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tamika passmore (but not her homewrecking sister)

29 Jun

The night of my senior prom was pretty much a disaster. I had been dating my boyfriend  (Jacob Frost) for almost two years, and to put it nicely, our relationship was on it’s way out, and I think we both knew it. As much as we fought, we were like a lovey episode of Barney compared to one of the couples we went to dinner/shared a limo with: Natalie Bank and Randy Brown. The group consisted of me and my three best girlfriends now Natalie, Hollie Rice, and Rachel Castillo (but I was just getting to know them back then), and this random other girl who was introduced to me that day (and then I was pulled aside to be told to not be my usual offensive self around her because she was just coming out of a physically abusive relationship. damn, cuz “bitch was askin’ for it” was always my favorite catchphrase), and of course all of their dates.

I honestly don’t remember all that much about my senior prom, probably because I blocked out the traumatic sequence of events. But I think Natalie spilled something on Randy, at the restaurant (which we found out later had serious mafia connections), or vice versa. Words describing things Jacob and I were planning on doing to each other later that night were exchanged (if you know what I mean).

Then we went to prom. Blah, blah, blah. Boy, I miss all those people (not).

After prom, I had an after party at my place. If you’ll remember from my previous post, I had moved out of my parent’s house, and was living in an apartment complex with three older guys. We’d procured a keg and spent the night playing Beirut, which I found out in college was just a pretentious east coast way of saying Beer Pong. I was way too morally superior and uptight to drink at this point in my life, so I ended up crashing pretty early despite the party that raged around me.

I found out the next Monday at school that my prom buddies had all went back to Hollie’s house (with a small entourage following), had sex with their dates, and then fallen asleep. The story that slowly revealed itself as the week went on, was that Randy, in a classic asshole move, had woken up in the middle of the night and fucked this girl Janine Passmore in the bathroom. This wasn’t just Natalie’s prom date. They had been dating since freshman year, she had lost her virginity to this prick, and then he spent the week telling Natalie that Janine was a liar, until he finally broke down and admitted his guilt.

I don’t think Randy even has a Facebook account, and I sure as hell won’t ever be friends with that bitch Janine, just on principle, but I am, for some reason, friends with her sister Tamika, who I’ve never spoken a single word to. This all went down ten years ago, and I still can’t pee in the Rice’s downstairs bathroom without thinking about that night.

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jamie starke

10 Jul

When I was twelve, my life revolved around the internet. My brother and I made up a schedule in two-hour blocks, stating who was allowed on the computer at what times. We used our computer time as bargaining tools. What? You wan’t me to do your chores this week? I want FOUR hours Sunday night, and your mid-Saturday afternoon slot. It was pretty ridiculous. His hours revolved around different role-playing games, mine revolved around my Sweet Valley High club, and the creation of my web site.

It was in my time spent in The Unicorn Club, that I met Jamie Starke. There is some debate now, as to how our “friendship” first came about. We fought over the vice-presidency of the club, which had been mine until I was grounded from the computer for several weeks (probably as a result of the pole dancing nurse debacle), and upon my return the club was to vote on whether I would be reinstated or if whoever had taken my place would stay in power. Jamie was for the latter, I called her a ten cent whore, blah blah blah, we ended up becoming pen pals.

Jamie lived three thousand miles away, but we became as close as two people that live that far apart could be. She was engrossed in all aspects of my life, she knew several of my friends, and was one of the only people who ever knew about the whole Ryan thing while it was happening. We met in person for the first time my freshman year in college when she decided to come visit me for her Spring Break.

I immediately discovered that she was kind of weird. The kind of weird you would never realize online, but is completely obvious in person. There’s no way to really explain it, besides to say that she was simply socially awkward. We still had fun, I mean, I get it. Not everyone can be as cool as me. No reason to punish them for that.

After I graduated college, I ended up moving to the same city that Jamie was from, not because she lived there or anything, but because it’s a big city that a lot of people move to when they come from podunk towns like mine. Okay, okay, we’re talking about Los Angeles here. So I crashed on her couch for two weeks while I looked for my own place. Her weirdness became more and more obvious, but I really hit it off with both of her roommates.

