Diana and Joe 2: The Long Summer

The summer in question has enough stories for me to tell for the rest of my life, but as a consequence it's hard to sit down and pick out one thread of the whole pattern, and tell it. Many stories are short--many of them aren't very funny, or aren't very appealing unless you're there. Most of life is like that, I find.

But I digress. By late summer, a vague sort of pairing up had occurred, in which it was well known who wanted to sleep with whom. Perhaps this had been happening all along, and I was just too dumb to recognize it. Or perhaps I saw it all along, and just didn't care--now, of course, I'm compelled to drag all this out and put it to paper, lest I forget--and lest you go elsewhere to waste a few minutes of your otherwise productive day.

Jessie was the one saving her maidenhood for marriage. She was nice looking, in a very classic Midwestern-standard way--always well combed hair, makeup, and feminine clothing. All that I could have forgiven her, if she hadn't been clinging to that excruciatingly weird idea about her hymen. It wasn't so much the hymen, for me, or the "saving herself" bit, even: it was what was behind that idea. Marriage, inlaws, mortgage payments, and diapers--all things I couldn't even contemplate without a stiff drink. So, while we flirted a bit, I never pursued her, because I knew exactly where that pursuit would lead me.

Instead, she flirted pretty heavily with our friend Waynerd, who I've mentioned before (he's the guy I bet $5 with in The Worst Date of My Life). Waynerd, I'll point out again, is not our good friend at Big Cliche--that would be an insult I would never survive making.

Waynerd was a good looking kid, tending towards vanity and not above a bit of beer-wahooing or car-stereo theiving with his friends Circle J and Travis (see how the network expands?). He was a consummate liar, and most importantly, would say ANYTHING to get into a girl's pants. At the time, though, I thought he'd met his match with Jessie.

Diana was quite a bit different. She couldn't get rid of her virginity fast enough, I think, and loved nothing more than cute boys on acid, preferably boys in black leather gyrating to Front 242 or the like. She had bobbed black hair, wore too much makeup, and had the most annoying laugh I've ever heard--but a pair of breasts that made Jim and quite a few other guys drop their drinks. Me, I couldn't get past the laugh.

But since we all spent so much time around each other, it seemed natural that she would gravitate towards Joe, the goth with the purple hair and pierced nipples (he actually pierced them HIMSELF, in our bathroom). Joe was unimpressed--like me, the laugh and her generally raucous way of speaking (and she did love to speak) overwhelmed any attraction we might have had for her.

Lastly, there was Jennifer. Jennifer, to be succinct, was a scary bitch. She dressed like Marilyn Manson and was built like a tank--the first phrase that comes to mind is "big boned," and when I say that I don't mean it as a euphemism for "fat." The girl had big, thick bones, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on her. And she was scary--she could make a man get up and leave the room just by staring at him for a while, and there always seemed to be anger just beneath the surface of what she said. She didn't say much, either, which meant that every word had to be carefully parsed for meaning. Even when she smiled, it was a predatory smile. The most comforting thing about her was the 12 pack of Bud Dry she always brought with her.

But even goth linebackers like her need love, so she eventually hooked up with TC, the human beatbox, designated monkey, and marathon walking machine. TC was homeless and lived on people's couches, goodwill, and stolen beer. He was a good guy to have around when you needed a guinea pig for new lots of acid, anything climbed, or a ridealong for supply procurement. Unfortunately, he didn't bathe very often, so having him around was a mixed blessing at best.

By the beginning of August, Diana had worked up a pretty good set of puppy dog eyes for Joe, which became increasingly difficult for everyone to bear. Furthermore, Waynerd had been pressing his case with Jessie pretty regularly, so the stage was set for disaster.