Tag Archives: 80s

The worst parts of my childhood.

21 Aug
i hate soccer

Needless to say, we all quit soccer.

When I got in trouble for mooning someone at a rest stop. Picture this. You’re seven. You’re sitting in a station wagon, at a rest stop, in the middle of June with your two older sisters and one older brother who’s probably sexually active at this point, and thus far too old to be going on seventeen-hour road trips to Disney World.

Our parents just went into the rest stop probably to buy a map, or maybe my Dad was smoking one of his Merit’s, who knows. My Mom was probably perusing the casino brochures outside of McDonald’s. Anyway, they were in there for like 5 whole minutes. That’s a really long time to leave four kids alone in a station wagon in the middle of summer, especially since we’d all finished listening to every NKOTB tape on our Walkman’s.

So my brother dared me to moon the guy next to us. I pulled down my elastic-waist shorts and planted my hauntingly white 7 year-old ass, complete with a birthmark, against the window for a good 2 seconds. I remember exactly what the guy looked like, he had a curly mullet and a wife; they were driving a sensible car, probably a Volvo. It was AWESOME!

But the bastard waited for my parents to get back to the car, and he told on me. And I got in trouble. Shame. Seriously, what would you have done in that situation? It was a dare. I had a moral obligation to do it, and plus, it was fun. I don’t regret it, only that I got caught. Let it be known — if a child ever moons you at a rest stop, PLEASE don’t tell on him. Just let him/her enjoy that blissful 2 seconds of uninhibited taunting.

slush puppieThe last 1/4 of the Slush Puppie. Being the youngest, cutest of my three older sisters and brother, I may or may not have been the most convincing of the group to get all of us something that we collectively wanted real bad. And being a bunch of sweaty kids in a giant, old station wagon  in the summertime, stopping at a gas station meant one thing and one thing only: Slush Puppies.

One way or another, we scored them. We’d suck them down, ignoring the splitting sensation erupting behind our eye sockets, savoring the smooth, round ice pellets swimming in blissful, sweet, blue chemical liquid, letting it slide down our throats into our high fructose corn syrup -heaving bellies. We’d slurp and — so abruptly, without warning — nothing. Cruel, really. We’d tear the plastic top off the cup and peer inside. ALL ICE. NO MORE BLUE. WTF, Slush Puppie? You’ve been around like 47 years, and you still haven’t figured out a way to make the blue shit last through the end of the cup.

krissy and me

Krissy (left) eventually forgave me for hitting her with a bat. Judging by my face I’m still a little guilty.

When I hit my best friend with a bat and got in trouble for it. I grew up as a self-proclaimed, and universally described, “tomboy.” I had a blond bowl-cut and sometimes pretended to be a boy named “Tommy” – more on that later. Years later, my mom told me she raised me as a tomboy because it was cheaper than buying lots of pretty clothes.

When I was about 6 years old, I was playing in the street with my two best friends, Krissy Grossimon and Michael Salvaggio. We were way into T-ball at that time. So I was carrying around one of those foam red bats with my last name written in angry magic marker on it in huge letters, “McCORMICK.” I was also “scooting” around on a skateboard, because I was 6 and I didn’t care if people thought I looked like an idiot.

We were in the middle of the street, in an intersection, which probably wasn’t very safe. Anyway, Krissy said something I didn’t like, and I nailed her with the bat. It wasn’t really that hard, I don’t think, and let me remind you that the bat was covered in foam. Needless to say, I hit a 6 year old with a bat and I thought it was funny. She cried. And told on me, and I got in trouble with my Mom. And realized you shouldn’t hit your best friends with bats, because it’s not funny. Or, it’s not funny to the other person.

When my grandmother convinced my parents that “Chores” were a good idea. My grandmother, Nan, babysat us one snowy weekend when I was 7. (Apparently all the worst parts of my childhood happened around age 7… I’ll bring that up to my therapist later.) All of us kids were playing outside in the snow, and my brother and sisters decided to climb on top of our pop-up camper. Come on, how is that NOT fun? I remember standing there and thinking it was bad but not really caring too much about it.

