hair lips and angel kisses-check this out

[markohrtman04]

No one ever told me hair-lips were ugly. I mean it’s not like they are like huge fucking birthmarks or lazy-eyes. I always thought that they were, you know, just one of those things; like freckles. Maybe I’ve thought this because I’ve always had freckles. My mom, ‘Pastor Deb’, would say that they were ‘angel kisses’. I can’t remember the specific instance, but at some point I looked real hard into the mirror and told myself, ‘I like that…yeah, we’ll call them angel kisses Mark.’ I’ve always been fond of that explanation: angel kisses. I even told the older kids on playground that they were angel kisses. I’m sure they thought I was such a pussy for saying that...especially Brent Fatichi, that fucking prick. The 4th grade was tough. Whatever though. They just didn’t understand. Besides, I bet everyone thought that his new Denis Rodman jersey was sooooo cool, especially after I wiped that bugger on the ‘9’ in the lunch line. Mark-one, world-nothing. I secretly scorned the haters… ‘so what,’ I would say to myself; ‘fads come and go. I’m gonna have these freckles for the rest of my natural life.’ Truly, my freckles were an idiosyncrasy mandated by the gods! I was one up on everybody.

Well, maybe not everybody. Here are a couple of cats that probably had me beat:

Greg Wasner. Status:

5th grader (held back after grade 3); lived in the in the country just off County T rd. with older, half-brother, Javier; 4-wheeler owner; large collection of used golf balls; arm-pit hair; Winter attire: Miami Hurricanes Starter Jacket; Summer attire: strictly ‘No Fear’ T-shirts; pool table (minus chalk & ball #11); Ferocious Black Lab named Fritz; farm cats (also 11); Hot Lunch; Beef Jerky enthusiast; tinted prescription glasses; March 1991 Playboy owner (pgs 46-50 stuck together); and a tornado-shaped earring like Charlie Sheen’s in Major League.

We’re talking pure, raw, uncensored, uncut, FUCKING style.

Ben Kaus. Status:

5th grader; Mr. Risser protégé (Gym Teacher); bowl cut; neon-green Zubas with lightening bolt patch; 21 speed Huffy (also neon-green); house near Taco John’s; Rebok pumps; knockout/lightening champ; Dennis Rodman jersey; retainer; cold lunch (2 Fruit-by-the-Foot on Fridays); Nickelodeon-Double Dare backpack with machine printed Mark Summers autograph; single-parent child (hot mom…leased van).

On field trips, Ben Kaus and Brent Faticci fucking owned the back of the bus. Straight gangstas.
~

II

‘Everybody say hello to Mark Orthma..Otrtmi..ortgenrzfj. Sweetie, how do you pronounce your last name?’
-‘O-rrr-ttt—man’, I replied.
-‘And you said you’re from Minnesota, right?’
-‘Yup.’
-‘Well, anyway. Welcome to Franklin Elementary. My name is Mrs. Winchell, and this is my fifth-grade class.’
-‘Umm…Mrs. Winkle? Ummm…I’m in fourth grade.’

Everybody laughed their asses off at me. I could hear Brent and Ben just roaring in the back of the room. What a great start at the new school. ‘Yeah, Mom and Dad, everything IS, in fact, going to go just fine,’ I thought. Oh, the garbage people’s folks are willing to promise.

Mrs. Winchell made the switch though. I was put in Mr. Cox’s fourth grade class. The introduction was much smoother this time. I liked the way the desks were in clusters too. I sat in a group with Chris Masters, Melissa Wolf, and Brandon Muskgrave. The introductions were short and awkward, just as one might expect.

I knew recess had to be coming pretty soon, so I just tried to fit in and make small talk. ‘Hey Chris? You catch Duck Tales yesterday?’… ‘Cool me too.’ ‘I like your last name Melissa. It’s kinda mysterious.’ ‘Hey Brandon, I dare you to pick that scab.’

After about 45 minutes everybody’s anxious, impatient glances turned from me to the big metal clock on the wall. The velcro sounds of closing trapper keepers gestured the anticipation. 3, 2, 1! And they were out of the gates. ‘Finally, recess! Freedom at last!’ Or so I thought.

I quickly realized that for the first time in my life that the classroom was going to be my safe haven. What was I going to do at recess? I had no friends. I tried to be confident…but I wasn’t. I was scared shitless. I was about to enter the concrete war-zone. I had a couple of weapons, but no alliances.

