living through my 20s is like watching a sucky teen comedy
September 22, 2007
For some reason or another— probably because I was feeling completely drained and hopeless at the time— I did not keep a diary for about three years.
I really should have. A lot of interesting stuff happened, which can now only be fuzzily remembered. Of course, that might be because I was drunk most of the time. I will elaborate upon this later…
I am on a quest to revisit those three years and see what I can dig up now that the memories are no longer painful. It is like passing through a very dark, tangled and dangerous forest. You made it out alive, but you can still feel the cobwebs of memory clinging to your skin.
Or, perhaps, it is more like looking at a picture of an old flame who really broke your heart. So much time has passed and so much has happened that the past doesn’t sting so much anymore. It’s just a little piece of history, something to be noted, learned from, and left where it sits.
So, anyhow…I think it was a Sunday night. D and I worked at the same place, but because he was a forklift driver, he’d had to work that night while I got the night off…even though this would have been one of my normally scheduled work days. It was during our slow season…and Sundays were the worst.
I called him during his break and asked him if he wanted to meet me down at THE POND after he got off. He said sure…so I stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up a six pack of beer….which was my beverage of choice for quite awhile way back when.
It was around midnight. The air was crisp and cool…early spring air.
It was dark, dark, dark down by the water. The only sound was the quacking of the ducks that nested by the pond and the rumbling of traffic from a nearby interstate.
I sat on the picnic table and waited for D. A few minutes later, I saw him on his bike, weaving his way down the road to where I sat.
We both cracked a beer and chit-chatted a little. But mostly there was this silence…this awkward silence…
I should note that this is around the time when we first started seriously hanging out with each other. He was always a quiet guy, and I am, admittedly, not the finest conversationalist in the world. I commit heinous acts of dumbassery on a regular basis when I am allowed to open my big fat mouth. I say stupid shit. All. The. Time. This is why I write. It is easy to seem eloquent when you are able to employ the aid of the “back space” button.
So our conversation played out somewhere along the lines of—
Me: So…how did work go?
Him: Boring…as usual…
Me: Oh, wow…that sucks…
Him: Yeah, it does.
Me: I brought beer… (holding up beer bottle and smiling sheepishly…)
Him: (downing his second one) Uhm…yeah…I noticed that…
Me: Oh…right…(nervous laughter)
And so on and so on. Two dumbass peas in a dumbass pod.
Anyway, somehow the subject of skinny dipping came up. I think I told him it was something I had always wanted to do. He got this really goofy smile on his face just then…
Him: So, why don’t you? There’s some water…All you’ve gotta do is take off your clothes…
Me: Errr…here?
Out she came…that fat, insecure nerdy chick who lives inside of me. The one who only pretended to shower after gym class because she refused to get naked in front of her classmates and have them laugh at her fat ass. Because, you know, that had happened in fifth grade at outdoor school once. A few of those icky popular girls had taken their camera into the bathroom during shower time. Let’s just say, the towel I was using was not big enough to hide my lard butt and leave it at that. I don’t know if that picture ever turned out or not, but I DO remember everyone laughing. You see, girls? This is the kind of shit that scars for life!
Yet, somehow…I ended up stripping. Right there on the grassy bank by the water. I tore off my clothes like I was gonna streak across the field at some major sporting event before security could grab ahold of me and escort me off the premises…and jumped in.
Oh…my…god! Ewwwe!
The bottom of the pond was lined and covered with what I presume was algae. It felt like I had stepped right into a bowl of slimy little worms. It was cold. I could hear the ducks quacking in protest. I am sure they were NOT happy with me at all. I was lucky I didn’t get my eyes pecked out by some irate mallard.
D just laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
It suddenly became even funnier when I tried to exit the pond, because the sides were slippery as fuck. I kept falling and finally had to resort to crawling…on my goddamn hands and knees…out onto dry land.
Keep in mind that I was still BUTT ASS NAKED and floundering like a fish gasping for air. I even managed, during the violent struggle to maroon my whale ass on dry land, to smash a duck egg with my knee and get yolk all over my legs.
See?? I TOLD YOU! Complete and total dumbassery!!
I FINALLY managed to drag myself to “safety” and D, who had been standing back and shaking his head, stripped off his coat and offered it to me.
Me: Uhm…thank you. That was kind of…I don’t know…gross…
Him: Keep it…I don’t want to catch any duck fever!
We both laughed while I shrugged back into my clothes, and that was kind of an…awkward…moment of bonding. But, as I have said before, our interactions very rarely made any sort of logical sense. And they usually ended with me somehow feeling like an ass. Hmm…you know…looking back on this, I am really starting to think that us not talking anymore is a good thing. I became like the high school debate team nerd who humiliates himself trying to impress the snobby prom-queen-type girl who laughs at him, but never really gives him the time of day.
It is all so clear now…
Seriously…how did I not come to this conclusion before?
If love is blind…I must have had some serious fucking cataracts…
