Wednesday, April 30, 2008
One of the most awkward things is when you run into someone from your past. Not like, an old friend or an ex-boyfriend, I mean someone you kinda knew but not real well. First name basis, sure, but not hang out on the weekend basis.
"ASHLEY! HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!"
So you never really were great friends but all of a sudden you're incredibly excited to see this person? I know, it doesn't make sense. But that's because it's awkward. It's not like you can greet them like you would two years ago when you weren't really friends. "Hey." IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS. You can't act like you see them everyday! It's just weird!
"Oh hey Natasha."
Yet some people don't seem to get this.
"HOW'VE YA BEEN?"
Yeah. I'm one of those who always says the awkward-slogan-sounding phrases like, "How's the FAM?!" even though I've never met their "fam" and didn't even know if they have a "fam." The most awkward thing is when you make a "yo momma" joke to someone who doesn't have a mom. Yeah, I've done that. And yes, some idiot beside me thought it would make the situation A LOT better to say, "Awkwarddddd..." as if I didn't know that making a joke about whales singing "We Are Family" when her mom went swimming in the ocean to a girl who's mom is dead wasn't awkward.
Should I leave? Or should I stay and make small talk when the fact is obvious that I'm making small talk? I'm TRYING to make big talk but it's kinda a two-way thing, and I'm the only one givin any ummph to this, you know? So it's really not my fault. THEY are the ones making it awkward.
Yeah. I'm about to bring up the only memory I have with this person, since we weren't really good friends to begin with, but I'll act like it was the best memory of my life and maybe they'll chime in to the excitement.
"Remember when Ms. Cook sent us out of the room for laughing so much at Jane for crying when her bangs wouldn't stay down? OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO HILARIOUS REMEMBER?"
"Yeah I don't really remember that."
So much for the whole chiming thing.
"Remember when you made fun of my outfit when you thought I wasn't standing right behind you?"
Man this is getting awkward. Time for me to do the small-talk.
"No sorry, don't remember...so, playin any sports?"
"I got to go. My mom is calling me."
On what? You're invisible phone? She must really be hating this conversation. THIS IS SO AWKWARD.
"OKAY, SEE YA LATER!"
Why do I say stupid things like this when we both know I'm not going to start seeing her all the time now? I may never even see her again. Should I get her phone number? NO THAT'S AWKWARD.
"SORRY THIS WAS SO AWKWARD!"
Okay. I know I said I wasn't the type to make the awkwardness known, but sometimes you just have to let everyone know that you YES, you ARE aware that it's awkward. Because how awkward is it when one person thinks it's really awkward but thinks that you don't think it's awkward at all? PRETTY DAMN AWKWARD, THAT'S HOW AWKWARD.
Someone told me once that every time there is an awkward silence a gay baby is born. I have made A LOT of gay babies. I am a gay baby-maker. If only I got paid for this. "Awkwarddd...." is the new, "BITCHIN!" which was the new, "Groovy!" which was the new...errr..."What a splendid fellow!" yeah I have no idea. THE POINT IS-our generation seems to have a need to make things awkward. And we let you know about it. You older folk go through all these awkward situations and think the only thing you can do is grit your teeth and trudge through it. Well I say, quit the trudging! Don't grit your teeth! Once you feel it coming on, remember the wise words of Natasha Ferrier: AWKWARD MOMENTS MAKE FUNNY STORIES. And then once the awkwardness has completed, and there's that ear-piercing, gut-wrenching silence, all you got to do is open your mouth and say: "Awkward..."
ONE: Every girl had a date.
So yeah, I got asked to prom. But it wasn't by a crush, or an ex-boyfriend, or a best friend, or someone extraordinarily smokin'... it was by...a boy. That's all I can really say because I don't even know the kid. So yeah, I could have said yes. That's what everyone was telling me to do.
"Awww, Natashaaaa...go with himmmmm! Don't go alooonnnne...awwww...."