Later that night, my parents came home and  my Dad found out there was a dent in the roof, due to us kids climbing on it. He was furious. I got in trouble because “You didn’t say anything, so you’re in trouble too” or something to that effect. Apologies that my sense of judgment wasn’t fully formed at the age of 7, Dad. Geez.


What are those, Nan, Christmas cookies laced with poison? Just kidding, love you!

That night, we ate dinner with my grandmother at our big, oval dinner table.

“These kids are getting away with MURDAH,” said Nan. That changed everything.

I’ll never forget the way she said that, because I remember feeling extremely guilty for whatever my 7 year-old self had done that could be equated with slitting someone’s throat and throwing them down a well. I also remember these exact words because my family didn’t really have a heavy Boston accent like she did — well we did, but I think most of us grew out of it once we realized that it’s generally unattractive.

Nan left that night, and the next week my Mom posted a schedule of weekly chores on the wall, which would forever be resented. For years, YEARS I tell you, we would all stay inside after dinner sweeping floors, scrubbing chairs, vacuuming the rug under the dinner table, doing SLAVE labor while our friends would play Four Square outside without us. Even when my friends came over, they’d have to wait in the living room and watch TV while I toiled away. It was torture, I tell you. All because of a visit from my grandmother.

So there you have it, the four worst parts of my childhood.

mccormick family

My Mom requested that I not upload this family picture because of her 80s perm. Challenge accepted.


TV Moments that Changed My Life

9 Nov

When I was 7, TV was my crystal ball. I really trusted it to tell me what life would be like when I was a teenager. TV was completely wrong, of course, because I never dated a Zach Morris in high school and I never developed a rack of epic proportions that made my older sister jealous. Which brings me unveil to you the most pivotal moments in television during the nineties. The TV moments that changed my life.

laurenWhen Corey Cheated on Topanga

Remember the ski lodge? Remember that whore named Lauren who leeched off all the bum-legged tourist skiers who innocently spent the day off the slopes at the fireplace? Yea. Lauren, you are the root of all future problems between the most perfect TV couple of all time. Corey and Topanga were untouchable until YOU ruined everything with your ill-hidden perfumed pink letter. I grew up watching Boy Meets World and thinking that one day I would fall in love and it would be as perfect as what Corey had with Topanga. Then your little episode debut of DOOM came along. After 14 minutes I quickly realized that Corey Matthews was just another cheating hormone-induced cluster of XY chromosomes. Your episode taught me that love is FRAUD and the perfect love doesn’t exist.

jackWhen Jack Came Out on Dawson’s Creek

In the nineties, TV decided to shed light on a fairly taboo issue by making Capeside’s  ultimate guy’s guy, Jack McPhee, gay. I’ll be honest, the extent of what I knew about being gay was what I heard the boys yelling at each other during recess at school. Jack coming out was my first introduction to a (fictional) gay person. And hey it even allowed critics to casually ignore the absence of black people and other issues not stereotypically white in nature.




alboobsWhen Al Got Boobs on Step by Step

This episode led me to believe that one day in high school I would unexpectedly wake up with huge jugs, which I would at first hate, then in 30 minutes with the aid of my loving stepmother would grow to love. My sister would be jealous of my bodacious body. My brother would creepily ogle me. Life would be good. This turned out to be a false prediction.



When Becca and Tucker FINALLY Kissed

Built entirely around the sexual tension between two 14 year-olds, Disney’s Flash Forward just had to wait until the very last episode to get these two to kiss. Classic story of the goofy, funny “friend” guy who gets the girl, Tucker’s character is the type of guy I developed a soft spot for. I’m glad that I’m not followed around by melancholy music all the time, though.


Don’t get me wrong, I love Saved by the Bell, Full House, Growing Pains, and all those other unmentioned 90s TV shows — but none of those really changed my life.












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