Crazy Virgo: Bruised Knees. Big Ego.

In case you wondered if I was always crazy, I think this will prove it.

There was a time when I, CrazyVirgo, wanted to join a group where I had to audition to be a member. I know. I know. That sounds NOTHING like me. Normally, I'd scoff at the exclusivity of it all. Who was it that famously said, "I'd never be a member of a club that would have me."? But, this was the pom-pom squad. And, this was 1994. And, this was the ultimate attempt to create the greatest Senior Year of all time. So, I did it.

In my high school, the cheerleaders were the academic do-gooders, and the pom-pom squad were the hot party girls. Of course I wanted to be on the party girl squad. These girls got to sit together at lunch. Wear their uniforms to school. Speak in a secret language about their uniforms. "Do we wear Big Blue or Inverted Bird tomorrow?" Get immediate friendship from upperclassmen. Get a locker in a popular hallway just for Pom & Cheer girls. Were initiated into the pom-pom sisterhood through a series of events that included a surprise 5 a.m. wake-up call by retiring pom-pom members that would dress you in hideous outfits, pour booze down your throat and force you to humiliate yourself for an entire day at school. That sounded awesome. I longed for that kind of acceptance and popularity. The first three years of high school I relied on my sense of humor to win me friends. Any that kind of got me somewhere in the "everybody's pal" category. So, in the middle of my Junior year, I was in the school musical where I was forced to do a strip-tease number in "Guys & Dolls." A little more into the "ya, I might let her sit at our table." Yet still, I wasn't quite at the level where my name would be remembered and revered in the halls of Central High School.

At the end of my Junior Year, me and several dear friends - including one defecting from the Cheer Squad - signed up for try-outs. For the next week, we were subjected to intense training. Rivaled only by Navy SEAL training, we were beaten into submission with pom poms. In sports bras and itty bitty nylon shorts, 17 year-old girls did push-ups, ran sprints, and spent more time dropping to their knees than any one should. Our audition routine had four moves where we dropped from standing position to kneeling position. One could only assume that the Senior pom-pom girls who created this routine did this to ascertain whether or not our knees could withstand the pressure of being a Central High School Pom-Pom Girl. Day after day, we did it. Withstood the agony and pain of the knee drop, to prove that we were the worthy, the brave, the chosen. For hours after school and on the weekends we subjected our poor knees to torture now only performed in Guantanamo detainment camps.

Arms out in a V formation. 1 -2 Drop to your knees. 3-4 Walk to the side on your knees. 5-6. Jump up. 7-8. Now drop to the knees again. 9-10.

On try-out day, each of us grimaced as we performed the routine that we could have done in our sleep, while dropping onto blue, bruised knees that matched the blue of our school colors. (We hoped we got extra points for that.) Biting our cheeks to keep from screaming in pain and crying out in agony, we put on our best school pride faces and hit every knee drop with military precision. Afterward, we looked like this:

But, we were one step closer to popularity and eternal fame at Central High School.

You'll be happy to know I made it. My young knees didn't suffer in vain. I was initiated by the Senior members of the squad, which I'm sworn to secrecy and can never divulge the intimate details that may or may not have included a banana, a fishing net, a Raggedy Ann costume, and chocolate sauce. I got to wear that coveted uniform and discuss things in a secret code. "Bubbles today? Or Old School?" My ego inflated so large it could barely be fit within the confines of Central High School. My destiny was complete.

My knees have never recovered. And, every time I hear, "Drop to your knees, 2-3-4," I go robotic and start performing my high school pom-pom routine. You'd be surprised how many times I hear that phrase. I wish I could tell you I went on to be wildly popular and unbelievably successful thanks to the pom-pom squad, but that would be completely false. Kicking ones legs into the air, rolling around on the gymnasium floor with your crotch exposed to the entire student body, and wearing short skirts doesn't really prepare one for the real world. Unless of course your goal is to be on MTV's "Real World." I just got a rather inflated ego for one year, and was then promptly knocked back into my place in college where being on the pom-pom squad in your high school got you nowhere. Well, nowhere a lady should be anyway.

Where was my sense of pride, self-worth and feminism? Nicely folded and tucked into a drawer underneath the ugly clothes and homely personality I would never wear again thanks to my new-found identity as a pom-pom girl.

Don't worry. I found it again around sophomore year of college when I found the Women's Studies Department. And only now re-enact my pom-pom girl days on request.