Some things never change. My love life as I know it began with regret and embarrassment, and it’s really only been downhill since then.
I sometimes think there must be something terribly wrong with me, that everyone else seemed to blossom normally from adolescence into adulthood, making and breaking hearts along the way, and I always seemed to have a hitch in my giddy up when it came to those things. I seem to have gotten off the beaten path when it comes to relationships, and I don’t know where I took the wrong turn, but “since the very beginning” seems to be a good guess.
My first kiss though, like many of our first kisses, is probably the one I would most like to forget ever happened. Why, you ask? Was it because it was such a terrible, sloppy kiss, that I was traumatized for years by the thought of a tongue? Because it was with a boy who broke my heart to smithereens at a tender age? Oh, no. Nothing as simple as that.
My first kiss was with a carnie.
A carnival worker.
*sigh*
Let me just put this all in context real quick:
Anna was my best friend. Anna got boobs that summer of 5th grade. No, seriously. I remember getting on the bus the first day of 6th grade and immediately knowing there was a problem. The problem being I had no boobs. Was I supposed to? I didn’t know. I didn’t even shave my legs at this point. But, in a matter of seconds, I understood my chest was not worthy of a 6th grade boys attention.
Anna was, and is, blonde. I had a mousy, light brown color with a *slight* gray tint to it. Anna weighed like 80 pounds, and at least 6 of those were now in her chest. I had gained roughly 20 pounds between 1st and 2nd grade, and never lost any of it. I had signs of Grandma Corty’s midsection in the 6th grade (you shouldn’t be comparing yourself to your Grandma in the 6th grade). Anna had 20/20 vision. I wore humongous purple – framed glasses. So, as you can see, the next couple of years did quite a number on my self – esteem.
The middle of 6th grade, I decided to take up the razor, and started shaving my legs and pits. 7th grade puberty was good to me and I started to lose in places I need to lose in, and grow in places I needed to grow in. By the end of 8th grade, my transformation was nearly complete: I dyed my hair (with Anna – hers turned out a nice golden blonde; mine came out a more of a strawberry, of course) and got contacts. I still had no boobs. Anna still did. She also had a boyfriend. Bitch.
However, none of this changed the fact that ever boy in our grade I had probably taken a bath with or ran around naked in their yards at some point in my life. It’s a small town. So, you see, there were just no options. It wasn’t me --- it was them. Or lack of “them”.
Anna and I spend a lot of time together that summer. Specifically, we spent a lot of time being boy crazy 14 year olds. In August, the annual Burnett County Fair was taking place. These kind of events are horny teenagers wet dreams. Boys from other schools! From other towns! From other counties! (no, not countries --- that came much later --- other counties…)
(On a side note, I have no clue how my parents tolerated me when I was 14, or how they found it in their hearts not to send me away/murder me. If I have children, I will be truly frightened if it comes out a girl….)
Anyway, so we spend every waking and non-waking hours strutting around the animal barns, concession stands, and over priced, rigged games of what was the Burnett County Fair. It’s basically a rule that you need to buy cheese curds at a fair. Being a teenage girl slightly paranoid about her weight is no exception. And, oh, would you look at that! Look at these 2 cute, slightly older boys running the cheese curd stand….
I have no idea how we got ourselves involved with the cheese curd stand guys, but I totally blame it on Anna. The most confusing part for me at the time was that one of them was actually interested in me. *sigh* I was so ignorant of the male mind at this point, it truly depresses me. Anyway, to cut to the chase, after like 48 hours of ridiculous pseudo flirting, which I can only imagine was him trying to flirt with me, and me giggling uncontrollably because I am/was a completely moron when it comes to men, he offered to let me ride with him to the gas station to buy cigarettes.
(GOD, this story gets just more and more redneck with every sentence!!!! I disgust myself. I swear I am going to finish writing this story, and invent a new story about my first kiss)
We ride to the gas station, and I am sitting as closely as possible to the passenger side door as physics will allow. He suggests that, hey, maybe I should sit in the middle. Ummm, sure….(you fool!) and I move over, knowing exactly what is coming next.
The kiss.
Which was stupid.
He smelled like an ashtray.
