I was dumped by my first love. Wah, wah, right? Cry me a river. No big deal, I’m sure you are thinking. Except for one significant detail.
WE WEREN’T DATING.
Let me tell you, it’s pretty traumatic to have the first love of your life preemptively break up with you.
It was the summer of 1995 & I was at my favorite place on earth – Camp Sabra. Camp Sabra is a sleep-away camp at the Lake of the Ozarks. It’s a magical place, where Jewish kids who are total nerds & social outcasts during the school year reign supreme. You are free to be yourself & individuality is actually encouraged. At Camp Sabra, being different is cool.
I took that notion and I ran with it.
Now, you need to realize that I was going through that weird part of adolescence, when you don’t really know who you are & what you stand for. I decided my sophomore year of high school that I was going to be a grungy-hippie alternative chick. I went from wearing the teen-approved uniform of GAP & Banana Republic clothing to only wearing relics from Goodwill & thrift stores. My hair was out of control – it was really long & had kind of a jew-fro thing going on. I parted it right down the middle & wore kiddie barrettes on either side; you know, the cheap, plastic kind that were butterflies and hearts and shit.
I wore black combat boots and a ring on every finger. The one that elicited the strongest reaction (ergo, it was my favorite) was a large orange plastic ring that had a round, clear bubble on the top that contained a dead roach.
The piece de resistance that completed my slacker uniform was the smoking habit I picked up my freshman year. That, and the extra 20 pounds I put on. Whoever said that smoking made you skinny lied. This is me at 16 years old (please note the Pez dispenser that I cleverly turned into jewlery.)
I arrived at camp with butterflies in my stomach. This year, I was going to be a CIT (counselor in training). Finally, I was no longer a camper & was going to get to experience Camp Sabra, after dark. And I was psyched because my giant crush was also a counselor. I will refer to him as Boy to protect him from you guys, because you are going to be really pissed when you hear what he did to me.
W e had struck up an easy friendship earlier in the year through our youth group, BBYO, and it seamlessly continued on at camp. He hung out with me in the counselor’s lounge, which pretty much looked like a rec room straight out of Animal House. It was so cool. There was a smoking lounge in back where I spent a lot of time. Oh, the capricious 90’s, when no one cared about cancer.
One particular night after Shabbat, I was lying on the couch in the lounge, pretending to watch The Rocky Horror Show for the 100th time, but really I was watching Boy play spades, silently hoping that he’d come over & talk to me. And then he sauntered over & sat on the edge of the couch I was slovenly lying on. I thought that my heart was going to pound right out of my chest. He asked me if I wanted to go down to the ski dock and hang out.
This was my shot right? My chance to spend private time alone & in the dark with my fake boyfriend. (he wasn’t exactly aware of my feelings at that particular time).
But instead of an enthusiastic “YES PLEASE!!” my stupid nerdy self said “Um … I don’t think we’re allowed. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Boy looked at me strangely & was like – uh, ok. And left the lounge.
I immediately panicked and desperately wanted to hit the rewind button on the conversation. How could I be so stupid? “We’re going to get in trouble???” What is wrong with me?!
I was desperate to find a friend to talk to, so that I could word-vomit all of the ooky feelings & see if I could somehow salvage the situation. In my desperation, I picked the wrong person to confide in – the biggest yenta in camp.
I told her everything – how much I loved Boy, had pined for him for months, and when I was finally was given the opportunity to maybe suck face, I chickened out. She pretty much agreed that I completely fucked up the entire situation & suggested that I make a move at the camp sing along the next night. There was going to be a bonfire on the beach, boys playing guitars- it was sure to be a magical evening.
The next night, I pulled out all of the stops. I tamed my jew-fro, borrowed a baby-doll dress from a fellow chubby counselor & even put on some make-up. I was ready to make my move.
Unbeknownst to me, the Yenta had spent the better part of the afternoon telling anyone who would listen about my ginormous crush on this boy. And naturally, he found out.
But I was blissfully ignorant of all of this during the bonfire, where I was doing my best to woo my love with my eyes. He wasn’t reciprocating. In fact, he pretty much gave me the cold shoulder the entire night, which was really unlike him.
After the bonfire was over & the campers were tucked into their bunkbeds, I hustled back to the lounge. To my dismay, my fake boyfriend was totally macking on a blonde chick with a fat ass. And she was eating it up with a spoon. Dejected, I retired to the smoking lounge to drown my sorrows in my Camel Wides.
The Yenta caught up to me & had a shit-eating grin on her face. She looked like the cat that ate the canary. “What?” I snipped.
“I helped you with your problem! I spread the word that you are interested, so that Boy knows that you really wanted to go to ski dock with him last night, but you were just scared of getting in trouble.”
I simultaneously wanted to cry and throw up. And die. I wanted to just die right there in the smoking lounge.
Now I knew why he was acting so weird to me … he knew I was in love with him and he didn’t like me back. I dejectedly walked back to my cabin & cried myself to sleep.
Boy & I avoided each other for the entire next week. I was distraught that I had lost my friend & my crush, and didn’t think that it would be possible for the situation to get any worse. But it did.
The following Friday, Boy told me that he needed to talk to me & asked me to meet him at The Bench before Shabbat services. The Bench sits in the middle of the camp – at the intersection where the boys & girls camps meet. It is a very public place.
I met him before services & I was so nervous that I was sweating out of every pore in my body. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about it – could it be possible that he reconsidered & wanted to ask me to be his girlfriend?
Spoiler alert- that wasn’t what he wanted to discuss.
The talk took around 5 minutes & it was literally one of the worst moments in my adolescence. Boy gave me “The Talk” – it’s not you, it’s me – and we weren't even dating!
He told me how great I am & how much he appreciates me and our friendship, but he just doesn’t see me like that. And then he told me that he was dating the big-butt blonde – who I don’t even think was Jewish! – and he hoped that I could be happy for him.
To say that this was one of the most devastating moments in my teenage years would be an understatement. It was sheer humiliation. Reflecting on this trauma 15 years later, I wish I could tell 16 year-old LG to keep her chin up, that this whole dating thing gets better. But that would be a lie - It’s a hot mess out there. However, there is one benefit to being on the dating scene for 15+ years. It’s a veritable story factory & I’ve been cranking out humiliating, embarrassing & ridiculous dating stories since 1993.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
