Thursday, May 28, 2015

Sex and Ding Dongs

When I was 19 years old, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I came home for summer vacation after my first year of college no less confused than I was when I had left for the small University of Wisconsin campus with the assurances from family and revered high school teachers that it might take some time but I would figure it out.

Over the summer, however, I decided to take a "process of elimination" approach to my future.  I was going to take some time off from my studies to experience full time employment and learn what I didn't want to do career-wise.  This plan also included moving out of my childhood home and into my first apartment with my high school sweetheart.

I don't recommend this approach to anyone.  Once you get your own place and start working to support yourself, it's really hard to stop working to support yourself.  As far as that boyfriend, we were barely halfway into our lease when I lost my job and three days later I found myself sitting at the dinner table by myself after he didn't come home from work.  There was no argument, no "Dear John" letter, and no phone call; He just didn't come back to the apartment for two weeks until one day when he snuck back to our apartment and took clean clothes.

I was devastated.  I couldn't understand how someone I'd known since we were 5 and had been one of my best friends for years could do such a thing to me.  The break up I could have handled, the heartbreaking and cowardly way he did it was what hurt. 

During this time, I grew more and more disenchanted with apartment living.  What seemed like a magical two bedroom apartment with a huge closet and a patio turned into a place where all I found was annoyance.  The walk to my apartment was always a scent based guessing game of "What the hell are they cooking?"  I would come home every night and find garbage in my patio from the three apartments above mine, including someone's used q-tips once.  My upstairs neighbor had a toddler by day, and a screeching, stomping little demon by night.

Needless to say, I struggled to sleep at night.  Many nights I sat on the back patio chain-smoking surrounded by other people's discarded cigarette butts while I wrote all my hurt feelings into a journal, always hoping to see his taillights headed for the back parking lot. When I would finally crawl into bed at night, I would lay there for hours with the windows open, imagining I heard his car on the road or the door unlocking.

I've come a long way since then.   I reached a point where I was able to wish him well in my own way.  I was taken back to that time the other night, however, when he sent me a Facebook Friend Request (DENIED!) and my dear friend Jenniy from Climaxed shared a cute little message she received on an online dating site:


Poor Jerimiah needs a clue in so many ways.  Apparently, I also needed a clue because I had no idea what "skeet skeet skeet" meant.  It was while I was making fun of poor Jerimiah that I suffered a mental flashback and suddenly I was back in my huge new bed by myself, in the dark, listening for my ex to come home.  It was a warm, quiet October night and I had left the bedroom window open.  I was again struggling to sleep, and just as I was closing my eyes and slowly drifting off to sleep I heard my loud neighbor from upstairs:

"Oh yeah. Suck it baby."

Yes, the guy upstairs actually uttered those words like every cliche Dom, Dick and Hairy that ever graced the x-rated screen.  I was too irked at having to hear the subtle details of coupling activities when I was struggling to get adequate rest, not to mention struggling with a broken heart, and I got up and slammed the window shut before going to bed.  I didn't see or hear from the upstairs neighbor again until they dropped an open (and full) can of beer off their balcony onto my stuff as I was moving out.

I'd almost completely forgotten about that moment and that night until Jenniy shared the message from Jerimiah, who at the age of 33 still refers to his genitalia as a "badass weiner" and "a fucking awesome ding dong".  It was as I was asking myself what kind of grown man refers to his man meat as a ding dong when I heard a voice in my head say:

"Oh yeah. Suck that fucking awesome ding dong, baby".

Unfortunately, the fit of giggles I found myself in did nothing for intense craving for Hostess Snack Cakes that followed. That being said, if you find me laughing hysterically in the snack cake aisle it's probably because I'm standing in front of the ding dongs.
 

1 comment:

  1. Wow. Sounds like he made the right choice...lucky for you. 😉

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