The gullibility of youth

One of the best things about adolescents, is the fact that, given the appropriate lead in, they will believe anything.

I will admit that one of my favorite things in the world is teaching my friend's kids bullshit facts about things that they will almost certainly bring back to school.

I take pride in my ability to weave a web of lies so inescapable that even the smartest two year old will leave my presence believing that timbits, once planted, will grow into donut trees, or that their Barbies will almost certainly become fairies if they are thrown onto their parent's fully lit BBQs.


It is not always two year olds that I choose to use and abuse to my own amusement. Sometimes I will prey on those closest to me, just to see how far I can push them, in the name of comedy... of course...

Throughout highschool, my partner in all different types of lecherous behavior was my best friend Sarah. Undeniably, the main reason that we are still friends to this day, is because neither of us would be comfortable thinking the other is snitching. Its a love built on mutual fear, and that is the kind of love that millions of things could come between, but we have made it this far, and so, hats off to you my dear, I hope our perilous love continues. 

Unless you fuck with me and then I will not hesitate to cut you.

As teenagers, just breaking into our stride, we were fantastically talented at convincing people to do things that they otherwise would never have even considered. I was a dynamo at convincing people to hand over all their alcohol to me, in the pretense that I would hide it from some unknown, and completely bullshit threat.

One of our favorite pastimes was to go to LG parties (LGs- the mission equivalent to Miley Cyrus, or hookers. Same same but different) and walk in, yelling and hopping around like Yosemite Sam, screaming about how we had to take this party down a notch, and hide all the booze because we just caught wind of the fact the cops were coming.

Enter the white knight, graciously accepting the huge responsibility of hiding all their alcohol in the trunk of my car, "just around the corner", until the cops left, at which time we would "be right back"... aka we would be loaded, at a secret location... aka my hood... aka... my dads house...

We were so good at pulling off this little snafu that we managed to do so numerous times, and once even left the party, with a wheel barrow full of under aged kids' booze, and just walked down the road with it, rejoicing in the fruits of our labour.

Now, we didn't stop our little game of "who can we mind fuck until they give up their innocence" at just other people's siblings, and the 13 year old sluts down the street, we would also prey on our close friends, who were usually the easiest ones to break like shelter dogs.

One such occasion was with our friend Paul, in what we later called "the ding dong debacle".

Paul (name changed for obvious reasons) was friends with Sarah's older sister, and made the undeniable mistake of thinking he could come over and hang out with us, and leave with his ego intact.

Paul, being the gentleman that he is, brought over a two-six (750ml for all you non-Canadians) of Vodka.

Sarah and I were 14 at the time, so I'm sure we can all assume he was only going to drink it himself, because us drinking vodka at 14 would be wrong... or whatever.
Not being the type of people to let a true gentleman drink alone, Sarah and I graciously accepted the responsibility. 

Surprisingly, this was my first time drinking. So after I had taken two whole sips, and gracefully fallen off the toilet mid-wee, we decided that we should go drink the rest of it, or at least another shot or two, cause we was gangstaaaa, in the field at a school near Sarah's house.

Upon arrival, and Paul going tits up, if you will, Sarah and I casually mention that we would perform perverse sexual acts on Paul if he were to say... take of his clothes, and run around the dirt path that bordered the 10 acre field, and was populated by no less than 5 families, 2 geriatric dog walkers, and a single person trying to take an innocent sunny-day bike ride.

Now, the first thing you have to understand, is that neither myself, nor my partner in crime, was even remotely close to ever doing any perverse sexual acts with anyone. We were 14.. and although many of you might have been into this sort of thing when you were 14, we were more into using the idea to make people embarrass themselves, as well as weed. We were really really into weed....

So after making entirely sure that we would go through on our promise, by asking a grand total of once, Paul whipped off his clothes, and began his fated run around the field.

I must admit, that from afar, Paul was a glorious sight, twig and berries bobbing about in the breeze, as he jogged past young and old alike, in pursuit of every man's dream: statutory rape.

Paul made, not one, because we weren't going to let him get off that easy, but two laps around the field, firmly, and permanently scarring the minds of any person who happened to be ill fated enough to be there.

