Tag Archives: relationships

Maybe If I’m High, Her Parents Will Like Me

Hello, dear readers! Today we are delighted to share our very first GUEST POST from our extremely funny friend Jason. Quick background: Jason lives in Texas and was recently fired from his customer service job for sharing with the world all the absurd things customers said to him. Also, this happened while his wife was pregnant. So he knows about what sucks. CHECK IT OUT:

Jason: When I was younger I was terrible at life, all of it, but I was especially bad at girls. Being good at girls meant being good at being yourself, you know, having confidence and stuff, and that just wasn’t something I was good at. Basically the only time I ended up with girls was through weird happenstance, like being the only two people still awake at a party, or some random girl would come up to me at my place of work and give me her number. But then I’d get drunk enough to call her and maybe we’d hang out once and I’d be an idiot and have no idea what to do and never call her again and pretend not to be home if she called me, because you know, it was awkward.

So that’s why it was very exciting for me when, at the age of 20, I met a super cute girl, developed a giant crush on her, then discovered that she miraculously fancied me too, and guess what? We actually ACTED on our mutual crush, you know, like most people do when they’re 15. This was huge for me though, because this wasn’t just some drunken party leftover or some girl with terrifyingly brazen aggressiveness, this was a girl that I had gotten to know and like (a lot) over the course of a couple of months. That’s why when it came time to meet her parents I found myself positively mortified.

Now is a good time to mention the fact that as a young man I was quite fond of drugs. Remember I mentioned how terrible I was at life? I liked to keep a constant stream of THC and Klonopins flowing through my veins at all times. It really helped to keep my anxiety level down. Sure I’d get lost driving to the store and forget what I was talking about half-way through a sentence, but I was cool and relaxed (often bordering on catatonic) and also got to watch the same movies over and over again without actually remembering any plot points, so who cares right?

So this wonderful young lass who was somehow nice enough to see through the doped up weirdo to the adorable stray-puppy beneath (this is how I like to view myself), we’ll call her Heather, went to college in my hometown, but this particular story must’ve been during Spring-Break or something because for whatever reason she was staying at her parent’s house about 45 minutes away. I obviously couldn’t deal with just not seeing her for a week, and she didn’t have a car, so we made plans for me to drive out to her parent’s house one evening to make-out and watch a movie. I’m pretty sure that she told me ahead of time that we wouldn’t be having sex because the walls in her house are paper-thin and sound travels. But whatever, I was willing to take this trip anyways because I really liked this girl.

I took the prerequisite amount of Klonopins (I don’t advise this) and brought along a couple of pre-rolled joints and started on my drive into the great unknown. This was pre-MapQuest and many years before we all decided it would be cool to allow all of our movements to be monitored via satellite, so I really had no idea where I was going. All I had were some rough directions that I had scribbled down that included a bunch of numbers and something about an industrial park. As I drove around for about three hours, contemplating what I was going to say to her parents, (the only thing I knew about her father was that he really enjoyed the film “Tombstone”, but who didn’t?) if I ever found their house, I enjoyed smoking all of my weed and probably a half pack of cigarettes.

Anyway, I did finally arrive at their house, several hours later than we had agreed upon, and was allowed in by Heather who tried her best to usher me into her room as discreetly as possible. I, of course, had no interest in discretion; with an abundance of weed and benzos flowing through me there was nothing I couldn’t handle. The first thing I had to do was use the bathroom, because I had been in the car forever and also because when I was high I had to pee a lot, and also would have trouble peeing. It was awful. After about five minutes in the bathroom I went into the living room where her father was sitting watching TV. There I am, a stranger in his home, several hours late, eyes barely open, REEKING of weed and cigarettes, probably drooling mildly, I’m sure he was very impressed by what great company his daughter was keeping. “Gladiator”, which had just come out on VHS, was playing on the television. This was my chance to really impress this guy, so that just incase things got serious with his daughter and I he would be certain to love me like a son.

“Wow, is that Gladiator?” I asked.
“Yes.” He curtly replied.
“Man, I haven’t liked a movie that much since TOMBSTONE!” I was so proud of myself, I had just managed to namedrop his favorite movie, I was like him, he and I were kindred spirits. Nothing could stop us now.

There was an awkward silence followed by, “Yeah, I love Tombstone.” His eyes never left the screen.
Then I stood there, awkwardly staring at him for a few moments as he watched Russell Crowe being more awesome than I could ever be and that was that. I went into the bathroom for another five minutes and then disappeared into his daughter’s room.

Over the course of the next two hours I probably used the bathroom another 300 times or so, it was certainly enough for Heather’s mother to question her about it the next day. Also, we watched the movie “Romeo is Bleeding” in which Juliet Lewis plays some sort of drugged out hooker and I told Heather that night that she reminded me of her.

