It may come as a shock to all of you that I was not always the cool, calm, collected chick I am nowadays. No, there was a time when I was a total fucking loser. I refer to that time as my early teens.
Now, all teens are losers in one way or another….even the cool ones. I think the teen years are a horrible awful affliction that we must all travel through in order to appreciate the rest of life fully. The thing I am most grateful for when I look back at my teen years is that I had no idea at the time how truly horrid it all was. I knew it was lame, but I didn’t know HOW bad, cuz I didn’t know HOW GOOD it would get later on in life. I have no idea what people are talking about when they say those are the best years of your life. I can guarantee you they are most definitely not.
Teenage girls are interesting creatures indeed. Though I was one relatively recently in my life (shut up! it was recent, I’m only 25….oh GOD, when did I become 25??? Pardon me, I have to go put my head between my knees before I hyperventilate), I don’t have any explanations or insights into why they act the way that they do. Other than to say that they’re just teenage girls. Full of hormones, angst, insecurities. Being pounded by conflicting media messages on an hourly basis. Told to act like the girls they see on TV (aka, sluts), but not be sluts. Told that it’s good to be smart cuz that’ll get you into university, but nobody likes a smart girl. Worried about the dumbest shit EVER….like, if this shirt is too much like the shirt that that cool girl wore yesterday…cuz she wouldn’t want everyone to think she was trying to become cool…everyone knows you CAN’T become cool, that is decided on the first day of high school and if you fail, it’s over. Accept it and move on.
My particular embarassing and awful teenage obsession? Well. I’m about to reveal that to you.
Please, understand the strength it takes me to admit fully my utter and absolute retardedness and lameness. I am fully aware of how stupid I was, I assure you. I make no excuses. I accept that it is who I once was, and I ask you to understand that it no longer reflects in any way, shape or form who I am now. I now mock girls that are like what I used to be like. Mock and pity them. But in the midst of it all, I could not see the wrong in my ways. I was blinded by my teenaged outlook. In one way, I knew it was bad, because I kept it a secret from everyone. But I couldn’t help it. I was hopelessly addicted.
Folks…….I used to love Hanson. The band. Yes, the Mmmbop kids with the long hair.
I’ll give you a moment. I know laughing that hard can often cause dizziness and shortness of breath. Take your time.
The world ‘love’ doesn’t convey how bad it truly was. We’re talking BAD.
First, the worst thing was my age. I was in my teens. High school. Most of their fans were aged 6-11. I doubled most of them. I was 13+. This was bad. I hid this for all I was worth in high school, for if I was outed, then my social standing (as LOW as it was) would plummet even further. I wasn’t cool, but I at least flew under the radar and I did NOT need anybody suddenly noticing me. Oh no, I wanted to keep myself unknown to the cool kids.
Now, being their oldest fan on the planet, I was constantly plagued with the fear of a BIG what if…….WHAT IF Hanson came to old Saskatoon to perform? I stayed up many nights, staring at my Hanson-poster-plastered walls, wondering what I would do. Certainly, I couldn’t miss it. But I had nobody to go with. I couldn’t tell anybody I was going. Did I want to stand there in the crowd, amongst girls who had just lost their front teeth, petrified that a fellow teen had been forced to bring her little sister to the show and she’d see me and tell EVERYONE? I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through. Luckily I never had to make the choice. They never came.
My source of income at this time was babysitting. I didn’t like it. You all know I hate kids. BUT it meant money. And money meant….Tiger Beat. Tiger Beat meant posters, pictures and totally useless facts aplenty about Hanson. I would babysit, collect my money, wait until everyone was out of the house and speedwalk my ass over to Walmart. There, I would look around suspiciously and be sure nobody I knew was nearby. I’d make a beeline for the magazine aisle, grab the one with the most pics and promises of revealing information and try to hide my face from the cashier while I counted out my meager earnings. I’d race home and ogle the pictures. Then I would get to the important business of ripping them out and plastering them ALL OVER my bedroom.
No surface was uncovered, I’m not even exaggerating. This led to a particularly tricky moment that I recall from Grade 10. Two of my friends were over cuz we had to work on a project. I never had friends over…not because I had no friends, but because my mom was an unpredictable crazy person who I was not willing to expose others to. So when they came over, they wanted to see my room (since that’s a big deal to teen girls). I said no, it was messy. They insisted. I said no. They insisted. I said no. Before I knew it, one of them was up the stairs and in front of my door.
I about shit my pants. My entire social life, as fragmented and sad as it was, flashed before my eyes. If she opened that door, I was outed. I was done. I’d have to drop out and get home schooled. I had no choice. I grabbed her and ripped her the fuck away from my door. Violently. I’m pretty sure this scared them both, as they were both like, ‘Okay fine! Geez Talea!’ They left the topic of my room alone for the rest of the night.
I owned all of their CDs, and to this day I still LOVE their Christmas CD. I owned their VHS tapes that they put out (it was before DVD’s). I listened and watched religiously. I had heart attacks each time their videos were on TV. If they were mentioned in the news, the family knew to be quiet so I could hear, or else I’d drop kick their asses. I was a crazy, teenaged girl. I taped their appearances on Oprah, Letterman and Leno.
I hung out on their website all the time. This was back in the day of chat rooms, and you’re damn right if you’re thinking I must have been a well-known regular. I most certainly was, thank you very fucking much.
I was glued to the TV the night that they were up for three Grammys. They didn’t win a one. I….sobbed.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, because I fully realize the absolute comedy and pathetic quality of it and want to share it with you all. Embrace who you are and let it all hang out folks. I think it’s important to be open about yourself and laugh at yourself.
But some things are not to be laughed at. If you would have told 13-year-old-me that Taylor Hanson DIDN’T reciprocate my love, I would beaten you to a bloody pulp and spit on your open wounds. How dare you, bitch!
Now, to even make this post FUNNIER (and further humiliate myself for no good reason, except that I really do find this past secret hilarious), I will share with you a photo put together by my BFF, Emerald. The day she found this out, she posted this on Facebook. I love it. It’s often my profile pic.
Me and my boys, yo. Yeah, I’m 23 in that pic and they’re like, 12, 14 and 17. Whatevs. Now…..you TOTALLY have to spill one awful secret of your past in the comments section.