Kissing Scott Slater*

March 5, 2011

I love it when I stumble across a blog post that jogs my memory.  Tangent: where did that term come from–jog the memory? It’s weird, right? Memory doesn’t jog. Hell, even my body doesn’t jog.

Anyways. Around Valentine’s Day, the lovely Barbara posted a meme asking three questions: 1) Who was your first kiss? 2) How old were you? 3) Do you remember where you were?

I was all over that shit. I proceeded to leave a very long, rambling comment. Then I scrolled back through the previous comments on Barbara’s post and noticed that almost all of the commenters said things like, “I never kiss and tell,” or “a lady never divulges her secrets.”

Clearly, I ain’t no lady.

I am a card-carrying member of the Over-Sharer’s Society.  I cannot help it, and I know it’s going to come back and bite me in the backside some day. I just cannot shut up; you’ll know I’m dead when this pie-hole stops moving.

But thank you, Barbara, for stirring the memory.  I am so grateful never to have a first kiss again.


An upperclassman named Leslie, a girl so popular that I cannot conceive of her powers, pauses by my locker.  I assume I have food on my cheek or something, because she’s never stopped–or spoken–to me before.

“You’re Dana H______, right?” she says, leaning against the neighboring locker.

I force my gaze away from the mess of notebooks and Men at Work posters.

“Um. Yeah?”

“K. Anyways, I have Mr. Narveson. 4th period. I thought you’d want to know that someone who sits in my desk is doodling your name all over it.”

My heart plunges into my bowels.

“Um. Is it just my name? Is there something else after it?”  The possibilities swirl menacingly in my head: Dana H. is a loser dork with a pig nose. Dana H. has disgusting ankles. Dana H. has a shelf butt.

“Nope. Just your name,” she says, pushing off  the locker and making her getaway. “But it’s everywhere.” And with that, she’s swallowed into a river of Lacoste shirts and Nike swoops.

This is an emergency. An 8th grade, Code Red emergency.

I hustle down the hall and wait for Stephanie, my best and only friend. When she appears, strawberry hair swinging gracefully down her back, I grab her roughly.


Stephanie, who is light-years ahead of me in experience and maturity, gives a small smile.

“That’s news.”


She pats me lightly on the shoulder. “Dane, relax.  I know somebody.”

Plans are formed, terms are negotiated, money passes hands, and by the end of the day, I have photocopies of 7 seating charts, property of Nickels Narveson.

Hey, we didn’t read all of those Nancy Drew books in 4th grade for nothin’.

Stephanie and I riffle through papers,  locate the desk in question.

“I guess we can assume it’s not a girl,” Steph says dryly, casting aside most of the papers. “Ooh!” she says, quickly swiping two sheets and hiding them behind her back.

“Hey! Give ’em over!” I yelp, clawing for the contraband. “Steph!”

She laughs. “I’m just messing with you.”  She hands me the goods and I blink hard, trying to focus.

“Mike Kearney? Aw Jesus. Let it not be him.”

And then I see the name. Everything inside of me goes wobbly.

Scott Slater.

I snap my head up. “No way.”

“Waaaaayyyy,” she drawls.

Scott Slater. Upperclassman. About 4 tiers higher than me on the popularity chain. Handsome. A-little-dim-but-always-has-a-girlfriend Scott Slater.

No way.

**One week later**

“I’m not going,” I say, twisting the phone cord around and around my fingers.

“Scaredy-cat,” Stephanie chides.

“Yeah, I’m scared! Have you seen the girls he dates? Those girls are fast.”

“Well, maybe he’s looking for something a little different. Maybe he’s bored with fast.”

“Bored? He’s bored by Katie Scarpiello and Renee Carpenter. Look at them.”

I twist the cord and think about the boy with the locker 2 down from mine. The short one with the brown eyes who is in my 5th period choir; the boy who says “Hey,”  in the morning. The boy I’ve wanted, for an entire year, to notice me.

“I’m not going.”

