Hey my peoples!
It's that Blogging Bastard here. I am undergoing a health scare right now. My chest is a flaming ball of death right now and being very resistant to medical treatment, I thought I'd channel my fears into a brand new blog entry.
The reason I've been away so long is that I no longer have a computer and sitting next to the 300 pound grease balls playing Call of Duty at the local Internet cafe is too distracting to get any real writing done. My roommate keeps his computer by the bed, so as I write this I am lying flat on my belly and the position is already giving me a wrist cramp.
The year is 2010 folks and I can't seem to get technology to work in my favour no matter how hard I try. At last count: I've been through at least fifty cell phones, my last one being so buggy and unusable that I actually punched it until it shattered. I'm on my third Ipod, having lost around 3000 songs with the last one and my current one only emits sound out of the left ear bud. My PS3 hard drive is corrupted and has erased all my saved game files not once but twice in the last week. I have no computer, no smart phone, my laptop has a half burned out screen, my stereo is crapping out, my sound equipment at my theatre studio is missing, my stove only has two working burners, my washing machine dances across the room when running and my nintendo DS has stopped reading my game cards unless I jiggle them for twenty minutes. So it is only fitting that my body would stop working now as well.
The only thing that fucks up more frequently then technology in my life is my relationships with women. For me there is no topic more confounding, no mystery more intriguing then that of the opposite sex. I have a long history of miscues, misunderstandings and horror stories that have left me with some serious issues that I would like to share with you. In recent times, I have been described by many a women as being a "man whore". While there is a certain smirky charm to this title, I think its time for the women in my life to understand that the events which have shaped me into what I currently am (not that I'm confirming these rumours or agree with this assessment mind you) have been long and traumatic. The subject of girls, being a long and varied topic, I've decided to split it into a six part series (a blogging bastard first!). Today we talk about the early years.
It all began when I was in grade one. For some reason or another, during reading time, girls in my class had chosen me as someone that they felt comfortable laying their heads on. Literally every time our teacher read a chapter from Charlotte's Web or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, some girl would put a pillow on my crossed legs and lay on me. Even though I couldn't identify why, I FUCKING LOVED IT. Soon, I had the nickname "pillow" which I'm glad didn't carry into my adulthood as it would probably have a very different meaning now, particularly if I ever found myself in a jail. One girl, a freckly ginger lass named Lee-Anne, was a frequent rester of mine and decided that she didn't want to share my leg space with the others. This was surprising. Not but a few weeks before we were playing Pippy Longstocking (she was a big fan, most likely because she looked exactly like Pippy), and we were pretending to eat pancakes. As I was scooping the fake flapjacks into my mouth I accidentally punched her in the face. She burst into tears and as she did a huge blood bubble came out of her nose. It was pretty gross, but as I recall it now, I can't help but laugh...I really clocked her good. I was sent to the principles office where I was told that hitting girls, even accidentally and lost in my imagination was wrong. (only later would I realize that most of my life would be spent in my imagination, so this was sound advice indeed). So, yeah, I was pretty surprised that she wanted to "go steady". So we did what all first graders do when they're ready to commit: we got married. I can still remember the ceremony, the entire class stood around and someone read from a book and people threw leaves and twigs at us as we walked down the aisle. I felt so special and valid, we were the talk of the class. This all happened right before summer hit, so I only had a few classes to enjoy the married life: holding hands, closed mouth kisses, access to hanging out with the girls at recess, all very exciting stuff.
That summer, all I could think about was my wife. I was thrilled at the thought of going into second grade, getting my kiss on, having her sweet smelling red hair on my leg as we learned about dinosaurs. Unfortunately, upon my return to school I was informed immediately that we had been divorced. No explanation was given, nor was I asked to sign anything. Apparently, our marriage had been annulled. This shattered me. How fickle the world was. And that my friends was my first recorded memory of heartbreak. Oh, but it was FAR from the last.
Let's flash forward to grade four. I was an early pubescent, having gotten my first pubic fibres around this time. That alone was challenging enough. Once, while getting naked for a shower at the Toronto Island School, a developmentally challenged student caught me changing by my bunk bed and saw that I possessed naughty hairs crying out, "LUIS HAS A HAIRY WIENER! LUIS HAS A HAIRY WIENER!" Suddenly, I had become a circus oddity, with all my mates asking to see my dick and laughing at me while making crude jokes. This may be politically incorrect but its a very humbling experience when all the developmental kids join the other kids in making fun of you...I mean, they were our go to scapegoats. To have them make fun of me...well, irony is fun on a hipster tee shirt but when applied to real life situations, stinks of high tragedy.
This trauma aside, I was also plagued with lingering confusion about girls. I thought about them constantly but I had no idea why. What they wore. What they smelled like. How they talked. How they wrote with sparkly pens, saved eraser clippings, made interesting paper things that told you your fortune, knew the words to many songs, always had elaborate candies. Girls were fucking cool. Back in those days, I had more in common with them then the guys. The guys were too busy playing sports, or showing off. Girls TALKED. They sat and talked to each other, usually about things like who was cute or who wasn't cool. Real insight. Guys were always busy engaging in contests, contests I was never equipped to win. So unskilled in certain sports was I that the other kids would make me the "referee". Then when I would make a call during the game, they would ignore it, thus proving the uselessness of my being there. To this day when the refs are booed at a hockey game I shed tears.
