers I love (If you don’t make it into a post, this doesn’t mean I love you any less…I had to go with the bloggers that fit into my posts, yo. Promise.)

Get to the Fucking Point, Chrissy.

SECOND, today is Monday Memories and April from First Time Mom and Dad has created today’s topic: My First Car and Joyrides. So visit April and Lily from It’s a Dome Life (do not fret, Lily–your dedication is coming) for more memories of joy (rides)!

Monday Memories

 My First Car

When I was 16, I opened up a very lightweight box on Christmas morning from my parents and my grandfather. Inside was a slip of paper that said, “BAM! You’re getting a car!” OK, it may not have said BAM. But it was awesome. I had dreams of a cute little Jeep Wrangler…but those dreams would not come to fruition. Even better, of course, was stumbling upon this white 1994 Ford Explorer (in 1999) and even though it had a funny smell, I fell in love with it. I felt taller, stronger, and more awesome in this giant beast of a vehicle.

Obviously, I had to have it. And it, I did have. Throughout the rest of high school, this beast was recognized as different variations of “the Pink Mobile” thanks to the ever-changing, but always hot pink license plate frames, pink fuzzy dice, and furry pink steering wheel cover.

This car was the greatest thing for a high school kid, but it was also the worst thing. Back in those days, we 16-year-olds didn’t have a graduated license program. We just got the license and drove. Wherever. Whenever. With however many kids could fit in the vehicle. (MOM, stop reading here. No seriously…you don’t want to read this part.) For the record, in a Ford Explorer, that’s a lot.

(Mom. I’m not joking.) I’ll never forget my parents driving my car to an away football game (I was a cheerleader) so that my pals and I could go out afterward. They asked who else was driving, and I listed off a couple of names, as a huge crowd of my brother’s and my friends followed us to the parking lot. As my parents got into their own car, several of our friends hid behind the explorer, waiting for the P’s to drive away. At the very least, there were 8 of us. The five in the picture below, plus 3 more that I know for sure, and 2-3 maybes. It may have been 11 people in my vehicle that night.

my first car fit a lot of kids in it

This was that night. Don’t mind my terrible bangs.

On the plus side MOM (if you’re still reading…), I yelled at them all to shut the fuck up so that I could drive safely to the bowling alley. And they listened. Mostly.

It was a lovely car.

My first car

The Explorer is on the right, next to her replacement, Dawn, the Sunfire. My dad drove the Explorer after I was done with her.

Always Name Your Own Car Right Away

Where does Melba Toast come in? OH. RIGHT. In college, I met Katie. And Katie had this weird thing about naming…EVERYTHING. She named her plants. She named her car. She talked to her cereal in the morning. She was basically awesome with a side of awesome.

One Fourth of July, while sitting in my house, eating taco dip and potato salad, Katie decided to name my future child Melba Toast. (She had already named our BFF Deb’s future child “Stumpy.”) I told her that was a horrible name for a child. So, then, she opted to name my car Melba Toast instead. Just like she named Deb’s car, Julio. And somehow it stuck. I tried to fight it, but Deb and Katie kept calling her Melba Toast. And giggling uncontrollably. And until her death (sentence to the junkyard in 2009), she was lovingly referred to as Melba Toast. And I learned the all important lesson that you should always name your car right away…or anyone else has the right to.

Today’s Post is Dedicated to…(Drum Roll Please…)

Katie from Words for Worms

Katie is my butter-churning best friend from a past life. My best friend in real life (yes, REAL Freakin LIFE), Katie writes a brilliant book blog and sometimes sidetracks with quirky stories of her quirky husband…and she has a penguin problem obsession. But she’s awesome…and this post is a little about her…so dedicating it to her was easy! Also, she is nominated right along next to me (AND THE FREAKIN BLOGGESS) for Best Writing of a Weblog as a Bloggies Finalist.

AND

April from First Time Mom and Dad

One of my BBBs (Blogging Best Buddies) who is also nominated for a Bloggie (Best New Weblog!), April came up with today’s topic. She writes a blog about being a mom for the first time, and her hilarious husband who Photoshops their baby onto the funniest pictures. Product reviews, giveaways, and laugh out loud stories…you’ll love her honesty and humor.

 

Bloggies Finalist
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Punk Rock Prom Queen AKA Chrissy the Musical

This week’s theme for Monday Memories is music. When I posed the idea to my lovely lady bloggers, April and Lily of First Time Mom and Dad and It’s a Dome Life respectively, they both jumped at the thought. I was excited. And then…I thought about it…and I couldn’t think of what in the world I should write about.

I grew up with music. Dad was into the oldies music; Mom was into classic rock; My big sister was into 80’s hair bands and 90’s rock; and me? I was the classic NKOTB and Tiffany kind of kid. But can I think of something hilarious to tell you?

Yep.

Does anyone else walk through life imagining that hey are the star of their very own musical? Just me? Oh. Okay…well let me explain how this works.

Sometimes, I’ll be walking down the street…having a great day, and all of a sudden my head is full of a song.  More often than not, it’s a real song. Sometimes, I make up a song in my head. And it’s usually pretty terrible. But to be a fly on a wall inside my head…could be pretty amusing. Or frightening. One of those.

I sing sad songs and happy songs as my day or week progresses and sometimes, I even start dancing along with the music. I like to think that the musical version of my life is pretty awesome. I’ve decided to give you a list of real songs that often run through my head in the musical of my life. Some of these are mere snippets from the songs, others are the entire songs. I’ll let you figure out which ones are the snippets. Also, please don’t judge my random and sometimes terrible taste in music. People, I give you: Chrissy: The Musical

  • Basket Case by Green Day
  • All That Jazz from Chicago
  • A Thousand Years by Christina Perry
  • The Remedy by Jason Mraz
  • The Middle by Jimmy Eat World
  • Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel
  • 3 Small Words from Josie and the Pussycats
  • Circus by Britney Spears
  • Seasons of Love from Rent
  • Anything by Bon Jovi before 2001
  • Cheeseburger in Paradise by Jimmy Buffett
  • Tik Tok by Kesha

I know that there are more. I know that there are better, cooler songs. But I’m trying to finish this post today and not next year.

 

Monday Memories

Happy Monday everyone! Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life and April at First Time Mom and Dad for some more musical memories. Want to write about your memories with us? Send an e-mail to quirkychrissy@gmail.com to let me know!

ALSO, if you’re feeling so inclined, please feel free to make your way to the 2013 Bloggies to vote for me and other much more amazing bloggers (like Words for Worms, First Time Mom and Dad, and Pocketful of Joules)!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!