17 till I die
A compendium of mostly regrets, missed chances and lost opportunities is short hand for what life was like for moi at 17. For all of my growing pains as a teenager, I would want to expunge no small part of my wonder years growing up in Kuwait, though.
When I was 17 is when I missed my one chance to smoke a joint, on the sly.
When I was 17 is when I had a bipolar crush on both my PE instructor at school by morning, and a 20 something Palestinian Jordanian bloke by evening. The latterly, Mr. Make My World Swirl was shop floor staff in the men's section at a popular department store near where I used to live on Champs Elysees - the Kuwait version. I remember going there with ma and pa a gazillion times, mostly on exchange (or as the Arabs liked calling it - "baddal") missions for trousers and cardigans that I didn't need, for a size that wouldn't fit me even if my life depended on it.Damn! the invasion and fuck! you Saddam for permanently depriving me of all possible future sightings of the biggest crush of my life.That black summer of 1990 was a summer of upheavals that led to mass dislocation of a people on an unprecedented scale, and the eye candy in my life was never to be the same again. Ahem!
When I was 17 is when I got my first taste of LML Vespa with license to scoot. I was fortunate to get the best scooter instructor in town who baptised me with fire, and spared no small measure in sorting me out from a nervous wreck into the confident yet safe rider that I am today.
When I was 17 is when I first went emotionally loopy-loo, binge eating my way through comfort foods and in the process, gaining precious avoirdupois which I haven't completely shed and continue using as a spare tyre round my waist. You get the idea.
When I was 17 I'd go for a toss every time a TV sit-com with such actors in it as, Jeff Yagher, Alan Thicke and Bob Uecker would come on air- mind it they were much younger back then. Now I know, you wouldn't care a hoot to who my props for masturbation growing up were but I must fess up to having a rather avuncular preference in my choice of men; still do. Each night I would cease being me and somehow morph into this gigolo creature making love to the sexiest men I could set my eyes on in GQ, George or Arena. If there was one man I would never tire of making virtual moves on, it had to be the Marlboro Man whom I considered nature's immaculate conception. He always scored 11/10 with me. Incidentally (and I find myself more than just a little embarassed admitting it) I have always been drawn to men who smoked which is why even today I quite enjoy passive smoking in pubs and resto bars in town.
When I was 17 I vowed never to shave off my moustache or to wax my legs and/or my pubic hair. And yes Sir, I remain sincere to that. On tattooing though, the verdict is still not out as I remain, more or less in and out of this sailor jerry tattoo phase all the time.
When I was 17 is when vanity, superfluity and pomposity in me peaked a crescendo till I ran into Fergusson, and that came as a transformative moment in my life.
Now that I am hitting 40; it's suddenly become a light bulb moment for me on teenage life designs, much like you figure out how to crack sophomore level calculus, years after you've scraped through with a C minus yourself, in your final year of masters in Math.
When I was 17 is when I missed my one chance to smoke a joint, on the sly.
When I was 17 is when I had a bipolar crush on both my PE instructor at school by morning, and a 20 something Palestinian Jordanian bloke by evening. The latterly, Mr. Make My World Swirl was shop floor staff in the men's section at a popular department store near where I used to live on Champs Elysees - the Kuwait version. I remember going there with ma and pa a gazillion times, mostly on exchange (or as the Arabs liked calling it - "baddal") missions for trousers and cardigans that I didn't need, for a size that wouldn't fit me even if my life depended on it.Damn! the invasion and fuck! you Saddam for permanently depriving me of all possible future sightings of the biggest crush of my life.That black summer of 1990 was a summer of upheavals that led to mass dislocation of a people on an unprecedented scale, and the eye candy in my life was never to be the same again. Ahem!
When I was 17 is when I got my first taste of LML Vespa with license to scoot. I was fortunate to get the best scooter instructor in town who baptised me with fire, and spared no small measure in sorting me out from a nervous wreck into the confident yet safe rider that I am today.
When I was 17 is when I first went emotionally loopy-loo, binge eating my way through comfort foods and in the process, gaining precious avoirdupois which I haven't completely shed and continue using as a spare tyre round my waist. You get the idea.
When I was 17 I'd go for a toss every time a TV sit-com with such actors in it as, Jeff Yagher, Alan Thicke and Bob Uecker would come on air- mind it they were much younger back then. Now I know, you wouldn't care a hoot to who my props for masturbation growing up were but I must fess up to having a rather avuncular preference in my choice of men; still do. Each night I would cease being me and somehow morph into this gigolo creature making love to the sexiest men I could set my eyes on in GQ, George or Arena. If there was one man I would never tire of making virtual moves on, it had to be the Marlboro Man whom I considered nature's immaculate conception. He always scored 11/10 with me. Incidentally (and I find myself more than just a little embarassed admitting it) I have always been drawn to men who smoked which is why even today I quite enjoy passive smoking in pubs and resto bars in town.
When I was 17 I vowed never to shave off my moustache or to wax my legs and/or my pubic hair. And yes Sir, I remain sincere to that. On tattooing though, the verdict is still not out as I remain, more or less in and out of this sailor jerry tattoo phase all the time.
When I was 17 is when vanity, superfluity and pomposity in me peaked a crescendo till I ran into Fergusson, and that came as a transformative moment in my life.
Now that I am hitting 40; it's suddenly become a light bulb moment for me on teenage life designs, much like you figure out how to crack sophomore level calculus, years after you've scraped through with a C minus yourself, in your final year of masters in Math.
posted by Men Who Do Cleavages at 10:32 pm
|
0 comments
