These Guys

how the frak do i find them?

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My first kiss. Was not with Jesus. But he was watching, let me tell you.  And dang it, if that kiss didn’t brand me a scarlet woman from the start. I was fifteen (shh I don’t count getting to second base on the playground in elementary school) and I spent a lot of weekends working as a peer minister at a Catholic retreat center. **Let me just tangentially explain to you HOW COOL I was in high school.  When I wasn’t in class or at home, I hung out at the youth room in my church’s parish center. My best friends were all Catholics and we had inside jokes about communion and how many times the priest said “Peace” during mass. Spending time at that Church wasn’t enough though - I had to go and be holy all over the place! So I started going on retreats at this monastery (yes. you read that right. monks.), and eventually went to a leadership training camp so I could become a peer minister. I WAS THAT COOL.** Back to Valentine’s Day weekend when I was 15. I was busy ministering to all these sweet teenagers who desperately needed to cry at the feet of Jesus and tell some stranger all their sins so they could live happily ever after. This boy, let’s call him JUDAS, was also a peer minister. I had just met Judas that weekend, and of course I thought he was soooo cool. He was really cute, and he just loved God with all his heart. And he had great taste in music and clothes. Mostly he was really cute. At prayer circle the last night of the retreat, I managed to snag the spot on the carpet next to Judas. He smiled at me and it was like God’s heavenly light was shining through his eyes. That or I was crushing so hard on him he should have suffocated. Fifteen minutes into the prayer, some kid was praying for his heroin addicted five year old sister or something, and Judas and I both had our hands on the floor between us. And then, ladies and gents, Judas took my hand and laced his fingers through mine. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There were probably some more prayers or something. BUT JUDAS WAS HOLDING MY HAND! HOLY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! Once the prayer had FINALLY ended, Judas and I lagged behind on the way back to the dorms. I was about to turn to the girl section (girls are pink, boys are blue, NO PURPLE ON RETREATS), when Judas grabbed my hand and pulled me into my first kiss. HAWT. Probably not really. It was probably gross and awkwardly full of teeth and too much saliva. But it was a kiss. And then I found out Judas had a girlfriend.  I was breaking a commandment!!! When I was supposed to be spreading the Word, I was helping some scoundrel commit adultery! How dare he use me like that?!?! How dare he cheat on some poor girl? How dare he distract me from the true meaning of the retreat (which was either God or getting away from my parents for a weekend). I kissed him again the next night. :-D (What? he said he was going to break up with the dumb bitch)

My first kiss.

Was not with Jesus. But he was watching, let me tell you. 

And dang it, if that kiss didn’t brand me a scarlet woman from the start. I was fifteen (shh I don’t count getting to second base on the playground in elementary school) and I spent a lot of weekends working as a peer minister at a Catholic retreat center.

**Let me just tangentially explain to you HOW COOL I was in high school.  When I wasn’t in class or at home, I hung out at the youth room in my church’s parish center. My best friends were all Catholics and we had inside jokes about communion and how many times the priest said “Peace” during mass. Spending time at that Church wasn’t enough though - I had to go and be holy all over the place! So I started going on retreats at this monastery (yes. you read that right. monks.), and eventually went to a leadership training camp so I could become a peer minister. I WAS THAT COOL.**

Back to Valentine’s Day weekend when I was 15. I was busy ministering to all these sweet teenagers who desperately needed to cry at the feet of Jesus and tell some stranger all their sins so they could live happily ever after. This boy, let’s call him JUDAS, was also a peer minister. I had just met Judas that weekend, and of course I thought he was soooo cool. He was really cute, and he just loved God with all his heart. And he had great taste in music and clothes. Mostly he was really cute.

At prayer circle the last night of the retreat, I managed to snag the spot on the carpet next to Judas. He smiled at me and it was like God’s heavenly light was shining through his eyes. That or I was crushing so hard on him he should have suffocated. Fifteen minutes into the prayer, some kid was praying for his heroin addicted five year old sister or something, and Judas and I both had our hands on the floor between us. And then, ladies and gents, Judas took my hand and laced his fingers through mine. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There were probably some more prayers or something. BUT JUDAS WAS HOLDING MY HAND! HOLY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH!

Once the prayer had FINALLY ended, Judas and I lagged behind on the way back to the dorms. I was about to turn to the girl section (girls are pink, boys are blue, NO PURPLE ON RETREATS), when Judas grabbed my hand and pulled me into my first kiss.

HAWT.

Probably not really. It was probably gross and awkwardly full of teeth and too much saliva. But it was a kiss.

