I'm no Becky, but..

So. You all know how much I love Becky over at Steam Me Up, Kid. Like it is probably best that she isn't local, because I would definitely drive past her house. Naah, we all know I'd park outside her house eating Almond Joys and thinking I could just go say hi to her but oh, what if we didn't click in person so instead I just sit online, reading her frigging hilarious blog posts to my husband, eating Almond Joys.

ANYWAY...so her hilarious awful high school diary posts inspired me to follow suit. But then I came across an old journal and. Well. Let's just say that I saw the phrase "bowels of humanity" and realized I, too, was a COLOSSAL douchebag in high school and decided I couldn't read anything beyond that phrase and shut the book and returned it to the bowels of my closet.

BUT...Remember how the 80s was like the total advent of the rape van and kidnapping van epidemic? Creeps lurked everywhere, I mean, they had no internet to use to lure kids, no Chris Hansen Predator: RAW scenarios to dupe them, they just had to ride around in conversion vans.

And I didn't want to be left out of that, so apparently I submitted the following to my mother:

"I was walking home from (the) bus stop and a blue van came up and asked me if I wanted anything. I started running home. He went real slow at the stop sign."

So, despite being 10 1/2, I wrote on there that I was 9 1/2. Math has never been my strong suit. Perhaps I should have told the blue van guy that I wanted a calculator.

Note that I mentioned that he "Resembled Weird Al Yankovick" and that he was about 27 (ANCIENT). What a weird kid. Seriously.

I don't know why my mom even talks to me.

I think the best part is that I am not entirely sure that this even happened. Honestly. I don't know if this even transpired. At all. But I have a precedent for not remembering these things, as Kelly reminded me that once during school mass some dude in a clown suit came into the church and sat in the back, and that the teachers just escorted all of us kids out of the church back to the school. I have ZERO recollection of that happening, and that is monumental.

Maybe someday I can open the hole of self-loathing and accept the shame spiral that will come with reading the diaries. Until then, enjoy my fake kidnapper story.