Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Seemed like a good idea at the time...

So Mir over at Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda had posted something the other day bemoaning many things about some American Idol candidate who, I guess, was inappropriately smug and judgemental (what, an american princess judging others? No!) and got spanked with the irony paddle when some pictures surfaced of her being not quite so godly. (or cleanly either, apparently!) And Mir's point, more than anything, was "people, tell your kids not to let anyone take pictures of them doing the dirty stuff we do!" And she's TOTALLY right.

I just wish she'd been blogging (or that blogs had even existed, let alone the robust internet of today, or camera phones, or so many things) when I was making my ill-advised video about 11+ years ago. Gulp.

(hi, Mom!)

You've heard me mention WWIT-dude (What Was I Thinking?-dude) already. It's clear that he was a bad choice in the long run. However, when we first met he was many very cool things, especially to me. First you must understand who I was at the time:

-a tender 24 years old.
-living away from where I consider to be home, and supposedly independent
-working and living somewhere that made me feel pretty lame

yes, folks, I was the original 40-year old virgin (except that I was 24 and less hairy then Steve Carrell) and I was the last one o' them that I knew. That anyone I knew knew. And he was a good looking, virile, studly guy. Who looked back.

It was 4th of July, the night I fell into all of this drama, stuff straight out of primetime television with street thugs (honest to goodness thugs!) and tough talk (stuff that would have been written without g's and using many aposterphes, like "dude, don't be buggin'!") and cute dudes who's health I was having actual concern for. And at the end of the night I'd been kissed and there was something ultimately unfortunate hatching: love. Of a sort.

OK, jump forward a year and we're "celebrating" a one-year anniversary. (I say "celebrating" because most of our celebrations featured him losing his cool and his temper and his ability to not yell, be insulting and generally freak me out. Good times...) WWIT-dude lived in another state about 3.5 hours away and so all of our time together was spent in these intense little pockets. Foolishly I thought that was exciting and thrilling and stuff, rather than seeing that it was false and absurd and stuff. One of the things that became more intense when done in little bursts was "the nasty." "Knockin' boots." "Makin' the beast w/ two backs." S. followed by E. Capped off with a big, ol' X.

(I'm not kidding, my Mom is now, or will some time soon, be reading this. Everybody wave.)

So back to the anniversary. WWIT-dude makes some kind of veiled request for something to help him get through the times when we were apart (also called "weekdays"). Now, did the filters in the brain that are supposed to protect you fire up and say "gosh, that's sweet honey, but I'm not really crazy about doing dirty stuff (sorry Mom) on film. How about I buy you some anonymous porn instead?"

Well of course not. If they had then what would I be writing about now? Come on, people, keep up!

No, instead my mind went to all those Harlequin Romance books my sister (my super-smart, over-achieving sister, mind you!) used to read, or the hot and steamy flicks with the Demi Moores and the Sharon Stones and all. Curse you, Sharon Stones! I shake my fists at you, you Demi Moores! Oh how you clouded my normally-sound judgement!

In short order a video camera was acquired and a tape shot. It was just me and it was probably really hard to see what the hell was happening, what with the artsy lighting I used. Today we call them "candles." And then I made a copy (for technical reasons, not aesthetic ones, I assure you) and gave it to WWIT-dude. And in all of this I don't remember ever wondering if it was a good idea. I was so dang new to being a sex-having person, I couldn't really think beyond that fact! It was all "really? you actually look at me in that way? Wow! What, exactly, is wrong with you? (not that I want it to be fixed, but more that I want to be able to recognize it in others...)"

(Mom, if it helps at all it was all done with utmost concern to good hygiene. Clean sheets and everything.)

And keep in mind that back then the only real concern one would have had was either that the dude would show his buddies, which didn't seem likely given how over-the-top jealous WWIT-dude was of ANYBODY, or that someday one would become famous and the tape would surface. I wasn't really worried about famous. We didn't have these easy and convenient opportunities for run-of-the-mill douchebags to take a picture or video and shoot it out over the web for "just 'cause." like we do today. Today is a much different place with much different scary things. I would really (really, REALLY, reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally for REALS) like to believe that today I'd stop and think about all the ways that such a folly could become a cl*ster-f*ck and think better of it. And maybe even have anonymous porn on hand to distract -- "look at the naked boobies! Here, fetch!"

Me, I was exceptionally lucky. When, at last, the day came for me to realize what madness that relationship was and call it all off WWIT-dude destroyed the video tape in a fit of anger and in the hopes that I'd feel bad about it and change my mind. (in his head this logic track arrived at Sanity Station, as opposed to most of us who see that thought train in a massive heap of twisted metal at the bottom of Crazybeans Gulch.) I even thought enough to destroy the original right before moving back to my hometown, so there are no scary surprises waiting out there. But again, only because I was exceptionally lucky.

Now I just gotta get famous.

1 comment:

Queenie said...

Oooh, you bad girl you!

I really hope that your Mom stopped reading about the second paragraph or so!