And then I found out Judas had a girlfriend. 

I was breaking a commandment!!! When I was supposed to be spreading the Word, I was helping some scoundrel commit adultery! How dare he use me like that?!?! How dare he cheat on some poor girl? How dare he distract me from the true meaning of the retreat (which was either God or getting away from my parents for a weekend).

I kissed him again the next night. :-D (What? he said he was going to break up with the dumb bitch)

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I should have been this girl in middle school. I should have taken pride in the fact that I got the best grades in school (well me and my friend Marla that is), and with that pride I should not have allowed dumb boys to cheat off me.  Oh, but I did. Because not only were they dumb, but they were OH SO CUUUUTE. I let them cheat like it was the next best thing to frenching under the jungle gym at lunchtime.  You know how baseball players are “on deck” before they’re up at bat? Well, if first base was making out, and being at bat was flirting and holding hands, then letting those boys cheat off me? That had to mean I was on deck. In my boy-obsessed head, I predicted that after they finished copying A-D-C-A-B from my social studies test, they’d definitely want to hold my hand in the hallway, and soon after that we’d be getting hot and heavy in the back seat of his car. (Well considering this was middle school, maybe his mom’s car? Oh that would just be weird. I guess we’d just sneak into the locker rooms after school.) Anyway, there was one boy in particular that I was just unbelievably smitten with. We’ll call him Smooth. Because he was. Even at 12 years old he knew how to make girls sacrifice their dignity in attempts to please him.  I went to a small Catholic school, and we all wore uniforms, but on the rare “dress-down” day, Smooth always had the hottest clothes. He was a surfer. And he had that sun-bleached surfer hair. And a tan. And scars from wipe-outs. Such a total fucking 12 year old stud. He sat next to me in many of our classes. Not because I was cool or pretty or anything. Smooth was the dreamiest guy in the school, and I was a nerdy, pasty freckled ginger with braces, still a couple years away from my hourglass figure, AND I liked to read. For fun. What I’m saying is that if seats hadn’t been assigned, Smooth and I wouldn’t even have been on the same side of the room. Luckily for me though most of our teachers (cranky old nuns) weren’t very original in their seating charts, and my last name came right before his. So Smooth and I sat next to each other.  It was no secret that I got straight A’s. I was embarrassed about it, but the teachers always gushed about their top students with “why can’t the rest of you be like these kids who got A’s?” Because of that, Smooth knew that I was a smart girl. I still remember the first day he asked to cheat.  It was Spanish class - quiz on conjugating basic verbs.  As Senora X was passing out the quiz at the front of the room, Smooth nudged me with his elbow, I turned to him. He smiled beautifully. Did I mention he had bright blue eyes the color of a resort swimming pool? He did. His eyes locked on mine: so sweet, so inviting, so convincing. “Let me copy your quiz,” he suggested. The only thing going through my head was “Smooth is talking to me. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my…” Just over and over. Then I realized he expected an answer. I nodded, trying to give him a charming smile back, probably getting my lips caught on those obnoxious braces. Of course he could copy my answers. That was almost like we were boyfriend-girlfriend, right? But he didn’t hold my hand after that class. Or after the time he copied my math homework. Or after I told him everything he needed for his book report on The Witch of Blackbird Pond. He never once held my hand and we certainly never made out under the jungle gym. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was his encyclopedia.  But at that point in my life, it was enough. I was okay with being used, because it was male attention, and lord if that wasn’t the most important thing in the world to 12 year old me.

I should have been this girl in middle school. I should have taken pride in the fact that I got the best grades in school (well me and my friend Marla that is), and with that pride I should not have allowed dumb boys to cheat off me. 

Oh, but I did. Because not only were they dumb, but they were OH SO CUUUUTE. I let them cheat like it was the next best thing to frenching under the jungle gym at lunchtime.  You know how baseball players are “on deck” before they’re up at bat? Well, if first base was making out, and being at bat was flirting and holding hands, then letting those boys cheat off me? That had to mean I was on deck. In my boy-obsessed head, I predicted that after they finished copying A-D-C-A-B from my social studies test, they’d definitely want to hold my hand in the hallway, and soon after that we’d be getting hot and heavy in the back seat of his car. (Well considering this was middle school, maybe his mom’s car? Oh that would just be weird. I guess we’d just sneak into the locker rooms after school.)