"Natashaaaaaa...it will be fuuuunnnnn...just gooooo..."
"Awwww Natashaaaaaa...don't go if you don't have a daaaaatteeee...that's laaaammmmeee...awwwww..."
Just because you say "awww" doesn't mean I didn't hear the "that's lame." And for the record, stressing certain syllables and dragging out your words so you waste my damn time doesn't make me feel any less pathetic.
So NO, I'm not going with a boy I barely know. Because then I'd have to TAKE PICTURES with him, and years later my kids would ask, "Who's that?" And what kind of a slut would I look like when I said, "I don't really remember." Then I'd have to DRIVE with him, and what would we talk about? English class? And then I'd have to DANCE with him, and for some reason a boy asking a girl to prom gives him permission to put his hands on her body, and yeah, call me old-fashioned, but no stranger is gettin' near this ass.
TWO: Everyone had GOOD CLEAN FUN.
These days there's the Pre-Prom Party, the After Party, and the After-After Party. I'll give you the deets on one: the After Party. We pull up and there's a woman standing in the lawn yelling, "FIVE DOLLARS FOR PARKING!" What is this, Disneyland? And no, she wasn't joking. So we were thinkin' WE got jipped when it turns out most of the people there paid an extra 10 for beverages that ceased to even exist. Six compliments on my red lipstick, three comments on my red lipstick (a compliment and a comment are two totally different things), and one kid asks me if I have something against lesbians. That's when we decide to dip-set and head on out to the After-After Party. What ever happened to a good ol' game of Spin the Bottle?
THREE: Nothing was expected of the female that night because everyone went to church and everyone followed the Bible.
Drunk Guy #1: "I have a lot of money. I'll take you out to the nicest places...you like mini-golf?"
Drunk Guy #2: "I don't want to have sex with you, baby, I wanna make loooovvveee to you."
Drunk Guy #3: "I just want to get to know you, that's it. I'm not like these other guys who just want you for sex, I just want to talk to you, and maybe we will end up, you know, but that's will be after I talk to you, I want to get to know you before we...you know...just come upstairs with me and we'll share this bottle here. Let me get to know you..."
Drunk Guy #4: Are you 18? Because if not I'm not interested.
FOUR: Dancing would be composed of twisting and shouting.
That's right. TWISTING. and then SHOUTING. That's all. None of this GRINDING and TAKIN' IT TO DA FLO' as you kids are calling it these days. No more rubbing your ass in some guy's crotch so you can feel his thing in your back. No no, there was none of that back in the day. No songs saying, "She wanna lick me like a lollipop." No no, none of that.
One thing that truly sucked about the dancing was when I was at my high: dancing like there's no tomorrow, popping it here, shaking it there, and then BAM! SLOW SONG. Every couple sucks together like vacuums and I'm forced to awkwardly walk off the dance floor because the mood has IMMEDIATLEY changed and I'm not going to stand on the dance floor crying my eyes out listening to some chick singing about how she can't breathe with no air. AS IF WE DIDN'T KNOW THAT. But what do I do when I'm off the dance floor? No, I'm not going to the buffet because that's just even more pathetic. So, I stand awkwardly to the side of the dance floor looking like a depressed dateless freak. This NEVER would have happened in the good ol' days.
But I'm not bitter. Because what people don't know are the benefits of not having a date. Without one, I could be The Moocher, the one who mooches off every other girl's dates just to piss them off. Then their dates will be thinkin MAN! I SHOULDA TAKEN NATASHA! Without one, I didn't have to buy a lame excuse of a flower or hairspray my hair till it couldn't move. Without one, I could wait till the day before prom to buy my dress and I didn't have to shave my legs. THAT'S RIGHT. Dates. Pshhh! Who needs em?! Without one, I COULD GET ON ANYBODY. And yes, I do mean any. BODY.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
"Excuse me, is this Laney's house?"
