After my brief brush with hormonal insanity caused by Yaya*, like a junkie I oddly wanted more.
Freshman year circa 1993. I was more excited then ever to see what male prospects there might be for me other than the same fucktarded bunch I knew since K-8th.
Sis had already graduated with one of those lame gold cords they give to students who got straight A's their entire 4 years of HS. A cord I would rather use as a belt to accessorize then display as an achievement - Gross! The very thought of having to pay attention to anything other than what the teachers were wearing made me fantasize about making that cord into a noose to hang myself with.
Being more of an Artist than an actual student proved me more along the lines of a B+ average at best. I would have probably been a straight C student had my parental units not threatened me with that damn bible in the tower and spaghetti thing again. Bringing home anything less than a B was unacceptable (to my father especially).
I remember once getting a C in P.E. - Dad almost had a heart attack "NO DAUGHTER OF MINE GET'S A C IN P.E.! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
I really didn't know what was wrong with me, other than the thought of running around a dirt track in red hotpants and showering in jail stalls with my fellow naked classmates wasn't my idea of an "A" worthy experience.
Mrs. Assbanks, our very own P.E. personal Hitler, secretly hated me because I would always run one lap and then walk the rest. I wouldn't even walk fast - She would stand there with her stop watch as I'd finish my last lap along side the only obese girl in school who literally couldn't run. "35 MINTUES!" she would yell at me every time and shake her head.
I didn't want to my already abnormally pink piglet skin turning lobster red for the next class. Other students might worry I'd suffer a stroke between English and Math.
Freshman year - 1993. I shopped for weeks before school just to have the right outfits. Back then flowered skirts and baby doll dresses were in, along with the grunge look. I was more of a Barrymore than a Love girl. I remember seeing Mad Love and going out to a bunch of 2nd hand stores looking for vintage slips and butterfly dresses with Doc Martins.
You would think a Bosco** girl would be far from shy about meeting new boys at school. If anyone had seen any of the homemade videos I made that summer; including the commercial I taped of myself screaming the lyrics to:
"COMET ... IT MAKES YOU'RE MOUTH TURN GREEEEEEEEEEN. COMET, IT TASTES LIKE GAS-O-LEAN!!! COMET, IT MAKES YOU VOMIT ... SO BUY YOUR COMET ... AND VOMIT .... TOOOOOOO DAAAAAY!" they'd certainly run for the hills - but for some reason, this year I was abnormally quiet and shy.
Virgin territory ... Quiet and Shy? Anyone who knows me now would fall over in their chair laughing at the thought. But yes, all the older boys and their budding facial hair and keys jingling in their pockets mesmerized me to no end.
I was hoping to have some upperclassmen in my elective classes that year. I made sure Art was the first elective scratched with my No.2 pencil in that tiny little bubble on our elective sheets. That was where I met Wahwah.
Wahwah was an odd one alright. Standing just under 6ft sporting a Pompadour, black trench coat, and steel toed boots I never quite understood his style? Was he going for the urban cowboy look, or was he about to knock off a convenient store? Whatever the case I caught his gaze on my way to Art class and we immediately locked eyes.
Wahwah: "Haaa hah hi"
Dutchess: "Hello"
Wahwah: "Where are ya yah yoou going beautiful?"
Dutchess: "To Art class, but I think I'm lost" (I wasn't really, but to have the chance at speaking ten more mississippis to this dollfaced oddball really appealed to me)
Wahwah: "Oooh wa wah welll let me take yu yah you there. I ha hah have art too."
Ok - so by now I'm sure you've noticed that Wahwah not only dressed unique, but also had a quirky speech impediment too. I immediately wanted to squeeze him and fell in la lah loove (a little stutter humor)
Wahwah walked me into Mr.Sexkins Art class. Mr. Sexkins resembled a former 70's porn star that decided to come down from the benders and teach an art class. He had tanned skin, bright crystal blue eyes, and long brown feathered hair that would make even Farrah Fawcett green with envy. I knew I'd love this class!
I closely watched Wahwah, how he sat in the back with his other art weirdo buddies and they were all whispering amongst themselves. Secretly wishing I was the subject of their jawing, I sat back and watched Sexkins write his name on the chalkboard and turn around to the class with his yard stick . . .
SLAMMMMMM!
Sexkins slammed his yardstick down on the table. "Now that I have your attention, here are the rules."
"You can talk as long as it doesn't interfere with your neighbor's artwork. I don't tolerate any monkey business, and anyone who doesn't like it can leave this class. I'm passing out the next 5 Art assignments, feel free to start on them in any order you choose. You are welcome to bring in music to listen to, but I will be monitoring the volume and so on."
I liked how authoritative Sexkins was when he spoke. I imagined him to be that way with his dates too.
"I really like you; but I don't tolerate any monkey business, and if you don't like the way my locks blow in the wind you can leave this date!"
Wahwah came over and asked if he could sa sah sit with me. I. of course acquiesced, my stomach teaming with papilios^
He sat down next to me and I noticed his dark forest green JanSport that looked like it had been through the vietnam war. I also noticed he had scribbled many little cartoons and sayings on the bottom leather half. One immediately caught my attention. It said "Bung Hole" - and I digress ... at that point in my sheltered biblical swaddled life I had no clue what that meant, but I was determined not only to find out; but to make Wahwah my new love interest.
Wahwah pulled out a cassette tape from the small zipper compartment of his JanSport and started walking up to the little paint spattered ghettoblaster to put it in. I noticed on the front of it he had written in all caps:
THE SMITHS / MORRISSEY at that point I didn't know who that band/person was but I wanted to find out instantaneously.
As the first few bars of 'Shoplifters of the World' played I dreamed of what our wedding day would be like. Wahwah riding down the isle in black leather chaps, glistening gold belt buckle, and trench. Me with my victorian veil and white leather miniskirt and CFM* shoes. My mother would have cried - but not from Joy
Wahwah soon struck up a conversation with me about where I was from, what other classes I was taking, and then let me know casually that if I needed anything he would make it his business to help. I loved how attentive and interested he was. Being so virginal I didn't realize that Wahwah was less interested in my dress so much as he was seeing it on his bedroom floor.
I was so naive, but at that point it really served me well.
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*Yaya = My first boyfriend. See blogs: "Yaya Part Un", "Do", and "Done"
**Bosco = My Sicilian last name
^Papilios = latin word for butterfly
*CFM = Come Fuck Me
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