On his second lap around the soon to be named fail trail, the lone biker decided to come up behind Sarah, and I, making the full extent of Paul's fate fully clear.

Sarah's mom, hoping for nothing more than a short bike ride, and a bit of waving her hair back and forth, came up just as Paul was prancing up like a young stallion in a field full of hot horse bitches.

She firmly planted herself in the grass behind us, while Sarah and I pissed our pants from laughing, and watched as Paul tried to hide his giggle berries by firmly inserting them in a small, 4 inch deep patch of clovers.

Sarah's mother, bless her incredible patience, and ability to turn and walk away from all kinds of situations that were completely and inexplicably horrifying for any parent, took my excuse for skipping school (that we burnt the macaroni noodles.. no she didnt believe me, but she wasnt about to gaze upon Paul's noodly bit now was she) and left.

Paul stayed completely exposed (although we never told him that his white ass was a shining beacon for all to see) for another minute before coming back to claim his prize.

Without a doubt, this is probably one of my favorite moments of all time.

There is a certain look that comes over a person's face when they realize that all is for not, and realize simultaneously, that 2 children have outsmarted them.

It is the look of a soul breaking. 

It is my favorite.

And I will never forget the first moment that I saw it, creeping across Paul's face, while he stood naked, 5 feet away from a kindly old grandmother, who was walking her dog, and got the thrill of her geriatric life.

It also taught both Sarah and I a lesson about ourselves that I am sure neither of us will ever forget, and has come in handy far too often: 

It is very hard to navigate a flawless wee, whilst heavily intoxicated.

Wtf else did you think I was going to say? It's uncouth to joke about statutory rape. For shame.

And the big G

Everyone is different when it comes to finding the big G. There are the vast majority of people who find the big G when they are introduced to it at a tender, young age. 

A family member, or friend, decided that they were ready, and just like that, they are no longer ignorant to G. Some are touched and enjoy the experience, while other's feel repulsed.
Some rebel against it, and lash out at others because they feel that they have been forced into a life of servitude by whoever introduced them to it in the first place. They feel like their childhood was robbed, and turn to darkness.
Then there are those who feel that they are lucky to have been brought into the fold so young. Basking in the glory that is the big G, and trying to force it onto others.
Some people find the G in the shower, on the shower wall, or in the kitchen, on a piece of toast.

I was force fed the G at a young age, and I didn't want it. It made me different from other kids who's parents had forced them, because my parents were slightly different, and came at it in a much darker, and heinous way. 

They took me into a dark room, where 5 other children my age all waited for our lives to be altered forever.
I dont remember the woman's name, and I am not sure if I want to.... but what I do remember is this: Sunday School is bullshit! And to top it all off... I was a Catholic.

God is one of those things that I have never really been able to wrap my head around, and from precisely the moment I walked into that dark, musty smelling torture chamber, and was handed a picture book in which Jesus was holding a dinosaur, I knew that me and that holier than though bitch who taught our catechism class, weren't going to get along.

That was kind of how my relationship with religion, or the big G in the sky, has gone for my entire life. I dont pay any attention, unless I am arguing about something.

I figure that my only real brush with any kind of divine entity happened when I was in highschool. I wasnt touched by an angel or any shit like that. I dont care who you say you are, but you arent touching me, whether you come at me all feathers and choirs, or just crack walking.. Rape is rape motha fucka.
But my friend Sarah felt the touch of God, hard.

My best friend Sarah and I used to go to the monastery in our small town because it is the perfect place to not only check out some seriously scenic vistas, while becoming one with nature, but also to canoodle with monk dudes who say and do some seriously fucked up shit.

This particular time we were walking back past the monastery, after becoming one with nature, or as most people call it, weed, and Sarah happened to notice that there was a Razor scooter leaning up against a wall of one of the dorms.

Suddenly I am looking at a candy crazed infant who's eyes are so round and shiny that you just know that bitch will throw a tantrum if she cant have a fucking gumball.

I immediately begin to try to talk her out of this insane, and evil act she is about to commit, but Sarah has a habit of completely ignoring common sense, in the face of the greater good: anything illegal.