Rule number one: NEVER approach a car with the only sign of humans being in the car is a pair of legs sticking out the back window.
"Yep! You can go inside if you want!"
Rule number two: NEVER stand with your mouth hanging open when a naked person emerges from the back seat of the car that you should NOT have approached in the first place to tell you you can go inside. It's rude. And awkward.
"Thanks...sorry to have interrupted..."
Rule number three: NEVER apologize for interrupting what you should NOT have interrupted in the first place. What you should do is immediately leave and let them go back to doing it. Because if you stand there apologizing it will only cause the boy to step out, also naked, and start to put his pants back on, and the girl will then give you a dirty look because not only have you interrupted, but now you have ENDED what you should not have even interrupted in the first place. Comprende?
"I'm really sorry...go on back to what you were doing..."
Rule number four: There isn't a rule number four because you should have followed the first three rules and there is no rule to prevent you from being a complete effing idiot.
NEWS FLASH! THIS JUST IN! Teenage guys are not any more obsessed with sex than girls are. They just think that their obsession must lead to results, and girls know that if you must always have results you might get genital herpes.
"So we were making out..."
"On the couch."
"No I mean where?"
"Where were his hands?"
"I don't really remember."
"Well how am I supposed to imagine this if I don't know where his hands were?"
"I mean, you don't really have to imagine it...I'd actually rather you NOT."
Please. People always imagine a story when it's being told. As if a sexual story is some kind of acception. Everyone imagines two people getting it on if someone is talking about two people getting it on. I mean, I do... Shit. Is that not normal? Its not like I can help it...whatever I'm sure you do it, too. Shit.
"Okay whatever. Continue."
"So I get thirsty, right? I mean, we were goin' at it for kinda a long time...so I'm starting to crave some lemonade, you know?"
"Lemonade. SO good."
"So I go into the kitchen, get a cup, and I turn around to go to the fridge, and Jarrett is standing there with his hand in his pants."
"Like...it was just resting in there...or was he like...you know..."
"I hope you're not imagining this."
"IT'S NOT LIKE I CAN HELP IT!"
"Well he wasn't...you know. I didn't know what he was doing, until he just sorta...whips it out."
"Whips out his..."
"I REALLY hope you're not imagining this."
"Well it's kinda hard not to when you use phrases like, "WHIPS IT OUT." "
"Well that's what he did. He just whipped out his...you know. And we haven't really gotten to anything below the belt sooo..."
"So that was your first time seeing his..."
"Well if you're calling his penis a "thing" it's probably best you haven't gone that far yet."
"Well it was weird."
"No not that. I mean it was weird that he did that. Whipped it out and all. No warning. Just...BAM!"
"So was it...small...large..."
"Why so you can IMAGINE it?"
"NO! Well yes."
"GOOD GOD, NATASHA! THAT'S SO AWKWARD!"
"How is that awkward?"
"You want to imagine my boyfriend's THING in your MIND!"
"It's not like I WANT to, I'm just trying to GRASP the story HERE! You're the one who brought up your boyfriend's "THING" in the first place! At least I can call it by it's proper name!"
"WHATEVER! Can I just finish my story?"
"Go right on ahead."
"So he's like, "Touch it." And I'm like, "No," cause that's just an awkward way to go about it. And he keeps on insisting, and I keep saying no, but the truth is, I really, really wanted to, so I put down my cup---"
"OKAY STOP RIGHT THERE!"
"You say you don't want me to imagine it, and yet you go into this SPECIFIC DETAIL and the truth of the matter is, I KINDA KNOW WHAT'S COMIN' NEXT, SO YOU CAN JUST STOP RIGHT THERE. I'm doing you a FAVOR, here. There's no way I'm having the mental image of you touching your boffy's thing in my head."
"You're the one who just went into detail. You don't HAVE to imagine me grabbing Jarrett's thing."
"WELL WHEN YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT!"
