So that was how Shelby and I ended up walking home together, taking the back roads from the school to my neighborhood. Turned out that she didn’t live very far from me, only a few blocks away. With all the things I knew about her, I couldn’t believe I didn’t know that. Her house’s distance from mine created so many opportunities to… no, no. I was not a stalker.
Because I was the sexiest man alive, I managed to knock myself out twice in one day, and because I did this, I couldn’t drive. I had to wait for my mom to come pick me up while I watched everyone else in my class leave in their cars. Just call me Captain Lady-Killer. No… the ‘captain’ made me seem like a murderer instead of a sarcastic, self-deprecating dork.
Just in case you’re in the 10% of the world’s population that has yet to see the travesty that is “Friday” by Rebecca Black, allow me to educate you.
If you thought that song “Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend” was bad, just wait until you see this—er, the thing you already watched at the top of the page. “Friday” is a song that gives old folks in their 20s like me insight into what the kids are up to these days, and apparently, 13-year-olds are up to no damn good, especially on Fridays, which, according to Rebecca, come after Thursdays (even though we all know that Thursday is actually in between Monday and Brednesday).
Shelby’s pre-cal class was about five feet from where we were standing, so the walk to her class was not a long one.
“Thanks for walking me all the way to my faraway class,” she said.
Loser, I thought to myself. What were you thinking? “Hey, Shelby, want me to walk you to your class that’s only a Verne Troyer and a half away from where we’re standing right now?”
“Look, what I was going to ask you earlier is if—”
“’Sup, Shelby,” Todd’s voice boomed, interrupting her. He put his meaty arm around her waist, and she immediately slinked away. He looked at me. “’Sup, Queer.”
I gulped so intensely I knew she could hear it. Stupid Adam’s apple.
“Hhhheh,” I croaked. That was loser for “hi”.
“Hi, Cavan,” she said. “I—”
“Shelby! What happened to your nose?” Emilio asked.
“Cavan punched her,” Andy said, French fries dropping out of his mouth.
After fourth period, I met up with Andy and we walked to lunch.
“Andy!” Christie screeched from down the hall. Andy cringed.
See, Christie was this annoying cheerleader who’d had a crush on Andy since, like, fourth grade. She was part of the Rice Kristies, a horrible pun and a group of three girls named “Kristie”—Christie, Kristie, and Criystee, the last of whom had parents who apparently never learned how to spell. All three members of the Rice Kristies (God, it pains me to even say those words) were cheerleaders, but Christie was the only brunette and, frankly, the only unattractive one. Kristie was dumb but hot, and Criystee defied her parents’ legacy by grasping the concept of phonetics. She was also cute and ranked number two in our class. Then there was Christie, who was both marginally ugly and painfully stupid, and boy did she love Andy.
“Bye, Sweetie!” my mom cried over my sister’s Miley Cyrus music as I stepped out of her car. Then she drove away to drop my sister off at her school.
“How does someone even get knocked out twice in one day?” I heard Andy ask. Everything was black. I couldn’t see.
“I can’t see!” I wailed.
“Open your eyes, dumbass,” Andy said.
This is the part where I got a concussion. If Shelby didn’t think I was a total freak already, this definitely sealed the deal.
After a car ride engulfed in awkwardness, we pulled into St. Bartholomew’s Hospital of Beaver Falls, PA.
When Shelby had asked if we could listen to some music, I’d attempted the whole cliché as-she-reaches-for-the-radio-my-hand-will-brush-hers thing. Unfortunately, when we both reached for the radio, I stopped paying attention to the road and swerved into oncoming traffic.
Blasting car horns on all sides sounded as a sky blue Mercedes barely missed us. My tires screeched as I swerved us back into the right lane. Shelby looked like a scared rabbit, wide eyes and flared nostrils. When I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, I looked like an even more scared rabbit.
“Whoops,” I said, trying to play if off like it was nothing, but I felt like she could hear me sweating.
She shot me a terrified glance, then turned on the radio.
“Trying to be my best, when I fall, it’s a mess!” screeched through my shoddy speakers.
There was blood everywhere, and tears in her eyes.
God, that sounds like the chorus to a Hawthorne Heights song.
