I had sex with the Prom Queen
Since nothing ever happens to me anymore I've decided to talk about things that used to happen to me as a way of having blog fodder. My goal (don't take it too seriously folks) is to post one entry per day, excluding weekends. I'd also like to edit my posts a bit more carefully than I did with my last blog, so I don't seem so idiotic and careless. I suppose there is some weirdness associated with the fact that part of my job is to edit other folks writing but my own writing is rife with errors , unless and until, I sit down specifically to correct and proof it. All I can say is I have some cognitive problems that contribute to this, so forgive me. I'm not as stupid as I come off.
My uncle Chris passed away several years ago. He lived in Providence, Rhode Island. He was of Portuguese descent( pronounce 'porch-a-gee', by him), He was not my uncle by blood. My parents apparently met him whilst my father was working in providence for Philco-Ford as an electronics engineer. My parents and several of my brothers and perhaps my sister (I'm not really sure of the time line here) lived next door to he and his wife, Unky Doris ( the 'Unky' is another story involving cute little kids who couldn't get the aunt/uncle thing straight). They became close friends. We kids began calling them Uncle and Unky as a result. I have three such sets of unrelated aunts and uncles. Not to slight the others, but Uncle Chris was by far my favorite. He was a warm, funny and gruff man. He was dark skinned and bald. He worked as a heavy equipment operator most of his life. He and his wife started up a ceramics shop after he retired. They ran that for many years. I made a 'hummel monk' for my niece, who is now a 24 year old accountant, when she was a baby in their shop. I think of him often and fondly.
When I was going out with my first real girlfriend, a funny thing happened to me and it involved Chris. Here it is:
My girlfriend was a former prom queen and captain of the cheer leading squad at the small Christian high school she had attended. She was bleach blonde, tan, and beautiful. We went to the beach a lot. I still have wrinkles and a fear of skin cancer to prove it. She, too, was funny as hell. Our first date was at a 'gourmet' hamburger place called 'Fuddruckers.' I noted in my list how shy I am and how quiet I usually am around strangers. On our first date we sat in Fuddruckers for three hours talking and laughing our asses off. I laughed so much my face hurt and my eyes were sort of chapped from the tears rolling down at various times. She was around 18 and I was about 23. A big gap, I know, and some of you, no doubt, think I was robbing the cradle, but we were good for each other. We went out for two and a half years. We saw each other every day for the first 250 days of our relationship. We had sex every day for the first 100 or so days of our intimate relationship which began a week or so after we started dating. When we didn't see each other after the 250 day mark, we 'd talk on the phone at length, several times. In short, we were joined at the hip.
One day we were in my bedroom preparing to have sex. It wasn't going to be ordinary sex either. It was going to be extra passionate. Sometimes sex is like that for no apparent reason, extra passionate and intense. So there we were kissing naked when we hear a loud knock at the door downstairs. We sort of panic, of course. My girlfriend's parents were very active in their church, a fundamental evangelical big box church set up my a charismatic couple who built in from a small shacky like thing to a pretty big stadium type thing. Anyway my girlfriend and I, let's call her 'Jen', because that was her real name, lived in mortal fear that her parents would find out we were doing the nasty and ship her off to a convent ( or its equivalent) and rebuke me to Satan. So when we heard the loud knock at the door we could only assume it was her father come to kill me. So we started scrambling for clothes, but then we heard the door open and someone come stomping up the stairs. We were scared shitless. So we jumped into the bed as the quickest way to cover our nakedness. Jen has hiding under the covers. The door to my bedroom opens and who should it be that scared the crap out of me? Jen's parent? Her preacher? My parents? The thought police?. . . If you've been paying attention thus far you will have guessed it was my uncle Chris, come down to Virginia from Rhode Island for a surprise visit.
He was looking for my parents who were away for the day. So what did he do, seeing me under the covers, with a frightened and embarrassed look on my face and a very obvious Jen shaped bulge under the blankets? Did he bow out quickly and wait downstairs for me to get dressed? Did he say who is that underneath the covers? No. He stood in my door way and talked to me for ten minutes while Jen hid under the covers. He pretended nothing was amiss. After we'd made plans for dinner that evening and ascertained the whereabout of the rest of the family and he was preparing to leave, he reached down and pinched Jen under the covers.
Later, at the family dinner, Jen met Uncle Chris and Unky Doris formally for the first time. They liked her and she them, despite her initial embarrassment. Chris never mentioned the incident at all much to my surprise and relief, but he did pinch her in the arm when they were introduced.
My Uncle Chris was funny and cool. I miss him a lot, but I tell that story and a few other good ones about him whenever I can fit them in. That makes me feel better and miss him a bit less. Jen eventually went away to Liberty University ( Jerry Falwell's Insitution, I think) in Lynchburg and broke up with me about two weeks afterwards, which broke my heart. She was engaged within a few months after that. She is married now with three kids,I think, and get this, she named one of her boys the name she and I had picked out for our son, Zachary. How screwed up is that?