Ok.. so I may have only halfheartedly elbowed her a couple times, and it may have been towards the scooter, but I felt that in the grand scheme of things, I was telling her that this was wrong and this kind of vile lechery would be punished to the greatest extent of the law.

I probably should have considered that Sarah was stealing from a monk. These dudes sit and pray all day long. Even if there isnt a god, there has to be some kind of energy that they can control at will, like spiritual Professor Xaviers or some shit.

Now, the monastery is on a hill. A big hill. No a fucking ginormous hill. This hill eats other hills for breakfast.

So, making a get away worthy of Bonnie and Clyde, Sarah goes ripping down the hill at mach 12, and I lope behind her lazily 'cause these monks are all 900 years old anyways and the most they could probably do is give us a mean fist shaking, from the window, as we make off with their sleek speed machine. 

Suddenly, as if Sarah has been bitch slapped by the hand of god, she is airborne. Maybe this all happened in slow motion because it was such a juicy moment in life, and my brain wanted to savor it, but I swear she had hang time.

Hang time immediately led to face time, which immediately led to all other parts of her body making wawaweewa-sexy-time contact with the pavement.

God had clearly made a statement, and that was pretty simple: we needed to bring that scooter back right now, or someone was gunna feel the wrath.

So, since I had been in catechism as a child, and Sarah found herself a recent convert, we decided that we should probably steal it anyways.

We named that little bitch Scooty, and he came with us everywhere. He rode in the back of Sarah's SUV so that he would be at the ready whenever it was time for some serious shenanigans.
Scooty was our best friend, and we knew that we would never be without him. I even thought I might let him walk me down the aisle...

But then... just like that... Scooty was gone... Ripped from out lives, leaving nothing but an empty hole, and the need to fill it.

Scooty was a soldier, and like any good soldier who knows that his comrades arent going to carry his rickety ass back, he made us go on without him.

Cptn Scooty found his final resting place somewhere near a highway in the vicinity of BC, 3 days after our brush with God, and that little gaffer taught me a valuable lesson:

When you steal anything from people with super powers, always let your friend take the reigns because inevitably they will face fuck the ground, and thats not something that you have ever really acquired a taste for.

When you smoke grass

I think it is safe to say, no matter how conservative your upbringing, that there is a time when every single person has wished that they were the most bad ass mutha fucka that ever walked the earth.

Some of you, of the conservative, or as I like to say "unlucky" persuasion, probably thought that the most bad ass badassery that you could get up to, was to kiss a boy, or god forbid do... it!
There were other, the middle of the road people who got really into Kriss-Kross, some of 'em tried to rhyme but they couldn't rhyme like that, and channeled their need to break the rules by going all out and wearing their jeans backwards, thoroughly confusing the entire adult population.

None of us actually did anything truly bad ass, unless you were the weird kid who rubbed his dick on everyone at noon hour and grew up to be a crazy cat man who lives vicariously through his W.O.W character.

As you may or may not know, I was the most bad ass kid that walked the streets of my small town.... 

This bitch had a curfew of 9pm. What?

Plus..I was in a neighbourhood gang of my creation called the Skull Crushers, and we had wrestling matches!

I even made my sister cry once by somehow  (and god damn it do I wish I knew the magic words I used to get her to do this) getting her to moon the whole neighbourhood... for no reason other than my amusement.

And it didnt stop there...I once got suspended (in school suspension bro, I aint no delinquent) and they made me sit in a room that had padded walls and children's toys everywhere. My crime: changing the B-I-N-G-O in the farmer bingo ditty, into B-I-T-C-H.. Yeah... WHAT!?
That bitch had it coming! She got a higher grade than me on something and that was grounds to go BEAST on this bitch.

I once even rolled up magazines and smacked 6th graders in the arm for their "7th grade initiation". This really was just an excuse to hit my sister, and I ended up grounded for like a month, or whatever, but it was worth it because... well I know I had a legit reason at some point...

And then, there was my penultimate moment. I became so bad ass, that looking back, I am embarrassed at how insanely bad ass I .. thought... i was.... *cough*

I smoked grasssssss!

YEAH! Grass! Not even the fucking shit that gets you high... I was way too bad ass for that shit... I smoked the real shit yo!
Those little tubes that are produced in the fall when the high grass dries and you break off one of the tall mutha fuckas in your hand...

