Janna wants me to write about the time she and I went on a double date picnic thing with our boyfriends when we were 17.
So this one time, Janna and I went on a double date picnic thing with our boyfriends when we were 17. It just so happens that my boyfriend then was psycho-ycho-ycho and a runaway (living in my grandparents’ shed and then under my bed when he became too a’scared to stay in the shed alone because the Boogeyman was scratching at the door).
We’re having a nice time at this picnic in Mingo Park, playing card games and maybe eating stuff too, I can’t remember. Janna is reminding me that Mike and I had a backpack full of weed with us because that’s when we were attempting to live the thug lyfe by selling pot to earn us some money to get an apartment that was not atop a paint shop like the one he was about to move into sometime after this tale happened. Meanwhile, we kept smoking all the weed our supplier gave us. Oh well.
Now, Mike had this yellow-soda malady where he did not, absolutely did not like any carbonated beverage with any sort of lemon-lime flavor to it. Just so happened there was a big refreshing bottle of Surge that Janna’s boo Matt brought along with his frisbee that no one wanted to play with, and being the precious girlfriend that everyone knows me to be, I kept trying to coax him to drink some.
“I bet if you would just TRY it, you would LIKE it,” I reasoned, because back then I had this stigma where I felt that everyone should like what I like, and I am so not that person anymore.
Mike kept pulling his lips back into a taut line. But then I caught him off guard and poured some in his mouth.
Mike was so angrified that he grabbed his shit and stalked off, screaming that he was going to walk home. (We weren’t anywhere near his house and I knew he wouldn’t go back there because that would go against his whole point of, you know, running away. Bad ass that he was!) So he finds a phone at some park building and calls his old parole officer. (Mike was in juvie for burning down his best friend’s house. I don’t think they are best friends anymore.) I think that his parole officer didn’t answer. Or that Mike didn’t really call. One of these two things.
And then a bunch of shit happened where he was screaming about killing himself because lemon lime flavoring had tainted his gullet and now he would never be the same. You’d have thought he was a Virgin, just been raped and having his abstinance vow pissed on. (But when that happened to Darcy on Degrassi, her Christian club friends gave her back her celibacy ring, because Jesus said that didn’t count.)
I can’t remember what happened after that. We probably went off and had sex behind a shanty somewhere. Mike had a super weener.
Oh my God, Surge. Why can’t they still make that shit?
Doing ok, I see. Keep it up!
a super weiner, huh….I guess that’s one way to put it…I refer to it as my polish sausage…:D
Polish sausage is a good one!