Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Gone with the Humiliation

Let's start with my first love (love is used VERY loosely here). Okay, probably not my first. To be honest, I've liked boys since I knew the difference between the two genders. Which basically means as soon as I started preschool. In fact, the first day of school for me when I went to my new school in third grade - which was in the middle of the year for everyone else - I immediately told everyone I had a crush on the cutest guy in the class. I was always aggressive and impatient when it came to the opposite sex. He was petrified, wondering why he was so unfortunate to have a creepy, chubby girl get googly eyes for him. I still remember his reaction when his friends told him; he got googly eyes too, but more like the type where the victim in a Scream movie gets right before he is murdered. But anyways, now that I've established my early hormonal rages, I will humiliate myself even more with the story of my freshman year.

It was in grade nine in strings class. I thought I was the shit as a freshman, and when a new student from Germany walked in, I was smitten. It was my goal to grab this guy's attention and I knew I needed to talk to him. I was pretty bold when I was younger, and the number of rejections just made it harder for me to talk to boys as I got older. Of course, being my extremely forward self, I talked to him in class every day and asked him a million questions, one right after the other without letting him finish any of his answers. I couldn't stop daydreaming about what we'd look like holding hands in the hallways, what my friends would say (and the jealous, dirty looks they'd give us) and the corsage he'd get me for prom. I was clearly delusional.

Grade 9 Party is a big event for freshmen. It's in the first month of school when no one really knows one another. I remember there were activities like passing oranges to one another with our necks, Kiss and Blow, and some weird bench game I never ended up understanding. But the one I had my eye on was the Licorice Kiss. A boy and a girl put one piece of licorice in their mouthes, and would chew until their lips touched. Having much older siblings, I was always in a more mature environment. I watched movies I'd probably need to wait a few years to watch; I saw Monster in grade five, where Charlize Theron played a lesbian prostitute. The Sopranos was a time when my family spent time together, where we'd all sit in the living room on Sunday nights and watch. Whenever there'd be a sex scene, my mom would either fly towards the remote or jump across towards the TV and block us from seeing anything. Most importantly, most of my friends (who also were my role models) were almost three years older than me, so I was surrounded by the stories of the events that occured in their lives. This is probably why I was so keen on having my first kiss so early. Anyways, as soon as I saw the German kid's friends push him towards the chair for the Licorice Kiss, I shot my hand up and volunteered to be the other participant. Adrenaline rushed through me as I stepped on the chair (of course, to make it more dramatic, we both had to stand on chairs and someone would take a picture of the kiss), and put the licorice in my mouth. I was so excited (and hungry) that I ate the entire licorice and went right to kissing him. The kiss sucked. He was breathing on me and it barely counted as a peck. But still, my body was on fire. I was so excited that I stalked him for the rest of the night. I didn't seem to notice the look of regret on his face as he saw me volunteer for the kiss, and the fact that he was upset I had eaten all the licorice.
There was a dance after the activities, which I thought was a great opportunity to get to know him even better. He was nice about it, and danced with me quite a few times. I just didn't realize he had no interest in me.
A few days later, as my friends and I were sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria (which was coincidentally across from the German guy's table), a friend came by and told me he was dating this Romanian slut who was in the same ESL class as him. I was heartbroken. I couldn't understand why he would ever do that to me. I thought he liked me. I hated that bitch for stealing my man and I felt extremely rejected. I made sure to give her dirty looks when she'd pass me in the halls.

I barely spoke to him again, only on occassions where we were in the same group during strings class. He was nice and laid-back, but the way his nostrils flared when he played the cello totally turned me off. I got over him within a few weeks.

Though upset, I kept in mind that tomorrow is another day, and someone I deserved was coming along for me. Sadly, the next guy was definitely not him.


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