{W}rite-Of-Passage: I Am A Moron, And I Need To Be Exterminated (Redux)

I am participating in Mrs. Flinger’s Writing Well Challenge, {W}rite-of-Passage. I just learned about it, approximately 30 minutes before the end of the day on which the first post is due. Luckily! I come very easily by “most embarrassing stories.”

I’m probably cheating by posting something old, but I only just learned about this challenge, and I want very much to learn to write well, so I hate to miss the first week.

I may be a cheatypants this week, but I promise new content going forward. If you can believe a cheatypants.

Following is a July 21, 2009 post REDUX: “I Am A Moron, And I Need To Be Exterminated.”

***

So. I participate in my fair share of dumbassedry, but in the past few days, I’ve outdone myself.

It started with a facebook status update from one of my oldest and dearest friends, who, in the interest of protecting his association with a moron like me, I’ll call Clark.

So, Sunday night, Clark, a little drunk and watching Sex and the City, posted to facebook:

“I’ve been dating since I was 15. I’m exhausted; where is he?”

Several background items of note. First, I’ve known Clark since we were 11. So, 22 whole years! (Two whole thirds of my life!) He’s single, and he’s gay — and quite a cutie pie too, I might add, for those of you single, gay men who happen to live in or near Austin, Texas and who might be good enough for one of my dearest friends… I will accept digits at aliciaDbeth (at) gmail (dot) com. (And to Clark: YOU. ARE. WELCOME.)

There were quite a few responses by the time I saw what he’d posted Sunday night. And I, in my infinite wisdom *SNORT*, decided to join the conversation by contributing a bit of my own humor, which, in general, is characterized by the interjection of unexpected references to obscure experiences that I and the listener share.

Because, again, I’m a self-serving, dumbass moron.

Anyway, to this end, I commented,

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think feeling up Jenny McIntyre (not her real name) in Ms. Benton’s history class counts as ‘dating.’”

(True story.)

Oh. And then I added,

“Heh heh. Boobies.”

Because, if there were just one word to describe how I roll, no doubt that word would be “CLASSY.”

At the time, it seemed like a fantastic joke. I knew that most of Clark’s friends didn’t know him 22 years ago and didn’t know Jenny McIntyre *at all*. I knew they probably weren’t aware that he’d felt up *any* girl, much less one in Ms. Benton’s 7th-grade Texas history class. So. That would be fun for them.

And for the handful of facebook friends Clark and I share, OH HO HO, the comic return would be golden! GOL. DEN.

Of course, my little gem was made all the more brilliant because Clark and Jenny, while quite the heterosexually precocious adolescent pair, were now both SO GAY.

Clark and I and others had suspected as much of Jenny, but we’d lost touch with her decades ago. When I’d moved back to Austin in 2008 and lived with Clark for a few months before I got a permanent place, Clark and I had looked Jenny up on myspace and found her sweet face smiling in a bunch of great travel pictures with her girlfriend. We’d probably both gotten a little teary-eyed before high-fiving each other and saying, “Aw. Our little Jenny finally found her true self.” And then I probably commented on how weird it was that he’d gotten so freaky so early in life with *A GIRL*, and then he’d probably said, “Ew,” and we’d called it a night.

So, anyway, I dropped this little bit of brilliance into the ether, patted myself on the back (because I’m so damn witty, I can hardly stand myself), and moved on.

Until. I checked my email the next evening and was smacked in the chest with a message from facebook: “Jenny McIntyre has also commented on Clark’s status.”

Um. FUCK?

Apparently, much to my dismay and ignorance, in the year that had elapsed since Clark and I sat on his couch getting teary about Jenny McIntyre’s sexual orientation, she had found him on facebook and friended him without my knowledge. (That she did not friend me is neither here nor there. Bitch. (heh))

So, included in the 111 (ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN!) people to whom I had douchebaggedly announced Clark’s early sexual proclivities — and used Jenny McIntyre’s name as a prop — was Jenny herself.

Fuck yeah.

Because? I. AM. AWESOME.

Take a moment to process this. You are Jenny McIntyre (not your real name). When you were a bit of a sexually (and biologically, if we’re being honest here) advanced middle schooler, you regularly engaged in feel-copping with a boy. And sometimes, this feel-copping occurred in public venues such as, say, your 7th-grade Texas history classroom. Whatever. You’ve since recovered and now live a quiet, happy life with your girlfriend, with whom you travel the United States. When you run into an old friend on facebook, a friend who just happens to be the feel-copping boy, you do not hesitate to add him as a friend. And, you are happy to confirm, as you always suspected, that HE’S GAY TOO! You smile.

Some time later, a girl with whom you last had contact when she spent the night at your house in middle school and played ZELDA (also a true story… 22 years, people!), someone whose name you have to strain to even REMEMBER, posts a message to ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN people you DO NOT KNOW announcing that you got felt up in 7th-grade history. And by a boy, no less.

Can you imagine? If I were her, I’m pretty sure I would have found the whole experience WAY too surreal for comfort.

And really, her response was pretty innocuous:

“Yeah, Alicia…and now we’re both gay…obviously a great experience for the both of us!! ;o) Hee hee…..”

But by the time I saw that she’d commented, her picture was gone, and her profile was unclickable. She’d also posted a second response, and that had been deleted as well. I’m pretty sure she removed her facebook page completely.

Of course, I would have done the same thing if some sociopathic stalker 20 years in my past had posted something like that about me on a public forum. I mean, damn.

Anyway, after I pulled my head out of my ass and picked my jaw up off the floor, I sent the following message to Clark:

“do you know HOW MUCH SHIT i SHIT IN MY PANTS when i saw in my inbox that jenny mcintyre had commented on your status too? oh my fucking god. i should have probably checked to see if she was your friend before i made a joke like that. hello. i’m a fucking dumbass whore.

but s’rously, i didn’t even know she was on facebook. remember when we lived together and looked her up on myspace and got all teary that she’d finally found her true self?

but again, i’m a fucking dumbass bitch. seriously. i’m sweating now. my heart dropped into my feet.

Of course, sending this message did not provide the instant absolution I desired (and, clearly, this is all about me), so I chased that with a text:

“O. M. G. When i made that retarded comment on fb, i was banking on most of your friends not knowing jenny m and it just being a funny haha for our mutual friends. I was NOT thinking jenny! mcfuckingmcintyre! [her name really DOES have the "Mc" component] was one of your FRIENDS!!! Im a fucking idiot douchebag, and i need to be exterminated.”

To which Clark responded,

“…I doubt she took offense. I didn’t really think about it either… It’s like we’re in junior high again! Way to go. Now she knows i told you i touched her tatas!”

And then he called, and we laughed and laughed. So, all’s well. Between us at least.

I’m not so sure about Jenny McIntyre. Or me.