oh dear god

A complicated money transfer sent me on a hellish stroll through memory lane, thanks to old yearbooks online in PDF form apparently being a thing. I couldn’t get into my bank account because it wouldn’t accept my answer for my high school mascot (or as is more likely, it couldn’t believe that my high school mascot was so lame and thought I was making a funny – seriously, it was the “warm fuzzy”. I went to hippie school, okay), so I went digging to see if the school still exists. It does, and there’s an alumni site. Neat! There isn’t much information for my “graduating” class, though. But our yearbook is online! Let’s take a look ..

Jesus christ, I wish I hadn’t done that. I am cringing so hard at my teenage self that I have practically imploded, so naturally I will share:

apparently i decorated this door, perhaps with my giant hair

apparently i decorated this door, perhaps with my giant hair

terminator was cool, okay.

terminator was cool, okay.

oh for fuck's sake this is fucking terrible what the hell i hate you teenage me

oh for fuck’s sake this is fucking terrible what the hell i hate you teenage me

I’m suspiciously absent from the school newspaper tribute page, as is probably fitting. Also, I fought really hard with my name – anywhere I was allowed to submit it shows up as “Kimli”, but anything anyone else wrote on my behalf came out as “Kim”. Jerks. I am predictably all over the band and choir page, not in any of the sports pages, and I have a sneaking suspicion that every school picture taken happened on just one day because I am wearing a big red sweater thing in almost every image.

Ugh I am actually ill when I look at that quote. Shoelaces? Cartwheels? ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE? 17-year-old me was a tool.

Kinda miss that hair, though.

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