"What, that you don't have to?"
"NO THAT YOU GRABBED IT! GOOD GOD!"
Everyone is obsessed with sex. We're just the ones who aren't afraid to admit it.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Walter the Indian kid has yet to grasp the idea that you cannot speak while the make-up artist is putting lipstick on you before the show.
"What are everyone's views on death?"
Walter the Indian kid has yet to grasp the idea that people shouldn't start a death discussion five minutes before they're supposed to star in a comedy.
"Walter, shut up."
Only one, by the name of Mitch, has the nerve to tell it like it is to Walter.
"Fine. If you don't want me to talk, I'll just have to sing."
Where exactly Walter found the guitar we'll never know. But we do know that he sings like shit.
"Walter, shut up."
"Are you HIGH? HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Walter the Indian kid seems to think that anything to do with drugs is both scandalous and hilarious.
Walter suddenly becomes very serious.
Walter never asks a question before announcing the fact that a question is about to be asked.
"Who HERE has ever been high?"
"For someone who has never done drugs before Walter, you're pretty obsessed."
"Well my ex-best-friend started a drug cult, and I'm thinking about joining."
Mitch looks rather pissed.
"What the hell is a drug cult, Walter?!"
"It's a cult where they do...drugs."
"Drugs, like meth? Coke? Heroin? What, Walter? What kinds of drugs do they do?"
"That's called HIGH SCHOOL, dumb ass. That's called BEING A TEENAGER."
Mitch does drugs.
"That's called LIVING YOUR LIFE HOW IT SHOULD BE LIVED."
Mitch likes drugs.
"It's not a CULT, Walter. It's WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO."
"So Walter, who don't you tell us about this EX-best-friend of yours? You've mentioned him quite often."
"No. It's personal."
"But you've brought him up many, many times..."
Walter screams sometimes. You never know when it's coming.
"I need to get into my costume."
Walter takes off all of his clothes in the presence of everyone sometimes. You do know when that's coming.
"He's doing it again."
Walter likes to put on tap shoes and tap on over to wherever I'm sitting. Then Walter bursts into song.
"High on a hill! Lonely goat herd! Burn in hell! Look like a turd!"
"I just don't think those are the words, Walter."
"I know. It's a combination of songs."
"What song says, "look like a turd?" "
"You wouldn't know."
"Well thank you for serenading me, Walter."
"I'm not serenading you."
"Well you're an inch from my face so I figured..."
Walter likes to hug everyone sometimes.
"I'm really sorry, Walter, but I don't like to be touched."
...but I really don't like to be touched...
"I'm sick, you don't want to catch my cold, Walter."
...and neither does the make-up artist...
"Touch me again and I'll break your neck you twirling piece of shit."
...and neither does Mitch.
Walter the Indian kid walks onto the stage. He's weird, he's flamboyant, and he won't stop touching me. He stomps around the stage like some kind of troll when the rest of us find it more natural to walk as if we are normal humans. Like I said, he's weird. He moves his hands so much when he speaks that he smacked me in the face and smacked himself in his own face. Then his eyes began to water so he stood there saying nothing, waiting for his eyes to dry up. This lasted about 6 minutes. Like I said, he's flamboyant. He stroked my arm hairs with one hand and ate a hot dog with the other. Then he switched hands and stroked my arm with the hot dog hand, getting mustard all over my arm hairs. Then the mustard dried and it looked as if I had yellow dandruff. Which, by the way, is disgusting. But like I said, he won't stop touching me. He's Walter the Indian kid.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
So the truth is, I'm not a big telephone talker. That was all sunshine and daisies back in 2nd grade when Mom finally let me call up a friend for homework, as long as I used my best telephone manners.
"Hello, this is Natasha Ferrier from school. May I please speak with Mary Sue?"
"She's not here right now, Natasha. May I take a message?"
"MOM! SHE WANTS ME TO LEAVE A MESSAGE!"
