Elizabeth's Most Infamous First (And Often, Last) Moves: Part II

Tonight we pick up where we left off last with my Valentine's Day gift to you: my personal shame and embarrassment.


1. During my freshman year of high school, I became deeply enamored with a boy named Chris, who I met through Model UN and would later be on newspaper staff with. At one point in the tumultuous two years during which I lived only for him, I confessed my feelings on loose leaf wide-rule notebook paper, folded it up and passed it off to one of my girlfriends who passed it off to him between classes. It was all very dramatic, but not anywhere near as dramatic as what occurred on Valentine's Day my freshman year. I had bought Valentine cards (actual greeting cards, not the little piddly ones that come in a box -- I was an ADULT, thankyouverymuch) for several of my friends. Chris was among the chosen few to receive one of my Valentines, but his was not like the others. Not only did I fill it with heart-shaped candy (Runts, I do believe), I also decided to express my feelings the best way I knew how: in song. I wrote out the entire chorus to Macy Gray's "I Try" on the back of the envelope, and would for at least several months after that time refer to it as "our song."

2. My sophomore year, I started sitting at the lunch table with my friend David and a group of people he knew. One of our lunchtable regulars was named Adam, who knew David from having been on the newspaper staff with him the year prior. I guess I always thought Adam was cute, but it was not until it was revealed that Adam did not have a date for the prom (and unanimously suggested by the table that we go as friends) that I truly tapped into my raging crush on him. So now, not only was I going to THE PROM as a sophomore, I was going to THE PROM with my crush. Again, the drama of it all was positively incontainable. For weeks before the prom, I practiced my "prom smile" in the mirror, so that our pictures would come out completely perfect and we could show our children and their children and talk about the magical night we fell in love underneath the artificial lighting of the Woodland Hills Country Club while dancing to "I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz II Men. Magical.

Of course, what actually happened is that I was setting up the prom smile as the shutter was going off, and thus the moment that was captured on film for all those generations of posterity has me looking something like a slack-jawed yokel, or a semi-conscious stroke victim. Additionally, my hair was in the awkward growing-out stage from a very short cut and was (it can't be avoided) just your basic mullet. So I put it in rollers, trying to cut down on the mullet-ness of it all, resulting in something that made me look like the white Diana Ross circa "Upside Down." The whole thing was disastrous enough on its own, were it not for the fact that I then decided before the end of the school year (because Adam was a senior, and going off to college) that I needed to confess my love for him, lest he leave never knowing what could have been! In case you're unfamiliar (read: male), it is necessary for me to explain that these types of events take an inordinate amount of planning. The perfect outfit must be planned in advance, along with the location, date, time and most importantly, the exact wording to be used. And if you have the mouth of the south like me, by the time this planned-in-advance extravaganza of confessions takes place, more than half the school will be fully apprised of the situation. So one afternoon at the end of the school day (after researching his schedule and patterns like a seasoned criminal), I was waiting outside the band room around the time I knew he would be walking by. I don't recall what those very important exact words were now, but I do know this -- as soon as I told him I liked him, I turned around, yanked open the band room door and yelled to the ten or so people hiding out inside, "I did it! Are you happy now!?" While he was still. standing. right. there.

3. My junior year was decidedly barren in the love department. This was likely because my self-imposed school wardrobe just about every day was in fact a pair of flannel pajama pants, brown leather sandals and some sort of snarky tee-shirt from Hot Topic. Yes, I was that kid. I hope we can still be friends.

4. During my senior year, I had a class with another boy named Adam who made me feel all wonky in my kneecaps. After flirting with him all semester (or at least, I thought I was flirting at the time, but based on other things I have since realized I may have just been looking at him cock-eyed) I decided it was time to make the first move. So what did I do? I was working at the local newspaper at the time, and got the brilliant idea to ask him to come with me to the office Christmas party. Because 17-year-olds do that. Actually, 35-year-old divorcees do that, but who's counting? It just so happened he knew some of the people I worked with already and was also a natural with stuff like that, so he humored me and we had a good time. Of course now when I look back at the pictures all I see is my yellow teeth (pre-teeth-bleaching) and a mess of yellow hair to match. I had apparently not yet figured out that what I thought was "blonde" hair dye was actually making me look like the Chiquita Banana lady. Tragic.


One time when I was in high school and came home crying over some thing or other I'd auditioned or applied for and didn't get, my mom told me that she admired me for never being afraid to just try. I had my heart broken a few times, but I always lived through it; the fact that I'm still standing after being knocked down just motivates me to keep making those first moves, in love and everything else in life. Even if the first moves are, like many of these, also last moves, they all taught me something -- so I'd be hard pressed to say they were bad moves.


happy valentine's day,
elizabeth