Mexican Cruise, part 1 (Cal)
Let’s start off this post by stating that I am not what most people would consider a “good person.” I am by my own standards, but bitch has a limit, am I right?
I’m not going to try and conquer this story in one post, because 1. I know your guys’ attention span, and 2. I’m taking a cue from the book-to-movie franchises. Everyone wins!
So, the character we’re going to focus on in this tragedy is going to be named “Caliban,” or Cal for short. We’ve been family friends since we were literally in the womb; our mother were pregnant around the same time, and our families have been in contact for a solid 24 years or so. Give or take some post-partem depression.
Cal is…an interesting person. I like to describe our relationship as very love-hate. He loves me. I HATE him. My hatred cannot be measured in human terms. It’s like if you were a rape-baby, which turned your mother to drinking, then the same guy ran over your dog, and then called you bro. On purpose.
What has he done to warrant my hate? Existing. His existence fuels my loathing.
BUT I’M NOT ALLOWED TO HATE HIM.
Cal is slightly autistic, so he clings on to me for dear life. Even though we live states away, and I see him maybe 2-3 weeks out of any given year, we’re apparently “best friends.” He constantly speaks as if he has a head cold, and is louder than my ex when I did that thing with my tongue. Every time I see him, I decide hey, let’s give him a chance! He’s only here for 2 weeks! I can deal! Except, no, I cannot. No mere mortal can. He gets jealous when I have 1. other friends, 2. appointments, 3. rehearsal, 4. homework, basically anything that detracted from me paying attention to him. His laugh sounds like a cross between a mule and a hyena. He is so uncomfortable with the idea of sex that he refused to let us go to Las Vegas, because of the “culture of open sexuality.” His sickly body does nothing to detract from his mouth-breathing face, which is decorated with his fair share of acne. The only thing I can stand to do with him is play board/video games, which gets tiring, as he whines inconsolably whenever he starts to lose, so we usually just let him win whatever we’re playing. His entire being is just eternally stuck in 6th grade.
Whenever I speak with him, I fantasies about one of us ending up like this at any second.
When I had a boyfriend and Cal was over, Christ, I felt like he was going to make my ears bleed with his piercing voice. I simply would never hear the end of it. Which is not to say that I didn’t exact any sort of revenge on him. I signed his email up for various online sex chatrooms, prank called him, asking for the “obese hotline,” bombarded his phone with literally hundreds of texts from an online source (in the days before unlimited plans), and put his number out on craigslist as a transsexual prostitute. Like I said, I’m not exactly a good person. But it’s not like I ever antagonized him aggressively, just passively.
So, the day comes when we all board a cruise to Mexico from LA. A solid 7 days on a carnival ship was awesome, (more on that later) but Cal’s presence meant that I had to play babysitter for his parents. I thought I knew what I was getting into.
We hung out with some other 18-20 year olds, the forgotten group. We couldn’t drink, and they had no activities planned for us, so we made our own fun. There were about 8 people, give or take a few, that rolled with us, going for midnight hot tub runs, ordering steak and cookies at 3 AM, making impromptu dance parties in the tennis courts, and smuggling as much booze as we could pass port authority. All of which we did drunkenly. Except for Cal, who doesn’t drink.
Did I mention that he is not an exciting person to be around?While I’m trying to get laid, he is sucking the life out of the party, all the while insisting he is the life of it. I tolerate his bullshit for days on end, when he decides that now is a perfect time to tell me he is 100% completely incurably in love with me.
Yes.
Love. He used that word.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? I thought he was joking at first, but he kept talking to me as if we were going to be together. After barely comprehending what the fuck he was saying for about 45 seconds, I ran as fast as I could to my room, and dead-bolted the door. I could hear him whining “come ooooooooonnnnnn! We need to talk about this!” through the door and over the shower I started to run in order to drown him out. Luckily, my parents sprung for a balcony, so I just put in my earbuds and thought about how much Linkin Park understood my angst.
After waiting outside my door for 45 minutes (I kept checking because I couldn’t believe he’d still be there), the threat was gone. He was just a big ball of depression for the rest of the trip. It may have been my fault, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it my problem. That shit is what fag hags were made for.