"REMEMBER TO SPEAK CLEARLY, HONEY!"
"Yes, please. Just have her call me back at Six-Four-Six-Seven-Four-One-Five. THAT'S Six-FOUR-Six-Seven-Four-ONE-FIVE. And this is Natasha Ferrier. F as in Frank, E-R-R-I-E-R. Thank you."
Then it evolved into 10 minute conversations with my best friend about how despite what everyone else said, we knew we were real witches and that's all that mattered.
"Have you gotten your letter from Hogwarts yet?"
"No! My mom must have thrown it away by accident!"
"Don't worry, I won't go without you."
"Good thing we found each other. I turned on the TV today without using the remote."
"That's a good first step. Hogwarts will DEFINITELY notice something like that. Today there was this CD in the radio, and it kept on skipping, and even though my mom kept cleaning it off with her shirt, it kept skipping, so I said, "Mom, let me handle this." and I said a few words and put it back in, and guess what?! It didn't skip ONE TIME."
"We are SO witches.
And it was at its peak when Mario gave me his number and I would call him every night, even though the only thing I said was the number of minutes I had left to talk .
"I have 20 minutes left."
"I have 15 minutes left."
"Now I have 10 minutes left."
"Man, now I only have 5 minutes! This sucks! We need more time to talk!"
Heaving Breathing. Click.
People only like to talk on the phone when they are the ones with something exciting to say, something they believe has significant importance. Like that one summer before 9th grade, I got a call that I'm sure to my friend seemed to have crucial value, but I just thought about how my ear was getting sweatier by the second.
"Natasha? This is Mala."
"MALA! HEY! HOW ARE YOU? WE HAVEN'T TALKED ALL SUMMER!"
"Have you been baptised."
"Have you been baptised."
"I'm waiting until I know for sure..."
"Does that mean you don't believe in Jesus."
"Because if you're not baptised, it means you don't believe in Jesus."
"I do believe in Jesus."
"He is our Savior."
"And my homeboy."
"He is the one and only son of God."
"And my homeboy."
"You're going to Hell."
"You're not baptised."
"I'm WAITING, MALA."
"You're going to Hell."
"Is that really something you have the power to say?"
"You're going to Hell."
"Saying it twice doesn't cancel them both out, Mala."
"You're going to hell."
"MALA I AM---"
Then there was that one week. That one week got me pissed.
"Are you gothic now?"
"Who is this?"
"You ARE, aren't you?"
"NO I AM NOT A GOTH!"
"Are you obese now?"
"Haha, who is this?"
"Like, how much do you weigh exactly?"
"Okay, who is this."
"I would say anywhere from 150 and up is obese."
"WELL I DON'T WEIGH 150 POUNDS."
"Are you a fat goth now?"
"Your mom's a fat goth."
"Natasha, it's Jane. There's a rumor going around at my school that you worship the devil and are really, really fat."
"Yes, I know. Thank God you called, Jane. I was getting so mad."
"So...is it true?"
You may be thinking that the reason I hate phones is because of all the telephone traumas I have had to deal with in my lifetime. But no, I just hate phones. It may be because no matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I practiced, I could never master the handless-hold where you hold the phone between your shoulder and ear by leaning your neck to the side. If anyone needs the handless-hold, it's ME. Not MALA. Not JANE. Not the kid in my Chemistry class who rubbed his nipples to think. ME. Phones are for phonies. Cells are the real deal.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Was he psstting at me?
He could be. But what if he wasn't? How awkward would it be if I turned around and he was looking at someone completely different? Then he did look at me because he saw me looking at him, then it just looks like I've been staring a long time. Not even smooth-sly-staring, creepy-obvious-staring considering the fact that my HEAD would be TURNED about 180 DEGREES. And it's not like I could accuse HIM of staring because how would I know HE was staring if I wasn't staring in the first place? Or what if he thought I turned around to be rude because his constant psstttting was annoying? (which it was) but I'm not going to turn around just to give him a dirty look about it...but what if that's what he assumed? What if I turn around and it's that girl whose toe I stepped on yesterday and then started cracking up about it when she yelled OW in a really manly tone? What if it's the cutest guy EVER and he winks at me? What would I do? Wink back? Would that be too cheesy? Is it cheesy for him to wink in the first place? The point is, it could be anybody. It's just AWKWARD.
