Kissed at Camp

Dear baby Jesus. It’s been getting so cold outside these last couple of days/weeks/fuck I don’t even know how long it’s been, that I can actually feel my piss freezing inside of my bladder. No, that’s a lie. It’s like 15 degrees Celsius out right now, but when you are of Jamaican descent and have poor blood circulation, you miss summer like I’m sure Taylor Swift misses all of her 10+ exes as she makes millions of dollars off her deplorable song-writing abilities.

You’re right, Taylor. The only thing I care about is how boys look at me. You just know me so well! I mean, you can totally rely on hormones to make life decisions, right?

Too bad I live in a country where God decided it’s cool for people to have a six-month winter. My summer this year was amazing. I worked at camp again, where I renewed my love of counseling and children. It’s also where I renewed my knowledge that if people live within close proximity of each other for a while, they will want anything between a full-blown and unabashedly unrealistic “The Notebook”-type romance and a no strings attached fling like the ones we see in high school.

This wouldn’t be so bad if the campers didn’t do this shit, too. Sadly, the psychology of us humans and how we are dumbasses is even prevalent in the very young. It’s like being a stupid fuck is linked to some sort of hallucinogen in the water we drink.

One of the campers in my cabin in particular had a habit of developing crushes at camp in previous years. We’ll call him Sid. Normally this wasn’t too much of a problem for Sid because he usually did not do anything about his quickly fleeting feelings and those feelings were always restricted to other campers. No such luck this year. Sid’s tastes had graduated from pre-adolescent girlishness to womanhood.

Mine in particular. God must hate me.

I guess he’s a kid who is attracted to leadership

Because I am an ever kind and tolerant soul, I kept my understanding of Sid’s obvious crush on me outside his realm of knowledge as not to embarrass him. It was even more awkward and sensitive because Sid has a learning disability. I informed the appropriate staff so we could properly monitor the situation and that nothing would get out of hand. Everything seemed to be under control like a well-oiled machine.

The universe did not want this.

On one of the last days of camp for Sid, our cabin was at our out-tripping period making fires and carving sticks. My co-counsellors and I supervised the teenage boys holding knives with a watchful eye as to make sure the little shits didn’t cut off their hands. Or stab us.

Sid was occupied with helping build the fire so when it got started he came up to me and gave me a hug. No problem. However, the hug lasted more than 5 seconds and the rule at camp (so that we can teach them social cues) is to gently say, “1, 2, 3, release!” I executed the child-you-best-get-the-fuck-up-off-me prompt but Sid kept holding on like a Class-5 clinger. A very slight problem. “Sid,” I said. “I want you to let go of me now, please. The hug is over.” Sid did not budge. In fact, the teenaged boy squeezed me tighter. “Sid, I need you to let go now,” I prompted again to his selective hearing, stubborn-ass ears. Sid shifted his head so his mouth was aligned with my right ear.

“I love you, Timmi,” he whispered. And then he kissed my cheek. A teenaged boy kissed me. Christ, what did I do wrong in a past life?

“Whoa!” I exclaimed as I backed right the fuck up from Sid with all the grace of a walrus performing ballet as it takes a shit. “That makes me uncomfortable, Sid.”

I wish this was an isolated situation with Sid. It was not. Even though Sid profusely apologized for trying to get his love connection on with me, he continued to do weird shit for the rest of camp. Like calling me “his chocolate pudding”. Why do white people insist on giving me nicknames that involve chocolate? I am a person. Made of carbon. Sid also enjoyed activities like staring at my breasts and trying to prevent me from putting on a sweater when I noticed. Or telling me everyday that I am a beautiful woman. My favourite was when he kept rubbing his face against my arm because my skin is just “so soft”.

Then buy some fucking cocoa butter and yours will be, too. Jesus.

Rub your own goddamn arm


Love Birds

It seems that lately, everyone around is shifting in their romantic relationship dynamics: some are breaking up like crumbly chocolate chip cookies, some are getting together, and others still fall somewhere on the spectrum in between. Maybe it’s because Winter is coming and we will all have to fuck for warmth soon. Whatever the case, it’s hella entertaining to watch from the sidelines as people clumsily stumble from one partner to the next.

All this “thrill of the chase” got me thinking about a time when I thought relationships were a positive life choice: high school. Yes, the time when everyone’s hormones are raging at 200 km/hour, probably because of the additives they put in the chicken. It’s a time when teenaged boys think that the way to impress a girl is to spray the entire can of Axe body spray onto their bodies in the middle of the hallway instead of bathing, producing a cloudy stench that is the combination of gym class and a cheap hotel. On fire.

