TEENY BOPPER AT HEART

Since I've been making random, yet useless confessions (I killed Hoffa), I thought to myself, "Self. Why not one more?"

I was once in my younger days somewhat of a teeny bopper. Uch. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. But, alas, it's true. I refuse to go into details about how much of a bopper I was but let's just say, back in the day, JTT was a DREAMBOAT. The jury, however, is out on whether or not I ever sang along to a Spice Girls song. (From the first album. By that second monstrosity I'd learned my lesson.)

This is why it wasn't much of a stretch last night when Emily suggested (I can still blame this on Emily) we watch A Cinderella Story. The one with Hilary Duff. And Chad Michael Murrey, who, as luck would have it, I don't find to be nearly the same dreamboat quality at JTT was back in his hayday (and, my, what a hayday).

The movie was a let down and I'll tell you why. For one thing, it's distracting to watch a movie like that involving high school dances and see a woman who is so stacked you know there isn't anyway she's under 25. And I just can't forgive his (CMM's) character for being a dick all the way up until the end. Oh, wahh, I gave up a football scholarship for a girl in painted on pants and a chance to go to Princeton (because that is where princes go to school). Seriously. His football team mascot was the Fighting Frog. Last play of the night and he just walks off the field? MY ASS. My adult teeny bopper brain is more decerning than that. I DEMAND reality. Not this "awww" bullshit that doesn't happen in real life. Give me my JTT in Man of the House where wrongs are realized and the illusion of the perfect familly looks like it took some time to get there, where people are appreciated and the girls aren't dressed like prostitutes in training. Take me back when things were simpler. Take me JTT, back to the golden days.