[December, 1990] Good News and Bad News
Thursday, Dec. 27, 1990
I have good news and bad news. Actually more good news than bad.
First the bad news: For New Years, I was going to go to Connecticut and spend it with my friend Anka. Well, as it turns out, we are not going because my dad’s friend called him and invited him to spend New Year’s in New Jersey where there is going to be this guy that might be able to give my dad a job. Well of coarse my dad jumped at the offer. That’s the bad news. The good news is that all the teens are going to be left at this girl’s apartment for New Years ALONE!!!!! All riight! Wait, there’s more!!!
[The other bad news is that my spelling and exclamation mark abuse is still a problem, as is the fact that I’m addressing my diary as if I am the host of an infomercial. “You want news? I’ve got all kinds of news. I’ve got good news, bad news, news that chops vegetables…”]
Either tomorrow or Saturday we are going to Connecticut to visit my cousin Jenna for a few days! It’s a lot of fun at the house, we get along great. What’s really cool though is that Mom says (so does everyone else) that we look alike! Cool! Jenna is 3 years younger than me but it doesn’t make a difference, because we have so much fun together. What I really wish is that we would be sisters. That would be soo awesome!!! We would probably be so close!
[Oh my god, just like the Sweet Valley High twins! Because what fun is looking like yourself if you can’t have someone who looks just like you to make mischief with!? I love writing like a valley girl! Like totally! Ahem.]
My parents tell me that we don’t have to be sisters to be really close, and I guess that they are right. What really makes it hard is that we live far away from each other. Well at least I’m going to see her soon.
I hope New Years will be fun, because I know that the time I spend in Connecticut will be.
Well, it’s past midnight, so I better sign off and return you to the secret hiding place I chose for you. Thanks for listening! -Bye-
Yeah, thanks for “listening,” you trusty inanimate object you!
Growing up an only child, I often wished for a brother or sister. Instead, I got spoiled by my parents and also got tons of expectations heaped upon me. Oh well. While I enjoyed much of the time I spent on my own, I did crave more social contact, especially during those first few uneasy–oh who are we kidding–miserable years at Hunter. Every visit with a friend or family member, every party was something I had enormous anticipation for.
Let’s talk New Year’s Eve. Us kids were given brief lectures about how we were being trusted to act mature blah-blah-blah, just give us champagne and go have your own adult party already. We were allowed to drink a bit, because Russians are known to be of hearty stock whose blood is composed of plasma, red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets, and vodka. So we had a glass or two, nothing crazy, because we were all excited enough to be able to run around without adult supervision.
The first thing we did was snoop around in the master bedroom. The girl who lived there said it would be fine, and even pointed out the nook of the closet where her dad stashed his Playboys. We sat around the stacks of nudie magazines, passing them around like it was no big deal to be perusing someone else’s pornography collection. We didn’t giggle over them because we were too busy pretending to be completely nonplussed about the whole thing, when most of us where probably thinking, “WOAH. That is a lot of naked.” Naked gets boring after a while (maybe not to you, but it did to a bunch of pre- and barely-teens) so we decided to play a game.
Ah, Marco Polo. This was a game I hadn’t played in a really long time, one I had fond memories of. We blindfolded one of the boys, turned off the lights (and no, at the time the kink potential of such a scenario did not dawn on us), and started scrambling around in the dark.
“Polo!” We would shout back, dodging his blind grabs.
Mistaking a potted plant for one of us, the blindfolded kid gave it a good tug and sent it toppling onto the white carpet.
We spent the next three hours, and pretty much the rest of the party, scrubbing potting soil out of a carpet. Happy New Year!