2-2: She’s a Teenage Dirtbag, Baby

I swear that my fucking air conditioner is broken. On the upside, I’ve just finished making a great playlist; this might become my writing music. Techno, shoegazing, heartbroken indie rock voices? Helll yes.

But enough on my teenage life. It’s Bender time!

It was a moment of rare sympathy, whispered the public, in which the heir to the Belue estate had his swimming pool demolished and a graveyard installed. “Poor child,” murmured each soccer mom to her henpecked husband. “His parents are dead and now he’s out of a swimming pool.”

The husband would sigh, flipping to the sports section. It was a damn shame, he thought. No home was complete without a pool. Without another kind thought, he returned to the Pleasantville soccer team’s losing scores.

“You know what they do in prison?” muttered Bender, eyes peeled for a wandering police car. “Pound you in the ass-that’s what.”

In a stroke of traditional Belue luck, a police car pulled up.

Bender froze. He’d even made them a graveyard! Gotten rid of the deathpool! What more did he have to do? “I’ll offer him a stiff drink,” he decided. “And a glazed doughnut.”

To his surprise, a new family member leaped from the passenger seat. “This one’s a cold blooded killer,” shouted the police officer. He wore sunglasses even in the black of night. Bender thought he might be blind-it would explain quite a bit. “He killed a postman with his own visor, I’ll have you know.”

Very impressed, Bender took an immediate liking to the kitten. If only it could speak English, he was certain they’d have a lot to talk about.

“His name’s Loki,” said the officer. “You keep your eye on him, son. He’s one devilish son of a bitch.”

Though he almost lost his head to Blair’s face, Loki quickly became an accepted member of the family. His killer instinct deeply buried, he instantly fell in love with Blair, Bender, Monk, and particularly Berkley.

Berkley and Loki got along especially well. He matched her shirt, and rapidly became her favorite accessory. All of the teachers cooed over the cat, despite his being a direct violation of the Pleasantville Elementary dress code. It was a sure win for Berkley, and it cemented Loki’s permanent presence as a member of the household.

While Bender remained happy in solitude-he didn’t need some stinking woman or sheltered boy to fuck up his happy hour, he said-Berkley and Blair began to extend their hands to members outside of the family. Berkley spent her days playing catch in direct view of her parents’ graves. “So they can see me growing up just fine without them,” she informed her friend. “Parents are so overrated.”

In the meantime, Blair attempted to rectify her study habits.

“Fuck it.”

She couldn’t waste her days on schoolwork. That was Bender’s job, the damn, straight As overachiever. Blair couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. She’d never hit over a C.

At least she had a social life.

“NANTS INGONYAMA BAGITHI BABA SITHI UHM INGONYAMA!”

Totally didn’t just copy and paste the Lion King lyrics from Wikianswers. KNEW IT ALL ALONG. Okay, enough with the caps lock and blatant lies. Carrying on.

Her first friend was more interested in her cat, Monk, than her. It was only with her second that Blair began to feel the true joys of human socialization.

When Blair met Erin, a burst of fireworks went off in her stomach. Stomach daringly exposed, hair pulled into an impossible style, and a careful smile, she was a dream. Blair watched, jaw slightly unhinged, as she stood in the front lawn, assessing the happy yellow house, the sparsely adorned tombstones. How beautifully she concentrated! Blair could not care less about Erin’s gender; her name was appropriately androgynous, anyway. It was the twenty-first century, and Blair Belue had momentarily fallen in love.

Blair felt as if she could tell Erin anything, beginning from her absentee father and ending with the death of her mother and stepmother, touching on the illnesses and births in between. Erin would nod and say nothing, allowing the words to flow, keeping the vents open. Blair got the subtle impression that Erin was one who preferred to listen to other people narrate their own lives. It was not that Erin didn’t have a life story of her own, of course, it was simply that she preferred not to share it.

Their connection was fierce and electric. After a few meetings, Blair decided it was time to step up her game. These feelings were new, exciting, and overwhelming. She couldn’t just stand by and watch them fade away. She was a teenager, goddamnit, and she wanted a John Hughes movie of her own.

“I want to dance,” Blair said, voice test subject nervous, “with you.”

“With me?” asked Erin, biting her lip.

“Who else?”

Dancing was a dream, a lovely dream, hazy, feverish. Blair licked her lips, stumbling over Erin’s feet. Shit! she thought to herself. There was no room for inexperience in the romance department, and she was not looking to get laid off today. They couldn’t keep dancing forever. At some point, she’d have to go beyond simply holding Erin’s hand. Another, crazier still, thought entered her head. Well, Blair thought, why the hell not?

“Can I kiss you?”

“Not here,” Erin snapped, holding her hands up defensively. “We might have witnesses!”

“I haven’t kissed anyone before,” said Blair softly, hanging her head. “I didn’t know there were appropriate places.”

“We need a room,” Erin smiled, grasping Blair’s shoulders and pulling her into the twins’ bedroom. A bead of sweat formed on Blair’s brow. This certainly didn’t feel like the most appropriate of places. She only hoped that Berkley and Bender wouldn’t discover her.

