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To end Mean Girls Week, I think it’s appropriate if I share a mean girl story. A story plucked from my own retarded high school past. It’s not a story about skanky bitches calling everybody “sluts” and “whores”. It’s about high school drama, angst, and awkward silences. It’s about me being in jail with a girl named Vanessa.

I went to a Catholic school in Sta. Rosa, Laguna. Canossa School to be exact. A place were dreams are born and hearts are broken. A breeding ground for leaders, jocks, losers, artists, mean girls, and background dancers for noontime TV shows.

Well hello there, Sexbomb Izzy. How YOU doin’?

It’s your normal high school setting. It’s where I first got interested in the opposite sex and everything related to the word “sex”. It’s where I met Vanessa, a girl one year older than me. She was a regular hot girl next door who played the rhythm guitar for a band. She was in a clique that pretty much represented teen royalty. I was smitten. And terribly intimidated.

I used to send her letters through snail mail. See, when I was in high school, cell phones and email were still regarded as futuristic like flying cars and talking apes. It was pathetic, really, to talk to her via letters when we were in the same school and her house was closer to mine than the stupid post office. Yeah, I was the most shy fucker in the history of all shy fuckers. I don’t understand how some people can call me “babaero” (playboy). It’s ridiculous.

My loser-y ways probably got on the nerves of some mean girls (remember kids, mean girls don’t necessarily have to be girls) so they decided to dick around with me and Vanessa. They were probably her mean girl friends because really, none of my friends would have had the guts to pull off something like that on Vanessa. Anyway, on our school’s Foundation Day (I forgot the year, so whatever), the mean girls executed their plans for an extremely awkward experience for the two of us.

I was wandering the school grounds with my posse (LOL), minding our own posse business, when some douchebags from the jail booth “arrested” me. For those not familiar with the concept of a jail booth, it’s a crude enclosure where “arrested” students and teachers are kept for a set period of time or until they make bail. Who gets arrested depends on the douchebags running the booth or some bored students who suggest the most stupid reasons to “arrest” people. Usually, they base it on the color of people’s clothes. “The jail booth enforcers will now arrest all those wearing white. Watch your back, you filthy perps!” or something like that. Sometimes, they get very specific requests from anonymous assholes like “Gino Carteciano and Vanessa Godinez will be arrested right nnnnnNOW!”

So I was brought to this stupid cage right in the middle of the school grounds where everybody can see me acting all stupid and shit. A couple of minutes later, all the “prisoners” were released, except for my clueless ass. And then she entered the cell. Vanessa. It was just me and her. It was probably the most awkward moment of my young adolescent life. She stayed in one corner, I on another. It was so pathetic. And stupid.

When our mean girl captors where finished laughing at my sorry ass, they gave the two us a special stipulation: we’ll be released only if I exit the cell, extend my hand to Vanessa, and say “Take my hand and let’s get out of here.” I couldn’t count the people smirking, laughing, and giggling around us. Her face was red like a humiliated tomato. My extended right hand was trembling like hell. And then she took it. It was both the most terrifying and the most wonderful couple of seconds of my young pathetic life.

We went our separate ways without saying more than a couple of sentences. I don’t even remember the things that were said. I spaced out. I have never experienced my brain and my heart and my soul and my life in chaos like that before that fateful day.

It was the meanest thing ever done to me in high school because it made me look like a total douche, which I probably was. It was also the nicest thing ever done to me in high school because it was the first (and most probably would be the last) time I held the precious hand of a regular hot girl next door who played the rhythm guitar for a band. I never found out who made us go through that awkward high school defining moment. If I did, I probably would have thanked them. After punching them IN THE FACE!

I should probably just end this with that last paragraph, but I would just like to say that it was also my first boner while holding someone’s hand. And with that totally unnecessary bit of information, Mean Girls Week comes to an end. Thanks for reading, bitches!

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