Just Call Me Mrs. Jackson--In Honor of a Legend

The following is a re-post of a Humor Carnival post I wrote back in October about growing up in the 80's. I hereby resurrect this little gem for y'all in remembrance of a great performer, and my very first love, Michael Jackson. Yes, he was creepy, disturbed and controversial in his later years, but I loved me some Michael back in the day...enjoy!

When I was six years old, I wanted to marry Michael Jackson. I had this super hot poster of him in a yellow sweater vest (yes, I said sweater vest, so what?) and he's all suave and serious, pouting at the camera and his geri curl was all shiny and voluminous and I just stared at that photo and wondered what it would be like to be Mrs. Michael Jackson.

OK, well now I know what it would have been like--CROWDED--with all the little kids and monkeys in bed with us. But back then there was nothing more I would have loved than spending every day and night with him and being his "pretty young thing." Macaulay Culkin has all the luck...

As a dreadfully misguided 6-year-old, I had another crush that was destined to be unrequited. OK, if you laugh at me here, I will kick your ass. No I won't, because you have every right to laugh at me. I loved (oh God, I can't believe I am admitting this--it's all for the friggin' Humor Bloggers carnival, I'll have to keep telling myself that)...

Boy George.

Yes, NOW I know that he was (is) flamingly gay, but people, I was only SIX!! Cut me some frikkin' slack, would ya? I just loved his hat and his clothes and it was oh-so-mysterious how he would wear eye makeup, and I was just all ENAMORED over him and his melancholy tunes. I had the vinyl record single of "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" and I remember playing it over and over again in my parents' livingroom, swaying to the music and pretending that I was onstage with my beloved, cross-dressing boy, singing back up.

Yeah, so it was the eighties, OK? Stop judging me.

I also rocked the Punky Brewster look with the scarves tied around my leg. And how I loved to wear, like, SIX pairs of scrunchy socks and layer them so my ankles looked like a verifiable rainbow. Don't forget, the pants HAD to be pegged for this look to work, so when my mom bought me straight leg pants--OH MY GOD--you just cannot peg straight legs, you need tapered legs, and I just couldn't see how she didn't understand that! But of course in her day, she wore bell bottoms, which to me back then were the most hideous item of clothing you could ever pull on your body, but what do I wear today? Flared leg jeans, which are pretty much bell bottoms, so I guess I am biting my tongue now about all the times I made fun of my mom's bell bottoms. Whatever.

Now, THE coolest thing about my childhood in the eighties was the year that my mother dressed me as Madonna for Halloween, and if I really loved y'all I would post the pic here, but really, I don't know you ALL that well and that picture could end up in the hands of someone that would abuse its powers and nobody wants that. So instead I will paint for you the image of me, at 7 years old, in fishnet tights, a short black miniskirt, a black jacket with a gold lamee pyramid on it that my mother MADE (she's totally tubular, you know), and enough eye makeup to sink a ship. Yes, I had seen Desperately Seeking Susan and there was nothing cooler than Madonna in that movie, she was just such a bad ass. So I walked around our neighborhood, pretty much looking like my mother had allowed me to dress as a prostitute for Halloween, and it was the BEST HALLOWEEN EVER.

I think I got more candy that year, really I do.

Stay tuned for my post about the golden years of the nineties, complete with Doc Martens, flannel shirts and a very calamitous tale of piercing my own belly button. I will save that one for when you've been really good...and I might even share some pictures...

MAYBE