I Carried a Watermelon

I was hanging out on my deck tonight, chilling out after having spent 8 hours taking my last practice MCAT before the real thing next weekend.

It wasn't a planned chill-out session - but then again the spontaneous bursts of relaxation (how do you like that juxtaposition?) are always the best kind. A few of us were sitting around chatting about the meaning of Easter and Christ and how I'm probably going to burn in Hell a woman we know who went from being a shy, smart, Marines-bound woman with great potential to a purple fedora-wearing dyke pimp daddy overnight. (No, Anne... not you. You would never cut your hair that short.)

Apparently, this 20-something woman (oh, let's say we call her Emily) has been seen strutting around the local bars with an giddy entourage drooling and swooning at her feet for several years now -- well past the allotted time in one's life when you're allowed to think you're cool.

It reminded me of when I had an entourage like that ... it consisted of 2 dopey labrador retrievers and 3 cats, who shared living space with me at my parents' house.

I have to admit, I was never as cool as I thought I was when I was in my 20s. Then again, I've been married since I was 21 -- so what do I know about being cool? Or single? (I was robbed of my youth ... which probably spared many a heart from being broken. Ahem.)

I can vaguely remember being single. I remember doing the bar thing... slithering out of the house at 11pm (much to the disgust of my parents) to meet my college friends at Dunkin Donuts, and then heading on over to the local shithole-steakhouse-by-day-lesbian-bar-by-night where I spent thousands of dollars on cheap beer and cheap thrills and lost my innocence.

I remember the bad haircuts -- the shaved sideburns, the mullets, the permed hair (back only!). I remember the cheesy wardrobe - Capezios, tapered pants, tuxedo jackets.

Oh yes. I was a horror to behold.

Of course, now I only wear jeans, t-shirts, Hawaiian shirts, and cargo shorts. So, I'm still a horror, but I'm married and can no longer give a shit.

So, we were sitting around the fire chatting about how Emily was still out strutting her shit, like Rico Suave, around the bar. Apparently, not doing much more with her life other than making little girls swoon.

I recalled how I made the girls swoon once. I think I was wearing entirely too much cologne. Or was it aftershave? And that got me to thinking about what a friggin geek I really was.

I was so shy around women when I was 20. Now, of course, I'll say anything to anyone (no, not just under the influence of alcohol) because, hey, what have I got to lose?

One exceptionally memorable instance of baby lesbian awkwardness stands out in my mind, and I feel compelled to share it with you all -- like some sort of cathartic release. I was being introduced for the first time to a woman who I had the biggest crush on for about a year. Fucking loser that I was, I used to just stare at her and drool across the bar and occassionally make my friend Gail, who was the bar DJ, dedicate songs to her anonymously. (Hey! I was 20! I was lucky I was able to get into the bar! At least I wasn't stalking her...) This went on for months.

Finally, my best friend at the time had had enough of my whining and pining. She ground her cigarette (and mine) into an ashtray and groaned, "Enough of this shit! Let's go."

She grabbed me by the hand and proceeded to drag me across the bar. Before I could utter a single protest or beg off to the bathroom for a quick freshening up (oh yes, back then I was still wearing make-up), she had us within 2 feet of her. My head started spinning, and I stared to break out into a cold sweat. I remember hearing from Cheryls' mouth, "Hi, I'm Cheryl. This is Laura." And then, the worst thing ever happened. Cheryl walked away and left me to fend for myself.

Knees shaking, palms all sweaty, I had no fucking clue what to do next.

"Er. Um. Uh. Er. Um."

Laurie, looking decidely unamused and put off, finally rolled her eyes asked me what I did for a living.

"I'm a college student, studying marine biology at UConn." Yep. That would have been a perfectly acceptable answer. But, of course, it was not the one that came out of my mouth.

No.

What uttered forth from my very uncool and Sahara-dry lips was, "I train dolphins."

"You what? You train dolphins. How ... interesting."

And she walked away. She was probably ready to burst out laughing, but was kind enough to not do it in my face.

"You fucking train dolphins?" was all Cheryl could say to me when I walked sullenly back across the bar. "Jesus. That's the best you could do?"

Sigh. "Yep."

"God damn it. You know, you sounded like Jennifer Grey in 'Dirty Dancing' when she said to Patrick Swayze 'I carried a watermelon.'"

"Oh. I feel sooo much better. Thanks."

Sigh.

When I think about the person I am now, I can't recall when I made the switch from being a nervous geek to cocky, arrogant pain in the ass (I call it the "Anne Factor"), but I think it had something to do with the fact that my wife's waaaaayyy beyond me as far as being a geek is concerned.

She's an engineer. Pocket protector and all. And she's very cute. Oh sure, I admit I have a thing for brainy, geeky women.

But only because they make me look sooo good.

:)

Posted by LA at April 19, 2003 10:28 PM | TrackBack