Shots better be up to date, dammit
When I was in junior high school, I fell in with a bad crowd.
Okay, it was more like three or four losers drifted together, and cumulatively, we were a bad crowd. A bad, small crowd. There was Sue, really a nice girl who hadn't grown her personality yet, and some blonde kid whose name escapes me, so we'll call him "Phil." But it's neither of them that concerns me here; I feel the need to share a little about the baddest of our bad crowd, Juanita.
What Juanita lacked in common sense, she lacked even more in personality, and you wouldn't wanna have to fall back on her looks, if you know what I mean. Could I pick 'em or what? I had absolutely nothing in common with these people, save for the fact that we were all 13 years old and wanted to get drunk as often as possible. I have a long, ridiculous story about these folks that I will post here sometime, but it's Monday and I'm whupped, so I'm offering up a tale that's shorter, but really, no less weird.
One winter night, the bunch of us were wandering the mean streets of Grand Haven (the town where the junior high school had its own planetarium) with some Southern Comfort and MD 20/20. Juanita, Sue and Phil were sharin' the Southern Comfort; I was much more of a Mad Dog girl. Explains a lot, doesn't it?
Now, Juanita could knock it back pretty impressively for a 13-year-old, but it did nothing to mute her obnoxious streak - intensified it, in fact. On this particular night, I watched her tip up the brown bottle, there under the streetlight, with Christmas-fattened snowflakes wafting lazily onto her shoulders, and I saw the exact moment where she completely lost her sense. I could see the shine in her eyes turn to a glaze, and her expression told me her fragile grasp on reality had succumbed to greasy fingers and completely slipped away. And lucky me, she set her crazed eyes upon me first.
I should mention here that I was lookin' especially spiffy in my poofy, butterscotch-colored winter coat and my little matching butterscotch-colored piss cutter cap. Maybe it was so spiffy that it attracted her insane gaze, but before I had any idea what was goin' on, Juanita had advanced on me, grabbed my arm, and bitten me, fucking bitten me, as hard as she could. And lemme tell you, a drunken, overgrown 13-year-old bitch can bite pretty damn hard.
A shriek issued forth from my surprised lips, and she jumped back with a maniacal grin on her face, and a little bit of my butterscotch coat in her teeth. The three of us kept our distance from Juanita and headed home right about that time, a fairly wise decision for a bunch of drunk teenagers. Further inspection would show human teeth holes in my butterscotch coat, and very defined teeth marks in my arm.
That was a fun conversation with Mom.
Okay, it was more like three or four losers drifted together, and cumulatively, we were a bad crowd. A bad, small crowd. There was Sue, really a nice girl who hadn't grown her personality yet, and some blonde kid whose name escapes me, so we'll call him "Phil." But it's neither of them that concerns me here; I feel the need to share a little about the baddest of our bad crowd, Juanita.
What Juanita lacked in common sense, she lacked even more in personality, and you wouldn't wanna have to fall back on her looks, if you know what I mean. Could I pick 'em or what? I had absolutely nothing in common with these people, save for the fact that we were all 13 years old and wanted to get drunk as often as possible. I have a long, ridiculous story about these folks that I will post here sometime, but it's Monday and I'm whupped, so I'm offering up a tale that's shorter, but really, no less weird.
One winter night, the bunch of us were wandering the mean streets of Grand Haven (the town where the junior high school had its own planetarium) with some Southern Comfort and MD 20/20. Juanita, Sue and Phil were sharin' the Southern Comfort; I was much more of a Mad Dog girl. Explains a lot, doesn't it?
Now, Juanita could knock it back pretty impressively for a 13-year-old, but it did nothing to mute her obnoxious streak - intensified it, in fact. On this particular night, I watched her tip up the brown bottle, there under the streetlight, with Christmas-fattened snowflakes wafting lazily onto her shoulders, and I saw the exact moment where she completely lost her sense. I could see the shine in her eyes turn to a glaze, and her expression told me her fragile grasp on reality had succumbed to greasy fingers and completely slipped away. And lucky me, she set her crazed eyes upon me first.
I should mention here that I was lookin' especially spiffy in my poofy, butterscotch-colored winter coat and my little matching butterscotch-colored piss cutter cap. Maybe it was so spiffy that it attracted her insane gaze, but before I had any idea what was goin' on, Juanita had advanced on me, grabbed my arm, and bitten me, fucking bitten me, as hard as she could. And lemme tell you, a drunken, overgrown 13-year-old bitch can bite pretty damn hard.
A shriek issued forth from my surprised lips, and she jumped back with a maniacal grin on her face, and a little bit of my butterscotch coat in her teeth. The three of us kept our distance from Juanita and headed home right about that time, a fairly wise decision for a bunch of drunk teenagers. Further inspection would show human teeth holes in my butterscotch coat, and very defined teeth marks in my arm.
That was a fun conversation with Mom.
25 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Yeah, Juanita was somethin' else. I'm just trying to be nice here. I never was really very happy that you were hanging out with her. Jeeeeeez, teeth marks in your friggin' jacket?
It can be perplexing to comprehend who we select as pals to hangout with, especially in retrospect!
What on earth did you tell your mom? We had a Juanita in our crowd too. . .but her name was Toni, and for her to get drunk was scary. It was in junior high school then too, when a drunken Toni hit me with a fist to my eye, for the fun of it???. It then became honest mom, I slipped on the ice and hit my eye on a car bumper, I swear that is how it really happened.
SS Nick, I know what you mean. I used to hang with a girl, just because she lived on my block. She was a bitch, but I just kept hanging out with her. Then there was a girl I met in High School from whom I should have run as fast as I could. She always wanted to cause trouble. Why did I do this? I dunno.
I can hear Don Knotts now, singing into the phone at the sherrif's office:
"Juanita
Jua-a-a-niiii-ta..."
I'm so glad you no longer hang with a bad crowd. Oh, wait . . . never mind :p
Isn't that a Simon & Garfunkel song?
"See you me and Juanita (Julio)down by the school yard."
Maybe she just liked butterscotch. Didja ever think of that, Bucky? Huh? Didja?
And just think how disappointed she was when you tasted like Mad Dog instead of the sweet butterscotch she had her palate set on.
Poor Juanita.
Bucky, you can write, man.
Sorry bout your butterscotch coat. What a nutjob.
Maybe she was having a major craving for butterscotch icecream or something--or you just looked so tasty--she had to "take a bite out of crime"
Freaky--your mom must have been scared to let you out of the house after that!
Yo, why you gotta be frontin' for?
Butterscotch? You wore butterscotch?? On purpose? Well, that clears the whole thing up, then, doesn't it? Obviously Juanita was a member of the Fashionistas and used draconian measures to stop the madness.
You poor girl, you got tasted by a crazy drunk 13 year old? That seems not right some how.
Maybe she was really a zombie in disguise as a 13 year old girl. Might explain alot....
Jess, I think comparing Juanita to a zombie is really not fair to the zombies.
I'm thinking she just got the munchies and mistook you for a giant candy. I might do the same if drunk enough. I love me some candy.
Tardist - she was fuckin' goofy! Oh, wait. That was Minnie Mouse. The slut.
Squirl - Yup, teeth marks. In my jacket, in my arm. I think I pick my friends a lot better these days.
SS Nick - I know, it boggles my mind. I ask myself, why? Why? Why?
Nanina - I don't remember what I told Mom (I was drunk at the time). But at least Juanita didn't punch me! Or is biting worse? It's all pretty obnoxious...
Squirl - I know who the neighborhood bitch was. Who was the troublemaker in high school?
Mr. B - must you always bring Don Knotts into it? Now I'm all horny and stuff.
Susie - we might as well get matching leather jackets and call ourselves a gang. Unfortunately, the name Tough Cunts is already taken.
M_D - I wish it had been Julio. He had to have been better company than Juanita.
Kitty - if you can't pee on the carpet, then what's the point of havin' carpet?
LadyBug - yes, let's feel sorry for the biter.
Amy - why thank ya, ma'am! And that poor butterscotch coat was never the same.
Effie - actually, Mom was scared to let me IN the house.
Juanita - come back for the other sleeve, have you?
Eclectic - *sob* I couldn't help it! I didn't have a fashion advisor then!
Jess - I'd much rather be bitten by Zombie. At least his teeth marks would be in a cool pattern.
Squirl - indeed. Especially if we're talkin' Zombie Flyboy. He bites and rules, Juanita bites and drools.
Kranki - remind me not to wear my butterscotch coat or my peppermint shoes in front of you!
Don Knotts rules.
That is all.
*runs for a tetnus shot*
Bucky and Squirl are both right, no disrespect intended to Zombie Flyboy, he does rule, and with very little drool as well.
But lets face it, not all zombies are as super cool as he is, I mean come on, he has fisting action over at his place....
(while sobbing and burying her face in her hands)
I'm sorrrrryyyyy. I'M SORRRYYY, bitch! I thought you looked so full of Bucky GOODNESS that I just HAD to have taste!
You sure know how to hold a grudge! How namy times does a bitch have to apologize before you just let it GO?
I'M SORRRRYYYYY!
hehehe
Gosh, that reminds me of back at Dooce, when we were going to get jackets, or caps or some such -- one of those delusional comment threads -- and we were trying to come up with a name for the "club" -- I distinctly remember voting staunchly against "cum-soaked barn sluts."
On another matter, you KNOW how I never get all up in anyone's bidniss :0 but that man on your masthead is skirring me. I like the pretty girl with the lipstick, much better. (I'm in a voting mood, today.)
Boy, does the demarcation line in age show up in THIS post - I can see who can't remember the ghastly fashion faux pas of the 70's - I had a little butterscotch colored LEISURE suit with the little vest, and it was paired with a plaid blouse with a BOW - and it had a damn tam- o shanter with it, and I thought I was the shit. Oh, did I mention it was double-knit POLYESTER? Oh yeah...we were stylin' in those days.
hack, cough.
Maybe she thought you were a huge butterscotch candy...and if that were the case you can hardly blame her...being a butterscotch fan myself.
Bucky, the troublemaker's initials were KH. Mom and Dad even let her live at our house for a while in high school.
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