Monthly Archives: May 2016
I jumped out of bed with childish anticipation. Today was the day – the day I would finally become middle school royalty. Today, I was to become POPULAR. Invincible. Seen for the awesomeness I had always been, yet few seldom noticed.
My sacrificial blowjob was about to launch me to a level of existence I’d only ever fantasized about. Hell, I would’ve murdered a goat if it meant popularity. A BJ was nothing!
I threw on my backpack and faced the freezing-ass Sparks morning air. I lit up a smoke, extra careful not to ignite my extremely flammable hair. For about half the year we smokers-who-didn’t-know-how-to-inhale-yet paranoically checked our cherries to see if we were actually still lit, as the cold ass air already made our breath alone look like smoke.
The Reno/Sparks winter made everyone a smoker – kids, your grandma, my dog. All smokers.
I stomped out my smoke and entered the grounds of Sparks Middle. As I got closer, Dana and Jan came into focus. They were looking in a brown paper bag and laughing hysterically. Sandy was standing awkwardly by them.
Once I reached the concrete stoop covered in bird shit, Jan and Dana started singing one of my favorite Depeche Mode songs, Somebody. Only they’d rewritten the lyrics. And memorized them.
But when I’m asleep/I want Bones Brighton/To put his legs around me/And fuck me tenderly
Then they bequeathed me their offering – a brown paper bag. Sandy shook her head and stared at her feet.
“Look inside! Look inside!” my lead bully and (now newest) frenemy pleaded.
If I had a do over, I would’ve thrown the bag in their ugly faces and walked off with drag queen confidence. I simply gave them more power by looking in the bag.
But I looked. Oh, I looked.
My first thought was simple; paint and bananas don’t mix.
This small fact didn’t stop these two assholes from taking the time to smother a perfectly innocent banana with bright blue paint, place said banana in a brown lunch bag, and gift it to me the morning after I gave Bones a blowjob.
In hindsight, they should’ve painted two oranges blue rather than one banana, but I don’t think they understood the notion of blue balls yet either.
The baffling thing was not their cruelty and betrayal, as I’d grown accustomed to that, but that none of them were even at Misty’s house the night before and the dirty oral deed happened at approximately 9pm.
This means they had to:
- Learn news of blowjob before the existence of cell phones and the internet.
- Attain banana.
- Attain blue paint.
- Attain brown paper sack.
- Rewrite song and rehearse.
- Paint banana and allow ample drying time.
- Place banana in brown paper sack.
All of these events had to take place after 9pm on a school night, which took quite a bit of planning and effort. The level of sacrifice that these two evil girls endured to properly and efficiently humiliate my efforts of social evolution before the first bell rang was nothing short of impressive.
I expected this shit from Dana, since she was the underdeveloped spawn of Satan, but this was the first time Jan showed her true colors. That’s what made my blood drain down to the bottom of my feet and fight a sudden urge to ugly girl cry. I mean, I’d slept over at her house and our common love of Depeche Mode was cementing our friendship.
Or so I thought.
Now she was just another one of them. Another frenemy bully. I thought I’d seen the last of those. I thought I was starting over in the 8th grade. The problem was that I was still at Sparks Middle.
The only thing worse than fucking your way to the top is failing at fucking your way to the top. I ended up not only a slut, but a slut who wasn’t very good at being a slut.
Sandy grabbed my arm and we walked into the school. She had nothing to do with it and she thought it was awesome that I gave Bones a hummer – even if it sucked.
I made two very important life decisions on this day.
- I would get really, really good at blowjobs and sex before I ever attempted it again. I would have to study. It would take sacrifice, but I could do it. To be a true badass, you had to rule in bed.
- I was going to rule at school this year. If I got above a 3.0, I could get a variance to ANY high school in Washoe County and never see any of these dicks again.
And here’s the take away: if you want your kids to get good grades, suggest they attempt oral sex with a fellow schoolmate. Worked for me!
I didn’t enter 8th grade with a triumphant tan, but I did relish in the glorious fact that I was no longer a 7th grader. This automatically made me 100% cooler than 50% of the school.
Sandy and I also made a new friend, Jan, who introduced us to what became my new favorite band, Depeche Mode.
She also introduced us to Misty.
Misty had scabies and practiced witchcraft. She seemed to be on the fast track to demise just like me.
I smelled her coming toward our cafeteria table before I saw her. The smell of French fries never mixed well with Misty’s special blend of greasy hair and anti-itch cream.
She plopped herself down beside Sandy, Jan, Marie and me.
“I’m having a séance tonight at six.”
Since her parents got divorced, we were used to Misty acting out.
