hello, and welcome back to another episode of my random life. today, we will be flashing back to various enigmatic fragments of my childhood that shaped me into the mysterious human being that I am today.

But,

Maybe I’m not even human?

Maybe I’m not even mysterious? (Certain people from Chicago would agree…)

Maybe it’s not even today?

[pause for philosophical reflection// to go eat brownies out of the pan with(out) a fork.]

 

So, most people are really cool cats and they have their rebellious stage in like the early years of high school etc.

but, like I am clearly cooler, so I had to have it in grades 1-3.

If I remember correctly, my whole rebellion began when someone wrote “Derrick likes girls” on the board, in grade one.

Look at me, hanging with the ones with cooties. I was basically the Miley Cyrus of my grade. But, my popularity was once eclipsed by this other boy who got one earlobe pierced. Plot twist: he had two earlobes on one ear, too.

Like, HOW DO I COMPETE WITH THAT?

Answer: Petty HARDCORE Theft.

GUMMY BEARS.

So, yeah, I would just go into our classroom at lunch/recess, because the teacher left the door unlocked (what a rookie), and go into the unlocked drawer of her filing cabinet (seriously, she was too trusting), and take handfuls of gummy bears for my friends and I.

Needless to say, this made me popular again.

Eventually, my teacher figured out that someone was doing it, and actually locked the door at lunch. YAWN.

But, I was never caught.

(Mrs. Tressider, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry if this caused you any emotional turmoil, and will buy you a tub of gummy bears. Heck, maybe two since you read my blog.  Ok, seriously, three, because like if you were actually reading this that would be hella creepy, and creepers like you deserve some serious props.  Keep doing what ‘chu do, gurl.)

That was grade one summed up, save the occasional bartering with my teacher regarding what reading level I thought I was, versus what she thought I was.

—

By grade two, I had gained a status as an ally with the girls, and was occasionally put in as mediator, when two girls argued who killed the spider, which had evidently caused the rain.

I had also grown an overactive imagination, on account of the sleep I did not really get. I imagined that, at night, my parents got in their car, and turned into monsters, and went around eating people.

Yep.

Of course, they returned back to normal, in the morning.

My peak though was putting chips in this girl’s hair, whom I was like really crushing on. (HEY KIMBERLEY, IF YOU’RE READING THIS.) (side note: she also goes to UBC now! small world, yo.)

So obvi I had to figure out a way to get her attention.

Which meant chasing her halfway around school to put crunched up salt ‘n’ vinegar chips in her hair.

It was some of my finest work.
Critics were raving about it.
Supervision Aids were overly concerned about it.
Hair was lost over it.
Tears were shed.

Needless to say she wasn’t into me, even after I had poured my metaphorical heart (of chips) all over her. WHY COULDN’T SHE SEE? (I’m really good at giving/receiving signals regarding affection for someone, LAWLZ, not.)

 

So, I moved on, to this other girl, who liked TY stuffies, like me, and also had a slight obsession with the Lindsay Lohan version of Freaky Friday.

A majestic playdate ensued, and we ended up watching Freaky Friday together, and we both fangirled over the fact that she had a DVD player. (I came from a VHS family, guys. The struggle was real.)

I drew a portrait of her and I on the cover of my “Student of the Week” planner, when it was finally my week. Turns out that book is full of lies, because I forgot which hospital I was actually born in, so I just said Children’s hospital to fit in with the people that were emerging as popular.

—

Grade Three was basically me being super angst-y, and taking it out on my handwriting notebook.  This is probably why my handwriting is really ugly, to this day, and like why I can’t really take notes in a class, because I usually can’t read them after.

The key display of my angst was around remembrance day 2003 (THROWBACK GUYZ), when this kid and his mom brought in these patches and medal things (that were his grandfather’s) for show-and-tell.

We were expected to pass them around and gawk at how amazing they were, but I was so unimpressed, so instead of getting up to pass the patch around the room, I threw it.  Now, it was a patch, so it went like less than a foot, but it still hit the ground. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN.

And my teacher was all, YOU GET A YELLOW CARD.

and I was all, STOP MAKING THIS ABOUT YOU. I’m the one that got hit by the bus.

but real talks, His mom probably still hates me..

Whatevs. She needed a haircut.

—

I was basically your model child.

 

Oh, btws, I also host children’s birthday parties. Call me?