Silly: having or showing a lack of common sense or judgment; absurd and foolish. In the dictionary where this is written, you will find my face. Oh, yours is there too? Ha! What a coincidence. 

I have done some very silly things in my day. I would love to tell you all about them, but 1) there are too many and 2) I don’t remember half of them. Not because they didn’t leave a lasting memory, they just kinda fade over time. The ones that have really stuck however, still make me pee my pants with laughter just thinking about them. Are you ready to hear them? Ok, go pee first and then come back. 

Story #1
Physical Education class, sophomore year, Del Campo High School
Fair Oaks, California, 1982 

This may be my silliest/funniest story to date. When I tell it, I cannot breathe in between sentences. I think it’s hilarious, but many who hear it are shocked that I could have done such a thing. Little do they know, this is a typical Lisa move. I was called “spaz” for a reason— and you are about to learn why.  

My friends and I strategically chose the same classes so we could always be together, and P.E. was an easy one to have with friends. At Del Campo, like many high schools, we had to wear a “uniform” for P.E. class. Our school colors were blue and gold, so we had shorts and t-shirts of those colors. My friends and I usually picked blue shorts and a blue shirt with “Del Campo Cougars” written in rubber lettering somewhere on the clothing. The rule was we could wear sweatshirts and sweatpants as long as we also had on the shirt and shorts. 

Sophomore year, the curriculum called for a segment of the semester dedicated to gymnastics. We had huge trampolines and long, padded mats all over the inside of the gym.

“Everyone pick a partner. Today we start gymnastics and you will need someone to spot you and help you with some of the exercises you are learning. Your tests will be graded on the two of you participating together as a team,” said our P.E. teacher, Mr. Eaton. Mr. Eaton was a super nice guy who never got mad at anyone, but wasn’t a pushover either. I always loved going to class that year. 

My friend, Flo (Floreece), and I chose to be partners. Days passed, and Flo and I completed all the required exercises to pass gymnastics. We’re doing flips on the trampoline, somersaults on the mats, and now we’re ready to start adventuring onto higher level movements. 

Flo wants to do a backflip on the mats. Well, it’s more like a lower-level back walk-over, but we called it a back flip nonetheless. Whatever it was, I needed to spot her. That meant that I was expected to put my hands behind her back so she was supported, and then I could assist her to flip her over. 

“Do not drop me you spaz!”

 “C’mon, really? I’m not going to drop you. Just flip, you’ll be fine.” 

So there’s Flo, mustering up the energy to flip backwards. She’s gotta arch her back, tilt her head behind her, and pick her feet off the mat to jolt herself backwards like a slinky. I cannot wait!

“Go already!” I yell.

She pushes out a deep breath, flings herself in reverse, and her feet spring off the floor like a pogo stick. I pull my hands away and she lands flat on her back. 

I am CRYING in laughter. She is not. (Shocker) 

There’s Flo lying there on the padded mat, flat on her back, more angry than I have ever seen her. I am laughing so hard I cannot breathe, and I pee my pants right there on the mat in the middle of Mr. Eaton’s well-organized, calm P.E. class. I have on only shorts and a t-shirt. Flo has on shorts, a t-shirt, and sweats over her shorts. 

“Give me your sweats, I just peed my pants!”  I scream at her.

“No way! I just landed on my back because of you.” 

“C’mon give me your sweats, c’mon Flo!” 

After at least five full minutes of bickering, somehow, and I don’t know how, she gave in and gave me her sweats. She should've punched me. 

Yes, pick your jaw up off the floor, she gave me her sweats. Who’s the better friend here ladies? Yep, Floreece! 

Story #2
Sacramento Raceway on a Hot Summer Night with a Big Mouth in our Hand

This story definitely is much funnier in retrospect, although if you don’t have an appreciation for crass anecdotes, you may not want to read any further. 

Julie and I were best friends the summer before our junior year. My typical routine was to get up around 10 o’clock and ride my bike to her house. (At 15, it was nothing to ride five miles in 90° weather. Today I would probably pass out!) On those hot summer days, we would always find a way to get to the river or lake to lay in the sun. All day long, listening to the latest AC/DC and Van Halen cassette tape on our boombox, laying there in the sand. 

Julie started dating Joe. At the same time, I started dating Biff. Joe and Biff were friends, Julie and I were friends, so we double-dated a lot. 

Looking back, I’d say he was sort of a scumball. Cute, but still a scumball. I wasn’t a scumball. Very much not scummy at all in my opinion, so why I decided to date him is beyond me.This was one of Julie’s first boyfriends so I think it made it more comfortable with me around when we went out. 

Back to the Story

Sacramento is made up of two very distinct types: The political, sophisticated, university-educated types and the living paycheck-to-paycheck, high-school-diploma-only types. The activities in California's capital range according to price and how much one can afford. A popular thing to do for people in that last group was to watch drag racing...which is why four teen-aged kids with no money ended up at the race track for our double-date that Friday night.

We were cool (we thought), and we were partiers. What is a night out on a weekend in the summer without alcohol? (What idiots we were.) But at the time, again, we were cool. The drink of choice that night was Mickey Big Mouths. Uh...hello malt liquor. 

I was 5’2” and 96 pounds back then. Julie was a little taller and weighed a little more, but we were only 15. I think we each drank a six pack. You can imagine the effect of the malt liquor.  (For those of you who don’t know, sugar is added to the malted barley to boost the total amount of fermentable sugars to give it a higher alcohol concentration. ) 

Warning! This is the Crass Part!  

Again, if you don’t like gross, turn the page. 

Biff is driving, I’m the passenger, Julie and Joe are in the backseat. We are in a late 70s bright yellow Honda Civic hatchback. Tiny is not the word. It is hot as hell outside, and Biff’s air conditioner doesn’t work. All of the windows are down. It’s then that my body decides I have way too much skunky beer inside my belly and it’s time to throw it out the window. Yes, vomit all over the side of the car as we are driving 50 MPH on an old dirt road in the middle of the boondocks. Julie is directly behind me and actually says out loud, “Oh my gawd!” in her Valley Girl voice, “It’s raining in the middle of summer!”  

I not only puked up the six pack of Mickey’s, I also peed my pants (see the theme in this blog?). I don’t think I need to explain Julie's misinterpretation of the rainstorm!  

Later that night—I kid you not— those jerk scumball boyfriends left us lying on the sidewalk in front of Joe’s house, totally passed out. We eventually woke up, I don’t know how long after we got home, and realized where we were. Silly? Yes, in our opinion. Stupid? Yeah that too. Hilarious as a memory? Absolutely! 

The Lesson. There’s Always a Lesson

Silliness with your girlfriends comes in many colors and stories. Like I said, my picture should be right beside the dictionary’s definition of silliness. It’s okay though. I’ve found that silliness has created some unforgettable memories that I’ve learned from, and still get a kick out of. No I wasn’t mean. I was hyper and a spaz and pulled practical jokes that kept people laughing. Even Flo.

I love that you were with me today. See you next week!

XO,

Lisa A.K.A Loopie