“You’re going,” she says. “It’s the Christmas Dance.” I hear a dull thud and know that she’s doing leg-lifts as she talks. “Anyways, you have to go. Your dad’s chaperoning.”


“God, you are so clueless. Yeah. He is. Robin’s on Student Council–she told me.”

***Five Days Later***

Uncomfortably squashed into a pair of Guess?? jeans, I exit the car and wait for my father to lock up.

“Lookin’ great, kid,” he says. “You smell good, too. Been bathing in the Love’s Baby Soft?”

“Dad! God.”

“I’m going in,” he says. “Where’s Steph?”

“She’s always late. I’ll wait out here. Dad–remember. No talking to me, okay? You don’t know me.”

“Righto. Gotcha.”


“Ewww. Why does it smell so weird in here?” I say, wrinkling my nose and scanning the gymnasium.

“Oregano,” Stephanie says, pointing to ribbon-wrapped bundles hanging from the ceiling.  “Robin tried to get mistletoe, but it was really expensive.”

“It smells like Hungry Howie’s pizza.”

“I know. It’s killing me. I haven’t eaten in like, two days. And I still had to suck and lie on the bed to get these on,” Stephanie says, patting the side of her jeans.

I’m barely listening. Where the Hell is Dad? Is he sneaking around or something?

“Hel-lo ladies and gentlemen,” Steph laughs, bumping me hard with her hip. “Scott Slater is in the house.”



“Quit plastering yourself to the wall! You’re missing out! They’re gonna play Come on Eileen!” Stephanie, cheeks pink with exertion, pulls me onto the floor. “Dance with me! Come on!”

We end up dancing the reel to Dexy’s Midnight Runners and I’m behind Rob B., a stocky 9th grader who’s been boogeying down the entire night. He reeks of B.O. and I can feel damp skin through his velour shirt. I hold on and try not to think about it.

When the song ends, I hiss into Stephanie’s ear about the B.O. and make a beeline for the bathroom.

I’ve taken maybe three steps before I run into something solid. Something warm and tall and solid. I stand, immobilized, staring at a battered pair of leather Nike’s.

The owner of the Nike’s laughs. A low, adult-sounding, really fairly sexy laugh.  A hand lifts my chin, and suddenly I’m gazing into blue.

“You’ve been hiding?” he says.

My eyes roll around in my head a little. I open my mouth, then shut it.

I hear the disc jockey say, “Man, that was fun, wasn’t it? We’re gonna slow things down for a bit so all of you party animals can catch your breath…”

And suddenly there are arms around me, boy arms. My hands flutter, come to rest on his back and we sway. We sway as Steve Perry sends all his love along the wire and I look at Stephanie, who’s been cornered by odiferous Rob, and she’s mouthing, “Look at you!”

I cut my eye to the left and see the boy with the brown eyes dancing with Sharon. Sharon is beautiful.

I shut my eyes, afraid he can feel my rabbity heart through my sweater. I suck in a breath and smell…pizza.

He laughs that laugh. “Well, look what we’ve wandered under.”


“Um. I think I’m getting a cold?”

That laugh. “Guess what? I don’t care.”  His hand is under my chin again and he zeroes in like a predatory animal and suddenly there’s warmth and wet and something crazy happening in my belly. This boy knows what he’s doing, and he’s not stopping, and I know I’ll never get my breath back.


Daddy opens the door to the blue Saab. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

“Dad! God.”

We merge onto the highway and I press my lips against the icy window, but still, they smolder.

“Did you have a nice time tonight?” He turns on the heater, full-blast.


“You know, that’s good. I’m glad you had fun. Damn, it smelled like an Italian whorehouse in there.”


“So Kid?”


“Who was that young man with his tongue down your throat?”

Dear God, kill me now.


First-Kiss Pizza, Oregano Optional

Now that Spring is on it’s way (damn, it had better be) y’all should consider cooking pizza on the grill when weather permits.

Feel free to make your own dough, but I am a yeast-o-phobe. We have a couple of really good pizzerias in town that sell dough to incompetents such as myself. Alternatively, you could also just buy frozen bread dough in the grocery store and thaw according to package directions.

