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Bouchard pays off Super Bowl bet with date at Nets game

<p>Last week, as I was searching the asylum high and low, trying to locate my missing orthotics, (seriously), I came across the best thing ever: my high school diary!</p><p>It was obvious the lock had been picked a multitude of times with a bobby pin, I presume. I&#8217;m telling on my sister and I hope my father takes the car away.</p><p>It took some time, but I read that bad boy twice. I was riveted with my nerdy teenage self. First of all I was smarter than I remembered. I injected a lot of $5 words like &#8220;preposterous&#8221; and &#8220;gingivitis&#8221; into my musings.</p><p>Impressive.</p><p>Also, it appears I suffered a great deal of &#8220;heartache&#8221; as a young teen drama queen. And by heartache, I mean slight disappointments. But I&#8217;m certain, within that perfect storm that was REO Speedwagon and 1979 angst, turmoil and estrogen, it may&#8217;ve felt very much like Anna Karenina.</p><p>However, as I perused each entry, I was reassured that I seemed to catapult quite seamlessly between crushes. Every male I came across to whom I was drawn was described as a &#8220;living doll&#8221; and &#8220;dreamy&#8221; by my small self.</p><p>What year was this written? 1942?</p><p>As the pages segued into my junior year, I met my husband. Yes, I described him as a living doll and declared upon those pages that I was madly in love.</p><p>Please.</p><p>I was also madly in love with Elton John, Sylvester Stallone and the Bee Gees; so you see how loosey-goosy I was with that phrase. But, I was very disappointed in his quiet and backward nature. I dedicated the rest of high school to bringing him out of his shell.</p><p>Now look at the monster I created.</p><p>Cher and I both profusely wish that we &#8220;could turn back time.&#8221;</p><p>My boyfriend/husband and I attended the junior prom together and I spent two pages, front and back, describing my mint-green, polyester prom gown and stunning Candy sandals.</p><p>So hot.</p><p>What I was less enthused about was my boy-toy&#8217;s pea-green leisure suit, with a brown bow-tie as big as a baguette. My diary reports the after-prom party was quite the event, allegedly.</p><p>And, according to the instantly sloppy and downward slanting penmanship, it appears I sampled grain alcohol- and Kool-Aid-infused beverages. My liver was not amused and neither were my parents as I was looking down the barrel of a one-month grounding.</p><p>My children say they do not read this column and I hope to hell they mean it.</p><p>The remaining pages of my diary are spent mooning over my boyfriend/husband who apparently was quite a catch within the green and gold tiled walls of Wyoming Area High School. I had competition with another chick for his affections and according to my written word, she threatened to beat me up!</p><p>Me!</p><p>I was just a little girl. I was appalled.</p><p>My mother would kill me. Plus tussling would mess-up my prairie dress, Farrah Fawcett hair molded with Dippity-Do and my mood ring.</p><p>Child, we Jiunta&#8217;s are not fighters. We are lovers (of carbohydrates).</p><p>My entries ended the week I left for PSU. I guess no one takes diaries to college. Even nerds. Up until that very last scribble of emotion, I adored my boyfriend/husband intensely and didn&#8217;t know how I would manage college without his ever-present gnome-like self attached to me. Turns out I managed very well, actually; we separated, we came back together, we separated, we gelled and here we are.</p><p>My diary knew it all along.</p><p>In 1981, in the center of this tome, I&#8217;d taken up two pages and drawn a huge heart where, in the center, I proclaimed: Maria loves Anthony.</p><p>I did and I do.</p><p>I still think he&#8217;s dreamy; after he uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck of West Pittston is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Dear diary, If I could turn back time …