The Tire Store

"Hey! This is Vanessa. I'm here with Natasha and I was wondering if you and Jack wanted to hang out."

Although I never actually have the balls...(what would the equivalent be to that expression for girls?)...I never actually have the "breasts" to call up a boy I like and ask him if he wants to hang out. But I do have the "breasts" to tell my best friend to call up his best friend and ask them if they want to hang out with us. Is that even more obvious? (I also have the "breasts" to chime in during the convo to give Vanessa tips on what to say.)

"Where are we? Well..."

"Say somewhere cool. Vanessa! Tell them we're somewhere COOL."

"Uhhh...we are at theeeeeee.....tire store."

"You guys are at the tire store?"

"Yep, we're right here, just sittin' and lookin' at tires. Yeppity yep yep yep...."

As if speaking retarded gibberish after saying something retarded suffices.

"Tire store, tire store, tire store..."

As if repeating the retarded thing you just said over and over again makes it any LESS retarded.

"Vanessa. I think where we are NOW is even cooler than the "cool" place you just said we were."

That's a lie. We were in our school parking lot. On a Saturday night. We're at school 5 days a week, we complain the entire time that we can't wait for the weekend, and then when the weekend finally arrives, what do we do? We go right back to the place we go to learn algebra. It might be the most loserish thing I've ever done. But still, the TIRE STORE? Where did that even COME from?

"You're getting ice cream? You'll call back? Okay, bye!"

"Ice cream? That is SO lame!"

"I really don't think we have the power to say that is lame. According to them, we're at the tire store."

"But really we're at school."

"Exactly my point."

"But did you hear that, Natasha? They're going to call us back!"

"I feel awkward."

"Why?"

"It's just too obvious."

"It's not OBVIOUS. You're just being paranoid."

Two hours later.

"So you think they forgot?"

"God, this is SO lame."

"I think they just forgot. Should I call them?"

"NO! DO NOT CALL THEM!"

"Why? I'm calling."

"That is desperate! And LAME! And obvious."

"Hello, is this Jack? You're still with Elliot, right? Awesome. Did you guys still want to hang out?"

"I can't believe you called them again!"

"Where are we?"

"Do NOT say the tire store."

"Walgreens. Sitting outside of Walgreens."

"Walgreens?"

"Eating chocolate."

"What?"

"Just eating chocolate here at Walgreens."

"God, Vanessa. This is embarrassing. Please tell them I'm not with you. It's getting to be obvious."

"But I'm alone. Yeah, Natasha left about an hour ago."

"An hour?"

"So I've been eating chocolate."

"Eating chocolate by yourself for an hour?

"But she's coming back to get me."

"Great. Now they think I ditched you at Walgreens for an hour with just enough money to buy 10 Hershey's bars."

"So you DO want to hang out?"

Is it even worth it now? After all that humility? Does anyone else besides myself understand how awkward that would be? They didn't even call us back. They think we eat chocolate and stare at tires on our Saturday nights. Like, that's what we do. Eat chocolate and stare at tires. It's just embarrassing. And it would be embarrassing for them to hang out with two people who did that. And it would be embarrassing for us to hang out with two people who would hang out with two people who eat chocolate and stare at tires on a Saturday night. And they don't even know we were at school for an hour arguing about what to say when we called them. And obviously we didn't even think of anything good because according to them we eat chocolate and stare at tires on Saturday night.

"Yeah, you can call us back."

"They're not calling us back in an hour"

"Don't be so negative!"

"It's 10:00."

"Maybe you two could just talk on the phone!"

Lame.

"Or you could ask if he wants to do something tomorrow!"

Lame.

"Or we could call him back right now and tell them we'll meet them instead of them meeting us!"

Perfect! NOT. Lame.

Why must we all be so smooth all the time? So stealth? So discrete? So nonchalant? Why can't I just call up the guy I like and ask if he wants to hang out? Why do I have to be the one who's hard to get? Why can't I be the one who whistles and winks? Who raises an eyebrow or screams, "HEY GOOD LOOKIN'!" out the car window? Why can't I be the one who grabs some guy's ass as I'm walking by? Why can't I be the one who's obvious?

Teenage Boys and Teabags

"I'm hooking up with a JUNIOR!"

Seriously? Is someone really telling me this? As if I'd be excited? Hellloooooo....I AM a junior. What do I care if some guy found out you're easy? Some guy who can't get a girl his OWN age? Some guy who not only had to wait ONE year, but TWO YEARS to find a girl to giggle at his jokes? I know better. Uhhhh...freshmen.