According to my Bible, Weber’s Way to Grill, pizza should be first grilled on direct medium heat. Roll out individual balls of dough (about the size of an orange) to 1/3 of an inch thickness. Let rest while you fire up the grill.

Give flattened dough a good brush with olive oil, place on parchment paper and allow to rest for 10 more minutes.

Place the dough rounds on the grill (4 at a time) and grill until the crust is firm on the bottom and has grill marks, about 3 minutes with the lid closed.

Flip the dough over and, we deck out your pizzas according to personal taste/whimsy.

Popular choices at Chez T:
-tomato sauce (extra oregano?)
-fresh mozzarella, sliced
-grated parmesan
-canadian bacon
-artichoke hearts
-roasted red peppers
-red onion, sliced
-black olives
-diced jalapenos

Once topped, cook the pizzas, lid closed, for 2-5 minutes or until the cheese is melted and the bottoms are crisp.

* Most of the names in this story have been changed, to protect the awkward.

** Please be encouraged to over-share about your own first kiss in the comments section. It would make my week. I love to hear you talk.

{ 69 comments… read them below or add one }

bryan March 5, 2011 at 2:39 pm

Love to grill pizza there is nothing better the smokey crunchy dough it is beyond perfect!

First Kiss? Nerdy 12 year old blond boy (you have read my blog, you know I am a dork, trust me I have developed a lot of polish in the last 30+ years).

I was pulled into an empty classroom by an awkward red head, Donna, we were going together ;~). The kiss was fast and too the point, the only witness Jay M. (I think napping in the empty classroom) laughed until he cried.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:23 am

At least it wasn’t a saucy redhead named Amy. ;)


J. Harker March 5, 2011 at 2:44 pm

I’m about to dork out on you pretty hardcore so just, you know, prepare for that.

Where did that term come from–jog the memory? It’s weird, right? Memory doesn’t jog.

An excellent question and one I hadn’t the foggiest answer to. So I trudged off to the online Oxford English Dictionary and found one.

The short version is that “jog,” in addition to being a surprisingly strenuous and boring form of exercise, is also a transitive verb meaning “to shake, stir, rouse, etc.” So it makes a bit more sense to shake your memory rather than force it grudgingly down the street.

The slightly expanded (and more interesting!) version is that “jog” is related to the now largely obsolete “shog,” which means just about the same thing. Through the magic that is linguistics, we know that both of these words have similar formations to other words with similar meanings: shake, shock, jolt, jerk… How cool is that?!

And, just to round things out – there isn’t any firm origin for the term, but its earliest usage dates to the 1500s. Woo!

Dork time over. Not quite a first kiss story, was it?


Heather @girlichef March 5, 2011 at 2:44 pm

Ha! I love this story. I wish mine was as good as that…or as easily recalled. I mean, I remember who and where and basically when, but…how did we get there!!??


TKW March 5, 2011 at 2:52 pm

Harker, I love you.

Now where’s my kiss story?


jc March 5, 2011 at 9:44 pm

I know, sheesh? He’s *supposedly* one of those Latin-lover dudes! COME ON HARKER, LAY IT ON US YOU CHICKENSHIT! We won’t tell The Wife.


Jody March 5, 2011 at 3:34 pm

I can’t. We run in the same circles, Kitch. He might read it, and he would definitely recognize it, and it wouldn’t be flattering.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:25 am


That’s what lunches at my house are for. You bring the deets, I’ll make the lobster bisque. Soon?


Lanita March 5, 2011 at 3:48 pm

Ah, the first kiss. 8th grade. Tom Hausman. I eventually married him.

And thanks for the memory of Love’s Baby Soft! My daughter wears it now and whenever she puts it on, I follow her around the house.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 12:58 am


Oh God, he was your first kiss? For some reason, this makes your loss even more tragic to me. I love you, strong woman. xo


Danae March 5, 2011 at 4:08 pm

Oh dear….I haven’t thought about my first kiss in forever! Although now I’m going to have to go call him and laugh at him about it all over again – he married my best friend, so you know he never lives ANYTHING down.