At a mere glance, it was fairly apparent who was who at Franklin Elementary. There were the Black and Mexican girls doing gymnastics in the corner of the football field. They were always completely aware of what was going on, but completely uninvolved. Then there were the geeks. They were all in band together. They hung out in the sand volleyball courts and just talked. Weird, huh? They never had any fun. There were also gangstas. They didn’t live in our neighborhoods. They were the problem-children. Most of them were kicked out of Washington Elementary, which was located on the other side of the tracks. They had a special classroom across from the maintenance/storage room. We called them retards behind their backs. They weren’t bullies though, but no ever fucked with them-not even Brent Faticci and his crew.

The majority of the kids, however, were in the dead-center of the playground. They weren’t in the in the pea-gravel jungle gym, not in the football field, not by the huge rubber tires…they were in the dead center of the grounds. And they were all fucking looking at me.

-‘Hey new kid! Yeah, you. Get over here,’ said a taller boy in the front.

Everybody got quiet. They were all eyeing me up. I felt like one of Skinner’s injected lab rats being analyzed by a team of scientists.

-‘Did you forget what grade you were in this morning?’
Everybody laughed again.
-‘No,’ I muttered.
-‘Hey new kid, nice freckles,’ he antagonized.
Everybody laughed again.
-‘They’re angel kisses,’ I clarified proudly.

The crowd ABSOLUTELY erupted. It took, seriously, about 5 minutes for the laughter to silence.

-The tall boy said, ‘If those are angel kisses, than I’m not Brent Faticci…I’m Zack fucking Morris.’ ‘Come-on, let’s see how fast you are new kid.’

Let me digress and explain a bit:

At Franklin the cool thing to do was to have foot races. In fact, a person’s status largely depended on it. I liked this challenge though. I had always played football at recess in Minnesota. I was one of the fastest, most athletic kids at my old school. This was my chance to make a name for myself. I was going to run this race like my life depended on it. After all, even though Brent was much taller than me, I was slimmer and probably, at least, appeared more athletic. ‘Yeah, bring it on motherfucker,’ I thought.

Out of the back of the crowd Brent signaled for a girl to walk to the end of the concrete and be the official judge of the winner. That’s when I saw the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. She had incredible flowing blond hair, soft olive skin, and a DSL lips like I had never seen. Abby Yemm was gorgeous. There was no way that I Brent beat me.

-‘Kick his ass Shamir,’ Brent yelled as I approached the starting line.

‘Who the fuck is Shamir’, I thought to myself. I thought I was going to race Brent. Apparently not.

This is who Shamir was: she was the biggest, blackest, strongest, most intimidating opponent I had ever seen. This was David versus Galieth. She was 6 foot. I was a cool 4’11”. Losing would have been bad enough. But now, to lose to a girl! In front of Abby. Shit! ‘I might as well just walk over to the volleyball court right now,’ I thought. I was racing fate.

3, 2, 1! And we were out of the gate. The race felt like slow motion. Shamir must have beat me by 20 yards in that 50 yard dash. Everybody laughed at me again. I even saw Mrs. Winchell smirk at the spectacle as she watched by the door smoking her Pall Mall non-filtered cigarette in her hand.

As long as I live I’ll never forget the words that I heard next. ‘It’s okay, man. She beats everybody.’ That was my buddy Squirrel who said that. We have been best friends ever since.

III

Yes Sterling, Illinois was much different that Mankato, Minnesota. I moved to Sterling, Illinois in the middle of fourth grade from Mankato, Minnesota. Although I could probably write a novel about the difference between the two worlds, I’ll save you. I will put it like this: fourth graders in Mankato collected baseball cards and played kickball. Kids in Sterling stole lunch-money and played dodgeball. It was dog-eat-dog out there. I wasn’t even allowed to watch MTV. Yes, my first day of fourth grade at Franklin was awkward.

[bingolong]

markohrtman04,
Thanks ...good shit, way to put that booger on the Rodman Jersey.....

[bcddjjsc690]

markohrtman04,
lemme get this straight .........you've got a "hair lip".....and your name is Mark ,?? As in ...What did the dog with the hair lip say??

Get the fuck outta here ....
That's just too funny .... welcome to the best site on the www. Mark..... Mark, Mark,