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Flashback Friday: Worst. Date. Ever.

15 Apr

I’ve decided to do something a bit different. Hopefully I’ll do it every Friday, but you know, sometimes I can’t be bothered, sometimes I’m busy, sometimes I’m just plain lazy.  So, no promises…. Since no one in this country apart from Lauren knew me as a teenager in the U.S., I figured it might be fun to have Flashback Friday, where I will write about amusing/embarrassing adventures of my teen-hood.

Teen Me

I was an extremely awkward teenager. I had glasses (now I wear contact lenses), braces, pimples, straight across thick fringe/bangs, absolutely no boobs, and always seemed to say something ridiculous when I got nervous (which was all the time if there were boys around). If all that didn’t scare the boys away, then my admission of saving myself for marriage always did the trick.  Seems boys really are after only one thing….

Needless to say, I didn’t have a date until I was nearly 17 years old, and didn’t have a boyfriend (whom I’m married to) until I was 18.  To my surprise, when I was a Junior in high school (year 11), I was asked to the Homecoming dance  by a senior (year 12).  Sure I hardly knew him, and I hadn’t given him a thought like that at all, but what the hay, a real-life boy asked ME to a dance!

I excitedly shopped for a dress with my friends (which proved difficult, given I was 5 foot, 2 inches tall and 98 pounds at the time.  All the dresses were huge and looked ridiculous on me), and convinced  a friend to go to the dance with Senior boy’s friend so we could all go together.  There was no way I was going on a date with a boy all by myself.  I’d probably pass out from nervousness or something.  Or render myself a sweaty stinking mess (I’m a nervous sweater).  Safety in numbers…

The big day rolled around.  Senior boy and friend picked us up at my house after we spent way too much time primping, priming, doing and re-doing our hair, covering up my pimples, and putting way too much makeup on.

“I’ve got a shotgun and a shovel.  No one will miss you.”  My dad warned Senior boy.  Oh gosh, where’s that hole to crawl in?

On the way to the dance, we stopped at a gas station.  Senior boy said it was his 18th birthday and he wanted to celebrate by getting a cigar.  Ew.  This date wasn’t starting well.  I’ve always found smoking of any sort incredibly disgusting.  Yuck.  I don’t even like to be around someone smoking.  Not only does it smell disgusting, but the thought of the smoke going into someone else’s lungs and then being exhaled and inadvertantly going into my lungs?  Ew.  I know I breathe air that other people have breathed all the time, but for some reason smoke that has been in someone else’s body and then in mine is so much worse.  Ick. So uncool. Strike 1.

I don’t remember how I brought it up, but I then somehow managed to tell Senior boy that I was waiting until marriage.  I always found a way to get that across.  I didn’t want any potential suitors to get the wrong idea, think he’s going to be getting something he’s most definitely not.  Instead of running the other way, not intending to keep his junk shrink wrapped for many more  years, Senior boy decided on another tactic.  He attacked my faith and attempted to make me believe that God does not exist.   Yeah, he was an atheist, one who clearly wanted  to have sex with me.  Sorry, but attacking my faith is not going to give you access to my pants.  Strike 2.  This wasn’t going well.

We got to the dance but hung around in the foyer.  I was so not into this boy.  But I also felt bad, it was his birthday, and he was fully intending to ask someone else to the dance before he met me.  Plus he was my ride, so I couldn’t exactly go home.  Instead, the 4 of us stood in the foyer in awkward conversation.

Then a slow song came on.  A spark ignited in Senior boy’s eye. He looked at me expectantly and asked me to dance. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling him that I didn’t know how to dance apart from slow dancing (because that looked easy enough, who couldn’t do that?), when he first asked me out.  I couldn’t really back out now.  Sigh.

It was time.  We entered the dance and took a spot on the dance floor.  I put my hands on his shoulders and we awkwardly swayed back and forth to the music.  Not that I was paying attention what-so-ever.  I was too busy checking out everyone else’s dresses.  Removing myself from the awkwardness, willing it to end.

And then it happened.  Something that wasn’t there before, was now pushing against the top of my leg.  Even though I had


absolutely zero experience in that department, I knew what it was.  I was mortified.  What do I do?  Do I pretend I don’t know how excited this awkward slow dance is making him?  Do I push him away and run for my life?  Do I say something?  Do I find my friend and make a hasty exit to “freshen up?”  ARGH!  My heart was racing.  My mind was racing.  I had no idea that dancing would bring on this sort of reaction in a boy.  I wasn’t even showing any skin apart from my shoulders!  Strike 3.