"He's SO smart. Like, it's weird being around someone so wise and mature. He's almost a LEGAL ADULT."

Seriously? A legal adult? The only thing he'll be able to do is vote. AWESOME. And mature? Please. I can't even count the number of times I've seen your "wise junior" yell "TEABAG!" and put some other "wise junior's" head in his crotch. Seriously? Are you really telling me this?

"And he's SO funny. He says the FUNNIEST things EVER."

Seriously? The funniest things EVER? Like the time he asked what shade of yellow Asian people's asses were? Seriously? You died laughing at that? Seriously?

"And he's SO cute. I don't even notice other guys now, not even other JUNIOR guys. It's his hair...or maybe his lips...or maybe his body...he has such a great body...but that's just because he's a JUNIOR, and JUNIOR guys work out at the gym, like all the time. It's a JUNIOR thing."

Seriously? Have you ever actually seen him up close? His hair...you mean the hair the same color as the shit that comes out of my baby brother's ass after he eats mashed carrots? His lips...you mean the lips that abnormally protrude from his mouth since he has a set of neon green braces underneath? His body...his BODY...does it not bother you that when he comes in for a kiss all you can see is the top of his head? Does it not bother you that you may suffer from scoliosis a few years down the road because you had to bend down to look him in the eye? Unless you go for the alternative and pick him up. He does only weigh about 90 pounds. HEY! Speaking of 90 pounds, I weighed that much in 6th grade! I mean...seriously?

"And he's SO good at sports. I mean, he doesn't play NOW...he never played any high school sports, but I KNOW he played in middle school. And he was REALLY good in middle school."

Seriously? Shooting rubber bands and masturbating do NOT qualify as sports. Like...are you an idiot? Seriously?

"And I know he really, REALLY likes me because I'm the first girl he's kissed since middle school."

"Wait...seriously?"

"Yeah, and I KNOW he's the one, because he wants to have SEX with me, and people only have sex when they're in LOVE."

"You can't be serious."

"I told him I loved him, and I know I made him really nervous by confessing my love for him FIRST because he started laughing, which just PROVES to me that he loves me BACK."


Why is it that the biggest losers can become the coolest guys to some girls just because their parents decided to get their freak on before some other guy's parents did? Like...seriously? Is that all it takes? OKAY MARRIED COUPLES, IF YOU WANT YOUR UNBORN SON TO GET LAID BEFORE HE GRADUATES, HAVE SEX NOW. No...seriously.

The One with the Schnoz

It's a simple fact: people gossip. Things like "proof" and "evidence" are never necessary when it comes to gossip, because everyone is willing to believe. I would just like to dedicate this post to a girl who was gossiped about for months because of a rumor my friend and I had spread. Laura---I'm sorry we told everyone you were a lesbian. But I still think you're a hanus bitch.

"You know Christey Buchanan?"

"Hate her."

"You know Carl Vines?"

"SO cute."

"Too short."

"New haircut."

"Well. They hooked up."

"Doesn't Carl have a girlfriend?"

"They broke up."

"She said it was "mutual." "

"But really he dumped her."

"She cheated on him."

"With Chris Jones."

"SO cute."

"Too buff."

"On steroids."

"But doesn't Christey have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Five months so far."

"But she cheated on him."

"Last Saturday."

"With Carl Vines."

"At Lily's party."

"Killer party."

"And they did it."

"DOGGY STYLE."

"Apparently it's the way to go."

"But he was drunk."

"Hella drunk."

"And he puked on her."

"All over her back."

"And they KEPT GOING."

Personally, I like to catch up on my gossip 4th period. Really just because I sit by people who know the shit to know. And I like to know that shit.

"Remember that girl from the party Friday night?"

"Leslie Putnam?"

"The one with the schnoz."

"Did you see her grinding on Elliot?"

"Elliot West?"

"The one with the curls."

"It was only one dance."

"T-Pain."

"Cyclone."

"Not even a good song."

"Number six on the charts."

"Well. When they were done, he turns to him and says, "You're really hard."

"And he just stands there."

"He was drunk."

"For the first time."

"Vodka."

"And then she says, "I LIKE IT."

"And winks."

"Which she's not even good at."

"Not as good as Tina Stabin."

"That girl can wink."

"Yeah, but she got butt implants."

"Cost 2 grand."

"Her aunt payed for it."

"Cause her mom's in jail."

"Coke dealer."

"Well. Did you see the guy Leslie was dancing with before?"

"The one with his hand on her crotch?"

"YES."

"What about him?"

"Just that he had his hand on her crotch."

"For three straight songs."

"Euuuh."

