15 July 2009

7 jessica simpson and i go way back

back to the first weekend of may 1999- when, just a few weeks shy of graduation, me and a motley sextet of sexually confused CHSers stood near a clump of trees facing the 2nd avenue stage of river stages passing judgement upon the approximately 35 teenyboppers who cared enough about jessica simpson to come see her sing at 10 a.m.

it seems important to establish where we were in the oline narrative at this point in time. to make clear that i was young and impressionable and just about the most naive 17 a girl could be.

seven months before, partner and i had asked her mother about orgasms because we thought they were something related to papier-mâché. i'd never been kissed. my grades were my world. and then, suddenly S was gay and here i was running with a crowd that saw concerts in daylight.

it is difficult to convey how deliciously deviant this seemed, how glamorous, how incredibly hedonistic in what i see now was such a juvenile way.

and in the midst of this there was jessica simpson.

jessica simpson didn't change my life. i know that. in reality, i promptly forgot about her. it was only years later, when she had made a career out of violating her own privacy, that i even realized this quasi-famous person was the girl with the big boobs and bad backup dancers who had squinted into the sea of sweaty adolescents of which we were a dubious, judgmental part and instructed us to "do it up yo yo yo."

and then i felt kind of bad.

the two things i vividly remember from that day?

(1) the six (seven? three?) of us, everyone but me smoking, cynics all, after very limited debate reaching the conclusion that jessica simpson wouldn't amount to much.

(2) the 125 degree angle made by the slender bicep/elbow/forearm of matt joyner, his angelic facial features distorted by a grin one would expect from the joker rather than a closeted gay southern baptist, as he recklessly flung jessica simpson's demo (charred by a dalliance with a lighter) into the dump.


Les Savy Ferd said...

you were close at least. Orgasms are little folded paper cranes.

also, I assume you are writing about J-Simp because of the b-day debacle. I say its her own fault for:

a) dating a dallas cowboy
b) dating a d-bag like Romo
c) for doing Dukes of Hazzard

oline said...

i think it a linguistic injustice that the word for sexual climax is an origami homophone.

and yes, i am writing about j-simp due to the birthday debacle and because i feel our fates are somehow inextricably intertwined. she is probably who i would be if i were

a) blonde
b) famous
c) imbued with the arrogance required to wear shortie shorts

Les Savy Ferd said...

oh, oh, me next. What celebrity trainwreck would I be?

oline said...

well, my first instinct is ralph fiennes and the stewardess but i think that's just because it's been ingrained in me that you will be played by a fiennes brother in Oline: The Movie...

Les Savy Ferd said...


Osutein said...

"Orgasm" tripped me up, too. In my younger days, I confused it with "organism" and probably nearly caused my science teacher a stroke when referring to "microscopic orgasms" in class.

To this day, I have utterly failed to imagine what a "microscopic orgasm" would actually feel like.

oline said...

for some reason that reminds me (and yes, i'm trying to block out my imagining of a microscopic orgasm) of the time in 6th grade when missy dean misread "aisle" as "asshole."