Vomit Day #2: Not A Top 10

If my first Vomit Day story was humiliating, then this one should rank fairly high on the pathetic scale.

The week leading up to Vomit Day during my sophomore year in high school was an exciting one. A friend of mine decided to set me up with this truly gorgeous senior.  After pointing me out to him in the hall, he relayed his interest, and the road to my first decent Vomit Day was well underway.

He got my number from her, saying he would call me on Valentine's Day, and if things went well, he would ask me to a movie that night.

Wow! A date on Vomit Day with Adonis-senior-guy! Finally, a high school dream date coming true! And on my least favorite day of the year!!!!

February 14th: I turned my ringer on high, spent hours picking out my outfit (just in case said Vomit Day conversation turned into a date), and waited...and waited...and waited...

RING! RING!

Me: "Hello?"

Friend: "Aw, you answered the phone so sweetly! Has he called yet?"

Me: "No, not yet."

Friend: "Well, he will, just hang tight."

Not long after Friend called, my mom and dad knocked on my bedroom door with my Valentine's Day gift in hand. They gave me a CD...a soundtrack, to be more specific. I immediately placed it in my stereo and listened. Read on to find out which one...trust me when say this CD was the metaphorical dagger.

By 10:00 p.m., I knew he wasn't going to call. To this day, I can see myself sitting in my bed, staring at my carefully planned outfit all laid out, listening to my Valentine's CD from mom and dad, with my little pink phone by my side. Sad.

By 11:30 p.m., I was crying...while listening to...drum roll please...

The Bodyguard Soundtrack.  You know, the one with I Will Always Love You---a favorite of manic depressives back in the day.

Yep. I was stood up/shafted/ditched on Valentine's Day, while listening to Whitney Houston belt one of the most depressing songs of all time, second only to All By Myself. 

Oh, but there's more to this story! If I thought I couldn't feel any worse about myself, I was about to learn otherwise.

Turns out Adonis-senior-guy asked around about me prior to calling.  He found out my name wasn't on the list of top ten sophomore sluts. 


I believe his exact words to Friend were, "She just doesn't have the right name."

In fact, after a little digging, Friend found out that this guy "needed some kind of sex" on the first date, so he would never take a chance on a "good girl."

Bottom Line: He ditched me because my name wasn't on a list of sluts. It didn't matter that he thought I was cute; it didn't matter about my personality.  He didn't care.  He needed sex, and I didn't have the right name.

It's so pathetic, it's actually amusing. I mean, who gets stood up on Vomit Day for not having the right name?

Ugh, I hate you, Vomit Day.

The Howler

*Note: Thought it might be fun to recall some of my more interesting dates, quasi-dates, meetings, whatever you want to call them. Soon, I will talk about my theory on the whole Accidental Enchantment vs. Seriously Screwed Up Curse. The following may be evidence of a curse.

Sadly, I'm not talking about Ron Weasley's howler in Harry Potter, although it would be pretty cool to get one, despite the whole, you know, scolding-yelling-angry-mom thing.

And, no, I'm not referring to some sexy werewolf-man a la True Blood. 

No, instead I'm talking about the questionably normal, human guy who, out of nowhere, stops to howl at the moon.  *pause for the WTF comment* 

After said howl (which was a pretty impressive impression of Alcide), wolf-wannabe-guy says, "That's what I like to do during sex.  It's hot."

Wondering about his mental state, I asked, "Do you believe yourself to be a werewolf?"

Laughing, wolf-wannabe-guy says, "No, of course not."

Ah, good to know. Excellent.

"But I was one in my past life."

Crap. I'm on a date with a past-life werewolf. Terrific.