My first "girlfriend" was my next door neighbor Jenny. She was a tom boy who loved to play board games and wasn't afraid to punch me in the stomach whenever I got lippy. Often, we would play in my back yard and when no one was around we'd smooch. Without fail, whenever we did, we'd get caught and I'd get a lecture about how that was wrong. It was confusing to say the least. What was wrong with it? I saw my parents kiss. Isn't that what people did? One time, we were playing outside while my dad built a book shelf. Jenny had to use the washroom. I asked my dad if she could use ours. He said, "yeah, take her upstairs." Alone with her in the house? Unprecedented! As we walked up the stairs, Jenny turned to me and asked the age old question that many kids curiously ask one another, "If you show me yours I'll show you mine." I was petrified, I had never purposefully shown anyone my naughty bits and they were hairy and weird at that. I insisted she go first. Now mind you, I didn't have any conception at this point of the vagina, so my expectation was that it would be similar to the penis, it being the only object between a persons legs I had ever witnessed. (my dad routinely walked around in the nude...is this common?) So when she pulled down her pants to reveal nothing but a bare mound, I was underwhelmed. Where was her doodle? Now it was my turn and I felt gyped. I hadn't really seen anything and frankly, she was about to get alot more bang for her buck. So I pulled down my pants....and showed her my belly button. As to why I thought this would even work, well, my bellybutton had a lot more in common with her junk then my dick did. And even though she was young and impressionable, she didn't buy my ruse. "Show me yours!", she bellowed, hands clenched ready to sock me. I reached to pull my down my pants....and couldn't do it. I got two punches for my insolence but she never did see my dick.
Grade 5 is when the real shit hit the fan. It was at this age that I met Micha, a comely blond girl that wore her hair in a side ponytail with over sized pastel sweaters. Even thinking about her now, I have to say she was pretty hot...is that creepy? Bah. Anyways, Micha was one of those attractive ladies who knew she was attractive and pranced around with an assured air about her; the type of girl who could huck a spit ball at the black board when no one looked and could rest assured SHE wouldn't be blamed. Anyways, I liked her from afar but had nary a shred of balls to actually talk to her. In fact, whenever the chance occurred, I literally would talk in a high pitched squeal that sent our class pet rabbit Clinton running circles in his cage. Anywho, one of my good friends at the time Adrian, took it upon himself to let her know that I liked her behind my back. And so it was, I was in the school yard one day when Micha and Tara (her best friend) approached me. They had a strange way of walking in unison as if they were one single entity which unto itself was quite unsettling.
Tara: So, we heard you like Micha.
Lil' Luis: Uh, no.
Tara: That's not what Adrian said.
Lil' Luis:(shooting Adrian dagger eyes) How would he know?
Tara: Cuz.
Micha: What, you don't like me?
Lil' Luis: ........ (answer given in barely audible high pitched squeal)
Micha: What?
Tara: ANYways, if you like her so much why don't you sit in that huge puddle over there?
Lil' Luis: (contemplating while looking at huge puddle) I don't think so.
Tara: Well, Micha won't talk to you anymore unless you do.
Lil' Luis: But she doesn't talk to me....
Micha: Well I won't start.
Lil' Luis: ...... (high pitched squeal disturbs a flock of birds overhead)
Adrian: Can I talk to my friend for a second?
Now before I get back to the ensuing drama, it is important to note that Adrian was a huge Star Trek: The Next Generation fan. He was wearing his homemade Captain Picard shirt with tin foil communication device at the time....in fact, he always did. He also carried a wooden "phaser" that had an acutal LED lights built in. This guy was an uber geek. He even once had a birthday party where his new age parents created a make shift Enterprise bridge in their basement and we all enacted an actually Ferangie attack. I was given the role of Wharf. Racist bastards. Anywho....
Lil' Luis: Why did you tell her I liked her?
Adrian: Because you'd never tell her yourself.
He was right.
Lil' Luis: Well, I'm not sitting in a puddle....
Adrian: Don't you see? If you sit in the puddle, you'll show her you REALLY care.
Lil" Luis: What?
Adrian: Its a romantic gesture. Its like your willing to do anything for her.
Lil' Luis: But...
Adrian: Don't waste this opportunity.
Looking over, Micha and Tara were standing waiting. In truth, this was the most interest she had ever showed in me ever. And I really did like her....
So I fucking sat in a huge fucking puddle.
And the girls pointed, laughed and walked away, never to invest interest in me again. This was and still sort of is, one of the most humiliating experiences I have ever experienced. I sat there for a good minute with my eyes closed, I just couldn't move. When I finally got up, I went right to the school entrance where a teacher supervising asked what happened. I sarcastically remarked, "What do you think? I pissed my pants." Well apparently I had not yet mastered the art of sarcasm as the teacher took it literally and called my parents telling them that I had in fact pissed my pants. When my mother came to the school to bring me a new pair of pants, she was as embarrassed as I was. "How could a boy your age piss himself?" Sadly, I didn't have the heart to tell her the real story, proving two things: a)It is less embarrassing to say you lost control of your bladder then it is to say you did something incredibly stupid for the love a women and b) never trust a man who says, "engage number one" when entering a room.
