Ok, so I've reached a new low. I just spent the first hour and a half of J's absence watching "Making the Squad." Let me clarify. Making the Colt's squad.
Back in junior high I actually was campaign manager twice for two girls both "running" for cheerleader. (Could you have predicted my bachelors being poli sci at this point, not so much, but the irony is funny.) They both won.
As I watched the girls "interview" post dance routine (aka, shaking their booties and flipping their hair in time to the hip hop), I was astounded. Not by their answers like, "Oh my god, I just want whirled peas," but more by their names. I actually watched the end to see who made the team and what their daytime profession is. Hillari, Stacee, Megin, Destini, Tiphanie...well, you get the point. Most "Destini's," "Celestial's," and "Nevaeh's" (heaven spelled backwards) I know are allegeded sexual assault victims, not cheerleaders. I almost fell off the couch when one of them claimed they were a social worker. Most of them were office managers, interior designers, senior property managers, or students. I noticed a few of them actually tried out in their sorority sweat shirts, after all, DePaw University in Indiana has the largest Greek system in the Nation. It also happens to be the birth place of my sorority, Alpha Chi Omega. Two of them had Delta Gamma sweat shirts on...the known "prettiest" sorority on campus at the U of Utah. Could we ever get away from this popularity contest? What was worse, I apparently somehow identified with them as I was in a sorority and I was a social worker. Good hell, please tell me this is a nightmare!!!
I thought when I had made it to my professional career, all of that was behind me. Not a freekin' chance. One of the health unit coordinators was trying out for the Utah Jazz squad. She considered me a friend. One day, when it was slow, she did her try out routine in the middle of the hallway between patient rooms. All I could do was say, "Wow." Not because it was horrible. Her plastic surgeon would have been proud the way she moved her chest and thighs. I said, "wow," because on some level I was jealous. I would never want to be her. I would just like to be able to move like she did (and I suspect all of my ex-boyfriends and fiance would have liked me to have been able to move that way too.) It was sexy routine and not at all appropriate for a children's' hospital. Moreover, I couldn't understand how her husband (a Notre Dame grad) was ok with her trying out showing her moves to thousands of horny men staying actually watching the half time show at games with binoculars vs. making the most of the time in between sports time and running to the loo. It wasn't too far from the male domestic violence offenders group I once ran when the guys were getting together after the judicial mandatory group to go to a local strip club to watch one of their wives perform. (I'm so not kidding about this...I actually got invited to come along.)
Will high school ever end?
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