At the encouragement of some of my hardcore groupies, I would like to share some stories from the past.
I’ll begin with my high school, a small Christian school run by a demented madman. He was an ex Marine MP, and thought he was still running a boot camp. He would wander the halls, loudly singing off key, and stopping people to make them do pushups. Most of the guys in the high school had bulging biceps. Me and my friend Gabe were responsible for filling the vending machines, so we had hall passes that were good “anytime.” This was a major advantage, but still didn’t save us from the MP Principle, Mr. Dicks. (Actual name… no need to modify it since it’s bad enough as-is.)
Gabe and I would spend our afternoons wandering around looking for mischief, and pretending to be working on the vending machines. Most of the time, the vending machines didn’t work, so they rarely actually needed anything put into them, giving us plenty of time for goofing off. When the machines would start to sell out too fast, we would make signs that said “Now available: Jack Freakin Squat” which decreased the traffic, until Mr. Dicks would find the sign and make us do push ups.
Another interesting thing that we discovered was, if a girl we liked walked by, we could give her free products from the vending machine, endearing her to us, but not costing us anything. It was a fantastic plan, and although it never succeeded in getting me a date, at least the girl would talk to me long enough to get her candy bar.
Gabe and I had a teacher that we liked, our English teacher, who was roughly 6 months older than us, and very hot. I’ll call her Ms. Hottie. Ms. Hottie liked to help us get into trouble, so on a regular basis, she would take us off campus during the day, which was patently against the rules, but she didn’t care. And since we were with a teacher, we didn’t get in trouble for it. So, to show our appreciation for the many years of joy she gave us, Gabe and I threw her out the second floor window onto the roof, locked the window, and left on our last day of school senior year. It’s possible that she’s still there.
Once I got done with high school, I went on to the junior college, where I met my first real girlfriend. Her name was Ms. Right, and she was perfect. I immediately fell in love with her because she was wearing overalls… a not-so-secret fetish of mine, and eventually I got her to tell me her name. No, actually, she found me. I was a photography student, and she was looking for a cheap way to get a portfolio done. I was most certainly cheap, in every way, and the lab tech from the darkroom introduced us. I shot her pictures, and we agreed to meet a week later for her to look at proofs.
We met at a bar, and of course, I couldn’t drink, being only 18… she was 25, and liked to drink, so I agreed to it. Anyway, to make a long story short, she looked at the proofs, and then asked me to go out the next Saturday. It was too good to be true! So we started dating, and had a lot of fun. She worked days, I worked nights, and we would meet in the middle…of the night. I think that working seperate shifts actually improved our relationship. It really is true that familiarity breeds contempt.
Sorry to be a downer, but the story does not have a happy ending. Ms. Right ended up pregnant, which of course was a shock to me, but was ok. We agreed we would get married after the baby came, and I made it official with a ring.
ANYWAY, several months later, I got a hysterical call from Ms. Rights mother… Incredipete, come to the hospital right now, Ms. Right was hit by a drunk driver and she probably won’t make it. I was in shock, but I made it to the hospital somehow. Ms. Right was in pretty bad shape, and the baby didn’t make it. I was devastated. I stayed there for several hours, and then called my mom. I was pretty freaked out, and I just needed a familiar voice. I couldn’t even make myself tell her what was going on, just called and chatted.
So, time went by, Ms. Right went home, but was still incapacitated. Her mom stayed with her during the nights, and I stayed with her during the days. She kept having surgery regularly to correct the many problems that lingered, and she spent hours every day in rehab. She had 17 surgeries while she was in Kansas city.
During that time, I kept enrolling in classes, but not going. Needless to say, my GPA dropped to 1.47, and I went onto academic probation. Finally Ms. Right made the decision to move back to her childhood home in Seattle, where her dad still lived. I didn’t go with her. She had 3 more surgeries in Seattle, and now is doing great. She is working as a CPA for a financial firm, and is finally fully back on her feet.
That was several years ago, and thankfully, Ms. Right still calls me often to talk. We went through a lot together, and it’s always nice to talk with her. Actually, I called her to ask permission before I posted this story…
Alright, I’ll shall end with a happier story, to get that ugly one out of your heads. There is this girl… she likes me a LOT! She calls (or should I say, used to call) me constantly. I tried to tell her to stop, and she wouldn’t. I finally had her number blocked, no mean feat when you have to go through a cellular provider. She would say things like “Incredipete, I’m gonna lick you all over” and frankly, it just freaked me out. It might have been different if it were Catherine Zeta-Jones saying it, but it wasn’t. It was “Angie.” Angie is a nasty, gross girl, whom I made the mistake of accidentally inviting to my house. I realized my mistake after talking to “Lynne” about it, and called Angie back to cancel. SHE WAS PISSED!
She started calling me from other phone numbers, and leaving weird messages. For instance, here is a transcript of one of the messages she left: “Incredipete, this is Angie. I hope you’re not mad at me. You seemed upset when you called to cancel. [Name Deleted] told me that you and ‘Hot Chick’ have been hanging out a lot. That’s nice for her. IS THAT WHY YOU CANCELLED!!!!???? Well, I hope you’re doing good, and maybe we can get together sometime. Call me.”
What was weird about the message was the random changes in tone. It would be sweet, then mad, then PSYCHO, then sweet again. Very odd. So fast forward a couple of days. She calls and leaves another message. “Hi Incredipete, this is Angie. You know, I can find out where you live. All I have to do is ask at the Post Office.” That was the whole message. OK, so now it’s starting to turn into a really weird episode.
The next time she called with someone else’s number, I picked up inadvertently. She said “Hi Incredipete, this is Angie…” I cut her off, and I meant to say, if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to kick your freaking butt. (OK, I toned that down a little bit for the internet) But what actually came out was “If you don’t stop calling me, I’m going to freak your kicking butt.” (Once again, toned down for the internet) As soon as I said it, I realized what I had said, and started laughing so hard I was snorting. And I knew there was no way I could top that, so I hung up. She has never called me since. Apparently that spooked her.
So, there you have a brief glimpse of my so-called life. I hope it was good for you.