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Napolean Dynamite reminds me of The Dickweed<\/strong> that chased me through middle school and gradeschool. Only this Dickweed\u2019s name was Corey Pesik. The Dickweed decided he was going to try and woo me to the tenth degree. It seemed to thrill him to the very core that I was repulsed by him, which only made him woo me harder, if there ever was such a thing.<\/p>\n To The Dickweed, the thrill of the chase must have been the greatest thrill of all.<\/p>\n For he chased me until I could stand no more of his shit.<\/p>\n Until I pleaded for mercy with white-knuckled angst.<\/p>\n Until my body convulsed with dry heaves from the sight and sound of him, constantly chasing close behind me.<\/p>\n I knew he always like-liked me (dork) since the sixth grade. I know this because he would hang around my locker and pounce me. One day, when all the kids got ready to go home we\u2019d all flooded the hall, and as I approached my locker he\u2019d hung back as if he were talking to someone (most likely Bob, one of his Dickweed Deciples). Then practically from out of the blue he\u2019s behind me, pouncing all over me like Tolkien\u2019s Gollum with his spitty, lispy whisper into my ear. The nastiest things came out of his mouth (at least they were nasty to my sixth-grade virginal ears). The worst one ever? \u201cI want to JUUUUUUUUUMP your BO-OH-OH-NES!\u201d<\/p>\n The second embarassing moment came in seventh grade art class.<\/p>\n The art teacher for seventh and eighth grade was a tall, gangly mess of Tispy & Waddle if there ever was one. She stood at least 6\u20323\u2033, thanks in large part due to calf-high whore-style boots, whose 4 inch heel was as narrow as a pencil lead. Tucked into the boots, was a pair of JC Penney\u2019s most bellowy wide-leg rayon pants available (always flower print) which she paired with long ugly sweaters, sleeves pushed up past her chicken neck elbows and gangly, freckled arms, her flippy wrists at the end, which jingle-jangled due to the cheap tinny bangle bracelets she must have also picked up at Penney\u2019s. Her caved-in chest was adorned with whatever chunky clay-bead necklace was \u2018in\u2019 at the time. Bet you two bucks she still wears those ugly ass necklaces to this day.<\/p>\n Top that off with a great, horned shock of Annie Lennox-red hair, spikey as a fir tree, and you\u2019ve got the Tipsy Waddler, who, I swear was a drunk, and I can prove it.<\/p>\n On her paper-strewn desk, stood a can of Diet Coke that was full of some sort of liquid, which, if you stood 2 feet from her desk, you could play the \u201cWhat foul stench is that?\u201d game, breathing in its solvent stink. So what was it? Gin? Vodka? Nail Polish Remover? Who knows what foul thing. The Tipsy Waddler was very fond of lipstick, the more gaudy and bright, all the better. She wore a different color lipstick on Wednesdays, usually a hot pink, so that the can\u2019s rim would have her hot pink lippy-prints all over it, on top of the orangey color from Tuesdays and the fire engine red color from Mondays.<\/p>\n Anyhoo.<\/p>\n That day in class, we were reviewing art slides. Nothing new about that, of course, she was always showing fucking slides because that way it could be dark and she could get her slosh on. You knew this because you could hear her slurping away at her can in the back of the room, as she was perched momentarily on a stool near the slide projector. At some point, Tipsy Waddler got up and walked toward the the screen and addressed the class, barely able to maneuver her pointing stick, which was waving in the general direction of a slide. \u201cWhoerrwhat, mosss like, lee insssssspired this stahl of painting during thissssspurrid?\u201d, she slurred, pointing her stick to a Botticelli, its round, naked womanly subject causing a gasp and a couple giggles from the class.<\/p>\n The Dickweed raised his hand and declared, in his most awful falsetto Gollum voice\u2013full of bravodo and lust\u2013that I<\/i> was the answer to her question. Naturally he said my name. Immediately the roomful of pre-teens started snorting and stifling giggles, all of them looking in my general direction.<\/p>\n I was a bit a of a chubber at that time, and I was sporting a red sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, my hair up in a banana clip (plastique tres chic!) and a pair of white Vans sneakers (less tres chic, more tomboy). He pressed on, saying \u201c\u2026\u2019cause she\u2019s so rrrrrrruuuuubinesque!\u201d and with a snap of his neck, swiveling his face to meet mine, he did something with his mouth, not unlike Hannibal Lechter\u2019s \u201cthss-thss-thss\u201d in Silence Of The Lambs<\/i>. My face fell to the floor. That day, the coolest clothing and chic-est hair do could not have kept my face from turning as red as my outfit. Which it did.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t remember what happened next. I do remmeber that I ran. I ran until I couldn\u2019t run any longer. Either that or I wound up in the girl\u2019s bathroom, sweat flinging off of me like Jennifer Beals\u2019 Flashdance<\/i> character.<\/p>\n The next month, I wound up getting kicked off the school bus for 2 weeks because I yelled at the driver to \u201cLet me off this FUCKING BUS RIGHT NOW, GODDAMMIT!\u201d How did that happen you ask? Well, the Dickweed was chasing me up and down the bus aisle and jumping after me pouncing and gasping, spit flying out from his nasty train-tracked teeth. I think he thought he was being cool, because the jumping he was doing appeared to be a half-assed attempt at the crane position from The Karate Kid<\/i>. I wasn\u2019t havin\u2019 it. Next thing you know I had to ride to school with Melissa Miller and her mom in their station wagon. Melissa\u2019s stupid little brother was the icing on the cake, who had to ride with every time. He was so annoying because he couldn\u2019t say his \u2018r\u2019s right, replacing them all with \u2018w\u2019s and his mom thought it was cute. Ugh! His most charming contribution to society up to that point was throwing naked Barbie Dolls at the traffic that passed on the busy street in front of the Miller\u2019s house.