When I was in high school, I worked at Seabreeze, a water park in Rochester. I was a lifeguard which I, at the time, thought was the coolest job known to man. I accumulated a gaggle of friends, all of whom were native to the area but hailed from different schools. I went to one of the three private high schools so my selection of friends was limited at best. In reality, I hated everyone that went to my school. Being the only hockey-playing-1996-Oldsmobile-driving girl amongst hordes of BMW-driving rich football players and cheerleaders made me a little bit of an outcast. I had a small group of close friends but this job made finding people I could actually stand relatively easy. Hence, I took advantage of this heaven-sent situation by blindly following whomever told me to go anywhere.
In my youth, in terms of levels of coolness, nothing came close to the Mighty Ducks, D2 especially.
The theatrical performances filled my young head with visions of glory via pee-wee hockey. I imagined myself, all of 13-years old, being picked up by a random coach whose "semi-pro" career ended tragically when he hurt his knee, who, frighteningly, claims his greatest achievement was coaching a pee-wee hockey team to a state championship- once. I then, of course, would become best friends with Julie "The Cat" Gaffney, flirt with the "Bash Brothers", barely skate in the game and win the Junior Goodwill Games, go on to fame and glory, marry Wayne Gretzky, and live happily ever after.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.