Calm down now... I didnt get addicted. I came back from my one night stint with grass, and lived to tell the tale. We all know grass addicts are never the same... Mowing their lawns every couple of days just to smell that fresh smell... sickening.

So I know you're all "this is horrifying for one so young and innocent"... You dont know me!

We got down like that in the middle class, white suburban hood.

This particular night in question, I was hanging out with my best girlfriend Carly, and she was equally as bad ass, so she clearly devised a plan to camp in her backyard in a tent.

This was a perfect opportunity for us to sneak away from the tent in the middle of the night and get into all kinds of mischief.

So we grabbed our flashlights, made sure our big girl ginch were ready for this adventure, and we busted the fuck out of lock up.

We were on the lam. Careening down a back alley behind her place at a break neck walk, wearing our most fear inducing flannel night wear. We made it at least 300 feet before my bad ass senses started tingling, and I announced that I thought we shouldn't go too far in case there were strangers. 

Damn it felt good to be a gangster.

So there we were, over 5 feet from a direct view of her parents bedroom window, when Carly looks at me with a gleam in her beady 11 year old eyes, and asks if I have ever smoked grass.

Now, at this point in my life I am well on my way to becoming the next Scary Spice, so I thought "is this chica loco? Stepping all up on me with drugs... I aint going to do this!"
And then I said: "Umm.. drugs... are..."

But Carly was way too quick. Immediately slapping down my fears of ending up in the downtown east side sucking dick for cheeseburgers, by explaining she wasnt talking about marijuana, but instead about the tall skinny shit that grew in the ditch, and that city workers have some inexplicable hate on for.

I wasnt sure about how much I wanted to get addicted to ditch weeds, but I figured that if I was going to keep up face, and make sure that my actions matched my "No Fear" t-shirt, I was gunna do this shit... HARD. Or at least a puff... I aint no junky.

So we smuggle the contraband back into the tent and sit down. Carly begins breaking up stalks with her nimble little fingers like a formidable grass connoisseur, and I just watch in awe for minutes. This could be the end of life as we  know it, and if we aren't careful, within a year we could be taking the pimp hand across the face by a guy named Danger Dave.

Suddenly, as if from no where Carly produces matches. I have to admit that at that moment I was struggling between mad respect for the fact that she pulled off stealing matches from her parents and worrying that she had been smoking the grass for a bit too long already...

So I open my mouth to suggest that we move outside, and she LIGHTS A GOD DAMNED MATCH IN THE TENT!

I ran out of that tent with so much force that I must have looked like a linebacker bowling over a group of 3 year olds.

EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU DONT GET FIRE NEAR TENTS! Thats how you end up as a molten plastic wrapped mummy for all eternity. Or at least thats what I think my parents told me, and I was NOT even remotely ok with becoming a life sized action figure.

Eventually Carly assured me, after an hour or so of listening to me tell her about how "my Daddy dun told me", that it wasnt going to just light instantly and I sat back down to get up to no good.

It was immediately after my second puff of this magic grass that I started to get worried... This was some serious shit we were doing, and I felt that it was best to talk this through and be fully aware of the risks associated with this tremendous undertaking.

I tried to stop Carly from going hard at the grass, by whispering awkwardly "Carly, we gotta stop. We could get addicted."

Carly was not your average bad ass though. She had a doctorate in badassology, and proceeded to smoke it until she coughed while I yelled at her that we were going to get "aDDICted!!!"

We went back for 2nd and 3rds though... The entire time I was becoming more and more aware of my impending doom... I could almost feel the sweat and broken dreams that would make up my life of prostitution due to this foray into the unknown...

It wasnt until about a year and a half later, when I had actually smoked weed that I realized the error of my ways..
I know you are thinking that we are just lucky to make it out alive.. and I say: exactly.

Luckily for me at this point Carly's family had removed her devilish influence from my life, and was living in Ontario. No, not because she got addicted to grass.
Well actually....Im not making assumptions here but let's just say that they moved to an area suspiciously surrounded in the stuff... but who's really pointing fingers...

