In honor of Guest Blog Week, I participated on Friday by guest blogging for the lovely Jaci at Ravings of a Mad Housewife.   I’d keep going but honestly, her blog title speaks for itself & y’all are smart folk.   check it out, add to your reader, & thank me later!

But in case you didn’t catch the post at it’s original time, here it is in full pom-pom & bloomers glory.

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See that chick underneath?  That’s me.  Almost 10 years ago.

Yeah.  Not much has changed except the circumference of my thighs.  Oh, & digital editing to remove red-eye.

& yes, I was a cheerleader!  Although that should shock nobody at this point, if you are a faithful reader.    But don’t worry – I wasn’t a mean girl or popular.  I was that freakishly tall, awkward teacher’s pet that just liked to simultaneously wave spirit fingers & watch football.  & wonder what the hell the girls whispered about during warm-up stretches regarding something called “BJ” after a movie.  I figured it was a type of ice cream…you know, like Ben & Jerry’s.

But I loved cheerleading.  I loved stunting, I loved tumbling, I loved being the center of attention on Friday nights under the blaring stadium lights.  I adored my coaches & my teammates.  I lived, breathed, ate cheerleading.  I thought up routines in my head while lying in bed at night, doodled cheers on my notebooks in class, & spent 30 minutes every night in the bathroom before my shower, practicing the fight song.  (what?  like you never did anything embarrassingly cheesy in front of the bathroom mirror?!)  & up until college & I joined my sorority, I couldn’t imagine loving or being devoted to any organization the way I was to our squad.

But y’all…that was a decade ago.  & a lot has changed since then.  I embrace my inner dork & bookworm self with pride & flair.  I don’t think whispy bangs are a good look for anyone.  & I certainly know that “BJ” is code for a different….errr….flavor of after-date treat than ice cream.  I have absolutely no desire to rewind the clock 10 years & revisit the hell that was adolescence.

So imagine my complete surprise when I logged into my Facebook account last week & received an invitation from my high school.

To return to my alma mater for a Cheerleading Reunion Half-Time Routine.

I think my eyes almost bugged out of my head.  This MUST be a joke, right?  But apparently  not, considering the amount of positive RSVP’s already in place.

I broke out into a clammy, cold sweat at the horrific idea of shoving my ass into a 1/2 yard of polyester when I’m still lugging around 30 extra pounds (mostly on my hips, THANKS A LOT HARRISON).  Glitter gel in my hair.  Of smiling in front of a crowd of hundreds.  Putting my hand on the ass of a girl I haven’t seen for the better part of a decade, all in the name of creating the perfect heel-stretch pyramid.  & OH MY GOD, does the uniform still “V” up to reveal the belly button?  Because I’m pretty sure mine has been destroyed past resembling anything other than a moon crater.

Nate, being extremely loaded with testosterone, thought this was an EXCELLENT idea.  & threatened to log into my account, click yes, & therefore devote several of my evenings to practice (wtf?  when would I have time for that?!) & several years of therapy to my psyche.  Until I said, “ARE YOU INSANE?!  You saw what happened to me three months ago!!  I gave birth to an 8 lb human!”

& frankly, the idea of jumping in the air & flinging both legs out to opposite sides makes me want to run grab an ice pack.