Ah, junior high… The curled bangs, the perms, the frosted lip gloss, the frosted eye shadow, the frosted blush, the frosted… permed bangs. Life was simple then. My biggest concerns at 13 concerned food in my braces, burning myself with the mini curling iron I kept stowed in my locker, acquiring California Coolers, and having relatively innocent crushes on boys. (As an aside, most of the boys in my class wore Aqua Socks. To school. Year-round. In Washington State. With Hypercolor tee shirts. Sure it was 1987 but let me tell you, if digital cameras had existed I would be blackmailing the shiznit out of those dudes.) At 13, I felt like a full-fledged adult. The childish games of elementary school – Telephone, Hopscotch, Double Dutch – had given way to much more sophisticated games; games that I imagined grown-ups played. I Never, Truth or Dare, and most importantly, I’d Rather. Friend: “Would you rather do it with our P.E. teacher or our Earth Science teacher?” Me: “EWWWW! Neither!” Friend: “No, like if you had to. Like if you would die if you didn’t choose one.” Me: “God, that’s like so gross…”
I’m not sure why – was it nostalgia or was it the 3.75-year-old with a head cold who was snoring and kicking me all night long? – but I got to pondering I’d Rather last night. I started thinking about modern day equivalents. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far in I’d Rather: Redux…
Would you rather do it with:
Gene Simmons? Or Richard Simmons? (Both in Daisy Duke running shorts…)
Screech? Or Mr. Belding?
Marilyn Manson? Or Charles Manson?
Carrot Top? Or a carrot on steroids?
Charlie Sheen? Or Paula Deen Paula Deen’s husband? (Did you see Paula’s hubby when she got hit in the face with the ham? Cold as ice…)
Mickey Rourke 2005? Or Mickey Rooney 2010?
E.T.? Or ALF?
George W. Bush? Or a Holly bush?
Papa Smurf? Or Gargomel?
Can you think of any others? Maybe something involving Mario Lopez? I know he’s a real heartthrob these days but I just can’t seem to shake the image of him with a mullet and high-waisted, pleated, acid-washed jeans, calling Jessie Spano “Mama.” And that’s a real deal-breaker for me.