Personally, I stayed on the straight and narrow from then on out, and stuck to weed, mushrooms and anything else my teenage mind could get bent on in school.
I sometimes wonder about what happened to Carly after that... Then I message her on facebook and realize she's got it pretty damn good...
Five days later, in a daze, I wake up naked, face down in my neighbours lawn mower bag, while his daughter pokes me repeatedly with a stick, and I curse the day I ever tried that demon grass...

When going full retard

I have always been the person who would go out of their way to make people laugh.
I thought, and still think, that the way to a person's heart is through laughter.
The only real thing that changed about the way I look at making people laugh, is that I try not to have casualties afterwards.

A really good rule to follow in life is that if someone can get physically injured, you probably don't want to do whatever it is you are planning.

However, then, as now, I say "fuck that shit!". 

How else are you going to wake up on Sunday with severe hematomas covering 70% of your body, 12 bottles worth of glass in your feet due to an inexplicable lack of shoes, no idea where the blackberry bush that you have made your hibernation station happens to be located, and a fucking wicked story to tell when you can find someone to drive you 30kms back to town?

You simply arent going to be able to have any of these moments, and you may be better for them in the end, but if you are one of those people who's too good for getting white girl wasted in a giant muddy hell, then you are more likely to be reading about how creationism is the only possible answer, and I more than likely think you are an idiot.

For the rest of us, the only thing I have found that is actually important about having incredible experiences, is that other people dont get seriously injured. 

I can come out with out an eye, 'cause shit... I have two anyways... but if you get hurt, I will feel really bad for a couple minutes, and I hate having to dutifully feel bad for you.

So, in every war, there are casualties. And this casualtie was so fundamentally important to me that I would have flown my flag at half mast, had a owned one, or remembered what I was sad about in five minutes. I was upset about this casualtie in a way that only a 18 year old stoner could possibly understand. 

It was a weekend much like any other weekend, when we first came up with the game plan of all game plans. We woke up still kinda drunk, and then smoked a bunch of weed and tried to come up with cool things to do that wouldn't fuck with our fun-money.

This weekend my girlfriend Jen happened to be out from Chilliwack, and she is, to drunken debauchery, what Michael Jackson was to pedophilia. 

Just batting home runs like a muthafucka.

So this specific day, we decide that the best possible thing we could do with our time, would be to pointlessly order some fast food, have it delivered by a local delivery service, and then have me, dressed in a garbage bag, with my hair tied up in glorious ponytails, screaming and drooling like a mentally challenged kid on the front deck. This deck of course was within about 2 feet of their head when they came to our front door.

Now I'm not going to say I'm the next Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys.. but let's be serious... I was way fucking better.

I nailed the screaming retard like a person who was mostly a screaming retard..... (yeah, well.. it was gunna come out one day)

When the lady came to drop off the food, I was drooling and freaking right out on the porch. She got so scared she ran back to her car, and literally left rubber on the road in front of my house.

This was like hitting the jackpot in comedic gold, when it comes to a bunch of ingrate 18 year old stoners. I think we laughed, nonstop, for a month.

Winter time rolls around and Jen happens to be back at my house.

Clearly, I'm going full retard again, and we are going to call the delivery service.

So this time we call for 2 slushies... a grand total of $2 with a $5 delivery charge, but fuck it, who else am I going to be able to publicly terrify...

So she comes up our driveway, but this time, I'm going for the grand retard. Im coming through the front door at her, and I can't wait to see what happens.

So low and behold, it actually IS the same lady who came in the Summer, and this lady is terrified in the way that only a person with full blown retard strength can make you.

I went charging out the door at her, and she throws the slushies at me, and goes to run back to her car but slips on the ice, lands on her wrist, gets up, and Donovan Bailey's back to her car, and is gone before I even realize she didnt take my wadded up $10.

I'm just about turning the act into reality by shitting my pants because I cant breath I am laughing so hard.

It wasnt until about 3 weeks later that I realized how bad I had fucked my shit up.
That move was retarded... and let me tell you why:
So the lady broke her wrist.. like BROKE her wrist...
I was now black listed from the delivery service for life. No matter how much I called them out for being horrible people for discriminating on mentally challenged people, they would not bring me my cheetos! 

