Thursday, March 19, 2009

kiss me? no actually dont.

I am a huge, unabashed, hopeless romantic. Always have been. Always will be. As a teenager, I imagined that my first kiss would be this magical movie moment. You know what I mean. The knees knocking, sparks flying, world fades away sort of kiss. Considering that movies have brainwashed people like me into believing that things like that actually happen, it's not surprising when I say that my first kiss was nothing even close to that.

At a dance, three months shy of my 16th birthday (I was a late bloomer, OKAY?) my friend decides that she's found the perfect boy for me. Before I know it, we're doing that awful middle-school slow-dance. You know what I mean.

So, we're dancing. And it's awkward. He's awkward. The conversation is awkward. The dancing is awkward. I am awkward and I just want to melt into the floor and disappear. And before I know it, he is leaning in and kissing me. My first thought is that it's awful. Absolutely awful. His tongue appears to have slid into my mouth only to die there. In my head I am thinking "This is what I waited almost 16 years for? This is what everyone thinks is so awesome? I'm never kissing anyone ever again."

So what did I do? Did I sit at home and mourn the death of my dream kiss? Nope. I went out to the Voodoo Lounge (an under 18 club my friends and I thought we were cool to frequent) the very next weekend and made out with a huge wall of a man. And it was freaking fantastic.

Problem solved.

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