“I can’t. I have too much homework.”
“That’s too bad. Bones was hoping you’d come.”
Now she really was practicing witchcraft. Bones was the second finest skater boy out of the four most popular skater boys at Sparks Middle.
I had the hugest crush ever on Scooter, the finest skater boy, who was shy and looked like Nick Rhodes. His Sun-In’ed orange bangs covered the left side of his face and contrasted beautifully against the rest of his dark brown hair. When he got nervous, he would chew on his bangs – just like I did!
I was deeply in love with Scooter, so it was even more mortifying when Ty, Bones, and Chad grabbed my boobs everyday in English class and called me “egghead.”
Scooter never picked on me; he wasn’t an asshole like his three best friends.
“Homework can wait.”
I immediately devised a plan. Outside of the fluorescent lights of school, Bones would see me as the cool badass chick I really was and then he’d go back and tell his posse not to pick on me anymore because I was cool.
Then he’d invite me to skate jams and Scooter and I would finally start dating. Sandy and I would become the coolest skater chicks at school. I was willing to go to any lengths for this new life.
I got to Misty’s a little late to give the illusion of radness. Bones, Misty, and two bitches from school were sitting on the kitchen floor playing with a Ouija board. The first sign this was bullshit was that they were using a frozen bagel as a planchette.
I found a place on the floor next to Bones and watched the game. By now, Misty had contacted some demon on the other side because she started rolling her eyes and talking in a lame-ass Satan voice.
Misty then flipped the board upside down and convulsed on the floor for a few minutes, rolling her eyes back in her head and speaking in both non-demon and demon voices. It seemed she was exorcising herself or something.
Then she bounced up on her feet and pretended like she had no idea what just happened. This was typical Misty – drama central. Her need for attention was a black hole that consumed everything in its path.
“Hot tub time!” she exclaimed.
We all stripped down to bras and underwear and hopped in the tub. Since I was a cool chick and no one else seemed weirded out in the slightest, I suddenly had no problem getting half naked with strangers, I told myself over and over and over.
Bones moved close to me and put his hand on my thigh under the water. While not in my initial plan, I realized that this was probably even better. Bones was the second hottest skater boy; I could settle for him instead of Scooter, sure. Sometimes it took sacrifices to be popular.
The two bitches were deep in conversation, while Bones and I secretly fondled each other, which left Misty the odd demon out. The worst thing anyone could do to Misty was ignore her, so she did what any insane itchy witch would do – she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a huge knife.
She appeared in the doorway wielding the knife and talking in fake demon talk. I’d spent a large portion of my childhood around crazy knife-wielding people, so I didn’t even budge. Bones and I continued fondling each other.
The two bitches screamed and ran into the house as Misty stood in the tub threatening to murder everyone because “Satan needed blood.” Misty chased the bitches into the house, knife raised high above her head.
Now Bones and I were alone. He leaned over and kissed me. We totally started making out. He grabbed my boob with one hand and rubbed my underwear with the other. I was so excited! I could totally lose my virginity to Bones Brighton tonight!
The sounds of screaming and breaking glass were the soundtrack for our love session. Bones looked deep into my eyes.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered.
We jumped out of the hot tub and ran past Misty who was now alone in the kitchen speaking in tongues. The two bitches were nowhere in sight.
Bones closed the door. It was dark. His skin smelled like hot tub water. We made out and fondled each other. Bones looked deep into my eyes again.
“Suck my dick.”
If there was ever a defining moment of the evening where all momentum and optimism was killed, this was it. I got on my knees and put his bonor in my mouth, but I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Instead of getting harder, his penis became flaccid. I kept sucking and licking and even blowing, yes, actually blowing, on his member to no avail. Then he let out a little yelp.
“Don’t use your teeth.”
You know it’s the sign of a bad blowjob when you’re directed not to use your teeth. Perhaps I was chewing on it? I’ll never know. About 10 more excruciating minutes of sucking on his chlorine noodle went by when he finally gave up. He put his clothes back on and left without a word.
While I knew it was a disappointing attempt at oral sex, I tried to hold onto the notion that at least Bones would brag about getting head and that I’d earn the reputation of a slut. Being a slut with a popular skater boy could still earn me MAJOR cool points.
Tune in next week to see if Courtney became the most popular slut in school!
The summer between 7th and 8th grade was my best summer yet. Sandy and I were inseparable, when we weren’t scoring beer from skeezy 21-year-olds, we were hunting for boys. It was a haze of beer, pot, boys, generic cigarettes and Days.