We're addicted. We need gossip like we need underwear. ALWAYS. (well, in most cases) There are those who create it, those who spread it, and those who just soak it all in. But we all feed off it. The real question is: are the ones who spread it just as guilty as the ones who create it? Are the ones who listen at a fault? Will we ever learn to tune out the gossip? Is doggy style really the way to go? We may never know. (most of us, anyway)

Finger-Sniffing Friday

In School Suspension. More commonly known as ISS. To the frequent felons, it is known as The Shit. ISS, the shit? Who would have thought...due to my tardiness on one Friday morning, I was bestowed the opportunity to spend a day in The Shit. I was completely clueless as to what it would be like. All I had heard was that you should never leave your cell phone on top of your desk (because someone WILL steal it), just because other people in there say The N-Word does NOT mean YOU can say it too, and that the ISS teacher in there is constantly blazed. (which all proved to be true) I have come to the conclusion that ISS has four phases: the awkward silence phase, the "who got da dope" phase, the lunch phase, and the "we got one hour left so let's do whatever the hell we want" phase. Let me care to explain to these goody-goody-two-shoes. (yeah. never quite understood THAT expression. i mean, doesn't everyone wear two shoes?)

PHASE ONE: People start walking in, one by one. They scope the room to see if there is anyone else they know. They choose a seat. They sit quietly, anticipating the next person to come in. They notice someone staring at them from across the room. They don't dare to look over, so they start staring at someone else across the room, which now makes them the creepy one staring at someone from across the room. It's a neverending cycle. A few daring individuals whisper a thing or two to their neighbor, but no one is rebellious enough to speak aloud. Sure, they've been pushin' crack, but dare to speak in a tone outside of their inside voices? NEVER. The most awkward part is when someone you know walks in, comes and sits by you, but then neither of you want to break the silence, so even though you both know the other sat by you to talk, neither of you do. So you both look in complete opposite directions, which does in fact look a little sketchy.

PHASE TWO: The room is almost full. A few leftovers are filing in. You wonder why they're so late. And then you know. The aroma is strong, the scent is obvious. Then you hear it: "WHO GOT DA DOPE?!" Everyone looks to the right, then the left. You stare at everyone in the room, trying to make eye contact to see if they look guilty. Then you hear it again: "Man, I KNOW someone in here got DOPE!" Who's got the dope. Who's got the dope. The anticipation is killing you. The mystery is intensifying. Who's. Got. The Dope. "MAYYNNNEEE I KNOW IT'S THAT WHITE BOY!" Then someone has the brilliant idea to spray Axe for a good 15 minutes straight into the tiny room with no windows and a closed door filled with people, including girls who may not want to smell like boy's cologne. Now we still have a strong aroma, but now it doesn't smell like weed, it smells like someone trying to cover up the smell of weed. A few minutes later, a police officer comes in, sniffs everyone's fingertips, and leaves. I feel bad for him, because I definitely saw the guy sitting next to me fondling himself for a decent amount of time. And no, he was not wearing gloves. Or boxers.

PHASE THREE: Lunch. This really is only considered a phase because when I went, the girl beside me downed six cartons of chocolate milk and then told me how her boyfriend could be Brad Pitt's twin. I've seen him. He could be his twin, but it'd be one of those twins that got jipped and all the good stuff went to the other twin and it had to scrounge for the scraps for nine months and once they were born you couldn't really tell if it WAS a twin or just a missing limb from the other one. Then it cries and you know it's alive. Yeah. Then I could see the resemblance.

PHASE FOUR: AAAAHHHHHHHBLLLAAHHHHHH! Smokin' crack. OOOOOOAAAHHHHHH! Baby's daddy. BLLLUUUHHHHHH! Tap dat ass. AAAHHHHHHH! Yeah. That's basically what it sounds like the last hour.

How it earned it's reputation as being The Shit, I'll never know. But I highly recommend going.

Ever Hooked-Up with a Vampire?

"I'm more into the jock type than any other."

"Really? Ugh, jocks annoy me so much. I like the artsy type. They're so mysterious."

"Yeah, and GAY."

"You know what really turns me on?"

The girl who had entered our conversation appeared out of nowhere. I had seen her around. Rumor was she jumped the border but doesn't know a word of Spanish. Fact was she had a black mullet and was 4 foot eight.

"VAMPIRES."

"Vampires? Like, Dracula?"

"Please, Dracula is SUCH a phony. I'm talking about real vampires. Like, teenage vamps. They are SO hot."

"Teenage vamps?"

"They make me so horny."

