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Friday, March 28th, 2003
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12:45p - all monkeys are french
i'ma tell a fairly inappropriate story right now, a tale spawned by my running into one mister noah [last name withheld] (the first boy i ever kissed-both times, pre-school and the fifth grade) on the streets of downtown seattle last night. he's in the mba program at the uw, works for some consulting firm downtown. noah was one of those golden boys of the academy-you know who i'm talking about, good-looking, wealthy, star athlete, national merit scholar and yet still mild-mannered and charming. we called him #5 because that was his jersey number in all the sports he played: football, basketball and soccer. everybody loved this guy, especially my friend denise. she loved him. went to all of his football games. took all the same classes as him. hung on his every word. wore clothing/accessories with a "5" on them. we're talking obsession, kids. any question you asked her that ought to have a number as an answer, she'd say five, i swear to god. how many pancakes do you want? five. what time're you getting picked up? five. hey denise, what bus'd you take today? the five. without fail. so anyway. luckily for denise, #5 eventually asked her out and they dated for like a year…and five months, i'm sure.
so the story goes like this: winter break, my junior year. my then-boyfriend (this is back when i believed in boyfriends) was having a thing at his house and sometime early morning…i dunno, five…noah stumbles into the sunroom where i, my then-boyfriend, jael, scooter and avi are playing with a ouija board. he pulls my then-boyfriend aside and motions to me and we follow him out onto the deck. he looks googly-eyed and sweaty and he's holding a crumpled-up tee-shirt in his hands. i think, dude, what is he on? he shakes his head and says, "man, i am so sorry about your bed-i am so sorry." after like five minutes of apologies, it finally comes out: he and denise sealed the deal in my then-boyfriend's bed. and it was her first time. ahh, gross! noah unfurls the tee-shirt and it is soaked with blood, up like five inches from the bottom. my then-boyfriend freaks out: "jesus christ! how many virgins did you have sex with tonight?" i couldn't help myself…i said "five." noah shoots me the dirtiest look ever and i smirk. "dude, i'd better go and check on her, i mean, she lost a lot of blood. how many kilos do you think that was? five?" i swear, i almost got a beating. or five.
yeah, maybe that was only funny to me. but regardless, i ran into a guy i haven't seen in years and the only thing i could really remember about him was that from that point on, no one called him #5. they called him the de-virginator, and i kept thinking that as i was looking at him all spiffy in a button-down and pin-stripes and i'm sure he was looking at me in my worky mcwork clothes and remembering something un-flattering about me in high school. let's hope it wasn't that ill-advised strapless prom dress.
"mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in...next to soccer"
current mood: nostalgic
current music: doves
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