And that takes us to Grade six, our final tale in our blog this evening.
When I was in Grade six there was one girl I wanted more then anything else: Hailey. But I never got a chance to talk to her because I was incredibly hyper-active and disruptive and was constantly being put to sit in the cloak room away from the other kids (the joke was on them though, the cloakroom desk had an apple computer with Bubble Bobble loaded on it, explaining why I am so comfortable to this day playing video games rather than socially interacting...hmmm, perhaps the joke is still firmly on me). The one time I was reintegrated with the other children I was placed at table two: right next to Hailey! What an exciting stroke of luck! Sitting there, she smiled and talked to me and for about thirty minutes I was in heaven. At this point, my high pitched whine was refined into a soft whisper...still not a manly tone but I was able to converse, a big plus. At the table with us was Anton, a big, burly blond kid who farted alot and had a kick ass mansion home at Palmerston (have you seen the houses at Palmerston and College? Geez.) Anton was a kid who would throw loonies on the ground and watch kids scramble for them in a frenzy while he laughed hysterically. Anyways, we had these little rubber made bins that contained all of our notebooks. Our teacher called for us to grab one and reaching down into my bin I unleashed a small but very audible fart of my own. I was absolutely TERRIFIED that Hailey heard it. Those days whenever an unexpected toot came out, I'd start farting with my mouth, thus creating the idea that the initial sound was just the beginning of random child noises. It actually works quite well when your ten years old but as you get older, its sometimes better to admit you've broken wind rather then create the image that your a nut job who makes uncontrollable sound effects for no reason. But in this class situation, that simply wouldn't fly. Getting up, I looked around the table. To my surprise, no one noticed....no one but Anton. He had that sadistic look in his eyes that he reserved for watching kids tear each others limbs of for petty change. "LUIS FARTED!" "DID YOU HEAR THAT HAILEY? LUIS FARTED!" I went nuts. I started screaming, "NO I DIDN'T! YOU LIAR! I DIDN'T!" annnnnnd....got sent back to the cloak room where I remained for the rest of the school year.
So no, I never got together with Hailey. But I did get some.
Shaunna was a lovely Korean girl who was a grade younger then me. With her, I didn't have to do anything, she was one of those go-getter types. She pursued me and she did it with style and substance. Basically she invited me to her bday party, where Anton and I were the only boys invited (we weren't supposed to be there, it was all girls. At one point the two of us had to hide from her dad underneath a pile of winter jackets) and we played spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven, which is really how sex is taught. Shaunna made a point to get me in the closet and it was there that the tongue was added to my kissing repertoire. We would from then on find places to hide and make out and once, when her parents were out, we snuck into her house where she took of her shirt. Now I was suddenly entering a higher echelon of hanky panky...and I wasn't complaining. The guys could play all the football they wanted with their hairless penises, I was getting dirty.
Now this would seem like a happy ending but as most of my tales go, this one has a shitty ending. First of all, during our school talent show, Shaunna took my hand and stuck it between her legs. Now mind you, I didn't know what I was doing, I just sort of left it there. However, the teachers noticed and they took us to the office and chastised me for being a pervert. I wasn't sure why, but I quickly came to realize that although female genitalia was uneventful (oh how wrong I was) it was a not an open playground. From that moment onward, sneaking away with Shaunna became nearly impossible and our sexy kiss sessions ceased. I guess without them I was not very desirable because one day while playing Mighty Morphine Power Rangers on my Super Nintendo at home, I got a call from my friend Ian who revealed that Shaunna had invited him over to her house. I didn't believe him, so he put us on three way call (the best way back in '91 to catch a cheating lover...now we've got the Internet) and lo and behold it was all true. I was very sad as I fought with my Blue Ranger that night.
So how did I deal with that trauma? Well perhaps it had been the puddle incident not but a year earlier but I set out to destroy her. I went to school and immediately started dating Jaya, a girl I had never showed any interest in prior and proceeded to flaunt our relationship in front of Shaunna. And it worked, she was really hurt.
And it is there, on this fateful day, that my title of "man whore" can officially said to have begun. I had my first tastes of being hurt by the fairer sex and it brought me much satisfaction to finally strike back. And it would not get prettier from here on in, this I promise you.
And that my friends ends part one of this six part retrospective. Thank you for joining me in this exploration. Please join me next time for GIRLS: Pt. 2 Tweens where there are knife fights, bike chases, alley way roses and lots of heavy petting. OH its a wild one alright.
My chest is hurting a great deal. I'd get xray to check myself out, but knowing me, the damned thing wouldn't work anyway.
Engage, number one.
That Blogging Bastard
P.S. Due to my medical emergency, I'm going to forgo the usual rigorous editiing and just post this sucker. Please feel free to correct my grammar as you read. Thanks.
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