I was a late bloomer – I didn’t get that first kiss until I was 16. We’d been “going steady” for several months, working our way from the sweaty hand-holding into the realm of that goodnight hug. This was it, I just knew it, my first kiss was on it’s way. Girls know these things!

I half-shut my eyes, leaned forward just a bit, probably looked like a dork myself there waiting….

….and he missed.

I totally got a peck on the chin that he tried to play off like he meant to do that. It was another couple months before he got up the courage to try again!


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:37 am


A chin kiss is not so bad. You could have gotten the Hoover.


Jana @ An Attitude Adjustment March 5, 2011 at 4:30 pm

I was wondering if that was his real name. I thought, gee, what if he googles! (Cause um, I am a googler of names. So sue me.)

Anyway, I remember my first kiss, also a Scott, not great. In fact, pretty horrifying. (Cause no one knew what he or she was doing.)

But I have yet to make pizza on the grill and I really really want to, so thanks for this recipe.


Tiffany March 5, 2011 at 4:39 pm

I was right there at that dance with you it was so descriptive!


Wendi @ Bon Appetit Hon March 5, 2011 at 5:21 pm

Kitch, this might be your best work yet. I love everything about this story….the heart pumping excitement, the anguished indecision about going to the dance, and the Journey shout out as you smacked lips. Good stuff my friend.


lifeintheboomerlane March 5, 2011 at 5:24 pm

Ah, I love mushy first kiss stories. Mine was AWFUL. Me, 12 or 13. Him, 15. Setting: Robert Katz’s Bar Mitzvah. We were sitting and talking. I did NOT find him attractive. He sort of blindsided me. He leaned over suddenly and stuck his tongue in my mouth. Feh.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:02 am


“He leaned over suddenly and stuck his tongue in my mouth….”

Ick. That describes a lot of kisses I had after that first one. Not pretty.


Maria March 5, 2011 at 5:25 pm

Pizza sounds lovely…The dramatic, adolescent build up to the actual moment was scrumptious (why is it that we can still get overly excited about stories like this one, even as we inch to our forties, gulp).

My first kiss? I was 16 and a junior. He was a senior. The movie was National Lampoon’s Christmas vacation. If you think oregano is bad to deal with, clearly you have never witnessed an awkward first kiss, further complicated by movie theater popcorn, drowning in synthetic butter. Gross on all accounts.

First kiss with Hubby a year or so later? Heaven. Without oregano or popcorn. And for the record, twenty years later, I still get butterflies…


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:03 am


National Lampoon’s Vacation? Dear God, I am an old bag.

But I wouldn’t wish synthetic butter on anyone.


velva March 5, 2011 at 6:20 pm

Middle school dances…I can’t think of a time, I was more miserable. Your post written like it was just yesterday. Awesome.


TKW's Dad March 5, 2011 at 6:59 pm

Well, the Kitch keeps dragging me through some of these blogs, so I feel that I have to set some record’s straight, or at least justify to a certain extent. When Kitch was in middle school the word was out that the evening school dances might be scaled way back or even totally eliminated. Since we had them when I was in Jr. High I thought, no way. My Daughters had to be entitled to the fun that I had. So, I called the Principal of the school and “went to war” with him. I demanded to be placed on the dance committee of PTA! Of course, I then had to chaperone:-). This lovely night, I was pretty much out of sight. We chaperone’s just let the little gangsters do their own thing, but all of a sudden the entire school seemed to be in a giant circle, about six deep, clapping their hands and hootin and hollerin like all hell turned loose. So naturally I wondered over, and observed the Kitch and this boy engaged in the longest and slobberiest French kiss I have ever seen.

In looking back, my school dances were in the afternoon, and all evening dances were at a Congregational church. Believe me, they were nothing like the Kitch experienced. Obviously, I missed out on a lot!


