The monkey made me do it

What the hell, it's not like I have any pride left anyways

My First Kiss
by: me

I'm sure some of you have noticed my rather... well, the most delicate word would be "interesting" but the most accurate term is probably censored for sensitive reader... shallwesay "unique?" dating history and possibly have been wondering why this is an where it all comes from. You know, the uniqueness. My friend Kate has a theory that I pick strange men because I am committment phobic and only get into relationships that I sense are doomed to failure. I used to think that I had a problem falling into relationships with any guys that liked me (another way to phrase that: If a guy liked me, I felt that it was only polite to reciprocate regardless of my previous feelings towards him. It sounds strange, but I was an odd kid). My friends in college had a hypothesis that I had a special, black-light type "DATE ME" stamp on my forehead that only was viewable by freaks. Freak-light. But what it really all comes down to (at least, this is the current diagnosis), is that I am drawn to difference. If someone is too predictable or too similar to what I already know/am, then it's hard for me to get interested. This is why I usually end up in relationships and friendships with people who fall out of the societal norms or who have lived lives very different from mine. And why I adore travel and learning about different cultures and ethnicities, and living outside of my comfort zone and learning to get by with nothing but my Swiss Army Knife and a block of extra-firm tofu (sponge, pillow, weapon, AND emergency food source!)

I don't know where I'm going with that. Enough with the amateur psychology pre-excusing...

My first boyfriend took me to a dance in November (our first real date, since his asking me to be his girlfriend was, in essence, his asking me out to the dance) and I broke up with him at a dance in December (yes, the same year). He was a senior and I was a wee freshman. He had just come back from a semester abroad in Australia and had dyed his hair orange and gotten an earring. No boys in Chehalis had an earring, and the only orange hair was from the brunettes who'd tried to use the ever-popular Sun-In hair bleach (hi sis! I liked the orange on you, though, really. But I'm still a little peeved about that one time you sat on me and sprayed Sun-In in my hair to make it blonder even though I didn't want to be blonder)(if indeed that is a word). I was intrigued, and probably the only person who actively wanted to talk to him about it instead of doing the traditional high school whispering behind hands. For the 14-year-old version of me, the hair and the earring canceled out the fact that the rest of him was still the same tall, knock-kneed, acne ridden geeky French Horn player that had lived up the street for years.

I don't even think we had any dates, I know I never called him on the phone to chat. We were both band nerds, and most of the time we spent together as boyfriend and girlfriend (I did wear his class ring on a chain around my neck, so it was "official") was at concerts or at Pep Band games. It was on the bus coming back from a basketball game when the magic finally happened. We were sitting behind my friends AM and Ryan, who were also a band power-couple (I'm giggling so hard writing all of this) who had never kissed. We'd all brought along blankets - you know, for warmth - and huddled under them as the bus lights went dim.

All I remember is extended unpleasantness. Lots of drool, lots of confusion as to what he should be doing with his tongue. I remember thinking that if this is what kissing was like, the people in the movies were doing it all wrong because I don't recall any of them looking like they needed a bib. AM and her boy were doing much of the same in the seat ahead, and at one point both she and I popped up and compared notes over the back of the seat in hushed voices. Hers wasn't going that well either, and we gave each other the kind of half-hearted, uninformed advice that flies freely amongst girls of that age group and experience level. "Well, have you tried tilting your head differently so he doesn't drool as much?" "Maybe you should keep your eyes open, then you can see what's going wrong."

I tried to look cool coming off of the bus, since of course everyone else in the band had seen the blankets and I'm sure come up with imagined debauchery that far outstripped the awkward fumblings that actually went on, but kissing had lost its luster for the moment. Then came the next boyfriend (who actually knew what he was doing - God bless trombone players and saxophonists! If I had to be a band nerd, at least I learned to only make out with the ones whose instruments facilitated good mouth muscle tone development) and it's been all puppies frolicking in the prairie full of wildflowers since then.

La la la.

posted by LadyJay @ 1:28 PM