"OKAY WELL---"

"Like, I hooked up with this one vamp one time, and he was all like, "Let me suck you" and I was all like "No I can't be a vamp yet, I need to finish high school first" and he was all like "Just a little bit" and I was like "Okay" 'cause he was just so hot and wow talk about a MAJOR hickey."

"Can we see it?"

"Sure!"

"There's nothing there. Well, there's a big mole but..."

"I KNOW! Isn't it cool how vampire wounds heal immediately? There's this guy that goes here, and I'm almost certain he's a vampire."

"How do you know?"

"You know like how Spiderman has "spidey-sense?" Well, I have this like, "vampy-sense" where I can tell when someone's a vampire. It's because I've let so many vampires worship my body."

"OKAY WELL---"

"I thought vampires couldn't be out in the sunlight?"

"He wears sunglasses."

"Ahhh. Of course. Sunglasses."

"And a beanie."

"Can't forget the beanie."

"And a trench coat that trails behind him."

"Trails behind him? Like a dress?"

"And rubber boots."

"I think I would have noticed this guy if---"

"I'm gonna nail him."

"Vulgar language..."

"I'm getting horny just thinking about it."

"OKAY WELL---"

"What if I ran up to him and rubbed garlic all up in his nose? What would happen?"

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

"I have a couple cloves in my locker."

"YOU WOULDN'T!"

"No. Ugh! I just remembered I ate them for lunch yesterday."

"You wouldn't say such things if you had ever hooked up with the undead."

"Do people in coffins count? Because I've heard of people who---"

"NO. That is TOTALLY different."

"Oh darn."

"You really should try it sometime. There's nothing more exhilarating than a vampy in your crotchy."

"OKAY WELL---"

When I was little I had a major obsession with vampires. I watched every vampire movie that existed, and then I had this little book of facts about vampires that I had dreams of one day publishing. (It never got published.) For my seventh birthday, I asked my grandparents for a cross necklace, and when I opened it up I pressed it to every member in my family's forehead just to make sure it didn't burn them. Can't have the undead sleeping in the next room, you know? (It didn't burn any of them, though secretly I was hoping it would.) But none of that compares with the sixteen-year-old girl claiming she got sucked by a vampy.

"Natasha, you remind me of a vampire."

Oh God.

"It's SO cool."

Euuhghahaaah.

"I LOVE YOU!"

Sad to think that the first non-family member to throw their arms around my neck and tell me they loved me was the wannabe-vampire who jumped the border and had business in the front and a party in the back.

Slits for Eyes

Oompa loompas scare the shit outta me. Seriously. Nothing terrifies me more than a midget with jaundice and a green afro with his overalls on backwards. There has only been ONE thing that frightened me more, and that was my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Craft. The woman was a scrunchie-wearing monster. I didn't even know scrunchies came in that many colors. She was mean with obnoxiously squinty eyes, so squinty that when she looked into the sun it looked as if she didn't even HAVE eyes. Just slits. Slits for eyes is a terrifying image for a 5-year-old. As a Kindergartner, I went through a phase where I took a really, really long time to finish my assignments. It's not that I was dumb, (coloring sheets don't really require many brain cells), I just liked to take my time, that's all. Call me a perfectionist.

"Natasha, why does it take you SO long to finish ONE assignment?"

"I want it to look really extra pretty for you, Mrs. Craft."

"You can tell me the REAL reason tomorrow. Go sit down."

"Yes, bitch. I mean, Mrs. Craft."
(That's not what I said, it's what I SHOULD have said.)

So I sat across from the exact same boy everyday. Assigned seats, of course. And everyday, not only would he sit there and continuously pick his nose, he would pick his nose and EAT whatever appeared on the tip of his disgusting little finger. (or fingerS, he did at least have the courtesy to alternate) So one day, I decided enough was enough.

"Mrs. Craft?"

"Yes, Natasha?"

"Billy picks his nose and eats it."

"Well that's really gross. Why don't you do your work instead of stare at Billy? Then maybe you'd get something done for a change."

"Can I change seats?"

"No."

...bitch.

So there was another phase I went through. I give the credit of this peculiar phase to all the PG-13 and R-rated movies I was allowed to watch as a child. This was the phase of the Horny Kindergartner. I had a crush on this boy, see? And in movies, when two people like each other, they kiss, right? So I got into the habit of getting up from my seat, running across the room to where he sat, and kissing him, then running back to my seat. This happened sporadically throughout the day. I was able to continue this process of the kiss-and-run because not only was I extremely fast, but I was also extremely sly, making sure to plant a wet on on ol' Wilson when Mrs. Craft was not looking. He didn't mind, he would just say, "Hey guys! Did you see THAT?" to whoever was near. Another thing I noticed in movies was that all the pretty girls wore bras. So, of course, I asked my mom to buy me a bra. I started wearing it to school, which was totally appropriate since really the "bra" she had bought me was merely a piece of cloth with straps, and I decided one day that I would show Wilson my lacy lingerie. (It was time to take our relationship to the next level.) I made sure to sit by him when we did our weekly "sit Indian style and sing the alphabet" routine, and while all those other suckers were humming the letter 'D', I saw this as my golden opportunity.