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:08 am


Thanks for fighting the good fight for school dances–ah, such sweet torture. That principal was such a tool! …”Slow dancing leads to pregnancy.” What an ass.

Um, no. Slow dancing does not lead to pregnancy. It leads to legendary embarrassment in front of your awesome dad.


Liz @ PeaceLoveGuac March 7, 2011 at 8:46 pm

This little exchange has me grinning so big! What an awesome story, KW…and what a great Dad!


Jennifer March 5, 2011 at 7:10 pm

This is one my favorite stories of yours ever. I love how vivid your memories are. I can barely remember the name of the first boy I kissed much less all of the details surrounding the event.


jc March 5, 2011 at 7:22 pm

Hnaging OREGANO instead of MISTLETOE! LOLZZZZZZZZ *fallsover*

“1) Who was your first kiss? 2) How old were you? 3) Do you remember where you were?”

1) John
2) 7?
3) Playing spin the damn bottle at a shitty birthday party sitting on the floor of a double-wide in a stupid dress my mother MADE ME WEAR. The bottle landed on me, and John hurdled an ottoman to tackle my ass, and yep, everyone saw my underpants. Nice. I think I blacked out.


TKW March 5, 2011 at 7:55 pm

jc: Will you be my best friend? Any girl who shows her undies on her first kiss is Quality. In my book.


jc March 5, 2011 at 8:50 pm

You are sooooo stuck with me. You started me on a mission to rid the world of shortcake toilet stickems, and I won’t rest until they are eradicated and replaced with Real Food.

Do you remember those undies that were “days of the week”? Yeah, I think it was …those…..*shudder*.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:10 am

jc: Was it “Friday” or “Saturday” ?


camilla March 5, 2011 at 8:37 pm

I love it! and I love your dad’s recall as always.
I am also looking forward to grilling pizzas seeing as we just purchased our grill- finally!

As for my first kiss- I think I was 8, it was at my friend Tracey’s house behind the shed with my ‘boyfriend’ (ok back then a boyfriend was just a guy who said he liked you but you never really did anything with him, let alone talk to him so what’s the point, right?) he was about a foot shorter than me, Greek and very eager to stick the tongue in.
After the kiss took place I booted his butt outta the shed and vowed NEVER to do something like that again! Sport was my love until I turned 15, then I met a boy who actually stirred my loins!


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:29 am


You first kiss was a Greek boy? Day-um. Even vertically challenged, a Greek boy would be A-ok with me. :)


camilla March 6, 2011 at 1:42 pm

He was cute but LOTS of saliva as I remember it- his name was Michael Gercopolus (sp?)…maybe this is why I’ve always had a thing for European men??


camille brightsmith March 5, 2011 at 9:26 pm

OH you have me laughing so hard!!! Is Scott Slater his real name? Do I remember him? Well, I had my first kiss behind Ralston Elementary school in 6th grade with M. Ward and I would kiss him again back there if I could ever find him.

And I would make him your yummy looking Pizza!!!


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:12 am

Heck no, that’s not his real name! And I adore you; the fact that you’d still snag M. Ward and give him the smooch is priceless.


Papa Guy March 5, 2011 at 10:02 pm

Damn your stories make me laugh……
And then to see “Dad’s” comments here were iceing on the cake.


Privilege of Parenting March 5, 2011 at 11:41 pm

I love it KW. As for my first kiss, it’s just as nervous, but markedly more pathetic ( I really like your dad’s comment too (but I’d like to hear more about his knowledge of Italian whorehouses, purely academic, of course). Here’s to oregano in your eye.


TheKitchenWitch March 6, 2011 at 1:15 am

Bruce, you crack me up. I think his knowledge of Italian whorehouses is purely speculative. Mama would have chased him around with a fire poker had that been true.


The Drama Mama March 6, 2011 at 12:56 am

I love what you are doing here and that First Kiss Pizza? Looks scrumptious. Stopping in from The Miller Mix and loving what you got going on here.