I didn’t mean to punch Shelby Waters in the face. I didn’t mean to break her nose. I didn’t even know I could break noses. I couldn’t even snap a pencil in two, which was pretty embarrassing when I tried in front of my sister, then the next day she told her whole second grade class.
Maybe I should back up.
I’ve been balls-to-the-wall in love with Shelby Waters for two years, ever since she transferred to my high school and lent me a pencil during sophomore year English. She smiled at me, and that was it. It was all over. I’ve never been able to look at another girl. I think I still have it. The pencil, I mean. It’s pink. Don’t tell her, though, ‘cause I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker. I’m not a stalker. I mean, I stare at her a lot, but I don’t wait outside her house in the rain dressed like the Unabomber.
Why do we have to continue to suffer with acne, even when we’re out of high school? I have a monstrous red bump on my chin that will not go away, no matter how hard I try to get rid of it.
At 0300 hours, I launched Toothpaste Warfare on the enemy force occupying my chin. After sleeping on it, I found that the toothpaste mission had failed. There were no survivors. Except the pimple. Which I didn’t want to survive. Okay. I think I’ve made my point.
I then turned to commercialism to solve my blemish woes. I watched a couple of commercials to see which act of false advertising impressed me the most. All I got out of it were these two messages:
Proactiv: “Oh em gee, I’m a celebrity! I have a teeny tiny pimple on my face but it’s sooooo bothersome! So I use Proactiv to get rid of it! Exclamation point!”
Neutrogena: Appears to be only for teen girls. I’m no longer a teen, and I’m a tad too old to be part of the High School Musical generation, so I wasn’t really feeling the airbrushed-Vanessa Hudgens thing. Vanessa Hudgens does nothing more than make me want to move to a secluded cave and forget modern pop culture. She can’t sell me acne face goop.
Both commercials use celebrities to help pitch their products. Neither convinced me to buy their products.
Back to World War Toothpaste, then.
I feel bad for these guys’ kids.
One time, I was carrying a little overnight bag of mine that I’d accidentally left unzipped. My toothbrush holder, which looks like this, fell out and landed in front of my mom. “Ohhhh, I know what that is…” she said. I was very confused until it dawned on me that my mom thought my toothbrush holder was a dildo. I don’t profess to be a connoisseur of dildos, but c’mon, really? Toothbrush holders are being mistaken for masturbation tools?
With the slew of horrendous summer movies finally coming to a close, we can all breathe easier and willingly walk into movie theaters again. But do you even need to go to the theater to get action-packed, thrilling, romantic, glorious cinematic content? No ma’amsir, you do not. Go to Blockbuster and rent everything on my newest list: movies that are often overlooked despite their poignant and outstanding cinematic content:
1. White Chicks: Two down-and-out FBI CSI CIA NYPD black men have to protect two young, spoiled, blonde white women. After inevitably getting into a steamy affair with the girls, the men ponder life, love, and discover religion. Through their physical intimacy, they lead the girls on an emotional journey and teach them how to appreciate the little things in life, like sex. Since one of the men is married, and has discovered religion (what religion? All the religions!) since consummating his affair, he feels deeply guilty for betraying his wife and begins a long trek home, disguised as the white woman he plowed. This is obviously because he feels the need to literally show the world what he’s done, and the easiest way to do that is by cross-dressing and cross-ethnicitying. His fellow law enforcement black friend joins him on his journey, also disguised as the woman he slept with, to repent with him for betraying his own wife, who doesn’t exist, since he’s not married. This movie is a journey of journeys, about journey, with the entire soundtrack consisting of Journey.
Last Saturday was my brother’s high school homecoming, which made me a bit nostalgic, so I helped pick out things to put on his date’s mum… but I didn’t know what I had contributed to. The finished product was terrifyingly huge. Cute, but huge.
My brother’s date’s mum looked like it weighed more than she did. Since they’re juniors, it was a triple mum, because apparently nowadays it’s improper to give a single mum to anyone other than a freshman. That means every year, your mum cost goes up! Yay!
On top of lights, whistles, glitter, and teddy bears, this year, the hot new mum accessory was speakers. I’m being completely serious. There was a mum with an auxiliary input so people could plug in their iPods. What’s the point of that? You can’t play music during class, and I imagine wearing speakers around on your boobs would get pretty heavy. (more…)