First kisses are stupid, because like everything, you only get better at kissing with practice. And I can vouch that they are particularly stupid when they are will chain smoking carnies whom you will never see again (thankfully). The good news: There was absolutely nowhere to go but up, up, UP from there. And, 12 years later, it has most definitely went UP!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Pucker Up.
You never forget your first; even if, sometimes you wish you could.
Time to wind back the hands of time to freshman year. Oh!, the horror, the agony, the immaturity.
This was the year I had my first official boyfriend and got my first official kiss. Being that I was one of the first girl to get a boyfriend out of my friends, I had very few options to go to for advice seeking. I wanted to ask - how should I position my face? What flavor chapstick should I wear? What should I expect? What do I do with my tongue? Well, turns out I was flying solo on this one.
I remember thinking having a boyfriend wouldn't be a big deal. It's not like I was dating the varsity quarterback, so the whole "relationship" thing could go over pretty much on the D-L. Yeah, that was until J.H. decided to announce to my entire Spanish class that me and said boyfriend were a hot item. I didn't even know what a hot item was, and we definitely weren't that, but whatever... It was from that day forward that I felt like I was being watched - everyone knew were were dating, so we had to act like that.
Well, at age 15 - the problem is you don't really know how to act. You're at a very awkward phase. Your body is changing, you get pimples, skipping swimming in gym because you have your period is no longer an excuse...etc. Not to mention, when you are the youngest in the high school there is a lot to live up to. You see that "A-list" seniors macking in the hallway during breaks; you see those same "A-listers" dry humping at school dances. You wonder when you get to be that cool. (Okay, no you don't. Most of the normal kids never wanted to be that cool. You only did if you were an A-list froshie; of which, I definitely was not.)
So it all began at a school dance. Just happened to be on -gag- Valentine's Day. That marked the start of our relationship. Slow dancing and group photos included. (I despise the fact that my first 'will you be my girlfriend, I like you' happened on the most pathetic day for saps of the year. I have never liked the day, and never found this coincidence to be all that romantic. I'm a realist, not a dreamer.)
Things were good. We had fun hanging out with friends, talking on the phone until way too late, and just being normal confused 15 year olds. Well, this "puppy love" continued for about 3 months. Then the second phase of our relationship began. This was the "I think we should take it to the next level, but I'm too dip-shit scared to start" phase. A lot - I repeat, a lot, of sweaty hand holding took place at this phase. The Great Salt Lakes and "kiss tension." [I say "kiss tension" because sexual tension was too far out of reach].
Phase 2 continued on for about a month.
Then we hit the 4.5 month mark. Still, no smooching. It was getting uncomfortable. He'd walk (Yes, walk because neither one of us drove!) me home, we'd stand there in silence looking at our feet. I'd always get super impatience (and insecure) so I'd run inside and slam the door in his face. To hell if I was going to be making the first move - he was the boy!
We crept to month 5 - and that was it. We were going to lock lips. No more of this pussy footing around it - it was going to happen. I distinctly remember going out that day and knowing I was not leaving until it happened. I was determined. It didn't help that the week before he flat out said to my face that we had never kissed. Just as he puckered up, I fled. My first kiss was not going to be so forced, damn it. However, with him being so blunt I knew I had to "put out" or hit the high way. I did still like the kid, so breaking up was out of the question.
That next weekend we went for a ride - he was on his bike, I was on my roller blades. It was swell. We were cruising around the 'burb on a spring/summer day and it was all good. As we started to head back home, I started to get really nervous, even if I was not backing down. We stopped at what would become our "infamous" corner and did the usual - talked, awkward stares, uncomfortable giggles, talked...etc. This continued on for about 10 minutes. [Editor's note: I am still on my roller blades at this point and balance is not my strong suit.] Then it came. I think we both knew it was now or never. We leaned in and ....
whooooooooosh. It was over. It hadn't even started and it was over.
What the fuck? I waited my whole adult life for this - a 1/2 second kiss?
I was so unsatisfied with the lack of kiss that I bladed home. The whole way home I remember thinking how my parents, relatives...etc. had kissed me on the lips for longer than that stupid, lame-ass kiss. What a frickin' waste of dream!
We did improve, and in writing this I realize that I should write about my second kiss. [That one instead of being the shortest kiss ever, could be classified as one of the sloppiest messes of a kisses I'd ever received. That is, however, besides the point. This is about firsts. ;))].