Shawna Cevraini March 6, 2011 at 3:31 am

I am soooo hungry for pizza now! Not to mention a first kiss! I love how you took me back to those days in this post! The nervousness, the tight jeans, the music, and…the kiss! Thx!


Paula (Salad in a Jar) March 6, 2011 at 6:35 am

Reading through your comments is almost as interesting as your post. Loved hearing your dad’s take on the matter.

Don’t remember too much about my first kiss–only that I was in eighth grade, at church camp, his name was Dennis and he had red hair. Seems like it took him awhile to work up to it although I didn’t realize it at the time since I had not been through the whole routine before. Sounds like your first kiss didn’t need a warm-up. :-)


Erica@PLRH March 6, 2011 at 9:39 am

I will forever think twice before using oregano from now on.

My first “grown-up” kiss was while on vacation in Cozumel. A very cute boy I met at the hotel was convinced that he could teach me how to windsurf. The lesson was a huge failure but kissing in that warm Caribbean water was wonderful!


Emily Z March 6, 2011 at 9:48 am

Oh, Kitch Witch, I have missed your writing during my brief hiatus from the internets. I am glad I returned in time for this post, though, it made my day. Especially the end of your story. :)

My first kiss? (I’m not a lady either, so I am telling) I was 8. It was my sister’s wedding. She’s 14 years older than me in case you’re wondering why my sister is getting married when I am 8. Anyway, her husband’s little cousin, Eddie, was a year older than me. For some reason I was determined to kiss Eddie. So myself and my best friend (also a cousin of the groom) spent the entire reception chasing Eddie around until I was able to finally corner him and force him to kiss me. It was fun. ;)


Barbara March 6, 2011 at 10:14 am

Perhaps being an OLD lady is why I was willing to tell. On the other hand, I was so young at the time, it wasn’t very memorable. And he was a geek to boot.

Listen Kitch, your first kiss sounds pretty damn hot if you want my opinion. An older guy? Popular. A looker? How lucky can a first kiss be?


Heather March 6, 2011 at 10:19 am

Grilled pizza is the very best!!!
This story was beautiful! I was the girl who no one liked in high school… No first kiss at any dance (or anywhere else for that matter) for me. College?? Well, that was a different story. Surprise kisses in the library between the microfiche racks… Now that’s something to write about ;)


The Thirty-Something Bride March 6, 2011 at 4:51 pm

Oh, this post speaks to me in so many ways. Mine was Steve Stombres, of the Hot Stombres Brother fame, during a notorious game of basement Truth or Dare. The dance was a barn dance, with farm-smelling hay and Madonna’s “Burnin’ Up” as the song du jour.
Thanks for over-sharing. :)


Sherri March 6, 2011 at 6:35 pm

Cute. Funny. For a second, I thought you were gonna go with “Italian Whorehouse Pizza”, which…. I would have been just fine with too :-).

I don’t have such a story – was the total punk rock girl wallflower (i.e. everyone in my conservative town afraid of such a look ;-) at school dances. I do remember being kissed by John Graham – a cute professor’s son and neighbor – when I was in grade school sometime. We Montessori kids must be racy. Anyway….. love it – love it. Can smell the oregano and hear the Men at Work.


elizabeth March 6, 2011 at 7:50 pm

I won’t say the first kiss story, but I will share the first good kiss–I was working with this guy who was older (as they would say on Mad Men, a college man) and he was in a band and he had a tongue ball.

We went to see Any Given Sunday and I had the novelty of playing with one with my tongue, I guess. It was good, it was novel, it was smug.

A year later I shared what would eventually be the first kiss with my husband and it was fucking incandescent.

Oversharey enough? :)


TheKitchenWitch March 7, 2011 at 5:47 am

Incandescent? I’m getting a little sweaty just thinking about it!!


Dana March 6, 2011 at 8:54 pm

I was a camp counsellor at a summer camp. It was Saturday afternoon, all of the kids of the past week were gone home, and there were precious few hours before the new batch came. All of the camp staff were enjoying some time in the lake. I was sitting on the dock, feet in water, when a certain boy who will remain nameless sat down beside me and gave me a kiss. He smelled like cherry bubblegum. It was in front of everyone! I was pretty sure I was going to dissolve blushing. He went on to become one of my best friends in the world.

