What you can expect:
The brutal truth of me, without all the sugary coating.
Here I am just me, UNCUT and UNEDITED.
I talk about my family, my divorce, and a lot about MAKEUP.
If you leave me a comment, I will love you forever. :)

Sunday, September 18, 2011

My First Kiss (or: Embarrassing stories from my adolescence)

I'm all finished and ready to (finally) have What I Wish published for the girls, but I can't figure out what printing service to use! I didn't realize I would need months of research in order to determine where I could get the best price. It feels like when I was researching colleges... so difficult to compare! Luckily my dad offered to pay for the publishing, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to publish for another 6 months or more!

In the meantime, I'm going to post a little sample from the book. I think that's fair after asking you all to participate! :) This particular excerpt was written by me, and believe me, I wouldn't be sharing this information with you if I didn't think it would help my nine sweet nieces as they turn into teenagers! This is just downright embarrassing.

Enjoy my humiliation!

My First Kiss

Maybe I’m wrong, but I think I wanted my first kiss more than other girls did. Or, perhaps, just earlier than the other girls I knew. I was fourteen and absolutely sure I was the only girl left on the planet who hadn’t been kissed (I was totally wrong about that, btw). Kissing was sure to be the best thing ever, and I was determined to not be left in the dark any longer.
That summer was a hot one, and I had a season pass to Lagoon. My best friends and I spent every available moment there, riding each ride hundreds of times, buying water at the Arby’s in Pioneer Village for a dime (and laughing our heads off, because life was fun and carefree then), and mostly just searching out beautiful boys. We took the term “boy-crazy” to a new level. If I had a quarter for every time we rode the Colossus – even though we hated that ride – just because we wanted to be next to a certain guy in line… well, let’s just say I’d have a lot more quarters in my piggy bank.
I’m sorry to say, we made a habit of dressing as scantily as possible, so as to draw the most attention. Our parents didn’t approve of our short skirts and high heels, of course, but the thing about tiny clothing is that it fits easily into a purse or backpack. Switching our jeans and sweatshirts for mini-skirts and tank tops in the public bathroom was a small price to pay for looking “awesome”.
(Now that I know more about the world, I have no idea how we didn’t end up raped or worse. Not to mention how silly we must have looked in those trashy, grown-up outfits. Now when I see girls dressing too old for their age, I just laugh because they look ridiculous.)
Our favorite ride was the bumper cars. We had been so many times that we had memorized exactly which cars drove best, and which ones would leave you stuck in a corner begging for mercy. The feeling of being a little kid again, crashing into each other and making a scene was just beyond amazing.
August 11, 1999 was the day, and I’ll never forget because that’s the day Salt Lake City had an actual tornado. I didn’t know that was happening at the time, and I was having too much fun to notice the sky growing darker and the wind picking up as we rode our favorite ride over and over again.
Then we saw them.
Now that I look back, I can’t for the life of me figure out why I thought that guy was so hot… in reality, he was barely taller than me, shaved bald, and extremely arrogant. There was just something about him that drew me to him. We were used to asking hot guys what their names were and where they were from, so we didn’t waste any time.
“Ty,” he told us. I’m pretty sure his friend’s name was Jon, but honestly, I wasn’t paying much attention to said friend. We spent the next few hours with them, and eventually we paired off – me with Ty(ler), and my best friend with Jon. It turns out he was sixteen, and he was in the Navy.
(Just so you know, sixteen-year-olds can’t join the Navy. Boys lie.)
Now, everyone knows if a boy suggests getting in line for Dracula’s Castle, he means to get close to you. It’s the same concept as a scary movie: he expects you to cuddle up and act all cute and scared, at which point he can swoop in and “protect” you. 
That was the longest line I ever recall waiting in. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mind, because somehow in the course of two hours, he had become comfortable putting his arms around my waist and kissing the top of my head. I could have stood there for hours just like that and been completely and utterly happy. My heart was beating so fast and hard, I was sure he could hear it, and he seemed to really like me. My friend and his friend were hitting it off, too, so things were going perfectly. When it was finally our turn to get on the ride, there was room for four people in the car, but only he and I got in.
You’d think that I would have seen it coming, then, wouldn’t you?
Yeah, I guess I was still pretty na├»ve, because when – in the pitch black – his lips were on mine, I panicked and completely froze.
No joke, I didn’t move a muscle. Kiss him back, you idiot! I was screaming at myself, but it didn’t translate into lip action.
Then it was over. His face disappeared, and in the dark I realized I had just received – and completely ruined – my first kiss. I stupidly apologized for not knowing what to do, stating that he caught me off-guard, and I told myself I would be so amazing the next time he tried to kiss me that he would forget all about that first sloppy attempt at a kiss.
Except, he didn’t try to kiss me again. After that he acted really strangely, completely shut off to me, and I couldn’t understand the change. I kept asking him what was wrong, and he kept brushing me off, saying it was nothing. That clearly wasn’t true.
He broke up with me on the Sky Ride, the slowest ride on Earth. “Just friends,” he said. The weather had steadily declined, and my perfect summer day turned into a terrible rainstorm, which perfectly matched the agony in my heart. I felt torn in two, and I cried like a blubbering baby. To my everlasting shame, I followed him, asking for another chance, telling him I loved him (LOVED him?!) all the way to the bus stop.
Behind the Chevron, waiting for his bus to arrive (how weird, he was going home in the middle of the day? Apparently I didn’t realize that was because he wanted to get away from me…), he kissed me so passionately I had no choice but to return his kisses. Breathless, I was sure he’d changed his mind. No one could have a kiss like that and walk away from it.
“That was the perfect goodbye,” he whispered, taking my heart with him as he disappeared onto the big blue city bus.
I’m embarrassed to admit it took me one entire year to get over him.
Why was receiving my first kiss so vastly important to me that I failed to see how stupid and unnatural it was when it was all happening? Later (at least a year after my disastrous first experience), I met an amazing boy who practically worshipped me, and we shared some really special kisses. It turns out when someone really cares about you, kissing is pretty perfect, just like I’d always imagined.
It’s not the act of kissing that makes it dizzying and romantic. Without the connection of being friends first, kissing is just awkward lips on lips.  


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. Itching for your first kiss and scantily clad...we must be related!


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