Was I over analyzing this?
"Do you do drugs?"
"DO I DO DRUGS?"
(that was the librarian)
(that was ponytail-psstttt boy)
(I don't know who the hell that was.)
"Well, do you?"
"I don't answer personal questions."
(I have been asked if I do drugs, masturbate, and if I saw that thing on YouTube where the guy goes into the elephant's asshole all in the same setting. That is why I prefer not to answer any questions from the get-go.)
"Want some acid?"
"DO I WANT SOME ACID?"
(that was the librarian)
(that was ponytail-psstttt-acid boy)
(Who the HELL is THAT?)
"Well, do you?"
"Not only am I not going to buy acid, I am not going to buy acid from a random boy who is in the library during LUNCH. It's just SKETCHY."
"You're in the library right now."
"Yeah, but I'm typing a report, not peddlin' hallucinogens. BUD.
"It's good stuff."
"Do I LOOK like someone who does drugs?
"That's beside the point. And if I were to buy drugs, which I'm NOT, but if I were, it wouldn't be from someone who does A DRUG DEAL IN THE LIBRARY."
(that was the librarian)
(that was ponytail-psstttt-acid-judgemental boy)
(it's just obnoxious. really. and I would tell them that if only I knew who it was)
"People deal in the library all the time."
"Yeah. I'm sure that chick over there wearing the SCRUNCHIE reading "The Babysitter's Club" just bought some blow."
"And I bet that boy over there wearing the FANNY PACK reading the only book written by WEBSTER just made 30 bucks sellin' shrooms."
"You never know."
"And I'm almost positive that girl over there with the jacket tied around her WAIST who wants to know why the caged bird sings also wants to know how to roll a doobie."
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"The go ask HER."
"But someone told me you were a huge druggie. I KNOW you want some acid."
"Someone also went around telling people I was planning on getting a mohawk for the month of May.."
"Well someone told me girls in the library are easily convinced."
"Well someone told ME your stuff SUCKS."
"Not anymore. I'm buyin' from Big Blow Jojo now."
"I think I knew a monkey by that name."
"What is it, you don't have money?"
"NO. That is NOT it."
"Then what is it?"
"That I don't DO acid, acid BOY.
"What did you just call me?"
(yes. Acid Boy is probably not the best comeback. but it would make a cool superhero. and yes, Acid Boy would fly around the city AND wear his underwear on the outside of his pants...all while trippin' on acid. Marvel, here I come!)
(even if you say something really stupid, the best thing to do is just act like it's the coolest thing you've ever said.)
"ACID BOY, ACID BOY, ACID BOY!"
(or just repeat it three times. sometimes you can even repeat it in an accent. Jamaican, Italian...any one will do. here, I decided to do a British one. it all depends on your preference.)
(that was ponytail-pssstttt-acid-judgemental-Acid Boy)
(that was the libarian. I wonder if her lips ever get sore.)
(I'm bettin' my money on Scrunchie Chick. We must not disturb her in the middle of the suspenseful decision of who will watch The Tompson Twins this weekend. Will it be Dawn...or Stacey?)
"Really? That's it?"
"If you don't want acid, then I can't waste any more of my lunchtime with you. I got clients. Clients in need. Clients in need of a fix."
"Like Fanny Pack Fred over there?"
"Do not joke. Drugs are not a laughing matter. They are a way of life."
"Yes, well. Sorry to have wasted your time. Goodbye now."
"How 'bout some weed instead?"