"Pssssst! Wilson! LOOK!"

I pulled down the front of my shirt and showed him the upmost part of the brassiere where cleavage is usually bared, but what person who wears sneakers that light up when you step and has to climb to get on the toilet seat has cleavage? Wilson smiled, eagerly replying:

"LOOK!"

And Wilson also took the courtesy to pull down the front of HIS shirt, revealing a chest where chest HAIR is usually bared, but what person who has their name written on their underwear and refers to the men's room as the "Winkie Room" has chest hair? But it was nice of him to return the favor. And after our singing was done and we all scurried back to our seats and to our glitter glue, Mrs. Craft calls my name. She's sitting at her desk, hands folded together, and she was glaring at me, letting off the whole 'slits for eyes' image once again. Terrifying. I approach the slits and the woman behind them, and she says:

"What do you do to Wilson?"

"I don't do anything to him, Mrs. Craft."

"I saw you, Natasha."

"I was just showing him my new bra that my mommy bought me. But he showed me his, too! He just didn't have anything there."

"What?"

"It's cool!"

"That's not what I was talking about. I saw you kiss Wilson."

"Oh, that? I do that all the time! That's what you do to someone you want to marry."

"You shouldn't be wearing a...a uhhh...I'm going to call your mother."

"Okay, Mrs. Craft."

"And stop harassing Wilson or I'm telling the principal."

"Okay, Mrs. Craft."

"Now go sit down and for the love of God keep your shirt on."

"Yes, Mrs. Craft. I'm sorry."

...sorry you're such a bitch.

Life in a Stalkee's Shoes

Ever had a stalker? I have. He was a 2-ton flaming homosexual in 7th grade who went by the name of Julio. I don't remember how I met Julio, or when the stalking officially began. My first memory of living the life as a stalkee would be when the pale boy with the glasses and the mutated front tooth that went over his bottom lip even when his mouth was closed ran up to me and my friend Nancy, arms flailing every which way, and said, "I'm going to kiss this girl I like, and you're the only girl who can give me advice." Okay, I thought, One, you're gay so you do not like girls, Two, why am I the one giving the advice here, and Three, if your tooth is always going to be jutting out like that the least you can do is brush it.
"Well, what kind of advice do you need?"

"I've never kissed a girl before!"

"Just go for it, Julio."

"OH MY GOD! NO WAY! I need to practice first!"

"Well I don't really want to be around you when you make out with an apple."

"OH MY GOD! I can't kiss an apple! I need to practice on a person."

"You're gonna need a REALLY generous friend for that to happen, buddy."

"I know! YOU!"

You've GOT to be kidding.

"No no, Julio. That is NOT happening."

"Pllleeeaaassseeeeee! I HAVE to!"

"That is INSANE! NO."

"Just one little peck..."

"Julio. NO."

Closer and closer he came...

"Julio! I SAID NO!"

Two tons of lard were heading straight for my lips. I knew I wouldn't be able to push him off...

"HERE! KISS NANCY!"

In a wild state of panic, I grabbed Nancy by the wenis and thrusted her towards Julio, who had his eyes closed and his lips puckered.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

I just hope that one day Nancy will be able to forgive me.

Even after that, Julio kept showing up. He knew all of my classes, in order, and he knew who my friends were, so no matter where I went, he would stop at nothing until he tracked me down. Since I was Captain (that's right, with a capital C) of the cheerleading squad, Julio even went to the liberty of writing me cheers.

LOSER! LOSER! YOU'RE A LOSER!
THAT'S RIGHT LOSER!
SO GET LOST CUZ YOU'RE RETARDED!
YOU'RE SUCH A LOSER! WE HATE YOU!
LOSER! LOSER! YOU'RE A LOSER!

Sadly we never got to put it to use. Eventually Julio got put into Anger Management, and then the principal had actually noticed he was stalking me and told him to leave me alone. Julio thought I had told on him and threatened to stop being my friend for forever and ever, but then started crying and told me he was sorry, reapplying pink lipsgloss as he did, and after that we never spoke again.