I would like to start this post by stating, once again, a heartfelt “sorry” for taking such a long absence. I was too busy being young and lively and not having access to a laptop while gallivanting around the world. So, maybe I’m not sorry. Maybe you should be sorry you weren’t there with me, and if you were, I’m sorry you had to put up with me for such a extended period of time when I was away from my laptop.
Secondly, today also just so happens to be the one year anniversary of me starting this blog. Time flies when you’re not writing blog posts, doesn’t it? Hopefully now that I am a big-shot college graduate, I will have more time to devote to this website and you, my adoring fans.
This post is inspired by another website that sucks the souls out of many youth similar to myself: Facebook. To promote social interaction and sharing private information on the World Wide Web, Facebook will show you prompts that include questions you absolutely feel no need to share. Those people from your youth group you haven’t seen since you got your braces off and your mom’s great aunt especially. So, I figured I would do it here instead where only people who elect to read it will do so and you can know my deepest and darkest secrets.
For me, the prompt that showed was this beauty:
Here is a first moment that has come to define me as a Nance and as a person who often does things terribly the first time around.
As I reached my middle school years, I had come to accept the fact that no boy would ever want to kiss me and I would have to spend the rest of my life with my Legolas cardboard cutout sleeping on the other side of my twin bed. I’m unsure why I thought I would still be sleeping in a twin bed as an adult, but I digress. Puberty came in like a wrecking ball, and Miley Cyrus was not naked atop it, although maybe I should consider myself lucky on that front. One fateful day in seventh grade, my friends and I were walking down the hallway to Spanish class and my BFF at the time decided to ask a boy in our class out for me. I hadn’t had a boyfriend before and I was sure as hell not anticipating his response to be in the affirmative. However, Middle School Jesus was on my side and George Washington (All names have been changed to preserve said seventh grade boy’s dignity) (you know who you are) said yes. We exchanged some awkward hugs and an occasional “I love you” via the World Wide Web and overall it was an extremely serious relationship that lasted a total of five days.
This expanse of time happened to include a weekend, and as most people that are young and in love do, we went to a movie. The movie that George and I selected was the Academy-Award-Nominated and highly accredited film: “Shark Tale.” With a star-studded cast of celebrities such as Will Smith, Angelina Jolie, Robert De Niro, and an excellent version of “Car Wash” sung by Xtina herself, Shark Tale is not a film to miss. We went with our two friends, Mahatma Gandhi and Hillary Rodham Clinton (names have been changed again) (you know who you are). As the lights dimmed, I knew that it was a magical day. George put his arm around me and I awkwardly leaned against him with the armrest stabbing into my ribs, but I didn’t even care. I was in love. I could sense the moment was coming as the Will Smith fish was seduced by the Angelina fish and I was hoping that one day I would be as hot as that Angelina fish. George started leaning in and I was like “OH SHOOT” and then everything went into slow-mo and it happened and I have never been the same. Apparently our friend Mahatma wanted us to french kiss, but I was inspired by the song The Pussycat Dolls recorded solely for the soundtrack of “Shark Tale” entitled “We Went as Far as We Felt Like Going.” As we walked out of that movie theater, the sun shined a little brighter off of my braces and the air smelled a lot more like Abercrombie Fierce. We parted ways as his mom came to pick him up and my dad did the same. I went to bed that night hoping the scent of cheap cologne in my hair would last forever.
As Monday rolled around and I went back to the grind of middle school life, I decided that maybe George wasn’t the man for me. The ending of love is always tragic, and this was no exception. I wimped out and had Hillary Rodham Clinton do it for me before third period and Spanish class at the end of the day was quite a painful experience. My only regret is ending the relationship before my birthday because I’m pretty sure he would have gotten me a gift card to Starbucks or something. I wish you the best, George, and may your smooching experiences always be as special as ours was.