Friday, November 28, 2008

joselyn "furby" hughes

I had good friends in high school; we all did. I was usually the one driving everyone to the party. While they all made out with dudes, I sat on the couch and waited to drive them back home. I didn’t really get why I was left out, but I was okay with it.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot of fun in high school. But, looking back, I’ve realized being the zany one who also had wave bangs and braces for eight years probably wasn’t the most attractive look I could have gone with- and I was completely clueless to that at the time.

I had a couple nicknames my friends bestowed upon me in high school, actually. The kind of nicknames that told people who I was, like “Shooter,” “Honest Abe,” or “The Johnson.” The kind that should’ve clued me into what really was going on, but I remained oblivious.

The first one was “Rubber Face.” It was my mother’s nickname for me. That was her loving nickname for her little daughter. “Rubber Face.”

Again- I get it now, I perform comedy and know that I make these weird faces and people laugh at them, but I didn’t realize that until I was well in being 23 years old. High school: I was totally clueless. “Rubber Face.” So sweet.

“Furby” was another one. You remember those, right? Those weird furry animals that spoke nonsense and looked like bush babies? Furbies. I looked like one, wait, look like a Furby. Also, speaking in accents and your own language with your friends isn’t cool when you’re 16, apparently.

“Cartoon” was my friend Jay’s name for me. “Because you make crazy faces and shit,” he’d say. I always thought it was because I wore ridiculous wanna-be skater outfits: glitter all over my face, a four year old’s jewelry box worth of plastic bracelets, and JNCO jeans wide legged enough to clothe a small town. But it wasn’t just that. Sometimes I matched my braces’ rubber bands to a theme, like “Halloween” or “Homecoming.” Twice a friend and I went to a 311 concert wearing matching head to toe skater outfits in opposite colors, thinking we were foxy as all hell. Twice.

Looking back, it’s incredible that I made those decisions. I actually picked out those items and wore them on a daily basis. But Jay didn’t call me “Cartoon” because I wore them, he actually called me that because I made “crazy faces and shit.” Same with the other ones.

So it was a triple combo. I sat on couches and wondered why I wasn’t making out with a dude, looking like I had robbed a raver , making faces like Jim Carrey, and speaking in my own languages I decided were hilarious. A 1-2-3 punch of unattractiveness. BAM!

Well, at least now I’ve figured out I should make (or attempt to make) a career out of it.

Or maybe I just don’t want to grow up. ;)