My daughter is going through a phase right now. "I didn't know." That's her answer to everything that she has done wrong. I know she's five, but it scarily reminds me of my favorite answer in my late teens and early to mid 20 (and late 20s and early 30s) "It's not my fault." Everyone and everything was to blame for my actions but me in those days. I didn't want to accept any responsibility for anything. I've documented many reasons as to why in other posts, but to give the short answer that takes responsibility (see what I did there?) I felt entitled. Why I felt that way, once again, many factors, but the biggest reason, immaturity.
It was the fall of 1995. I was living at 1314 Kentucky Street in Bowling Green. Today it is a parking lot. . .truth be told, that's an upgrade. There were seven of us living in said house; 2 girls 5 guys. We had painted the living room Smurf Blue and Royal Purple. We had no cable, no air conditioning but we were having fun. Not all of us were enrolled, and those that weren't wanted to hang out with everyone else. I had a heath class I was enrolled in that I hated, except for one part. There was this girl in there that was absolutely beautiful, thought I was funny, and she actually would talk to me! No, I don't remember her name so we'll call her Brenda, because I think it started with a B (although for some reason I'm thinking Sondra, or was that the girl I knew that worked at the movie theater . . .never mind I'm getting off topic.)
Anyway, I had a teacher who was not ideal. I speak Daveesie. That is a revved up Southern twang with some muttering. My teacher was from an oriental country, I have no idea which one, but she had a heavy, heavy accent. Needless to say a United Nations translator was needed. She would say things like 75% and 2/3 . . same thing . . Now hold the phone. I knew they weren't and after class I made some comment that caused Brenda/Sondra/Beverly? to laugh. She wanted to know if I'd like to study sometime. I said. . .yeahsure (one big word) seyawednesday. . and bolted from the room. At this point in my life I was 21, I had one date, (that was the biggest disaster the world had ever seen) and had absolutely no idea how to act around women.
Wednesday I skipped class. . I have no idea why, I just did. Friday I got to class early . .I made a lame attempt at an excuse that she said was no big deal and she asked me if I knew about the party Saturday night. Now I was suppose to go to the movies with everyone from the house to see Batman Forever. I told her I had plans to see the movie, but I'd come down later since the party was only two blocks down from my house. We all went to see the movie. We got back and I asked everyone if they wanted to go with me to the party and they all said no, except one. One of the girls. (anyone yet see where this is going) So I show up with my roommate who is very, very attractive, but we are nothing more than friends. I find Brenda/Sondra/Sally? and introduce her. (It still hasn't dawned on me yet) She excused herself for a second and I didn't see her the rest of the night. I looked for her about 10 minutes and someone told me she had left. We headed back to the house shortly thereafter.
I skipped class all but one day that next week and she wasn't there that day. I was at Wal-Mart Sunday night with my housemate and I ran into her. I asked her if she was ok, and she said yeah. My housemate wandered off, and Brenda/whateverhernamewas asked me how long we've been going out. I explained we just were housemates and friends, that was it. Yeah, now it's slowly dawning on me. About this time, a guy came around the corner and said, "There you are babe!" He said to me, "Hey don't I know you?" I didn't remember and then he said, "Yeah, you were at the party last weekend where I met whatshername." I looked at whatshername and she gave me a look that said, Sorry I didn't know. About that time my housemate came back, and I gave a polite goodbye and I'll see you in class. Under my breath I finished that sentence with the word "not" (hey it was the 90s) . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED . . .