Guest Blogging at The Lipstick Chronicles

Here is the guest post that I recently did over at the fabulous Lipstick Chronicles. 

So, dating in high school. Teen romance. Um… it’s all rather sucky, isn’t it? Yes, yes, some of us may have the occasional remarkably romantic memory, but mostly there are flashbacks involving humiliation, heartache, disastrous dates, unrequited crushes, and plain old pain. Sometimes bodily injury.

The good news is that by the time we have left high school far behind, lots of these stories have lost their total hideousness and are now funny. Hopefully.

My high school dating history consists mainly of stories like this one: During the spring of my sophomore year, I start dating a senior from a neighboring high school. Let’s call him S, so that we don’t have to keep hearing “Shithead” okay? Everything I know about dating at this point, I have learned from John Hughes. I know, helpful, right? The first time S takes me out, my father comes out of the house to inspect S’s Jeep Wrangler under the guise of being curious about my date’s vehicle. My father knows nothing about cars. Nothing. Yet he actually bends down and looks under the car for telltale signs that S is a serial killer.

S puts up with this inspection nicely and does not even roll his eyes. My father does not locate a machete, a shotgun, or other nefarious items in the engine. S and I go for a lavish, fancy meal at…. The Ground Round.

 I eat nothing except a few of his fries and a Diet Coke, indicating that I maintain my fantastic (cough, cough) fifteen-year-old body by routinely following this simple meal plan. He is not fooled and looks annoyed that I am not responding to the gourmet atmosphere of such a fine eatery.

Conversation is stilted and stupid because I am not Molly Ringwald and am not able to make witty banter due to loss of all brain capabilities.

The main problems were as follows: 1. S was super cute. Curly blond hair, tall, adorable. I am shell-shocked I am out with him and rendered mute. 2. Not eating and feeling faint does nothing to stimulate smart, funny thinking on my part. 3. Being afraid of looking like an idiot makes me clam up and look like an idiot. Cycle repeats itself all evening. However, the date was not an utter failure, since S, a horny high school senior, wants to make out with me in his Jeep. Done! So all in all, that first date was not horrible.  

But it went drastically downhill from there. Nothing to talk about, me being tense and not myself, him angling for all the things H.S. seniors angle for…

Toward the end of our lengthy (meaning two-month) relationship, S picks me up wearing (I’m not making this up) vile green hospital scrubs for pants. I have no idea why. He was not a surgeon. At least, I don’t believe he was. He wasn’t that bright.

 We drive around that night and somehow end up “parked” in some unintelligent location. Conversation remains torturously unnatural, and I realize that our most successful moments do not involve talking. In a moment of panic, (or a courageous attempt to save this failing relationship?) I fling myself forward for an enthusiastic and passionate kiss. I somehow manage to draw blood, and S is—not surprisingly—displeased. I want to die. (Important side note: I suspect that I had a premonition that this whole vampire/blood infatuation thing would take off twenty years later. Should have cashed in early.)

Later, stupid S takes me home and, for some reason, still wants to kiss me goodnight, despite the obvious danger of doing so.S stands up, and his bizarre scrubs-for-pants fall to the ground. We are standing in the middle of the street, and he has on tremendously un-cute boxer shorts.

 I find this to be delightful karmic retaliation for his unkind response to my earlier blood-producing kiss. Overall, the night is extremely weird, and things fade out from there… I cry for weeks and listen to Cutting Crew’s “I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight” 9000 times. (In retrospect, that nauseating song was quite possibly the cause of my tears…)

On the flip side, the guy I dated during my senior year, J, was completely sweet. And I never made him bleed. (At least, not that I know of.) Also, I had learned to behave like an actual human being and not a closed-mouthed dummy. J was very smart (later went to Brown) and funny (had fantastically good jokes about “imitation crab”), and even took me to the prom despite the fact that I wore a strapless bubble dress and had on orange (you read that correctly) eye shadow.

Girls always have plenty of juicy stories of nightmare high school romances, but what about the guys? My friend JT told me, “Let’s just say that one of my worst moments involved a formal banquet, a corsage, a bloody boob, and a ruined $300 dress.” A kindred spirit! I just knew I couldn’t be the only person to draw blood! Yes, I am dying for more details, too, but this teasing tidbit was all I got from him. I am trying to be respectful of his pain.Another friend, JM, revealed: “I was sixteen or seventeen, and I had just broken up with my first girlfriend. She started dating the drummer in my band. They lost their virginity to each other. Then when my drummer wanted to sleep with someone else, the ex started dating the bassist in the band. The story continues, but into college…” Oh, my. Well, that blows. See? Guys have it rough, too!

Even when teen romance goes awry, there is no denying that high school dating is intense. All those stupid hormones flying around, overpowering emotions making the smallest incident take on monumental meaning… It’s not always fun to live through, but from a writer’s perspective, it’s a dream. So that is one of the reasons that I wrote RELATIVELY FAMOUS. If you’re going to deal with the trauma of dating, you might as well be surrounded by the Hollywood hills… Helps to often the blow and whatnot.

Thank you to the ladies of The Lipstick Chronicles for having me! I’d love to hear your high school dating stories… Bring ‘em on!