<\/p>\n By the time the summer after seventh grade was over and eighth grade was starting, I had me a Parade of Dickweeds, chasing me hither and yon. We\u2019ll call them the Geek Swarm, okay? The Geek Swarm was a band of loyal idiots who thought The Dickweed was King Shit, just like Farmer Ted and his Dweebdom of Deciples on Sixteen Candles<\/i>. Could you just imagine the Dickweed Drool, Times Ten?! I shudder to recant. I honestly think I repressed most of the beginning of the eighth grade. I cannot recall now, how the hell I\u2019d endured it. Probably that was when the new Debbie Gibson LP came out. Debbie helped alot. So did Dino!<\/p>\n Anyway, I guess I\u2019d have to say that the worst memory of the Dickweed came around the same time as the last day of school before New Year\u2019s break.<\/p>\n Eighth grade semester finals.<\/p>\n The finals were 2 days where your elective classes would be skipped and your majors classes would be expanded, to provide 2 hours each (enough time to take your final for that class). The teachers were a bit lax during those 2 days, because since kids got testing for some classes done early, they could wear headphones during their classes so long as they were done testing, there was also lots of milling around in halls due to most kids being done with certain classes and waiting for the next final exam class to start.<\/p>\n So whaddya know. Guess who\u2019s hovering around my locker waiting for an appearance from me? The Dickweed. Like I needed to answer that! The Dickweed naturally sees me coming from the gym hall on the north end, so he casually struts away, moving into his natural habitat, the Geek Swarm. Lucky for me, the Geek Swarm just so happens to take up residency across the hall from my locker (as if I don\u2019t see him coming anyway, what a faker).<\/p>\n I get to my locker and what do I see? \u201cHey BJ, I want To Jump Your Bones\u201d all over my locker, in Black Sharpie. The words are huge, and I\u2019m sure could\u2019ve certainly been seen from several feet away, and it takes me all of a half-second to realize their full meaning. I\u2019m instantly sorry I read them, and I feel the strong urge to turn into some kind of liquid and slip through the holes in the wall vents below the row of lockers. The bell rings and I am saved because once the shrill sound fills the halls, The Dickweed is off like a shot, to whatever creepy, queer, dorky class is next on his schedule.<\/p>\n Although I\u2019ve no idea how long the nasty words were on my locker seeing as the Dickweed was smart and probably finished his exam early, I managed to get it fixed shortly after the bell rang. I walked up to the first janitor I saw and tugged on on the sleeve of his uniform. I told him someone vandalized my sister\u2019s locker and I need him to see if he can fix it. He sighed and said, \u201cYour sister, huh?, OK then Missy, I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d When we got over to the lockers he sighed again, and I\u2019m not sure if the sigh meant he was relieved it wasn\u2019t another pile of puke he had to throw sawdust on, another huge coffee can full of cigarette butts that he had to clean out with his hands (there was one outside the boy\u2019s gym), or if he was just plain tired of us kids.<\/p>\n The next class was Choir. Easy-cheesy on finals day. I always got an A+. Singing was my thing in school and I was destined to be the next Madonna. Then Mariah Carey went and ruined my chances, with her high whistle register. The skank.<\/p>\n So anyway, we\u2019re all sitting around after the choir finals and the next thing I know Caroline is tapping my shoulder and pointing to the chalkboard, which I should tell you, was the hugest chalkboard in the whole school. On it, glaring across the whole seven foot width of it, and letters four feet tall, was my home phone number and my name. Dancing and jumping frantically next to the chalkboard and pointing like a maniac, is The Dickweed, who\u2019s smiling like a fucking freak, nodding his head toward me, all the while, grabbing his crotch every now and then, a la 80\u2019s Michael Jackson style.<\/p>\n Thank Holy Heaven that I got a month-long reprieve of the Dickweed. I got a job babysitting out of town that summer! Dirty Dancing<\/i> and Beaches<\/i> came out on VHS right around that time, and then shortly afterward Ann of Avonlea<\/i> debuted on the Disney Channel. Patrick Swayze made me lust and want to learn the Mambo, Bette Midler made me bawl while singing Wind Beneath My Wings<\/i>, and Ann Shirley & Diana Barry\u2019s kindred spirits entertained and delighted me, Ann\u2019s version of the dead damsel in the lake having been my first lesson in goth (and last, thank GOD).<\/p>\n And so it goes, I forgot all about The Dickweed.<\/p>\n Until that bastard Napolean Dynamite got onto the fucking movie screen.<\/p>\n Dang!<\/p>\n \nOther posts on this day:<\/p>\n Napolean Dynamite reminds me of The Dickweed that chased me through middle school and gradeschool. Only this Dickweed\u2019s name was Corey Pesik. The Dickweed decided he was going to try and woo me to the tenth degree. It seemed to thrill him to the very core that I was repulsed by him, which only made … <\/p>\n
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<\/p>\nSame day, different year..<\/h3>\n
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