After I had settled into my life in LA, I spent most of my free time hanging out with Jamie and her roommate Alexandra Doolittle (who I let choose her own fake name– big mistake). One night, the three of us drove to a bar in their neighborhood. Jamie and I got in an argument in the car, and it continued into the bar. Once inside, she just sulked, arms crossed, not speaking to anyone. This is typical Jamie behavior. We walked to another bar nearby, where Jamie proceeded to loosen up a little, obviously a direct correlation to the amount of alcohol she was consuming. It was there that she started to tell me how unhappy she was all the time. I told her that she should probably talk to someone professionally, she agreed, and then decided that she wanted to go home. It was still early, so Alexandra and I decided that we would stay and just walk home. Jamie left and we enjoyed the rest of our evening.

I got pretty hammered. Alexandra and I walked back to her apartment (singing Bon Jovi the entire way), with the agreement that I would sleep on her couch that night, as there was no reason for me to be driving. However, when we got to her apartment, Jamie had fallen asleep on the couch. Alexandra told me to just go up to Jamie’s “room” which was a bed in a loft up a spiral staircase in their living room. I went over to Jamie, told her quietly what I was going to do in case she was kinda awake. I got no response for her so I went up the stairs to her room.

The following events are really fucking creepy, so if you have small children, they should leave the room now.

The moment I sit down on her bed, Jamie is at the top of the staircase, staring at me. She musta climbed those stairs so quickly all stealthily. She grumbled, “Hmmmph!” and then stomps down the stairs and goes back to the couch. I followed her and said, “Jamie, take your bed. I thought you were asleep.” No response. Now, I’m pissed, and I’m drunk, and I have no patience for drama queens (unless it’s me). So I said, “Fine, I’m leaving.”

Alexandra ended up chasing me down the hallway in her underwear, and told me to just sleep with her in her room. So I got in bed, and Alexandra was at the foot of the bed fiddling with the DVD player and suddenly Jamie ran into the room, tears streaming down her face, and she got right up in Alexandra’s junk shaking her finger at her and screamed, “You’re a whore! You’re a fucking whore!” Alexandra looked up at Jamie, her face completely calm, and said, “Okay, Jamie. Go to bed, we’ll talk about this in the morning.” Jamie retaliated with, “Stop being so fucking condescending, you’re a fucking whore!!!!!” I was aghast. Here Jamie was, flipping the fuck out like nothing I’ve ever seen, and Alexandra was acting like they were discussing which of them were driving to church in the morning.

Alexandra finally pushed Jamie out of the room, but we could hear her sobbing for a long time in the living room. I gave Alexandra my classic, “What the fuck?” face and she proceeded to tell me that this shit with Jamie happened all the time. Like monthly. After about a half hour of sobbing, Alexandra finally banged on the wall and told her to cry into her pillow so the rest of the apartment could sleep. Her response was a loud crash coming from the living room.

I got up to investigate. The living room was dark and quiet. Jamie was laying down on the couch on her stomach, her face shoved into a pillow, arms at her side, like a fucking freak. There is a glass on the floor which it appeared she had thrown at the TV or the entertainment center or something. I picked it up, put it on the coffee table and said, “Please keep it down, Jamie. And try not to break anything.” I walked the thirteen or so steps to Alexandra’s door, and as I turn around to shut it behind me, JAMIE IS STANDING RIGHT THERE IN THE DOORWAY LIKE IN A FRIGGIN’ HORROR MOVIE. I am so startled and freaked out, that I just continued shutting the door, right in her face. Jamie started sobbing again. I could hear her lean against the door, and slide down to a sitting position dramatically shaking and sobbing. She called out to me, “Please don’t be mad at me. Please. Please don’t be mad at me.” The night went on like this.

The next morning, I got the hell out of there without seeing her. We had been friends on Facebook from college, but both of us had abandoned our FB accounts for Myspace as it was more popular at the time. She messaged me that day on Myspace apologizing for the night. I replied that she had freaked me out and that I didn’t think we should continue being friends until she’d talked to someone. She begged me to reconsider. Eventually, I deleted her from my Myspace friends. Now though, Facebook has made its return and I feel like it would be shitty to delete her now, more than four years later. But she still does fucking psychotic things, like show up at places where my status says I am. Or sometimes when I see her at Alexandra’s parties, she knows more details about what is going on in my life than most of my friends.

In fact, if I ever wind up mysteriously dead, I hope someone will read this blog, and look into Jamie’s alibi.