That Time I Wanted To Be Like Buffy The Vampire Slayer

There was a time when I wanted to be like Katniss Everdeen. There was another time when I wanted to be like Lance Armstrong. And yet another time when I wanted to be like Meg Ryan. If you’ve read those posts or at least somewhat know me, then you know that none of those attempts went well. And before all of those mishaps, there was the time that I wanted to be like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is one of my all-time favorite shows. (And curse you, Netflix, for removing it and taking away my instant access to the Scooby Gang.) I love the story lines, the dialogue, the kick ass female roles, the wonderful, witty Joss Whedon brand of humor. And Angel — oh my. Aside from what happened to Joyce Summers, there wasn’t much to dislike about that show.

In 1998, my dorky high school freshman self had one goal, aside from marrying one of the Hanson brothers — to be like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This was rather problematic, though, as we had nothing in common —

I was not to be deterred, though. (And not being deterred is basically the root of all of my mishaps.) One day I was flipping through a magazine when I saw my Buffy connection: her signature black boots. Well, boots that looked like her signature black boots, anyway. Those went on my Christmas list that year, along with requests for various band t-shirts, a combination safe, and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer soundtrack. I later realized that a black leather jacket would help pull off the Buffy vibe, so I added that. I briefly considered adding a crossbow to the list, but figured that wouldn’t fly.

(For the record, I’ve since made plans to purchase a crossbow, but my husband vetoed it. He thinks it wouldn’t end well. Party pooper.)

I didn’t get the jacket (I purchased that on my own later) or the combination safe, but I did get the black boots, soundtrack, and some other stuff. I was happier than a kid on Christmas. Oh, wait! (Yeah, that was corny.) After we finished opening presents, I dashed off to my room to try on the $40 fake leather high heel boots that came up just a few inches below my knee. After I zipped them up, I stood up, looked down, and admired myself.

Dorky pajamas + slayer boots = high fashion.

I know what you guys are thinking — you only wish you looked this cool in high school!

Or not.

Naturally, my next step was to parade myself back to the living room and show off my boots. And this is where things got dicey.

So, in addition to not being very coordinated, I had also never worn high heels, and the heels on those boots must have been three inches. Attempting to walk in heels when you’ve never done so and aren’t coordinated results in walking like you’re drunk, and this is the sort of thing that really cramps the style of an aspiring vampire slayer.

After some stumbling around, I made it back out to the living room, showed off the boots and mentioned how much I liked them, and went back to my room, where I took off the boots and silently fumed over how much I sucked at walking. (The lack of walking abilities still causes me to fume 19 years later.) Throughout the rest of Christmas break, my routine was to put on the boots, practice walking, throw them in the back of the closet in a fit of rage, and repeat.

Considering that I still walked very much like a drunk in my boots, the smart thing to do would have been to not wear them out in public, right? Trying telling that to 15-year-old me. When the first day of school after winter break came around, I was determined to show off my boots. Much like Rudy believed in himself, I believed that somehow, if I had my chance to show off my boots, that I’d do them proud. My feet and legs and sense of equilibrium would magically come together and I would carve out my place in history.

Since we lived at the end of a really long driveway, my grandmother would drive us to the end to wait on the bus in the mornings. When she saw me stumbling in her back door, she suggested that I wear my sneakers. I insisted that I could walk just fine — a phrase I would come to repeat quite often during my rum drinking sessions as an adult — and kept them on.

When the school bus rolled up, I slung my Eastpak backpack over my shoulder and tried to walk up to the bus as smoothly as possible.

And then I had to go up the rather steep bus steps. This is where things went south:

Yep, I fell up the bus, so to speak. After I got up and got myself together, I did a short walk of shame to my seat, where I tried to ignore the snickers and guffaws, and told myself the rest of the day would go better.

It. Did. Not.

I did make it off the bus, but I stumbled all over the halls of that damn high school. Wearing those high heel boots to school is probably one of the top regrets of my life, right behind getting the same haircut of the chick with the short hair from the first season of Survivor. (Y’all, I had serious haircut issues back in the day.) At the end of the day, when it was time to go home, I made it up the bus steps without falling again, but I’m sad to say that I didn’t make it back off in the same fashion:

The boots were put back in the box. They were rather scuffed, so there was no way I could take them back, either. Over the next few years, I’d dig the box out every so often and put them on, hoping that I’d magically be able to walk in those heels, but that never happened. Eventually the box disappeared, and I assume that my grandmother must have donated them to Goodwill.

Let’s all take a moment and raise a pretend glass for my dead slayer dreams.

Who did you idolize in high school?

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘J’ is for JTT

If you enjoyed all of the cringe in ‘H’ is for Hanson Wallpaper a couple days ago, then you’ll probably like this post, too. Pretty much any girl who grew up in the 90s had a crush on one of the following people: Devin Sawa, Rider Strong, or Jonathan Taylor Thomas (JTT). You can check out my friend Becca’s blog to, in part, verify this fact.

I was a JTT girl. He was cute, funny, sarcastic — what wasn’t to love, right? When he ventured out from Home Improvement to making movies such as Tom and Huck and Man of the House, well, that was even better. (We will pretend like Lion King and Pinocchio don’t exist as far as JTT goes…those were an insult to my tween self who wanted to see him in the flesh.)

One summer when I was 11, my family and I went to the beach for vacation with some of our extended family. One of those people was my older cousin, who also had a huge crush on JTT. She claimed him as being hers since she had spotted him on TV first, and if you remember anything from that age, then you know that being the first to claim someone is everything. (Case in point: when Baby Girl and I watched a Hanson concert on TV the other day, she asked who the brothers were and announced that Zac was hers. Unfortunately for her, he was claimed by me over a decade ago, so she’ll have to move along.)

Why on earth is a child this age claiming someone, anyway?

Being the first to lay claim meant that when you inevitably cross paths with the celebrity while you’re out shopping at Walmart or getting snacks from the gas station near your house, that you got dibs. This is like calling out “shotgun” — the front seat, just like the celebrity, is yours for the taking.

For the record, my list is not laminated.

With that in mind, while we were on our vacation, we spotted a guy who looked exactly like JTT. And by “exactly like,” I mean that he could have passed for JTT’s fifth cousin. As you may (or may not) have guessed, laying claim to someone not only meant that you get dibs on that celebrity, but it also meant that you get dibs on anyone else who looks remotely like that celebrity. It doesn’t sound fair, but it’s one of those unspoken rules.

Even though I had no claim on the JTT lookalike, I still joined my cousin in the stalking. Yes, stalking. What else could you call two girls who hung back about 30 feet and followed a guy around for a few days, watching his every move?

There was even one moment mid-stalk fest where my cousin’s dad came looking for us because we had been gone for an hour past when we were due back to the hotel, and we tried to blend in with some people on the beach so we could continue watching the beta version of JTT work on his body boarding skills.

Yikes.

So, JTT sorta lookalike, I don’t know where you are now or if you ever got more decent at riding waves on your body board, but know that you had a couple of fans. And if you were aware of being followed, then I apologize, and I promise that if you ever feel like someone is watching you now, it isn’t us.

It just hit me that my son is only a year younger than I was when this happened, so I guess it won’t be long before he’s following around someone who looks like Jyn Erso from Rogue One or has someone tailing him. Yikes again.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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