My most popular posts are always the ones about me doing something stupidly hilarious and awkward such as the one about my most embarrassing moments which you can find here.
The truth of the matter is that none of these posts can really truly grab the depths, the true depths, of my painful awkwardness. None of them, that is, except maybe this post.
See to understand the real Katie you have to understand a period of my life that I was only recently reminded of thanks to my dear mother.
"Remember when you went through your goth stage." (It was actually a "punk" stage but we'll let that dog lie)
Did I? Did I remember the years of angst-ridden nasal singers who I listened to while staring out the window? Did I remember the constant urge to write songs about boys with hair covering one eye?
hahahahahahahahahah
yes. yes I do.
Although I tried pretty hard to block those years from my memory, every time I hear a Yellow Card or Simple Plan song I resist the urge to twitch. I have a physical, a literal physical reaction to that punk period of my life.
But if you really want to make me puke like Green Day taking off their guyliner, just ask me about "punk_is_yor_friend."
When I was 13-15, I didn't own a cell phone or an ipod or a computer or really anything social. I had two sources of emotional outlet: a journal which, today, would serve as an amazing source of statuses for insecure tweens on Facebook and my dad's email account ( I also had an AIM but that was rarely used and irrelevant to this story).
I had one friend in particular, Rachel (name changed to protect dignity), who I emailed with constantly (if I wasn't talking to her on the phone).
I finally had enough of my dad accidentally reading my emails before letting me get on and so I begged and begged for my own email account. I told them how responsible I was and how I wouldn't ever use it to talk to strangers or download viruses.
My parents hesitantly said yes and I quickly whipped out my journal which was filled, two pages worth, of potential names. I can't remember any of them. Probably a result of careful memory-blocking. But at the very top of my list was a name I was quite proud of: punk_is_yor_friend
Not only did it describe my personality, a total package of badness wrapped in poorly chosen clothes and a cantankerous smirk. (actually I made that last part up so I could use "cantankerous")
But it also showed that I only associated with those who, like me, were "punks." Definition: listen to Simple Plan and talk about how lame our parents were. Pretty ground-breaking.
Once my parents found out about my email name they were less than pleased. "Is this really how you define yourself?" "You know punk is all about going against authority." "You're better than that."
blah blah blah.
Whatever, Mom and Dad...It's not like I regret making that my email address or anything.
Until like two months later when I phased out of my punk stage and entered my depressed/moody stage, later replaced by my "saved by Jesus" phase which has actually stuck around because it's anything but a phase.
The truth of the matter is, that stage of life did happen- I have pictures to prove it. But I also know two things for shor: Reliant K never got old for me and punk is not yor friend.
ps. i still have that email address floating around somewhere on the internet...someday I will learn where it is and send stuff from it as if I'm a cantankerous preteen who loves twilight and heavy makeup.
