Friday, July 16, 2004
Look At Me, I'm... D
C bought me the DVD of the movie Grease. I adored that movie as a young girl. My best friend Marci and I were so obsessed with the movie that we each bought the soundtrack and memorized all of the lyrics. Our pre-adolescent voices were able to hit all of Olivia Newton-John's high notes in "Hopelessly Devoted to You" and our shapeless bodies danced nimbly to "We Go Together."
Watching this movie again, suddenly I understood the fantasy self I so desperately tried to grow into the following years.
In seventh grade, I tried to go blonde by using Sun In in my hair. Instead the sun turned my hair a bright brassy orange.
The following summer, I got a perm. But the stylist cut my hair too short. Since my hair was still bright orange, the final result was a bright orange globe of hair more reminiscent of Little Orphan Annie rather than the Sandy of "You're the One that I Want" in Grease.
Finally, in the eighth grade, I made my very first purchase of ultra-fashionable clothing. This item fit the dream far better than my hair ever would - black, skin-tight, slightly-shiny parachute pants. These pants finally turned me successfully into Sandra D. And not the Sandra D who got ill from one cigarette. Nor the Sandra D who wouldn't swear. Nor the Sandra D who wouldn't go to bed till she was legally wed. Instead, I was striving to become the Sandra D who thoughtlessly shoved the toe of her high heeled shoe into John Travolta's chest. The Sandra D who knew she turned the heads of her classmates - both male and female. The ...D who strutted confidently and playfully onto the shaking, swirling fun house steps of adolescence.
Watching this movie again, suddenly I understood the fantasy self I so desperately tried to grow into the following years.
In seventh grade, I tried to go blonde by using Sun In in my hair. Instead the sun turned my hair a bright brassy orange.
The following summer, I got a perm. But the stylist cut my hair too short. Since my hair was still bright orange, the final result was a bright orange globe of hair more reminiscent of Little Orphan Annie rather than the Sandy of "You're the One that I Want" in Grease.
Finally, in the eighth grade, I made my very first purchase of ultra-fashionable clothing. This item fit the dream far better than my hair ever would - black, skin-tight, slightly-shiny parachute pants. These pants finally turned me successfully into Sandra D. And not the Sandra D who got ill from one cigarette. Nor the Sandra D who wouldn't swear. Nor the Sandra D who wouldn't go to bed till she was legally wed. Instead, I was striving to become the Sandra D who thoughtlessly shoved the toe of her high heeled shoe into John Travolta's chest. The Sandra D who knew she turned the heads of her classmates - both male and female. The ...D who strutted confidently and playfully onto the shaking, swirling fun house steps of adolescence.
Comments:
I can identify with this a lot! I used to dress up as Sandra D, call my family (how nerdy!) into the living room, and have them sit on the couch and watch me dance and sing along with a song or two from the soundtrack. Recently a few of the gals from Grease were on a cable show, and one said that girls on the street still come up to her enraptured by their love of Grease (that it still hasn't lost it's magic with this new generation). I also loved Grease 2!
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