The song finished.  A fast song came on.  Phew.  Back to the foyer.  I decided against saying something, or reacting in any way. I pretended it didn’t notice and tried to keep the mortification from showing in every inch of my being.   After all, what would one say in such a situation?  I had no idea!  Someone suggested we go to a funky cafe and get some coffee (hot chocolate for me, apart from the smell, I’ve never liked coffee).  Relief sigh.  No slow dancing at a cafe.

My friend and I mumbled something about having a curfew (not that we did) and being tired not long after we finished our drinks.  The boys took us back to my house.  Excitable Senior boy insisted on walking me to my door.  The other guy stayed in the car.  Seems my friend and his feelings toward each other were non-existant and mutual.  If only….

We got up the stairs.  He gave me a hug and thanked me for the “wonderful evening.”  He leaned in, closed his eyes, kept leaning.  Ick.  I turned my head and ran for the door.  I couldn’t get inside fast enough.  Excuse me, but what part of that date possibly gave him the impression that I was into him?  My friend ran in behind me and we locked the door.  Phew, it was over.

I wasn’t planning on talking to Excitable Senior boy ever again.  He, on the other hand, had other ideas.  His mom worked where I worked.  Sigh.  Sometimes he’d show up and ask me to “hang out” with him.  Usually for movies at his house (AS IF!).  Once for a Halloween party.  “Sorry, I’m working, and I get off late.”  “I’m busy that day.”  “I have to get up early tomorrow.”  I’d tell him.  Seriously, GET THE HINT!  Was this boy completely stupid?

One day, he wrote me a note and gave it to me at school.  Ugh, when will it end?  “My psychological well-being depends on you,” it said, amongst other ridiculous things.  Not that I can remember the rest, but that part, how could I forget?  Seriously Excitable Senior Boy?  Seriously?  You’ve known me for like two weeks.  Went out with me one awful time.  Nutbag!

I wrote him a note back, letting him down gently.

The next day he showed up at school with his long hair (ick, what was I thinking!) cut off up to his chin, and dyed black.  Instead of his usual grunge/rocker type clothes (he was in a band), he was wearing a black trench coat.  And carrying a briefcase.  Did I mention this was shortly after Columbine?  Yeah, I was a little scared for my life.  I avoided Excitable Senior boy like the plague.  Lucky for me, he never brought any guns to school (that I know of), nor did he shoot me, but that certainly goes down in my book as worst date ever.

A few years later, I ran into him at the supermarket.  A few days before, I sun and wind burnt my face to the point of blistering.  The blisters were became hard and oozing.  I pretty much looked like a female Frankenstein with leprosy.  He looked at me funny.  I said hi (only because he was looking at me funny).  He pretended not to know me.

“You know who I am.”  I told him.  He looked sheepish, obviously knowing full well who I was.  We made awkward chit chat and went our separate ways, as he was probably jumping up and down with excitement that I let him down that time, and he wasn’t stuck with someone who looked like that.

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Everything happens (or doesn’t happen) for a reason

16 Jan

A while back, The Jess and I, and my exchange sister Lauren and I, applied to be on the Amazing Race Australia (here is one of my audition videos in case you’re interested).  Sigh, we didn’t get on.  I wanted to get on SO SO SO badly!  I was still kinda holding my breath when I heard that the race had already started.  I looked it up on wikipedia (as any tv show stalker would).  Yeah, it started the the day before.  Humph.  Why didn’t they want us?  Poo.

Oh well.  Better luck next time (if there is a next time… that depends on how well they produce the show I suppose.  If it’s anything like the Aussie version of Survivor, HA, there will be no next time.)

“Boo (that’s code for Aaron), the race already started (sad face).  I didn’t get in.   So… you wanna start trying for another baby?”  I didn’t want to try before I knew if we got on the race or not.  No point in going to all the trouble of applying if I were to get pregnant and then not be able to go on anyway.  That would just be silly.

9 months to the day after the race started (5 November 2010), our second baby is due (5 August 2011).  If I did get on the race, sure, I may be pregnant now, but not as far along, and not with this particular baby.  I’m sure I’ll look back, after getting to know our beautiful little one and be so so happy that I didn’t get on the race, but instead got to have him/her.

It just goes to show, everything happens (or doesn’t happen) for a reason.


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