So. I'm digging through drawers looking for something (probably more candy. Or cheese.), and I see my old yearbooks. I can't believe that I haven't shown y'all these already. I must be off my game. Next thing you know I'll be forgetting to take pictures of the kitties or not making videos of myself singing along to STYX songs in a Santa costume.
Crisis averted, because here they are, in all their glory. Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, the early years. 1984-1989, to be exact, in yearbook form for your comfort.
1984 was a challenging year for me and my classmates. Duran Duran was taking over the world and fashion was "difficult" at best. Friendship pins still ruled, and blouses with ribbon bows around the collar paired perfectly with a pair of Lee jeans and Kangaroo tennies.
In this particular year, 7th grade to be exact, I had asked my Mom to get me a purple sweater for the photos. She (bless her heart), decided that a hand-knit sweater would be better, when in reality I desperately wanted one of those cool "shaker knit" sweaters from Maurice's that all of the girls were wearing.
No such luck.
I wore the handknit bright purple crewneck with a white oxford and (probably) my Lee carpenter jeans and knockoff Kangaroos from Pamida.
And, I signed my own picture. What a loser.
My hair was feathered, I hated this picture. Proof:
But I still think I fared better than ol' Honkey fro' to the left.
Eighth grade found me a bit more mature, a bit more refined in my fashion choices.
I had discovered how to "frost" my hair, and tempered the "feathering" out a bit. I was fully immersed in Duran Duran, Huey Lewis and the News, and was starting to dabble into English pop music.
In this particular (blurry due to scanning and the scanner operator's inability to operate even the simplist of technologies) picture, I am wearing a sweater that is 1/2 black and 1/2 gray. I'd bet a big chunk of change that I was wearing it with my black tapered corduroys, a hot pink belt, and my light pink high-top tennies, because that's what I ALWAYS wore with this sweater.
Remember having an "outfit" that you thought was totally the bomb? You saved it for when you needed the "big guns"?
Yeah, this was my "big gun" outfit in 1985.
And yet again, I signed my own picture in a misguided attempt at humor.
1986 showed that I had yet to progress beyond the "crewneck with an oxford underneath" look, but my hair certainly was getting bigger. Oh, and you can't see it, but my earrings here are square clear plastic with a big, red, round plastic dot.
God, my hair looks like and 85 year-old grandmas weekly "set".
Nothing is as scary as a 15 year-old with unlimited curling iron access and a can of Aqua Net hairspray:
In 1987 I was knee-deep in my New Wave/Poppy Punk Rock Girl stage. I had ditched the crewneck in favor of oversized button-downs with a vintage pin at the collar. You can rest assured that I was wearing black leggings and my little black Zodiac-brand boots that I saved my allowance for and bought at the local fancypants boutique, called "Cimmarron".
My hair is approximately 2" higher than in the previous year's picture:
In 1988 I wore a LOT of black in androgynous shapes, an unfortunate choice for a not so feminine looking teenager with no skin pigment whatsoever.
I'm wearing a large black t-shirt here, probably paired with black leggings (again), a wide black belt, tall black boots, hoop earrings and a giant black tote bag.
My hair, however, was holding out at its previous height from the prior year, but I had starting pulling down the bangs into a long, asymmetrical point:
Finally, 1989, the year of my graduation as well as my foray into gold-colored hair. I was still obsessed with black clothing and vintage jewelery.
The crappy quality of the printing in our yearbook makes it seem as if I was a head without a body.
My eyebrows look as if they are planning a coup against the rest of my face.
And- I look pissed off, but that may just be me, trying to look too cool for school:
Here you go- a bonus pic to further cement my spot in the nerd hall of fame.
Yes, I was a mathlete. No, I wasn't good at math, I just needed some extracurriculars and the math team needed girls. I mentioned this before- I was only in it for the cookies and McDonald's orangeade. I'd probably rob a bank, naked, if there were good cookies in it for me.
I look like a man here:
There you go- yet another installment in "Wild dorks run free: the Whiskeymarie story."
Happy Friday, my feathered, pinned and nonplucked stray hairs. Happy Friday.