Han Solo

Started out today much like any other day, cursing the sunlight and fumbling for coffee. This is usually followed by a fairly formulaic routine: bowel movement, eyebrow plucking, tooth brushing, and gym. During these gym sessions I usually let my mind wander into what I think would make a funny webisode of “Take that, Bitch,” like Tina mad dogging people in the gym and then masterfully eating shit on one of the machines. I play things out in my head so thoroughly that I often make myself laugh out loud. I play air drums and “walk hard” through the gym with some puffed up sense of self. I am truly terrified. I have a shirt that reads “A fun thing to do in the morning is not talk to me.” The truth of the matter is I am so incredibly awkward that if you stopped to say hello to me I would probably respond with “yes” or “happy birthday.” Walking away from that situation I would curse you for being friendly and outgoing; why you gotta be so nice? I am also completely destroying my own self-worth and mentally inhaling a pint of Hagen Daz coffee ice cream. This particular morning though, instead of practicing my resting bitch face I am brainstorming ideas for my next writing. I want to write on something we can all relate to on some level. It’s clear what I need to write about; our first sexual experience. I say “our” because we’ve all had one. If you haven’t, you should probably stop reading RIGHT now.  You’re likely to stay a virgin forever and I don’t need that shit on my conscience. I’ll take a moment to make clear that “sexual experience”  is not that time you were 12 or 14 and found the dirty channel on your parents TV and desperately tried to unscramble it or make heads or tails of it between the snowy pattern and jumping screen while you masturbated or dry humped your pillow. This is not that.  

*The following are actual events. They actually happened. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. We will call my partner in this act Han (might as well have been solo in this act) *

I can’t remember if I was 15 or 16 when my first sexual experience happened. If I say 14 does the slut shaming begin? I honestly don’t remember. I have a hard time remembering what I ate for dinner the night before last or what I said yesterday, but I will remember exactly what you said three years ago at a party with live music that pissed me off and you seemed not to notice. I will carry that little gem around for as long as it takes too. It must be played at the right time. I can be patient; calculated even. You should take note of this and be scared. Digression, I do that a lot. Ok…for sake of argument we’ll say I’m 15. Han and I have been “going steady” for all of 2 months now. Eternity!! We are for sure getting married. I can feel it. He’s the one. This dude even held my hair (I had hair down to my waist at the time, this was no easy task) while I puked into his toilet after drinking 40oz Mickey’s wide mouth malt beverages. Aren’t all Mickey’s wide mouth bottles? God, I was so sophisticated. The puking wasn’t the worst part - it was the toilet freshener his mother had attached to the inside of the toilet. 1000 Flushes blue! I became closely acquainted to it. Vomit and beer and 1000 Flushes blue; some things you can never forget. I was also wearing a very fetching ankle length flannel nightgown. So hot! I’d fuck me. That however was not our night - I’m just building our relationship. This dude, Han, was obviously the man that my acne ridden 15 year old, know-it-all ass was going to spend the rest of my life with. Obvi!

 It was summer and I was in a band at the time. I had converted my actual room into creative space and moved my queen size mattress into my walk in closet. My mother thought I was an odd girl, I thought I was odd too. I liked it in there. I now had two doors that had to be passed through before I could be reached; bedroom and closet. I felt warm and cocooned in there. The bedroom space was guitar, amp, art, etc. The main space is where all my creative crap happened. It’s where I gave life to a Chia-Pet, and then killed it. Painted a face on a pet rock, named it, and then lost it. I wrote a shit ton of horrible poetry in that space, smoked a lot of weed and dropped a bunch of acid in there too. I miss that girl. I think she and I are playing hide and seek again, maybe just without the drugs this time. Hopefully my son doesn’t end up like my Chia-Pet and pet rock.

Han came over one day and I’m pretty sure I thought: “well, I guess we better do this, right?” This is where the details get kind of fuzzy. Maybe I’ve chosen to scrub them from the databanks. I wasn’t traumatized or anything, but I wasn’t impressed either. Needless to say it was not like ANYTHING in the movies. It never is and I TOTALLY get that shit, but what went down was a combination of depressing and funny. I remember it being incredibly hot so we propped a fan in the doorway. I remember he left his socks on. I would never let that shit happen now! I had no standards then I guess. Socks?? Really?? For real?? You got some sandals you to wear too? There was some awkward groping, zero foreplay (who the hell knows how to do that at that age anyhow) and I think I was still wearing a top. Between Hans’s socks and my t-shirt we almost were completely clothed. I don’t think he even had his pants all the way down. My adult lady parts are drying out and dying for my teenage girl parts. The whole 3 minutes that Han seems to be really enjoying himself and I am still trying to figure out when this whole “penetration” thing is supposed to happen; I have my hands behind my head and am thinking about what else I could be doing at this very moment. Sock drawer could use some re-arranging, new issue of Guitar Player should be in the mail, and I missed the episode of Beavis and Butthead last night where they meet Killer. Damn!

That was it. He was done. Han collapses. WTF?! That’s it? Aren’t I supposed to bleed? I heard mention that there were supposed to be cookies? I don’t see any damn cookies! I like snickerdoodle cookies! Peanut butter would suffice. Goddamnit, I want a cookie! Screw it; guess I’ll rearrange my sock drawer as previously planned. That however would not be the case either…

Just as Han is pulling his pants back up, my mother has made her way through the first of my doors and as was previously mentioned, my second door is ajar to let air from the fan in. “Oh, hey mom! Cool, you’re home. That’s so…cool.”

Said no teenager caught in the act ever. Not ever!! I don’t think she or I have ever fully recovered from this experience. She was able to pay me back some years later when I walked in on her. I was an adult. I am still suffering PTSD. This is where I publicly apologize for all the shit I put my mom through. While I hope she isn’t reading this one, I know she is – love you mom. Sorry I was just such a wild bitch. Photostat. 

 Why are Chia-Pets so much cooler now? There is Lionel Richie Chia-Pet too!!