And a bitch gotta eat!

So now... I look at life through the eyes of someone who has been bereft of a tasty morsel for at least 20 minutes, and learned a valuable lesson.

You NEVER go full retard.

If you have ever seen the wringer.. this is me yelling "When the fuck did we get ice cream?" NAILED IT

The evolution of sexual awkwardness

One of the rights of passage, to every pre-pubescent adolescent is the "awkward sexual experience". Everyone has them. For some people it can be as simple, and earth shattering as having a guy find out that you stuff your bra, while others go full boar and get their braces inexplicably joined while dry humping in a crowded room, in the basement of their best friends house, while someone outside is screaming "I'm going to break his house" and repeatedly smashing his face into a chain link fence.... 

No one ever says "that was a really great thing we just did, and we should do it again" after their first time doing anything sexual... and if you do, you are either a liar, or you got a hooker who looked like Jenna Jameson, and you should know that everyone hates you. Everyone.
Since I did not, in fact, have my first experience with a drop dead gorgeous porn star, and am not all that good at lying, mine was notably awkward, maybe not so bad as the dry-humping debacle of 2003, but for a 12 year old Canadian girl from a small hamlet town, just outside of "we done fucked up boys, that was my sister"... it was life changing... and not really in the way that you immediately brag to your girlfriends about.

Every year my family went up to our family cabin on a small island, just off Vancouver Island in BC. On my tenth trip up to my cabin, my sister and I found out that our neighbours from California had their grandsons up, who we had met a few times, and they were around the same age as us. This is the adolescent equivalent to finding out Santa comes not once, but 10 times per year. I have always been a tomboy so this was even more exciting for me, because I wouldnt have to listen to my sister prattle on about not wanting to fish, or do.. really anything besides sun tan... so I was excited in a way that could only be compared to your first time watching "Do the Bart Man". 

Now one thing I should maybe point out, in case you are unaware of the fundamental differences here... We were 12 and 10... from a small hamlet in butt fuck no where Canada..
They were 13 and 15..... from California. 

While I was thinking about how cool it would be to go over and ramble incoherently at them until they wanted to repeatedly punch me in the face, they were probably thinking about how my sister was looking pretty good for a 10 year old.

Prepubescent sex education where I came from wasnt even on the menu at 12. At 12 I was still writing out rules on wood for the street gang that a kid from school and I came up with called (yeah, I was this cool) The Skull Crushers, that basically came down to: 

rule 1- to get into the gang you have to be cool.. cooleness is to be decided by other members of the gang and can not include little kids (I was 12. I wasn't going to hang out with no 8 year old! What do you think I was? A chump?!)

rule 2 - and eat something of the leader's (which was me of course.. i was clearly gang material at 12) choice. This can be as bad as a worm, but not as bad as a frog.

 AND THE PENULTIMATE RULE OF ALL rule 3 - all we do all day is royal rumble for rein of the gang, in Martin's yard (cause he had hedges to hide how obviously BAD ASS our gang was, in case anyone got scared and decided to try to fight us to the death. Cause we would obviously win, or our parents would ground us or something..)..

I feel like trying to compare where I was in my mental development, to where boys from california were in their's... was kind of like thinking about the first people to meet a Vulcan when they came to Earth.. 

I was that dude in my back yard, looking up at a phallic looking space ship, going "Umm... ya.. You guys are in the wrong yard man. It's Billy down the road who likes things in his butthole.. this isnt even a farm man. You just stay back you point eared ass lovers!"

So.. needless to say... they decided they should invite us for a camping trip, and the first thing that came to my head (because I assure you, while I was contemplating my existence later... I VIVIDLY remember thinking that I was a fucking IDIOT at this very moment) was "ALRIGHT! This is gunna be so cooooooool! We can tell ghost stories til like... 10 oclock and then make schmores when we are super scared! Maybe I can even steal a lighter.. cause that would be REAL bad.. oh maaaaaan!!!!"

I have a feeling this was not what they were thinking. 

Regardless, my dad was totally cool with not having to deal with my hyperactivity for even a single night, and sent us on our lighter-stealing way. 