The pizza looks great! Don’t be a yeastophobe! It’s not too bad.


TheKitchenWitch March 7, 2011 at 5:49 am

Dana (cool name, btw!),

A cherry bubblegum kiss at summer camp? Does it get any better? I love that you’re still friends.


Cheryl @ Mommypants March 6, 2011 at 10:06 pm

I so love that story. Why don’t I have a story like that? Oregano? Really?? Brilliance. Your dad’s line about it smelling like an italian whorehouse cracked me up.

Kindergarten. And I swear his name was Shaun Cassidy.

What – that didn’t count?


TheKitchenWitch March 7, 2011 at 5:50 am


If what you say is true, I’m pretty sure mine was David.


Kelly March 6, 2011 at 10:28 pm

My first kiss was on a day when school was canceled due to snow (one of the 2 time that happened growing up). My crush came over to play Nintendo and we wound up betting that whoever made it past Level 8 in Mario Brothers had to kiss the other one. He won and it was a pretty great kiss.


TheKitchenWitch March 7, 2011 at 5:51 am

You won the Nintendo Lottery! I think I’d have thrown the game on purpose.


From Belgium March 7, 2011 at 2:49 am

A boy named Bart, the only boy in my after school art class. Under the chesnut tree in the courtyard….
And now I find myself wondering what became of him…


Liz March 7, 2011 at 4:17 am

That is soooooo “Sixteen Candles.” I’m so jealous. That is a GOOD first kiss story!


The Curious Cat March 7, 2011 at 6:10 am

Wicked story – loved how you told it! You should write teenage chick-lit!!!
The oregano was a wicked touch!! :)

My first kiss was with a not so attractive guy called Jeremy in the cinema whilst watching the Isle of Dr Morreau – a rather rubbish film if you ask me and not one for getting in the mood. I admit…I used him. I was 14 and panicking that I’d never kiss anyone… It was embarrassing and awkward…and then we went to MacDonalds where he ate with his mouth open so I could see burger and how bad his teeth actually were…

He thought we were going out after that but he was wrongly mistaken… I really should have waited as 3 months later a much nicer guy came along who I actually wanted to kiss and likewise… oh well… live and learn! xxx


Mary Lee March 7, 2011 at 6:15 am

You are the most awesome storyteller ever! I think you got the gene from your dad– any man who can wax poetic over a Chicago hot dog certainly has the gift.

Holy crap, am I the only one who had orthodontia terror in middle school… the horror warnings from snickering adults, warning of braces lock?


Bonnie March 7, 2011 at 7:03 am

Ah, school days! You gotta love them just not all the memories.



Jenna March 7, 2011 at 10:32 am

I LOVE the fact that you share so much with us!

So in return, a snippet about my first kiss:
-I was 16, an awkward dresser, but I had long hair down to my butt which I think was the real attraction for this guy.
-We were in a pool hall on a couch on a dark Saturday night.
-It was the weirdest thing ever. I pulled away.
-“What, don’t you like it?” he asked, and without really waiting for an answer he said “Well the second one is always better” and moved in for #2.
-Weird. Tongues are weird.

That about sums it up.


SuziCate March 7, 2011 at 11:29 am

Your dad cracks me up! How horrid that he wirnessed your first kiss but however cool that he didn’t interupt it!


Amytnc March 7, 2011 at 11:59 am

Love this story!!!

My first kiss was also at a dance I was slow dancing with a boy I had known since 3rd grade we were in 7th at the time. He was just a friend not my type and it just happened. It was gross and I ran away after the song and had to explain to everyone who saw I didn’t like him. It was an epic fail. :(


Belinda March 7, 2011 at 1:53 pm

Ah ha ha! Busted! What a perfectly told story! The intrigue, suspense, sleuthing, sex, scandal, Italian herbs as creative stand-ins and 80s top 40 all rolled into one.