Sandy’s big sister was a super tan high school Cheerleader and therefore the coolest person I’d ever met. I mean, Rah-Rah wore a toe ring, had bleached blonde hair, and went through boyfriends faster than Marty McFly’s DeLorean ripped through dimensions. She sported cool accessories like a huge personalized bottle-opener keychain and a pullout car stereo. The only time she ever spoke to me was when she ran out of smokes, which was why I totally spazzed out when she invited Sandy and me to the Lake with her.
It was the middle of August the summer between seventh and eighth grade. It was going to be one of the hottest days that summer and Rah-Rah only had two more weeks to work on her tan before school started again. She had the day off and since all of her friends were either working, smoking Meth, or fucking someone that day, Sandy and I lying around the house chain-smoking were two easy hostages.
As tan as Rah-Rah was, her little sister Sandy was equally white. I had olive skin because Bio Dad said that once and so I believed it to be true. In reality, I was fairly white as well, but not quite as white as Sandy.
She tossed Sandy, me, and a cooler full of beer into the back of her Chevy Citation and pushed her car stereo into its hole. The radar detector on the dash lit up and beeped. Just when it couldn’t get any better, the brand new tape “Look What the Cat Dragged In” came on full-blast.
I totally loved Poison. I saw their album cover for the first time at Wherehouse Tapes & Records when my mom pointed it out.
“I didn’t know The Bangles had a new album out!”
“Mom, those are boys.”
She picked up the album and held it out to look at it closer. For some reason, the older my mom got, the farther away she had to look at things to see them up close. It took me almost five minutes to prove to her that the four guys in Poison were not, indeed, The Bangles.
Sandy started to whine about having to sit in the backseat.
“I get carsick. Come on.”
And so on and so forth the sibling issues went on. I didn’t care. I was in heaven in the backseat, thoughts of radness swirling through my head.
So this is what a cheerleader’s car looks like. I bet she’s had sex back here. With boys. High school boys.
Maybe someone would see me on my way to the Lake with a high school cheerleader. I was tempted to sniff the cloth seats, but adjusted my fake Ray Bans instead.
Sandy started to turn green.
Three tape flips, four rewound extra plays of Talk Dirty to Me, and two Sandy puke stops later, the little Chevy sporting a FORD = FOUND ON ROAD DEAD bumper sticker rounded its last bend to Pyramid Lake.
At first look Pyramid Lake looked fake because it was literally in the middle of the desert and had big pyramid-shaped rock formations jutting out of it. The Lake was on a Native American Reservation and had tons of urban legend (if anyone ever considered Reno/Sparks urban) surrounding it.
My skin broke out in goose bumps with excitement, or perhaps foreboding. I was already practicing telling everyone at school about my bitchin’ summer as they all admired my deep, dark tan. I knew this was going to be the best day of my life so far.
Rah-Rah parked the car right in front of where the water started and the dirt stopped. Frequenters of the Lake called this a beach, although it resembled a real beach very little. She killed the engine, along with Brett Michael’s voice, and breathed in the atmosphere.
“There’s nowhere in the world you get a tan like at Pyramid.”
I started to understand. A tan wasn’t just a good look, it was a way-of-life, a religion. And I was about to become a card-carrying member.
Ten minutes later, the three of us were already a beer in each and sprawled out on oversized Budweiser beach towels. Our nubile bodies were slathered with Ban de Soliel Tanning Accelerator and Baby Oil. Rah-Rah told us which to put on first and why and how often to turn over. When we got too hot, we’d spritz our bodies with spray tanning enhancer and drink more beer.
She was mentoring us in the ways of the tan. These were her secrets, her traditions. Tanning was a sacred act. Unfortunately, she neglected to educate us on the importance or even the existence of a “base tan.”
Not for a moment did I think I might possibly be putting my life in danger, nor did Sandy. I truly thought I’d come home looking just like Rah-Rah and boys would immediately flock to me and I’d be instantly popular.
Three hours, all the beer, and two packs of generic cigarettes later, we piled back into the Citation and headed back to Sandy’s. I passed out the second the car started moving.
The next thing I remember is waking up and we were back. Then I did something really stupid; I tried to move. I could feel every crease in my cotton shorts and my bathing suit felt like it suddenly became three sizes too small because every strap was digging into my flesh with avengeance.
I probably looked like a gingerbread man walking up to the house, as I couldn’t bend any of my appendages without screaming in pain. It kind of felt like that time I burned the side of my neck with the curling iron, only that spot on my neck was all over every inch of my body. And somehow even on my scalp.
The second Sandy’s Mom saw us she started icing us down. That is, Sandy and I. Rah-Rah looked perfect, just even browner and prettier. I suddenly hated her.