I think it goes without saying that a serious relationship never developed between Heather and I, and I think it was shortly after this that she decided not to talk to me for two or three years, but somehow we’re now BFF and her parents thankfully have no idea who I am even though we’ve met a couple times since then.

Anyways, thanks Catherine and Jana for letting me play. I love what you two are doing and want you to know that you are not alone out there. I have ten million more stories should they be of any use to you.

THIS IS JASON (12 years ago. Ladies, please). Also, maybe a picture that would be included in the obituary of a rapper, if Jason were a rapper who had died young.

Catherine: Jason, you should’ve gotten in on the groundfloor of “Meet the Parents” because it sure does seem like you have some excellent experience for Ben Stiller type comedy. Did you happen to re-enact the opening scene from “There’s Something About Mary” as well? I wonder. What a mess.

Jana: My favorite part of this is that you told Heather that she reminded you of a drugged-out Juliet Lewis. I feel like if she’d responded well to that, everything might have been different.

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Romance Isn’t Dead, It Just Watches Bad Movies.

Catherine: Isn’t young romance cute? Except not when you are the 12-year old couple GOING FOR IT on a street corner in the middle of the day whom I encountered the other week. Those two need to shut. it. down. If you’ve been reading, you already know about my deodorant-obsessed first boyfriend but perhaps noticed no tales of a first kiss? Perhaps? Well, that’s because there was no kiss (thankfully.) That “special” moment was reserved for the summer after 8th grade. That’s probably PRETTY late. I get that. I understand. And we all need to deal with it and know that given my awkward social behavior, it was a real no-brainer.

My SECOND boyfriend, let’s call him Timmy (no relation to his real name, but I think the name Timmy is funny and a little tragic, like this story) and we were in love, I think. I base this on the fact that he gave my Cherry Chapstick once at a movie theater. And that is all I ever want, really. I have a chapstick addiction, and we were dating before it even started, so he was really ahead of the curve. All my friends at the movie (group date, clearly) thought it was very romantic. As did I.

So, one spring day we trek to the local elementary school fair where I win a goldfish which would go on to live for over a year and would be named Spot, because it had a spot. Its death would break my mother’s heart. After the fair, we headed to my friend “Sarah”‘s house, where she was hanging out with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, whose name I THINK was actually Sacha, was in middle school despite being maybe 16 years old, had facial hair, and was a Russian drugdealer. I am making zero of this up. Suffice it to say, Timmy was impressed.

We all settled down to watch “Starship Troopers,” Sara and Sacha on an opposing couch very obviously doing things. Sexy things. It was gross, but fascinating. At one point Timmy leans over and whispers in my ear, “I wanna kiss you.” I think to myself, WE ARE IN LOVE! FUTURE HUSBAND (truly believed that, guys.) I AM EXCITED BUT MOSTLY NERVOUS. Maybe 10 minutes later, “the kiss” happens. It is disgusting, wet, and wrought with bad breath. I complete the movie by snuggling into the crook of his arm at such an angle that he cannot possibly kiss me again. And he never would. We broke up days later.

Still, I know I am beat by my friend who lost her v-card whilst watching “Spaceballs.” That’s alright.

Jana: I love the fact that your first kiss took place in such close proximity to a 16-year old Russian drug dealer/middle school student. He seems to embody, for me, what’s really beneath a first kiss: fear, darkness, danger, inappropriate behavior given maturity level, etc.

And my first kiss didn’t happen until I was 16 (REALLY edgin up on 17. It’s like I was in The Sound of Music, except it was 2003), so. Don’t feel too bad.

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What has turned out to be a post about what an asshole I am

Jana: Once I got to high school, things were different. As you can probably guess, this was almost exclusively to do with my hair. You see, one day at the end of my annual haircut (during which I fielded the friendly chatter of the stylist I’d known for years with one-word answers choked out ridiculously fast and with the sore throat that I got whenever I talked to people not in my immediate family), I managed to give her approval to straighten my hair after blow drying it. As always, I sat in silence while she worked and tried to talk to me, and then slowly lifted my head to look in the mirror when she said she was done.

I remember being honestly shocked out of my fucking mind, because I looked DECENT! It was amazing. Afterwards, I have this picture of going to CVS to pick up something random, and my mind’s eye just wanders over the check-out counter while I think to myself: I’m beautiful. This is it. It’s happened. Maybe there’s a way out of my weird frizzy world! WHAT IS HAPPENING? Yes I will pay for this chapstick. LOOK AT MY HAIR!