We got up there and I set up my tent in like 2 hours flat... (what i was 12 and too busy thinking about fucking marshmallows to understand tent poles. Give me a break)

Within about ten minutes of my palace being erected, and while I basked in the glory of my creation, the guys decided that our tent was going to be the dog tent, and that we could just hang out in theirs.. or... whatever..

12 year old me is fucking HAMMER TIME stoked on this shit... I am about to sit in a tent with two all-knowing Americans, who will TOTALLY care about discussing the merits of fighting with sai over a boe staff... My little mind is racing like .3 miles per minute trying to come up with ways to counter their arguments in case they stupidly decide to pick a boe... when one of them is like "So... We snagged a beer and have these cards.. so we should play strip... pick a card...."

Yeah.. pick a card.. what do you think we were... 3? We were sophisticated as fuck. This wasnt a pow wow of "go fish" playing infants alright? We had class, and class demanded an adult game like smash the cards into a weird pile and then pick one at random.

My sister, being light years ahead of me in most social situations at this point (possibly because I looked and acted like a 5 year old down syndrome boy, but who's really pointing that shit out right now?) was instantly down.

Now, Im not really one to be caught with my pants down (at least not yet anyways) in a game of "fuck you Im not a pussy" so of course I had to be 10x more enthusiatic about strip "pick a card" as she was. I tastefully turned down the beer because my daddy would not be ok with me drinking a beer... but taking off my clothes.. maury, YOU DONT KNOW ME!
If you have ever seen the meme "and a 1 and a 2, and a ching chong potatoe..." you are looking at the secret footage they filmed of me at that moment.
If not, and as a refresher... this was me: enthusiastically agreeing to do anything regardless of if I qualified, or even knew wtf was going on.

So, about 10 minutes later.. we are all huddled in our sleeping bags, and it's starting to dawn on me that I might not be eating marshmallows dripping in chocolate, artfully smashed between graham crackers, and one of our fine friends decides that its time for us to play some spin the bottle. 

Up until this moment in my life, I had pretty much gone full on with hand holding. I was an expert at it. I held my boyfriend Alan's hand in grade 3 for at LEAST 10 minutes before I was confused and felt dirty... So, as you can imagine I felt pretty weird about this "placing food holes together in a sexy way" thing, but these were Americans from California, and regardless if I was the "sorry bro you gotta take this retarded chick for the team" older sister at the time.... I had to be a big girl about this, or risk looking like... well a 12 year old.. 

It only took about 5 spins of the bottle, and making a horrifyingly graceless exit from the tent,  before I realized one fundamental thing about myself, that all of my friends should probably know..

If we are ever in a forest, and a bear comes at us and you are smaller than me, I will not hesitate to break your legs and feed you to it to save my ass.

Regardless of if you are are my sister, and that bear only exists on the flag of the republic of 

california.

It also set the stage for every other sexual first in my life.

Step 1 - Use Bravado to pretend you dont care or are "totally good at that man" (dudes like chicks who vacantly stare at them and clearly lie about their experience)

Step 2 - Make sure it is in the most awkward place possible.. like a corn field.. or a rocky hilltop... or maybe your best friends room, with them in it...
Step 3 - Over do it in every way, so that it is awkward for everyone involved. Making sure that they dont want to talk to you in the morning... or ever again, if you want to get technical about it...
Step 4 - Immediately regret your decision, but walk around like everyone is gunna know and think you are SO COOL cause you did it.. Use rationalizations like "you are going to be so popular" and "its just a 4-some, guys love virgins in 4 somes, and they are going to think you are so cool"
Step 5 - realize that no one knows, or everyone does, but no one thinks you are cool. Not even the other person. 

Step 6- Shame drink. Do not stop drinking until you are ready for step 7

Step 7 - Begin at Step 1 again, with a new innocent victim. 

Step 7.5 - Due to shame drinking, try coming at it like a predator this time. Guys dig when chicks act like pedophiles as a carnival, and might respect you more. They might even think you are cool if you do this... Yeah.. this sounds like a good idea brain.. high five for having my back...

Cornfield? I didnt say that out loud right? ok back peddle Lauren.. That was a metaphor... for... somewhere less.. corny? And stuff, or whatever....

NAIIIIIILED IT