Anyway, there was one boy in particular that I was just unbelievably smitten with. We’ll call him Smooth. Because he was. Even at 12 years old he knew how to make girls sacrifice their dignity in attempts to please him.  I went to a small Catholic school, and we all wore uniforms, but on the rare “dress-down” day, Smooth always had the hottest clothes. He was a surfer. And he had that sun-bleached surfer hair. And a tan. And scars from wipe-outs. Such a total fucking 12 year old stud.

He sat next to me in many of our classes. Not because I was cool or pretty or anything. Smooth was the dreamiest guy in the school, and I was a nerdy, pasty freckled ginger with braces, still a couple years away from my hourglass figure, AND I liked to read. For fun. What I’m saying is that if seats hadn’t been assigned, Smooth and I wouldn’t even have been on the same side of the room.

Luckily for me though most of our teachers (cranky old nuns) weren’t very original in their seating charts, and my last name came right before his. So Smooth and I sat next to each other.  It was no secret that I got straight A’s. I was embarrassed about it, but the teachers always gushed about their top students with “why can’t the rest of you be like these kids who got A’s?” Because of that, Smooth knew that I was a smart girl. I still remember the first day he asked to cheat.  It was Spanish class - quiz on conjugating basic verbs.  As Senora X was passing out the quiz at the front of the room, Smooth nudged me with his elbow, I turned to him. He smiled beautifully. Did I mention he had bright blue eyes the color of a resort swimming pool? He did. His eyes locked on mine: so sweet, so inviting, so convincing. “Let me copy your quiz,” he suggested. The only thing going through my head was “Smooth is talking to me. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my…” Just over and over. Then I realized he expected an answer. I nodded, trying to give him a charming smile back, probably getting my lips caught on those obnoxious braces. Of course he could copy my answers. That was almost like we were boyfriend-girlfriend, right?

But he didn’t hold my hand after that class. Or after the time he copied my math homework. Or after I told him everything he needed for his book report on The Witch of Blackbird Pond. He never once held my hand and we certainly never made out under the jungle gym.

I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was his encyclopedia. 

But at that point in my life, it was enough. I was okay with being used, because it was male attention, and lord if that wasn’t the most important thing in the world to 12 year old me.

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the first guys

I’m going to start with my first celebrity crushes, because these were the men that started me on my journey.  They were:

Tramp, Bert from Mary Poppins, and Edward Scissorhands

Boy, did I know how to pick em.  First of all, Tramp is a dog.  A dog, ladies and gentlemen.  A tendency toward bestiality in elementary school is always the start of a healthy love life, right?  Not only is Tramp a dog, but he’s a mangy, homeless dog who eats out of garbage cans and socializes with the town bitches.  He’s a bad boy.  A dirty bad boy.  But he fell for Lady and they lived happily ever after and had puppies named Scamp and Pongo and Simba and Stitch and Cinderella and Dora the Explorer and I’m getting off track.  Anyway, Lady and the Tramp taught me that I could fall for the sketchy homeless man and we’d write our names in wet cement.  If our names are in wet cement, then it’s forever.  You can’t erase that shit.

But after I realized that Tramp and I could never be together due to certain physical differences, I moved on to Bert from Mary Poppins.  Oh, it was always a wonderful day with you Bert!  Bert was a step up from Tramp.  He had a JOB!  And I presume he had a home too - at least I hope he did.  But dear reader, he’s still dirty - covered in soot all the time.  And the drugs. Oh, the drugs.  I’m afraid Ms. Poppins sang a little song and convinced my dear Bert to start dropping acid.  So my second love hallucinated ponies.  And laughed his way to the ceiling.  He probably got fired from his chimney sweep job because of the drugs, now that I think about it.  Also, the more I think about it, how the frak was he a chimney sweep in the first place?  Aren’t they supposed to be tiny so they can fit in the chimney?  Huh.  That’s beside the point.  The point is that Mary Poppins taught me that it didn’t matter what kind of job my future boyfriends had, as long as they had a good drug connection.  Because nothing says true love like dancing with penguins together.

And finally, Edward Scissorhands.  WHAT.  THE.  FRAK.  He has scissors.  For hands.  Scissor.  Hands.  Granted, at that age I didn’t really know what a man’s hands could do and thus what damage Edward’s scissors would wreak on my lady business, but still, why was I not repulsed or scared of those sharp, metal protuberances?  Most 7 year old girls won’t go near that sort of thing.  But I was infatuated by his sad history, his puppy dog eyes, his endearing sincerity, and his total devotion to Winona Ryder.  Edward set me up to fall for boys with some serious baggage. And he convinced me that flattery was all it took for boy to have me melting.

Why couldn’t I have crushed on prince charming like all the normal little girls?