Pressure Cooked Chicken Legs

Peer pressure doesn't usually get to me. As a kid, I never drank when I didn't want to, or smoked a doob, or let any dude get to whatever base he was trying to get to unless I wanted him to get there. (And may I say, that whole baseball/sex analogy always confuses me. What are the bases? I can never remember. There are more than four steps to doing the deed, so how can it be condensed into three bases and a homerun? Sports analogies will always confound me no matter what. Why can't we come up with another set of criteria to chart sexual progress? Like, say, going to the movies. That's much more universal. "Standing in line." "Buying a ticket." "Eating your popcorn." "Finding a seat." See? So many more metaphoric possibilities. Ok, I am going to stop talking about s-e-x now or else my blog search traffic will be attracting all kinds of riff raff).

My one peer pressure story that I can think of right now happened to me in the 7th grade. This was the era of "boy-girl" parties. The archetype for this type of party is written about eloquently in that timeless ode to puberty, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. If you know that book, you know the exact type of party I am talking about. At this party, I played Spin the Bottle for the very first time. I didn't really want to play, as I was, even then, a picky effer and I didn't want to chance spinning the bottle and getting forced into kissing some troll. I wanted to choose my OWN troll, thank you very much. I remember there was talk of playing the game long before the party even got started, and the anticipation of it built up this tension in the party basement (why are these parties always in a basement?) and all I could think about was the impending spin. It is not too dramatic to say that I was filled with dread.

At some point in the party, the bottle was unveiled. It was a giant, empty two-liter coke bottle, which seemed totally unromantic to me. "Who's going to start us off?" yelled the bottlemonger. And somehow, someone (I wish I could remember who this bastard was) decided to yell out my name.

This is the part where I should have summoned forth my inner Mr. T and said "hells no. I ain't kissin' no random troll, fool!" But I didn't. That person saying that I would be the one to go first, I don't know, it had a strange power over me. A power akin to the Double Dog Dare. I couldn't refuse. I took the bottle. And spun it.

It landed on Ryan. Ryan of the bowl haircut and chicken legs. Ryan, who although he was my friend, he was also a person who I would never, ever, ne-zever, want to touch with a ten foot pole. But there it was. He looked at me, our eyes locked, and he seriously looked like he was about to have a heart attack from fear. Everyone whooped and cheered. It was horrible. We were swept up and shoved into a closet together. Ew ew ew. We very well could have stood there and not touched each other and no one would have ever known the difference. Unfortunately 7th grade brains don't figure this shit out. At least mine didn't. I felt like I had to consummate the bottle-point. I had entered into this stupid game and I was going to see. it. through. We stared at each other. Ryan didn't move. He was bugging out, big time. Petrified. I probably didn't look much better. Finally, I took a breath, grabbed him by the shoulders, and gave him a firm, loud smooch. On the cheek. It was all I could do, and believe me, that was more than enough. Upon finishing my mission, I turned abruptly and got the hell out of that closet. I don't remember anything else about the rest of that night. Did anyone else even continue the game? I don't think they did. They had hazed Ryan and me enough and so they were done with that.

That's my story of peer pressure. I guess in the grand scheme of things, it's not so bad. But now, here in the midst of my grown-up years, I am caving again. Last year, Josh signed up for National Blog Posting Month, or as it's now known, NaBloPoMo. Although I couldn't imagine writing a post a day for a whole month, I signed up too. Why did I do that? Josh didn't even ask me to. I just felt an implied peer pressure. The cool kids are doing it, so I have to do it too. So I did. And now, here we are again. Josh announces he's doing it again on his blog, and what do I do? Sign myself right up. Geez, Librarian Girl, if Josh jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?

So, starting tomorrow, I am posting every day for the whole month. And you know what? So are you. Come on! You know you want to! Do it with me. Be my partner in diaherria of the keyboard. Sign up here, and when you do, friend me.

Do it! Do it! Don't make me shove you in a closet with Chicken Legs Boy.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl