Prince Charming Never Hollered “YEEHAW!”

And then there was J. He was the guy who was more of a friend than a true boyfriend, who I think back and wonder, “Why did I date him again…?” I think the term “booty call” is more appropriate, but to be honest, there was less booty and more of his passing out snoring and me staring at the ceiling going, “Why do I date him again…?” He is also the reason I have a huge patch of eyebrow that will never grow back.

I met J when I was 19, almost 20. He was a friend of a friend who started showing his face more and more in our group. He was a truck mechanic who was kind of quiet, had an…interesting…laugh and……Wow it’s pretty telling that I can’t really remember much else about him, isn’t it?

Usually on Friday and Saturday nights word would spread that we were meeting at The River (this was circa 1991, 1 year a.d. T) and a group of us would jump in the car and either find someone to score us a couple cases and a bottle of Crown, or I would go into the Mom & Pop liquor store praying not to get carded. Since I looked the oldest in the group and had the biggest knockers, I could usually bat my green eyes and eyelashes at Charlie and get by with it. An aside – the night I turned 21 I saw Charlie in a local bar who said, “It’s about time you can come in my store LEGALLY for a change.” And then be bought me a shot.

I digress. After scoring the booze we would jump into the car and cruise the backroads to my friend, S’s family’s lake “cottage.” And by “cottage” I mean a run-down trailer. We would build a bonfire – and the best thing about this place was the monster fire pit, complete with benches, stone finishing, and 8 foot wolf spiders (not the best) that would jump out upon first flamage. My friend and former boyfriend, S, had an old white Nova that was jacked up in the back. He had a monster soundsystem (comparable to the one that Cliff installed for Janet that blew out the windows in her Pinto) and we would crank up Motley Cruë and Whitesnake, drink beer, BS, pass the crown and…ahem…, and basically party the night away. Some of my best memories are times spent on The River. J started to hang out with us more and somehow we started going out.

Our entire relationship spanned about a year and consisted of nights with friends, an occasional sleepover, or about once every 6 weeks or so of me coming home from college on a Saturday night. It was easy, there wasn’t a single fight during that year, and it had absolutely no substance whatsoever. If I’m being honest he kind of had the intelligence of a brick. He was nice enough, but we had absolutely nothing in common and his level of intellect was, well, less than. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not trying to imply that I’m Albert Freakin’ Einstein or anything (and it probably says more to illustrate this point that I would use ‘Freakin’ when referring to Mr. Einsten), but I can carry on a conversation. When I would talk about anything requiring a structured thought his eyes would kind of glaze over and he’d give a little grunt and then take another swig of his beer.

One night we went to the annual end-of-the summer, the legendary, the 2-day, the best party of the year given by a guy named Whorley (pronounced less like “whore” and more like “whirl”). When Whorley’s party was scheduled anyone who was anyone and anyone who was no one would clear their calendars and prepare to spend the entire weekend on the grounds of his 2 acre spread. There was volleyball. There was beer. There was horseshoes. There was beer. There was Quarters. There was beer. There was a huge bonfire. You get the idea.

For reasons I cannot recall we had to leave the party and go get something. More booze or maybe a change of clothes. On our way back, just after sunset, we were cruising down the curvy country road and J (Did I mention he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box?) decided it would be AWESOME if he turned off his headlights driving down the road he didn’t drive often at 60 mph. WOOHOOO! A road that has a very sharp curve with a telephone pole at the 100th degree after the 90 degree turn. You’re going to be shocked, shocked I tell you!, at what happened next. I remember smacking him on the arm and yelling at him to TURN ON THE FUCKING LIGHTS YOU IDIOT! and then BAM! I hit the windshield, not wearing a seatbelt like a bonehead, and it was later discovered that I caved the dashboard with the force of my knees. Knowing that I was tipsy (understatement) and underage, I hightailed it out of there, completely fueled by fear, adrenaline, and Crown Royal. It just so happened that the road we were on was the road I lived just off of, and the telephone pole resided within spitting distance of T’s house. I hauled ass out of there and ran straight there. Oh the heart attack I must have given his parents! I knocked on their door, glass shards protruding from my face, sobbing and half lit. Thank goodness they had hard wood floors because I later learned that I left a solid trail of blood from the crash site all the way up the stairs of their house and tracking into their kitchen. They brought me in, sat me down, picked the big pieces of glass out of my face, did their best to stop the bleeding and called my Mom. Mom knew what had happened before they even called her thanks to the neighbor who saw me get out of the car. (Narc!)

We went to the hospital where the police were already waiting but, bless their hearts, they only gave me a ticket for minor consumption. J was there as well, hammered, bleeding, and very apologetic. I spent the next hour or so getting the glass removed from my eyelids, ice on my throbbing kneecaps, and thanking the good Lord above for sparing my stupid ass one more time. There are patches of my eyebrows that have never come back after that night. It was also that night I realized there was absolutely no reason for me to be with that bonehead. I saw him the next day and we both just kind of knew it was over. Like my time with J, the end was uneventful, done with a hug, and I’m not sure we ever talked again.

Lessons learned from my time with J:

  • A guy who is more worried about Miller Lite than Arthur Miller is probably not for me.
  • A guy who thinks it is cool to make YEE HAW! noises while driving down a country road – or making YEEHAW! Noises ever – is probably not for me.
  • A guy who laughs like Tom Hanks in The Money Pit when the bathtub fell through the ceiling is probably not for me.
  • If you have nothing in common with someone at the beginning, chances are you’re not going to have anything in common with them 10 months later.
  • My eyebrows are more important to me than I ever realized.
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~ by cinderellawasdelusional on May 21, 2009.

2 Responses to “Prince Charming Never Hollered “YEEHAW!””

  1. “throbbing kneecaps” — isn’t that a band?! ❤ the Arthur Miller reference!

    • Nice one!! The Throbbing Kneecaps would only play dark and dingy punk bars though. And my ass would be too old to get in the door.

      I figured the Arthur Miller comment would come across as classist. LOL I’ve been accused of that a few times….

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