“Come here,” Erin murmured. “I want to show you the ropes.”

“Are the ropes tongues?” asked Blair. “My mom used to scream something like that some nights.”

“Not exactly,” laughed Erin. “The ropes are other things.”

“Like what?”

“Just come here.”

“Will you tell me now?”

“Stop talking forever.”

Erin sure knew how to set the mood.

Tiny fireworks, thought Blair. I’m going to explode into tiny fireworks.

Erin, however, had different thoughts on the matter. Disgusted by Blair’s nonexistent kissing skills, she pulled away quickly. For her, it had been the worst kiss of her life. For Blair, it had been the best, and the first, kiss of a lifetime.

“So now that we’ve kissed,” said Blair, gripping Erin’s hand tightly. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Rule number one of kissing,” said Erin, “you’re not going to marry everyone you kiss.”

“I just want to see you again!” Blair protested, hanging her head.

“Sure,” sighed Erin. “We’ll hang out again, I’m sure. I’ve got to go, bye.”

For Blair, their next meeting was approximately twenty minutes away.

OH SHIT.

“I want you to meet me at the club,” Erin had said over the phone. Blair, helpless, had agreed, and in the process, clumsily hired rival zombie nannies.

“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, we meet again,” groaned Zombie Nanny Two. “I’ll eat them first.”

“You goddamn bitch!” exclaimed Zombie Nanny One. “This is my turf, and I’ll be the one eating the children, thank you very much.”

“They will eat my cake or die,” cackled Zombie Nanny One. “Take that!”

“Well,” grumbled Zombie Nanny Two, “fuck you, ugly, evil..person.”

After whipping up a questionable looking cake, Zombie Nanny One set the table, placing a plate in front of each chair. “Boy meal!” she called. “Cake or death?”

Bender, never one to pass up cake, replied, “Cake please!”

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” said Bender, “and I think I’d like some cake, and a margarita. Shaken, not stirred. You hear that, Zombies?”

“GIRL FOOD!” bellowed Zombie Nanny One. “Cake or death?”

“Cake please?” replied Berkley.

“Fine!” huffed Zombie Nanny One. “Have your cake!”

…

Hehehehe.

Blair crawled into the taxi, hands shaking slightly. This was a night she wanted to remember, and unbeknown to her, would be remarkably brief.

Made up women and drugged up men tottered across the club’s floor, parading their assets in skintight clothes. Blair noted the curve of each breast, the protruding chest hairs of the bloodshot eyed men, the sharply outlined legs of trashed women. Her eyes were alive with the sheer, overwhelming sexuality of it all. Never before had she noticed the perfection of the human body, or formally acknowledged the thrills it held behind closed doors. A shiver ran through her. What a massive world she’d never seen, even pushed away! How ignorant she had been!

“Hey,” a voice sounded from behind her.

Blair jumped. “Oh my god, Erin? You’re late!”

“This is the right place,” whispered Erin, grabbing Blair’s arm. She pulled her into the photobooth, shoving a few quarters through the coin slot. “You ready for this?”

Blair woke up, moaning softly, frozen in a cold sweat. We’re over, she thought to herself. That’s what Erin had meant, hadn’t she? They were over before they’d even begun. Blair whimpered, curling into a ball. She wanted to stay like this forever, curled in on herself, a paragon of a failed beginning.

Duty drew her from her mourning, despite her silent protests. More cake was in order.

“Look?” gloated Berkley. “There’s no booze on the table, and you know why? Because the world’s not all about you, Bender.”

“Shut the fuck up!” shouted Bender. “If you had half a brain, you’d know that the booze is in the fridge. Dumbass!”

“Now what do I want to be when I grow up?” wondered Bender. The answer came quickly.

“I want a fuckton of money, beer, a giant robot,” said Bender, “and not to go to prison.”

“Woo! Goooo Bender!” cheered Blair. Berkley frowned at this, turning her back as her brother crouched, spine stretching.

“Why does Bender get to grow up first?” pouted Berkley.

“I turned out damn fine, didn’t I?” Bender grinned.

And also like a carbon copy of your father, hardeharhar.

“Yo Blair, could you get me a cold one?”

“Just because it’s your birthday…” she groaned.

“Oh, look, I grew up, too!” *cough*forgottotakepicturesagain*cough*

“Get to that mirror, ugly,” said Bender, shuddering, facing the wall. He was not a large fan of women in general, and particularly not ugly ones. “Hop fucking to it!”

“In the meantime, I’ll eat cake.”

“You are such a pillowcase,” Berkley retorted, rolling her eyes.

“HELLO!? You made me look like a fucking soccer mom!”

Shut up,  it was the best I could do, you scum sucking road whore.

Just kidding, I don’t hate her that much. Sorry, Berks. You’re actually pretty funny, especially because you are just scraping from the bottom of that gene pool.

Next time…

School! Scholarships! More romance! And hopefully college!

In conclusion:

EVERY DAY I’M SMUSTLING