Since nothing ever happens to me anymore I've decided to talk about things that used to happen to me as a way of having blog fodder. My goal (don't take it too seriously folks) is to post one entry per day, excluding weekends. I'd also like to edit my posts a bit more carefully than I did with my last blog, so I don't seem so idiotic and careless. I suppose there is some weirdness associated with the fact that part of my job is to edit other folks writing but my own writing is rife with errors , unless and until, I sit down specifically to correct and proof it. All I can say is I have some cognitive problems that contribute to this, so forgive me. I'm not as stupid as I come off.
My uncle Chris passed away several years ago. He lived in Providence, Rhode Island. He was of Portuguese descent( pronounce 'porch-a-gee', by him), He was not my uncle by blood. My parents apparently met him whilst my father was working in providence for Philco-Ford as an electronics engineer. My parents and several of my brothers and perhaps my sister (I'm not really sure of the time line here) lived next door to he and his wife, Unky Doris ( the 'Unky' is another story involving cute little kids who couldn't get the aunt/uncle thing straight). They became close friends. We kids began calling them Uncle and Unky as a result. I have three such sets of unrelated aunts and uncles. Not to slight the others, but Uncle Chris was by far my favorite. He was a warm, funny and gruff man. He was dark skinned and bald. He worked as a heavy equipment operator most of his life. He and his wife started up a ceramics shop after he retired. They ran that for many years. I made a 'hummel monk' for my niece, who is now a 24 year old accountant, when she was a baby in their shop. I think of him often and fondly.
When I was going out with my first real girlfriend, a funny thing happened to me and it involved Chris. Here it is:
My girlfriend was a former prom queen and captain of the cheer leading squad at the small Christian high school she had attended. She was bleach blonde, tan, and beautiful. We went to the beach a lot. I still have wrinkles and a fear of skin cancer to prove it. She, too, was funny as hell. Our first date was at a 'gourmet' hamburger place called 'Fuddruckers.' I noted in my list how shy I am and how quiet I usually am around strangers. On our first date we sat in Fuddruckers for three hours talking and laughing our asses off. I laughed so much my face hurt and my eyes were sort of chapped from the tears rolling down at various times. She was around 18 and I was about 23. A big gap, I know, and some of you, no doubt, think I was robbing the cradle, but we were good for each other. We went out for two and a half years. We saw each other every day for the first 250 days of our relationship. We had sex every day for the first 100 or so days of our intimate relationship which began a week or so after we started dating. When we didn't see each other after the 250 day mark, we 'd talk on the phone at length, several times. In short, we were joined at the hip.
One day we were in my bedroom preparing to have sex. It wasn't going to be ordinary sex either. It was going to be extra passionate. Sometimes sex is like that for no apparent reason, extra passionate and intense. So there we were kissing naked when we hear a loud knock at the door downstairs. We sort of panic, of course. My girlfriend's parents were very active in their church, a fundamental evangelical big box church set up my a charismatic couple who built in from a small shacky like thing to a pretty big stadium type thing. Anyway my girlfriend and I, let's call her 'Jen', because that was her real name, lived in mortal fear that her parents would find out we were doing the nasty and ship her off to a convent ( or its equivalent) and rebuke me to Satan. So when we heard the loud knock at the door we could only assume it was her father come to kill me. So we started scrambling for clothes, but then we heard the door open and someone come stomping up the stairs. We were scared shitless. So we jumped into the bed as the quickest way to cover our nakedness. Jen has hiding under the covers. The door to my bedroom opens and who should it be that scared the crap out of me? Jen's parent? Her preacher? My parents? The thought police?. . . If you've been paying attention thus far you will have guessed it was my uncle Chris, come down to Virginia from Rhode Island for a surprise visit.
He was looking for my parents who were away for the day. So what did he do, seeing me under the covers, with a frightened and embarrassed look on my face and a very obvious Jen shaped bulge under the blankets? Did he bow out quickly and wait downstairs for me to get dressed? Did he say who is that underneath the covers? No. He stood in my door way and talked to me for ten minutes while Jen hid under the covers. He pretended nothing was amiss. After we'd made plans for dinner that evening and ascertained the whereabout of the rest of the family and he was preparing to leave, he reached down and pinched Jen under the covers.
Later, at the family dinner, Jen met Uncle Chris and Unky Doris formally for the first time. They liked her and she them, despite her initial embarrassment. Chris never mentioned the incident at all much to my surprise and relief, but he did pinch her in the arm when they were introduced.
My Uncle Chris was funny and cool. I miss him a lot, but I tell that story and a few other good ones about him whenever I can fit them in. That makes me feel better and miss him a bit less. Jen eventually went away to Liberty University ( Jerry Falwell's Insitution, I think) in Lynchburg and broke up with me about two weeks afterwards, which broke my heart. She was engaged within a few months after that. She is married now with three kids,I think, and get this, she named one of her boys the name she and I had picked out for our son, Zachary. How screwed up is that?
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