Wonder if the feeling was mutual? Guess the world may never know. :P
Time to wind back the hands of time to freshman year. Oh!, the horror, the agony, the immaturity.
This was the year I had my first official boyfriend and got my first official kiss. Being that I was one of the first girl to get a boyfriend out of my friends, I had very few options to go to for advice seeking. I wanted to ask - how should I position my face? What flavor chapstick should I wear? What should I expect? What do I do with my tongue? Well, turns out I was flying solo on this one.
I remember thinking having a boyfriend wouldn't be a big deal. It's not like I was dating the varsity quarterback, so the whole "relationship" thing could go over pretty much on the D-L. Yeah, that was until J.H. decided to announce to my entire Spanish class that me and said boyfriend were a hot item. I didn't even know what a hot item was, and we definitely weren't that, but whatever... It was from that day forward that I felt like I was being watched - everyone knew were were dating, so we had to act like that.
Well, at age 15 - the problem is you don't really know how to act. You're at a very awkward phase. Your body is changing, you get pimples, skipping swimming in gym because you have your period is no longer an excuse...etc. Not to mention, when you are the youngest in the high school there is a lot to live up to. You see that "A-list" seniors macking in the hallway during breaks; you see those same "A-listers" dry humping at school dances. You wonder when you get to be that cool. (Okay, no you don't. Most of the normal kids never wanted to be that cool. You only did if you were an A-list froshie; of which, I definitely was not.)
So it all began at a school dance. Just happened to be on -gag- Valentine's Day. That marked the start of our relationship. Slow dancing and group photos included. (I despise the fact that my first 'will you be my girlfriend, I like you' happened on the most pathetic day for saps of the year. I have never liked the day, and never found this coincidence to be all that romantic. I'm a realist, not a dreamer.)
Things were good. We had fun hanging out with friends, talking on the phone until way too late, and just being normal confused 15 year olds. Well, this "puppy love" continued for about 3 months. Then the second phase of our relationship began. This was the "I think we should take it to the next level, but I'm too dip-shit scared to start" phase. A lot - I repeat, a lot, of sweaty hand holding took place at this phase. The Great Salt Lakes and "kiss tension." [I say "kiss tension" because sexual tension was too far out of reach].
Phase 2 continued on for about a month.
Then we hit the 4.5 month mark. Still, no smooching. It was getting uncomfortable. He'd walk (Yes, walk because neither one of us drove!) me home, we'd stand there in silence looking at our feet. I'd always get super impatience (and insecure) so I'd run inside and slam the door in his face. To hell if I was going to be making the first move - he was the boy!
We crept to month 5 - and that was it. We were going to lock lips. No more of this pussy footing around it - it was going to happen. I distinctly remember going out that day and knowing I was not leaving until it happened. I was determined. It didn't help that the week before he flat out said to my face that we had never kissed. Just as he puckered up, I fled. My first kiss was not going to be so forced, damn it. However, with him being so blunt I knew I had to "put out" or hit the high way. I did still like the kid, so breaking up was out of the question.
That next weekend we went for a ride - he was on his bike, I was on my roller blades. It was swell. We were cruising around the 'burb on a spring/summer day and it was all good. As we started to head back home, I started to get really nervous, even if I was not backing down. We stopped at what would become our "infamous" corner and did the usual - talked, awkward stares, uncomfortable giggles, talked...etc. This continued on for about 10 minutes. [Editor's note: I am still on my roller blades at this point and balance is not my strong suit.] Then it came. I think we both knew it was now or never. We leaned in and ....
whooooooooosh. It was over. It hadn't even started and it was over.
What the fuck? I waited my whole adult life for this - a 1/2 second kiss?
I was so unsatisfied with the lack of kiss that I bladed home. The whole way home I remember thinking how my parents, relatives...etc. had kissed me on the lips for longer than that stupid, lame-ass kiss. What a frickin' waste of dream!
We did improve, and in writing this I realize that I should write about my second kiss. [That one instead of being the shortest kiss ever, could be classified as one of the sloppiest messes of a kisses I'd ever received. That is, however, besides the point. This is about firsts. ;))].
Wonder if the feeling was mutual? Guess the world may never know. :P
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