Kelly March 7, 2011 at 2:49 pm

That story made me laugh so hard, I love the last line, priceless!

My first kiss, oh boy…summer camp when I was 13. I was a bit of a late bloomer, more interested in horses than boys. In fact not counting summer camp I didn’t have my first boyfriend until I was 17 and had already encountered my mom asking me if I was a lesbian. Anyhow back to camp…there had been rumors of something called a kissing raid. Now I was new to camp but we had, had other types of raids but this, this was new one. Apparently the three other girls in my caboose (yes we slept in train cars) were smitten with some boys and somehow talked them into the midnight shenanigans of tongue wrestling. How I got tossed into the mix was beyond me. These girls were not there for the horses like myself, they were full on girly, popular hormone driven boy crazied teens. When the rumor spread there was going to be a raid that night, I wasn’t too concerned I planned to sit back in my bunk and watch the entertainment and listen to the girls clamor on about the excitements when it was all over. Never once didn’t I envision a boy would be hopping onto my bed and smashing his face against mine, in fact I was so overwhelmed had I not been in a bunk bed surrounded by walls I most definitely would have run. And he did not receive a warm welcome from me, the fact that he shoved his tongue in my mouth was so disgusting to me I couldn’t look him in the eye the next day. Alas, he was not easily blown off, apparently he was madly in love with me (you know since he had known me for all of 3 days). And when I kindly explained to him I was not interested and we should just be friends, he would not take no for an answer. My friends worked on me for days…I think I finally did give in at some point and said fine you can be my boyfriend and recall a rather awkward second kiss. I will give him props for being just 13, he was one determined and charming kid. The funny part was just because some guy liked me my social status was suddenly elevated to popular girl. That part was definitely the most entertaining, the girls in my caboose would all come sit in my bed and share information and stories. I guess I can chalk it up to the summer camp twilight zone.

Anyhow, that was my first kiss and I was not to have another until junior year of high school when I found myself another tall blond hunk, who by the was an awesome kisser.


LJRich March 7, 2011 at 7:47 pm

I swear on everything sacred and holy on this Earth that you and I HAVE to be twins separated at birth. There just is no way that any other person on this planet could completely know what it was like to be me as a kid…..except you. I have some similar memories to most of what you write, it’s uncanny! I guess I’ll have to write a first kiss post, now.:)


Rudri Bhatt Patel @ Being Rudri March 7, 2011 at 8:59 pm

What perfectly crafted story Kitch! And the Nancy Drew reference – I absolutely loved that.


theUngourmet March 7, 2011 at 11:42 pm

Wow! I felt like I was right there with you! C’mon Eileen…I loved that song!!

Well, I’m a bit of a tramp…I’ve been kissing boys since kindergarten! Here are a few of my more memorable kisses…

Kevin Crapser (Nice last name. Thank God I didn’t marry him!) kissed me on the nose at a Church Jr. Camp and I wrote all about it in my diary. I ended up going to high school with him years later. What a dork her turned out to be.
Tad Lapenski. 8th grade. He walked up to my house after dark and I quietly crept out for a moonlight kiss. He asked me to “go out” and then broke up with me on the bus the next day because I wasn’t popular enough. Nice!
Allen Mesquita aka my father’s worst nightmare. 8th grade. Boys bathroom. What a rebel I was! I’m betting he’s in prison somewhere now.

Ahhhhh. Memory lane. Such a fun trip. ;)


ck March 8, 2011 at 4:07 am


Dana, I loved every last word of this post. You are such a talented, kick-ass writer. I would read a whole book of your words.

(Get moving on that, would you?)


Christine @ Coffees & Commutes March 8, 2011 at 5:05 am

Holy lady. HOLY! I can barely write this comment my heart is fluttering so fast.

I’m with CK, get on the damn book!!


Danielle March 8, 2011 at 9:00 am

Made me laugh….
My first kiss…. I was 19. I’m now married to him.
First guy, only guy I’ve ever kissed…. pretty awesome, if you ask me.


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