Thursday, November 12, 2009

Why you should always put on a little lipgloss before getting on a plane


This photo has nearly nothing to do with the post.
I'm just fascinated by its origins.
Who bought him that shirt? Creepy Uncle Orlan?

There I was, minding my own business with the latest Us Weekly (Angelina is such a bitch!) when someone two seats away from me perks up and says, "Samantha?" And who should be seated with me in row 17 on US Airways flight 14 from SFO to Phoenix, but Heath H., the boy I thought I would surely die of love for at age of 14. He was the first boy my age to get a hairy chest.


Poor Heath. There was a time in 9th grade when I called his house every evening. Every evening. I could practically hear his sister rolling her eyes as she shouted, "Heeath." Not that I cared what she thought; my love trumped all other impulses, like dignity and self-restraint, for example.

Once he got on the phone I would open with "Hi." Then I would sit there silently all tied up with desire and self-consciousness, totally unable to think of anything else to say.

But he was so nice to me. He never asked me to stop calling. He never said one mean thing to me. Instead he sat on the other end of the phone trying his best to make conversation and get the hell on with his life without hurting my feelings.

Once, he invited me over to dinner and made me frozen pizza and a salad with large hunks of carrot that crunched excruciatingly as I chewed. I was almost too nervous to breathe. It was our first and last date.


When I saw him today he was still so nice. And I was still so awkward and twitchy. I think I have residual embarrassment about my extreme lack of cool back in the day. It's been 24 years since I masticated those excruciating carrot hunks in the presence of Heath H. and yet it doesn't take more than a second to transform me back into that horribly self-conscious girl neurotically wiping her nose of phantom boogers and robotically repeating "that's cool" like it were some sort of mantra.

Hello, 1984. It's been a while.

4 comments:

Simply Mel said...

Ahhh the '80's, such pure and akward fun.

Inner Toddler said...

I really couldn't get past the first pic. I fear I never will.

krista said...

isn't it strange to run into your jake ryan once you're an adult? i actually DATED mine a few years ago. the 12 year old in me felt like all my wishes came true.
once that wore off, i realized i didn't love him.
le sigh.

Petunia Face said...

I can't even tell you how many crushes I had, the bumbling, the silence! Thank god I was a teenager in the Land before Caller ID.

And yes, I still run into the, every now and then. One is even my FB friend and I admit to feeling like I might throw up when I read his status updates because he is still so goddamn cute. Another crush totally cured me of him when I ran into him in line at a club in my early 20's and he turned to me and said, "don't you know me?" Gah.

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