<<– That would have been my high school graduating motto, unofficial of course, had I graduated the year I was supposed to. The one for 1984, in case you’re interested, was IIRC: Sex is great!/We want more!/We’re the class of ’84! Could have been “Beer is great…” but I don’t remember. So why am I rambling on about my old class cheers? Because Embeecee over at sparksfromacombustablemind wrote a blog post about her average Friday night in 1984 (Her inspiration was via this blog post) and she invited me to share my memories. And since the daily prompts aren’t giving me any ideas, well I figured I would take her up on her invitation. As implied above, I would have been in high school in 1984. I should have graduated in 1985, but I got married in the summer of 1984, just before my 18th birthday (which is at the end of August). I failed 6th grade, not for grades but other reasons… it’s a long story. Which is why I would have been graduating late. Had I graduated. Anyway. I didn’t graduate high school. I got married. I was also pregnant at the time. Y’all know the drill. Being pregnant and married, I didn’t feel the need to go back to school. August though, is towards the end of the year, so I had eight months of 1984 to get through… a whole host of Friday nights to go on dates and mess around before landing in the predicament I landed myself in just before my 18th birthday.
You see, dear reader, I was considered a late bloomer by my friends’ standards. I didn’t discover sex until I hit 17, almost 18. I mean, come on! I was practically an old maid! I mean I obviously knew about sex because my friends had been blabbering about it for years, but I wasn’t really interested in it — too much hassle that didn’t justify the reward in my uninformed opinion. I was a bookworm, a nerdy nerd. I read a lot and not just fiction. So I left sex alone until I reached 17, which was in 1984. Then we (my twin and I) were allowed to start dating. Like really dating — go out with people who were not just our friends, but strangers my mom didn’t know and actually do things. We lived on a Naval base full of horny sailors with money to spend. It was a smorgasbord for budding young teenagers like us. We went on quite a few dates. We started out with double dates and then moved on to single dating. But I’m gonna be honest with you, dear reader… most Friday nights were pretty blah. I mean a typical date involved going to the movie theatre on the base or the one out in town, then out for pizza or McDonalds. I’ve come to realize that ours was not a big city in the grand scheme of things. It’s not tiny by any means. Today, there are about 120,000 people there, but back in the 1980’s, there were fewer. We only had the one theatre that I could remember, and not many choices in the way of going out to eat. Not a lot to do there. The base is closed now, but they have an amusement park — which was totally not there until after I moved away. But back in 1984, our choices were limited. And even amusement parks can get boring if you’ve been there often enough.
Anyway, Friday nights were: go out, maybe to the movies, maybe to dinner, make out in the car (maybe), then head back home before curfew. Eventually, we, the twin and I and whomever we were dating, started renting movies and watching them in the family room. Much cheaper, and necking on the couch was way more comfortable than necking in the car. Ha! To tell y’all the truth, I hate going to the movies as a date. I don’t like watching movies with someone I barely know and I think the seats in the theater are way uncomfortable. And it’s so loud… there are always too many people, and there’s often the potential for, let’s face it, rude and obnoxious someones who are just going to ruin it. I’ve always felt that way. But, that’s what was done in the 80’s so that’s what we did. I met my first husband in all that dating. It’s kind of a funny story. I met him in the common room of the barracks (where female visitors were allowed) while I was visiting someone else, but that someone else was playing D&D and couldn’t be assed to talk to me (even though he was the one who invited me to come see him), so I started talking to Bob. We hit it off and went out to dinner that night. Then we started dating exclusively, and by the middle of August, we were married. Another, slightly funny, anecdote: My twin was also dating someone named Bob (it’s a common name) when I started dating my Bob. We double dated for about a month before she dumped her Bob for reasons unknown. It was fun for awhile… two Bobs. But all good things must end I suppose. Nine years and four kids later, my Bob and I called it quits. But that’s another story.
Whenever I think of the two Bobs… I think of this:
ETA… I may have implied that I was messing around with all the “horny sailors” I was dating, but yeah, that’s not the way of it. Bob was my first, and I totally got pregnant the first time we had sex because I, for some reason, believed that I couldn’t get pregnant the first time one had sex. I dunno why I thought that, but I did. Seventeen-year-olds aren’t the sharpest crayons in the box, you know?