The year was 1991. I was a young girl transitioning into an awkward mess of acne and hormones. Who knew that I was about to be met with an entirely new world of magic and wonders? I was at a sleepover. Despite what the media has you to believe, none of the sleepovers I attended featured giggly girls in frilly nightgowns engaged in pillow fights. (Or perhaps I was never invited to those types of sleepovers?) Instead, it was more common to see us with our hair up in messy ponytails, our faces loaded with the latest "it" skin treatment or zit cream, dressed in ragged t-shirts and sweats, gorging on junk food while gossiping and playing truth or dare. Ever a loner...