Bl-Argh. Today sucks it. My boss is still out and Milton is still on the other side of the floor, but apparently the down town loan center branch is having phone issues and they've shipped a bunch of guys over here. We have empty cubes in our area, so they've parked five new guys in our section.

For the past half and hour I've had a group of people bumbling around behind and around me. They're all asking questions about how to get voice mail, where the printer it, how to log into voice mail, how to get voice mail, how to log in to voice mail and how to get voice mail. Jesus. Also, they're all talking on land lines while ignoring their shrill ringing cell phones. The guy on my right side has a DEEP MANLY VOICE with no volume control. Hate this shit. So much for peace and quiet.

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I Don't Think You're Ready For This Jelly.

Oh, it's time for something special. We're going to take a little journey back in time and check out some truly horrifying visions from the 80's and my childhood. That's right, I'm going to torture you with my youthful angst.

I was a weird kid in the best possible way. I was eager to please, sensitive, imaginative and a total geek. Naturally, I was not popular by any stretch of the imagination. I remember doing okay in kindergarten, but by third grade I was a well-known outcast. When you needed someone to pick on or blame, I was your girl. I was a female Milhouse.

I always had a few good friends, but was never accepted into the popular group. If one of the popular group members made the mistake of befriending me, they were given the following choice: cut me off immediately (and viciously) or get ousted. This happened more than once, but never stopped me from falling for it again and again.

Through it all, I survived. I survived glasses, braces, and a learning disability, all at the same time. I survived being teased for looking like a boy, for having bad hair, for having a flat chest, for wearing the wrong clothes, for being too willing, too eager, too creative, too dumb. I coped by getting lost in books, horseback riding and an imaginary world of my own creation.

But, I still remember almost every mean and horrible thing said and done to me (sometimes by teachers!) and used to regale co-workers with Tales of Adrien's Childhood Terror. I was surprised to learn that not everyone was treated this way as a child. I think I'd partially comforted myself with the notion that everyone spends the years between the ages of seven and seventeen feeling misunderstood and tortured. I guess not?

1982

We start with the year 1982, when I was smack dab in the middle of the worst of elementary school. This picture was taken at a petting zoo, during a summer visit with my cool grandfather. Unfortunately, the following week I was sent to stay on my cousin's horse farm, where the rules of 1882 still applied. Children were seen and not heard, I was yelled at for not saying "ma'am" and "sir", and I was not allowed to go in the house during the day to read. I was also shunned by my nearly-the-same-age cousins for no reason. Freaking weirdoes.

Check out those legs, will you? Hot stuff.

1984

Next up, we have the summer of 1984. If I look a little world-weary in this picture, it's because I'd survived the worst year of my childhood- the year I attended Albert Hill Middle School. What a fucking nightmare. It was the most horrible hell-portal of a public school I've even been in. It's the kind of place where you're afraid to go to the bathroom alone. It's the kind of place where you get hit on the ass with an archery arrow in gym class for being late. Ask my friend Noah- he went there too. I still shudder when I drive by that building.

I'm with my grandfather in this picture and he was the coolest guy in the world. You want ice cream for breakfast? Done!

Ooh, and ain't I a fashion plate? You can't tell in the picture, but I promise I have a Swatch on one wrist and black rubber bangles on the other.

1986

1986 is when things started to get better. My learning disability had been diagnosed, I was pulled out of the hell-portal school and sent to a great school for dyslexic kids. I had a great gang of similarly geeky kids to hang out with, and even though I was teased by the popular boys, the situation was later resolved by make-out sessions with one of the worst offenders. Hee. I was a teen slut!

I did not make-out with either of these fine fellows, though I'm sure they both wanted to. The kid on the left is Richard, who I still see around occasionally. He's really bright and funny and drinks whole milk (who does that?) The kid on the right is the long-lost Alan. Alan was the kind of kid that bad things happened to. When I first met him he had two broken arms. Poor Alan. I sure wish I knew where he was today.

So that's it for today. If I get the energy to delve into the photo box again, I'll scan some more pictures and tackle the high school years! Whee.

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Matt Groening knows.

How To Be A Teenage 12-year-old

Is Childhood Hell?

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