Sandy’s mom ran an ice bath and put Sandy in first, while I lay on Sandy’s bed with frozen peas on my back. Her rare maternal reaction made us realize that we were really in bad shape. I started to cry. The hot tears stung running down my cheeks.
My bath was next. It was filled with cold water and ice cubes. I shuddered to think I could do it, but pain was an amazing motivator. Within minutes of my plunge, all the ice returned to its original liquid form. It was official; my skin had been replaced by molten lava.
Covered in aloe vera and the loosest clothing possible, Sandy and I passed out on a sheet in front of the TV just as the weatherman announced the highs of the day.
It was 102 degrees at Pyramid Lake.
By the time school started, the only proof I had left from that day was the sloughing chunks of my scalp that happened to look just like dandruff. This did not aid in my popularity.
In last week’s episode, Sandy and I went over to Tommy’s to get high. Tommy took the hugest bong rip ever and made weird noises with his face. Then he passed the bong to Sandy.
I needed to watch her do it and survive, then maybe I could do it.
Sandy took a hit, stuck out her little tongue – which she always did when she smoked – and then immediately coughed all the smoke out like a total spaz.
I felt better.
Tommy passed the bong to me.
“Try to keep it in your lungs as long as you can. The longer you hold it in, the better the high.”
OK. Wow. I was about to do drugs. I would’ve felt cool if my knees weren’t shaking so hard.
And if I wasn’t wearing yesterday’s underwear.
Tommy put his arms around me.
“I’ll light it, you put your finger on the little hole here and let go right before you feel like your gonna cough.”
He lit the bowl. I sucked. The little green bud turned red. So did my face. What felt like a fire started to grow in my lungs.
I took my finger off the little hole. A Cumulonimbus cloud of smoke went rushing into my already burning lungs and I immediately coughed like I was dying of TB.
After about the run time of Dazed and Confused from Song Remains the Same – my God seriously Jimmy Page give it a rest – I stopped coughing and it was my turn again.
I hit it again, this time a tad more cautiously since I now knew all the smoke in the chamber was going to shoot directly into my lungs once I took my finger off that evil little hole.
The bong went around a few more times and next thing I knew Sandy was gone and I was on the moon looking down at earth.
And Tommy and I were kissing.
“When did we get on the moon?”
“You’re high as a billy goat!” Tommy was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Maybe yes I am but that still doesn’t explain how we got to the moon and how will we get back and my mom’s gonna be so mad.”
This was the beginning of my obsession with my mom being mad at me when I was high. She lived in my high psyche. It was unfortunate.
It was fun and scary and thrilling all at the same time. I knew I was in Tommy’s room, but I also knew that Tommy’s room was on the moon, so it must’ve been a spaceship.
Then there was a knock at the door, which made absolutely no sense to me.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Tommy repeated over and over again as he gathered and hid his paraphernalia.
“You have to get out of here. It’s my mom.”
Uh-oh. I knew moms were bad. Even in my oblivion, I knew that much. They were the Jabba the Hut of my Moonage nightmare.
My adrenaline kicked in and increased my fear by a trillion. In Tommy’s room I was in a spaceship; out there I would be just floating in outer space. I was afraid.
Good thing I had my spacesuit on.
I exited the cabin and fell into some sort of alien shrubbery. But then I started floating, so I was cool. The whole antigravity thing was neat, but discombobulating. It was hard to know which way was up and which was down.
It was blackness for a long time. Thankfully I never hit a black hole. After floating in space for what felt like days – although time is relative in space, you know – a white metallic something appeared in the distance.
Was it a spaceship? Would I be rescued? After all, I was probably about to run out of oxygen in my spacesuit.
I floated toward the ship, but not fast enough.
Why not swim?
Brilliant idea. I did the breaststroke and got to the spaceship much quicker than just floating around. I was figuring this shit out right quick for someone without NASA training.
It was a spaceship! I was saved!
I swam to the driver’s side. There was a huge mirror object. It had a smaller mirror inside of it that made my reflection go all wall-eyed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Why would a spaceship have a mirror? Let alone two?
This was my last memory of the evening.
The next day I experienced what would be the first of many retold stories of what I did the night before. Ends up Sandy found me making swimming motions with my arms and staring in the driver’s side mirror of their RV parked in the driveway. The only words she could make out of my babble were spaceship and mom.
So we went over to Tommy’s that night and got high again.
This is part 1 of a 2 part series about the first time I smoked pot. I highly suggest listening to Pink Floyd while you read it for maximum pleasure.
Sandy and I were kickin’ it watching Days and chain-smoking when an amazing idea popped into her head.
