Dear 1998...

So here's the weird thing about bringing home boxes of Random Crap you had stored for the past ten years in your parents' spare closet: you start going through it. And because the last addition of said Crap was, oh, ten years ago, you are slung Lisa Frank first into your former adolescent self. No college scrapbook to help ease you in. No pictures from your junior-year Glee Club reflecting back your image, midway through the geek-to-chic makover. Nope, it's just you. The "Before" picture.

Why in the world did I think that biker jean shorts would perfectly balance out an XL sweatshirt? And, even if that hoodie had been appropriately sized, why did I choose one in hunter green with a white stick figure rollerblading across my chest? (Note: no hills to skate up or down. Just flat as I-75 towards Toledo.)

Oh Jesus, here's one where I'm wearing a GAP baseball hat, the perfectly straight bill resting on the corners of my blue-rimmed glasses. Not even a slight bend?? WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TACKLE ME AND ROUND THAT BRIM OUT?!

I know what you're thinking: hey, why doesn't Suano post those pictures? I bet they're a riot! You're right. They are. But you've sadly underestimated my level of vanity. Those pictures enjoyed living in that Keds shoe box for the past ten years. They can spend another decade under the cover of darkness.

So here's another peculiar nostalgic quanddry: I moved a few times growing up. In order to stay in touch with friends living time zones away, I wrote letters. Tons of letters. And remember, this was the mid-nineties. Which means actual pieces of mail. Obviously I don't have any of the letters I wrote, but I did save all of the letters I received. So, in my Crap Excavation, I come across a bunch of envelopes bundled together in a Lisa Frank tin. (Remember those drawings, the ones with so many blazing jewel tones that even after looking away you could still see the outline of the penguins hugging it out?)

Looking through the letters, all crinkly and stamped and weathered, I feel a twinge of excitement. Those pictures of that young girl, all angles and squint? That girl wasn't me. THESE letters are Me! The writings of my friends will paint a much more accurate portrait, seen through their high-schooled eyes. It's like when you write a letter to your future self, without all of that pressure of high expectations. (Dream job, dream date, dream life.) I pick up the first envelope, unsheath the piece of notebook paper -- wide ruled? really? -- and sit down to meet the real Suano, circa 1998.

...

Wait, first I have to tell you how my friend addresed the envelope:

To: The Girl with the Great Profile (So apparently I was making self deprecating jokes about my schnoz even back then.)

From: Scary Spice (So apparently we used to like the Spice Girls...this does not bode well for the rest of the letter.)

Okay, here's the letter, verbatim:

......

Yo Suz!

It was totally fantastic to get a letter from you. For awhile there I thought you weren't getting my letters or something. Lesson #1: I'm a terribly unreliable penpal. 1st of all, I totally agree with you on the Berg situation. His new look is hot, but the show kinda sucks now. Lesson #2: I had -- okay, have -- an unhealthy obsession with Ryan Reynolds, so much so that I was willing to watch that terrible sitcom Two Guys, A Girl, and A Pizza Place just to get a piece of that Canadian eye candy. So you think your first concert sucked? Wait, my first rock concert was in 1998? I was chillaxing at concerts as a freshman? Rock on. Our choir concert was bad too. Crap. We had about two weeks to learn the music cuz we had just given an extra concert for Katie, that girl who died two years ago. No idea who this is. I have no soul. Then, because of the flooding, the auditorium was wet and skwishy. The principals said their was a foot of water and a fish in there. It also smelled like toilet water. Well, it WAS in Houston. Sounds about right.

Keeping with the topic of choir -- Region is tomorrow. The songs SUCK! Leonard Bernstein thought he was the almighty powerful composer which gave him the right to write in time signatures such as: 9/2, 10/4, 12/2, 7/4, 5/4, 3/2, 3/4, 5/8, 6/4, 3/8. Just because the song is in 3 movements, in Hebrew, and 41 pages long does not give him the right to use 12 different time signatures.

Now that I have that off my chest! On to happy things -- on Monday I get my license! Ohh, ahh! I can drive MY car with MY friends where I choose to go. Wait, what about that rule where new drivers can't have any other teenagers in the car? Oh wait, that happened later. Six years later. However,  I have to get a job. Er! (I'm doing the evil eye too.) I'll probably work at a movie place. I hope I'll work at a movie place. What other professions were you considering Rachel? Street walker?

****
A day has passed and now I'm at Region at Westfield. Oooo, can you feel the excitement? The cuts are good. God I remember hating those. So far I've had 3 1/2 bottels of water and peed/(peed)sp? 3 times. Um, Rachel, "peed" is correct, but you should also be concerned about the whole "bottels" spelling choice. It's becoming excessive.

Oh, about the Celebrity Death Match about the feet, I think I did see it. Wait, WHAT? I do actually remember feeling quite disturbed by one episode of that claymation UFC show where Jerry Springer (maybe) sawed off the feet of his competitor (Oprah?) and herlittle shin bones were left sticking out. But why in the world did I include it in a LETTER to someone? It seems everyone has taken up the idea of feet. Did people not believe it before? Were feet the climate change of the 1990's? One day Sara and Nick were comparing feet and I had to leave because I started laughing. Then Nick kept saying, "What? What does shoe size mean?" He asked Tina and she was like, "It doesn't matter, it's nothing." I almost died. Good to  know that we all finally discovered that sophomoric urban legend before we were sophomores. We always were ahead of our time...

Marques says, hi, and how are the polka-dot dresses. Ten bucks says Marques is now designing said dresses. And they are FABULOUS! Brandy says hi too and Angela asked you to call her last year after District. You didn't. Shame shame! So at least I've been consistent in that arena of my life over the years. David has the BIGGEST feet in his family!! Okay, seriously, what is up with all the Feet Talk?

Also, for my B-Day, I got -- count 'em -- 2 soundtracks. Look what you've started! That's true, I have always been a proponent of buying soundtracks and scores. Look no further than my CD tower, which boasts not only Romeo + Juliet Volume 2, but ER: The Television Score. I got the second volume of the Wedding Singer soundtrack. ...sniff sniff ... so proud... Also, I got the Grease soundtrack. It was long overdue. Damn straight. I've had "It's Raining on Prom Night" stuck in my head for about a week now. The talking part of that song is VERY CHEESY! "Oh God, make him feel the way I feel." It's almost as bad as "Sandy, you hurt me real bad." Talk about bad grammer. Um, seriously. Handwriting a letter is no excuse for a lack of spell check. Oh, wait, we probably didn't use spell check back then. My bad. It's time to SAVE THE ADVERB! Please help save the adverb by adding it to one out of every 5 words you write or say.

Well, to bring back, some-ly memories, today I was watching Rosie (Ah, remember that time when Rosie O'Donnell was a lovably bland talk show host with a crush on Tom Cruise? ) and these girls were reciting how much they love the Backstreet Boys. Uhk. Anyway, she said, "I bet you even know their shoe sizes." The first thing that came to mind was, "You people are sick." No, wait! That's me.

N-E-Who this letter has gotten totally out of control. So -- it's time to go!

Everyone misses you!

Rachel

P.S. Push out the love! Bring in the jive!

...

So apparently in high school I was an slightly unreachable choir nerd who got freaked out by violent animation, loved soundtracks, and planned to marry Ryan Reynolds.

I am exactly the same as my 1998 self.

Eh, evolution is highly overrated.