I thought high school was like the movies. But I was wrong. There’s no love story and no happy ending with you and your first disappointment running away together and backpacking through Europe. Well if backpacking through Europe means staying at the Four Seasons and playing my favorite authentic European road-trip game: how many Hermes stores can you spot?
There’s definitely no happy ending with the one I picked in HS. His name was Carlitos. I was young and naive and he was the first in my long line of choosing the wrong guys. But Carmen liked him. She likes them all more than she likes me.
But I would have been stuck going to Alaska and blasphemy, camping if I stuck with him. I mean, his life aspiration was to be a Park Ranger. Like really? What the fuck was I thinking? In my defense I didn’t know this at the time. I assumed like all the other men in my life he would be successful. I shouldn’t have put all my eggs in one basket, especially if said basket/man was a born-and-bred hoarder. (This is why I have upgraded to men with mansions and live-in help).
To be real, high school is actually somewhat like the movies. Well if it’s the horror movie with Jennifer Lopez and the neighbor that stalks her and murders her. Ok, so I have to admit that all i saw was the trailer for that movie because it was just too real for me. I may need Juanita to lend me her Xanax cause the end of that movie may mimic my future (continue reading at your own discretion).
In HS things with Carlitos and I were good for a while (before I wanted to John Tucker his ass). We did everything together during junior year. That was mistake #1. Hoes before bros, girls because I wanted to stab his eyes out by senior year. But no worries. I traded the pencils in for crayons. Less sharp and my creativity surged that year.
After graduation, Carlitos and I agreed to be friends. But the damage was done. It still makes me ill when I see high school kids getting all serious and thinking they are “in love.” Do you buy the first car you drive? NO. You test drive as many as possible.
It’s hard for me to admit some of this but I need to be honest with myself. And while I am being truthful, I want to thank Juanita for helping me come to the conclusion that if I can see Russia from my hotel suite then Alaska is just not a safe place to live my life as a park ranger’s wife. So no biggie– Juanita and I rented a villa in Tuscany and set our sights on European men… and a lot of retail therapy.
To be honest, senior year had been weird because our friends had to choose sides. And I know what you are thinking. You are right that most of our friends DID choose me cause I was better looking. But why kick a guy when he’s down? Plus holding grudges is for white trash hoes (and those who live in East Harlem like Hortencia). After all, hurt people hurt people. So every time I saw him at mutual friends’ events, I just smiled and nodded. I thought being in a different state than him would be a big enough hint. But boy was I wrong.
To this day, every three months, like clockwork Carlitos sends me a text message or a FB message asking how I am and wanting to catch up. Don’t have time for it, honey boo boo. I just ignore them. I didn’t know they had internet in Alaska. He always makes a point to say “Hi Roberta” and sign his name at the end. Seriously? Like if he can’t even spice up his Facebook messages, how can I expect him to spice it up in bed?
A little over a year ago, I wrote back when I was high on vicadoodles after getting my new nose. I only did it because when my phone beeped, I asked my daddy to check who texted me cause I wasn’t feeling 100%. After all, I couldn’t snapchat w/ my nose incognito. Daddy was shocked to read the name “Carlitos.” Daddy always felt bad for the guy so he urged me to write back. Daddy did always tell me how I could do a million times better. Thanks for believing in me, daddy. Mwah. But why the hell did you teach me human decency?
My big brother who was visiting told me that not writing back would lead him on so I fucking wrote back high-as-a-kite. Actually I made my brother write back for me cause he said what I was going to send was too mean. Grow some balls. And then my bro gave me a lecture on how it’s not nice to hurt boys feelings. I thought boys hearts were toys to play with. Sorry big-bro that girls are bitches. Clearly, I should let my big bro guest blog and discuss his own issues but that’s a story for another time…
Back to Carlitos and his stalkerish ways, so this past summer he wrote me a really long FB message. It was longer than usual and I was surprised that he was able to string so many words together. Like “Hi Roberta” so many times. So he admitted, that he ” made some mistakes later on when we knew each other.” SEVEN YEARS later… He had never once said those words before. I didn’t know they were in his vocabulary, let alone any man’s.
Why did I feel like I was being vindicated? And why did it feel good? Even though it was SO long ago. Maybe it’s cause he was telling me what I already knew. I was right. He was wrong. He ended the message with, “it would mean a lot to hear from you.” Wow, I see why daddy felt bad for him.
I reluctantly wrote back and exchanged a couple short messages with him, at the suggestion of mutual friends. Well they were mutual– now they’re just mine. He replied “Good to hear that you’re alive.” Why would I not be alive? Please tell me J.lo doesn’t die at the end of the movie.
Since that short exchange last summer, I have ignored his clockwork texts and messages since. But here’s the dilemma. He messaged me again this week and I recently found out that I have to invite him to a baby shower that I am putting together for our mutual friends.
So what is a girl to do but “lose his invite in the mail?” Right?
I don’t know what he wants from me. I actually hope he has Bristol Palin’s third child out of wedlock. That would make him somewhat successful and I want that for him.
Or is it time to put my big girl panties on?