“Let’s go over to Tommy’s and get stoned tonight!”
She did this a lot. Sandy was the kind of girl who would have to share her inner thoughts the moment an idea popped into her head or I think she may have actually exploded. Like Scanners, but not just her head. And I’m not kidding, spontaneous combustion is a very real phenomena, so it was a bad idea to silence people like Sandy… or it could’ve gotten messy real fast.
“Sure,” was my normal reply to Sandy’s ideas. There was rarely a reason to say no to one of her sudden ideas. They generally ended in hi-jinx, hilarity and sometimes handcuffs.
OK, only that one time…
“Have you done it before?” I was only drinking and smoking thus far. I was nervous at the prospect of adding drugs to my milieu.
“Yeah, Tommy got me high once, but it didn’t really do anything. He says I need to try again.”
Oh, just think of the accomplishments we would’ve made if we put our determination into, say, school.
Tommy’s eyes were always red and half-closed. It seemed like he was stoned all the time. And I’d only ever experienced one-word conversations with him.
Until this night.
Sandy and I waited until dark and sneaked into Tommy’s room. Of course, I was wearing a skirt – with a closure – so getting in the window without showing Tommy my underwear was a bit of a challenge… and then… a failure.
And I was wearing my Thursday undies on Friday.
But Tommy didn’t seem to mind – he actually smiled. It was the first time I ever saw him smile full-on, besides his permanent stoner half-smile.
Once I awkwardly gathered myself, I noticed that I was glowing. And that I had a shit-ton of lint on my navy shirt.
And Tommy’s smile was, well, green.
Sandy ate shit getting through the window, as she was about as clumsy as a puppy who hadn’t grown into her feet yet. She grinned a big yellow grin and I could count the cat hair on her leggings.
I dared not ask what was wrong with the lighting in his room, as I was quite sure it was intentional, but I now was even more scared to do drugs because I already felt like I was in an altered state.
I wish Sandy would’ve warned me that Tommy’s room was possibly the raddest place on the planet. I would’ve definitely chilled over there a helluva lot more had I known. Maybe she was scared she’d lose me to his room.
But I doubt he would’ve watched Days with me and his parents didn’t let him smoke in the house so that was a fat chance anyway.
And he never talked, but Sandy talked all the time, so those two cancelled each other out.
The walls were covered with Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden and Metallica posters. But the coolest part was that I felt like I was in Hawkeye and Trapper John’s “swamp” on a glow-in-the-dark M.A.S.H. set. He had that army green netty stuff everywhere.
I was immediately bummed I never even thought of doing that to my room.
He just had a twin mattress on the floor, but his room was so cool that it didn’t even need a waterbed with a mirrored headboard. The funny light was at the head of the bed emanating a bluish-purple beam. The bed had netting all around it and I wondered if he was scared his room was going to be suddenly invaded by big ass bumble bees or may flies.
It was now Out of Africa meets M.A.S.H.
I must admit I did feel protected from any impending infestations of overly large insects.
He put on Dark Side of the Moon. The three of us sat on his bed as he packed his large glass bong with weed. Thankfully he knew it was my first time so I didn’t have to pretend to know how to smoke out of that thing. I’m sure I would’ve found a way to burn my face off and, even worse, embarrass myself.
“This is a bong. It’s the only way to smoke. Gets you super high and it’s a really clean high.”
Shwew. I definitely wanted a clean high, whatever the hell that meant.
“I’ll take a hit to show you how it’s done.”
This was the most I’d heard Tommy speak. Ever. By like a zillion. He was really in his element. Then he ripped that bong like a true pro. I was impressed.
But it got weird real fast. He held the smoke in his lungs with fierce determination. His eyes started to water. His face got red and started to contort. And I wasn’t even high yet. This was a bad sign. What the hell had I signed up for? It was too late to back out.
Then a noise came out of his face. A noise that frightened me. A noise I would never allow to come out of my face the next, oh, 8,000 times I got high.
It sounded like he was about to sneeze and fought it, but sneezed anyway without opening his mouth ever. Or kind of like the sound Felix Unger made when he was cleaning out his sinuses.
He started to tremble. My fear intensified. I was scared he might have a seizure or something. How would I explain this sordid situation to my mom? Jesus man, exhale already!
After about the run time of all nine parts of Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Tommy finally exhaled enough smoke to fill the room, coughing all the way.
Tune in next week to find out if I inhaled! Hint: I did… I just realized that was a rhetorical question. I also am very happy that rhetorical was on my 10th grade vocabulary test because I use it quite a bit. Vermilion? Not as much.