Oooooooh, the Right Stuff...

Soooo… there was time in my life when I wore my hair short and fully crimped, teased my bangs to within an inch of their life and considered wearing pink and blue eye shadow a style MUST.

I owned leg warmers and wore them. In the summer. With tight-rolled jeans. And neon pink shoelaces on my Keds. This look was completed by three items things: my dangly heart earrings, a bright green slap bracelet AND my pink New Kids On The Block t-shirt with Joey McIntire's face plastered over my 10-year-old chest.

For those of you wondering, the shirt looked something like this:

And I? Looked something like this (and yes, this a drawing that I did):


I think this describes my look pretty well.

No, I'm not "proud," per se. But I do recognize that I totally rocked out 1980s glam. (Special thanks to my mom for the home perm and instilling a huge amount of self-esteem.) And while that was a glorious time and all, I'm quite happy to be here in the present -- and (thankfully) crimpless.

Imagine my surprise today when I realized that my first true obsession – New Kids On The Block – were reforming after a two decade-long breakup AND planning a reunion tour that stops in none other but Houston, Texas!

I once owned posters, magazines, stickers, button pins, notebooks and lunch gear that all screamed NKOTB in giant block letters. I was such a fan that somehow I managed to convince my parents to purchase concert tickets for me and my sister. And we went in full NKOTB regalia to the arena in Jackson, Mississippi. My parents were actually cool enough to let us sit by ourselves in the better seats while they sat together with our baby sister several rows behind us. We were 7- and 10-years old and completely unattended. We were the envy of all the screaming girls around us.

It is only now – 18 years later – that I realize we were under the sharp and watchful eye of the parental unit all along. They monitored us with binoculars and we were but one good leap away from them, but you'll have to trust me on this, at the time we were THE SHIT.

But I digress, I think it goes without saying that I will not be attending. What? You're shocked? I seemed so enthusiastic about it just two paragraph before! I know, you're right. I had a moment of excitement, but don't worry Stephen Spielberg managed to kill any and all nostalgia that I manage to still possess after George Lucas raped my soul with Star Wars Episodes I, II and III.

You see, "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" made me feel old, as in grown up. It all hit me while watching a geriatric Dr. Jones snap his whip and climb slacks of precious artifacts. (No, I'm not even going into the completely unbelievable aspects of the movie, such as flying monkeys, nuclear explosions and gratuitous use of aliens.) No, what got me was how different Harrison Ford was. He was gray-haired and wrinkly – and though still hot, don't get me wrong – it just wasn't the SAME Indy of my youth. And THAT was a sobering disappointment.

So while there is temptation to dust off my NKOTB albums and bust out the slap bracelet and pink eye shadow, I don't think I have it in me to go watch my fellow late twenty- and thirty-somethings (who, I would be remiss not to point out, now drive mini-vans and have school-age children). I'm just pretty sure I don't want to be among the throngs of ladies throwing themselves at five balding, once-adored men that are on the cusp of MID-LIFE CRISISES.

Like Indiana Jones, it just isn't the same. I'm not 10 anymore, and it seems very wrong for groupies to have mortgages, infants and jobs. After all isn't that the whole point of entertainment -- an escape from reality. And therein lies the problem: How many unrealistic aspects of it can you ignore? I can't seem to get past Grandpa Jones and balding former-teen idols. For me, at least, the escape is lost. And if that is the case, then what's the point?

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P.S. To My Mom and Dad

Dear Momma and Daddy,

Jeez, I was such an ungrateful turd as a child. I'm so sorry for everything I did from age nine onward. Thank you so much for being the sort of parents who actually sacrificed themselves to a New Kids On The Block concert so I wouldn't be the ONLY girl in the fifth grade that didn't get to go. If yall hadn't taken me, it would have been social suicide, which I think we all know I was dangerously close to for the entirety of my adolescence (what with the kinky hair, fat ass and glasses.) I don't know if I'll ever properly be able to repay you for the torture you endured while raising me. But I promise to vote AGAINST sending you to the old folks home. I don't have anything else to offer, but I promise you that I will cast that vote in your favor. And I promise to make my sisters the bad guys and make them feel guilty no matter what is "best" for you. I do solemnly swear that, Momma and Daddy. I swear to be the worthless child who visits on major holidays and acts like my siblings are crappy primary caregivers. I do this out of love and appreciation for you.