They were doing it right during WW2

I had a crush on this boy when I was in high school. We’ll call him Jeremy. Jeremy and I had been pretty close friends in the ninth grade. We were both socially awkward people (Correction: I’m still awkward as fuck; that’s why my life is this blog) and enjoyed talking to each other on MSN messenger because that’s just how kids used to flirt back in the day. In the tenth grade, I started developing feelings for Jeremy. Hell, I was so mushy I would put Taylor Swift and her blond white girl-cuteness to shame. However, there was an issue. Jeremy liked another girl who we’ll call Fiona. So my dumb ass listened to him whine about how much he liked Fiona every night as we chatted online. Yeah, I was a really clever 15 year-old.

Eventually, I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I was going explode if I didn’t tell Jeremy that I had a not-so-secret crush on him. Hell, I didn’t even want anything¬† past that. I just wanted to tell him I cared about him. So one night I did.

“Hey, Jeremy, I like someone but I’m afraid to tell him,” I typed with all the juvenile maturity I could muster.

“Oh, really? Who is it?” Jeremy typed back, puzzled.

“Um… well… err..” I stammered online(!?). What the fuck? Why the hell did this jumbled pile of shit happen? Ugh! Children…

“Oh, come on! We’re friends! I told you about Fiona. Now, who’s this guy?”

“Well… um… you…” I admitted, so utterly ashamed.

“Well this is awkward.”

I signed the fuck off MSN messenger immediately. A month later when Jeremy finally got his shit together and had enough balls to speak to me again, we had our first conversation after that clusterfuck of adolescence.

“So why was is it awkward that I like you? I mean, Fiona and you are friends and she knows you like her. You guys are still friends. Why can’t we be friends?” I asked.

“Well, I guess I just don’t see you that way,” Jeremy finally produced after 10 minutes of online silence.

“Ok, but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I guess I’m just not really into black girls…”

“What?” (Sidenote: fair enough. There are just some races you find attractive and others you don’t. It’s not a racism thing. It’s a preference thing.)

“I just don’t think races should mix,” said Jeremy of both Japanese and Caucasian blood. Yeah, the kid’s mixed race.

“Um… okay,” I meekly typed back as I went and developed a complex that would haunt me for years after.

I’m going to pause this shit for a second. “Um, okay” was my answer?! Jesus fuck, if I ever find out my future kids take somebody’s shit like that, I will neuter them myself. That’s not even a little acceptable. If I could be 15 for that 20 minutes I was talking to Jeremy all over again, my answer should have been:

Listen, you festering sack of warthog dick pus. It’s completely acceptable that you are not attracted to me based solely on the uncontrollable fact that I have a larger amount of melanin in my skin than your cancer-prone ass will ever have. It is NOT acceptable, however, to tell me that I’m unworthy of being with you because you don’t believe in interracial relationships. And you can very well fuck right off with that argument anyway, you tiny-knobbed prick. Your parents do not belong to the same ethnicity. Did you not realise that ever at some point in your life? Jesus, Mary, and shit-cakes, do you ever have a lot to learn.

Now I realise that Jeremy was probably feeling bashful and alarmed by the entire situation and did not know what to say. However, that does not make it okay. Without guidance, that ignorant thought continues. This is not the last time I heard that very remark. It’s exactly attitudes like this which cause problems like this:

Apparently the worst thing in the world for some folks is to date a black person. Or to even have a black person like them! Now, I’m not sure why. We make excellent fried chicken, we dance well, we can sing you pretty songs, and we can run really fast! All of us. No exceptions. So it’s really surprising when I hear of teenaged girls threatening their parents with:

You won’t let me go to the movies?! Fine! Well, I’m just going to go out a date and a big BLACK guy! See how you like that!

What the hell? How is that a threat? You need to come up with better material than that. If I threatened my parents with:

Oh my God. Fuck you! I’m going to go out a date a super scary guy whose skin colour is different from mine! In fact, about 90% of human DNA is identical to everyone else’s, so it’s really your xenophobia that is the problem. I’m obviously going to date someone with whom I have nothing in common in terms of values so that you can worry even more! That’ll learn ya!

They would respond with:

You still have to empty the dishwasher.

21st century child slavery

I would not want to be one of those idiots who believes we just have to keep marrying/dating into the same ethnicity. At least because I’m open to having a non-black partner, my kids are less likely to come out with disease due to racial inbreeding. Or ugly.