Anyway, obviously this only lasted until I washed my hair (luckily THAT didn’t happen very often, so I probably got a good week off that first buzz). But eventually, the straight hair was gone with the water and the Pantene two-in-one shampoo plus conditioner that I thought was so effective. But I’d had a taste of freedom from hair hell, and I knew I had to have it again.

When I graduated from the alternative school where I spent my childhood, I had no choice but to enter the public high school in the town where I actually lived. This didn’t happen without a LOT of crying, self-questioning about why I had to become an adult, etc, but as these things go, September did come and I did have to start high school. Prior to doing so, though, I was able to convince my mother that my life would not continue unless I could get my hair permanently straightened. Not being cruel or blind, she gave in, and that is how I came to start high school looking somewhat like a normal adolescent.

And then the craziest part. The boys at the new school didn’t know about my past. They hadn’t seen this picture:

Here I am on the first day of 8th grade. Really take it in, and then think about how much had to change before boys started to like me.

They thought I was the cute new girl. I was completely shocked. It seemed like a lie. It was way too much to handle! I didn’t even know. I did not. Know. What to do.


He was the nicest boy in the world, or at least, definitely in the freshman class. For the purposes of this entry, I will call him Mark. Everyone loved Mark, because there was not one thing not to love. He was kind and smart and talented. And for some reason, he liked me. I knew this because he told someone who told me, and then I got wind that he was going to ask me to the semi-formal dance. I died. He asked me, I did not pluck my eyebrows or put on makeup, we went to the dance, I hardly talked to him. Afterwards, for some reason, he chose to ask me to be his girlfriend, which I somehow managed to say yes to. Throughout this entire time, I barely looked at him.

The point that I want to get to is that I was in the chorus and Mark was in the band and eventually we were both on a trip to Quebec. I knew this would pose considerable awkward hurdles, and I dealt with them by not thinking about them, from what I can remember, and instead loading up on disposable cameras. But on the last night of the trip, there was a cruise. Sunset, boat, romantic, etc. Everyone told me that he was going to kiss me that night. This is where my head immediately went when I heard this: NOT AN OPTION. I don’t think I even remotely considered the possibility that we might actually kiss and I’d survive it. I just went straight into survival mode, which is to say that I COMPLETELY avoided him. I spent the whole night hiding behind people. I went to the bathroom for huge stretches of time. I hid in corners.

Somehow, the cruise ended without us ever being alone. WIN! We got back on the buses, where we had to sit with the seatmates we’d picked at the beginning of the trip (I’d forced a friend of mine to tell Mark that she REALLY WANTED to sit with me, so it looked like it wasn’t my fault – in retrospect, this was really similar to those calls I used to force my mother to make so that I could leave social situations and blame it on her. This, I realize, is fucked). Anyway, I was all like “Sorry!” and sat with my poor friend, who looked like a jackass. I’m a dick.

In our hotels, we were allowed to roam freely until 9 PM, which was “curfew” – everyone back in their own rooms. We arrived back at the hotels at 7 PM, and I spent the two free hours in my room with my poor friends, crying. IT WAS TOO MUCH FOR ME! I could not be near him. What would I say? What was I supposed to do with my hands while I talked? Or while I didn’t talk? Was I supposed to look at his face or at his t-shirt? WHAT ARE SOCIAL QUES, I asked them. WHY CAN I NOT MASTER THEM.

Somehow, they talked me down. And then, at 9:05, I did what I had to do. Mark was residing in the hotel room DIRECTLY next door to mine. But I waited until after curfew, and then I called him on the hotel phone (I just had to dial one number, since it was just a room-to-room call). And I broke up with him. OVER THE PHONE, WHILE IN THE SAME BUILDING. I don’t even remember what I said, but I know it was terrible. Just the worst. The most awkward thing one could really do. Especially since the next day we had to take a bus back from Quebec together (thank god for that seating rule, right!).

That is how my first relationship ended. In case you’re wondering, my first kiss did not occur for two more years, and it also had to do with a chorus trip and an awkward situation in a hotel room.

Catherine: Jana, you are wearing Tevas in that picture. You’re really ok sharing that with the world? I mean, if you are, then wow. Brave, but I just wanted to call it to your attention. Because Tevas don’t look good, not on anyone. And if you (dear reader) are wearing them now, perhaps this is a good time to take them off? Unless you’re wearing those weird toe shoes underneath or something. In which case, get off the internet and head back to the store and join the rest of civilization by buying some proper footwear.

This post also reminds me of a post I will have to write someday, about how I spent the entire Freshman Boat Cruise on the back of the boat, alone, because I thought it meant I was “really deep” since I wanted to “take in the skyline.” (Surely it had nothing to do with me having approximately zero friends.)

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