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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.

jacob julie frost

7 Jul

I had a pretty typical high school experience. I wasn’t popular, but I wasn’t socially crippled either. If I leaned either way, it was definitely toward the latter. I did my own thing, never really cared what anyone thought of me, had a small group of friends I adored and generally flew just under the radar (with a few misguided blips). My junior year, like most silly girls, I fell in love with a boy. Mostly, I hate that this happened. At the time, it was great, because he loved me back, but as an adult who never feels anything for anyone, it seems like a lot of wasted emotion on someone who ultimately didn’t deserve it. I’m not bitter or anything.

The problem with this specific boy (his name was Jacob Frost) is that before we started dating, he was my best friend. And in fact, given that we had a fairly successful relationship, he continued to be my best friend until we broke up. Right around the time I graduated high school, we began fighting. And beating each other. Love taps, as I like to call them. About a month into my freshman year of college, we called it quits, a decision we claimed was mutual, but really was nothing of the sort. The short story is… that he had stopped caring months before, and I finally stopped letting him get away with it. Also, he was getting blow jobs from my friend’s roommate… That played a little part in it as well. I’m not bitter or anything.

Jacob desperately wanted to stay friends. Like me, our constant togetherness and co-dependence over the past two years had separated us from all our other friends. Unlike me, he was living at home with his mother and working at the local Applebees (which had just opened, good for him!), while I was away at college with lots of access to new and interesting people. He called me constantly, showed up in town unannounced several times (which all made sense when I found out what was going on over in my friend’s dorm room), and generally pathetically tried to keep some remnant of our relationship alive. I say that like I was all tough and trying to teach him a lesson, but really I was too heartbroken and devastated that he didn’t want to be with me anymore to even talk to him. Eventually he stopped trying.

It took me a pretty unhealthy amount of time to get over that one. Like really unhealthy. Like I called him yesterday and hung up when he answered.

But really. Late in my sophomore year of college, we started talking again. Never in person; it was always on AIM or every so often over the phone. I had transferred to a school even further away, and we made plans to see each other the next time I was in town.  Except that never happened. Within two months, some girl he worked with ended up with child. A year later, Jacob was married with two children (how did that happen? oh, turns out Julie, his baby mama, was already some other guy’s baby mama). I’m not bitter or anything.

So yeah. I was pretty disgusted with him, he stopped talking to me, and the final nail in the coffin of our friendship was firmly intact. Several years later, when I no longer had an emotional reaction whenever I heard his name, he showed up on Facebook. In my opinion, people like Jacob are the reason why Facebook should be awesome. He is someone I was once really close with, but no longer have access to. Voila, Facebook. We friended each other (not even sure who initiated), we exchange a couple bland messages, and that’s it.

One day, I was feeling particularly nostalgic, and he showed up on FB chat so I decided to IM him. Suddenly I realized that I was talking to Julie, and bitch is pisssssssed that I’m talking to her husband. Whatever. A few months later, Jacob’s username was changed to Jacob Julie Frost. A few months after that, the profile picture changed to one of Julie. I’ve always been pretty unhealthily anti-marriage because I’m terrified of losing my own identity. Case in point. Jacob can’t even have his own fucking Facebook account. Somehow, I was force-fed a Facebook friendship with my first love’s wife, someone I despise, despite any niceties I may fake whenever I see her.  Oh! And she’s constantly playing Farmville. And Frontierville. And Zoo World. I don’t care if you need a fucking hammer or your crops dusted or whatever. STFU! But I’m not bitter or anything.

chester smith

24 Jun

Sixth grade, was the year I had my first boyfriend. My entire class was reading a story out loud, and when the dialogue called for a character to whistle, I apparently impressed Chester so much that he came up to me after class and said, “You know, you’re a really good whistler.”

The obvious implication of this statement was that he wanted to go out with me.  Which basically meant, at twelve, that we would sit together at lunch, walk to class together, call each other every night, and that now I had to get him a Christmas present.  We also went on one date, where our parents dropped us off at the local movie theater and picked us up immediately after the movie was over.

After two months, I was tired of Chester.  As I have done in all my relationships since, I began looking for a way out.  When Mike C. joined our class in February, I realized I had found my solution.  All the girls in our class had a crush on Mike C.  I actually thought he was kinda lame, but Chester was definitely the jealous type.  He began questioning me suspiciously and incessantly about my feelings for this other man. At first I just denied it, but Chester wouldn’t let it go.  Finally, I told his best friend that it was over.

Chester tried to talk to me about it, and I avoided him for as long as I could.  One day, he finally caught up with me in the hallway, and with tears glistening in his eyes he said, “I just don’t understand what I did wrong.”

I looked at him seriously like the cruel little heartbreaker I am and said, “You know.  Oh, you know.”  I left Chester standing there, devastated by all that he’d lost.

The following day in math class as we were passing up our homework, Chester leaned across the aisle and said, “You’re a bitch.”  His two best friends sat in front of Chester and in front of me.  I was surrounded. They both looked at me and said, “Yeah. Bitch.”

I was completely taken aback. Never in my life had I been called this word, and I felt that tears may be an imminent danger.  I spent the whole rest of the school year avoiding any eye contact with Chester and his friends, though they continued to harass me and call me that horrible B-word.

The following year, Chester changed schools, and I didn’t see him again until our sophomore year in high school, where he suddenly turned up right across the aisle from me in my chemistry class.  All my middle school insecurities returned.  He never said a word to me, but every time he looked my way, or leaned over to retrieve a pencil, I feared he would look up at me and spit, “You’re a bitch.”

He never did. And he approved my friend request.