Ah, here's one now...
Connie (not her real name) was one of my ex-girlfriend Tracey(not her real name either)'s best friends in high school. While Connie wasn't exactly a slut, she was intensely sexualized earlier than most girls I knew, and we lived vicariously through stories of her exploits with her boyfriend back when Tracey and I weren't doing much more than feeling one another up and sucking face till our lips were numb. (Yes, literally. I hope you experienced this at some point.)
I never actually met Connie in person. Tracey and I always seemed to do our own thing with my friends or her family rather than my family or her friends, so pretty much everything I knew about Connie came secondhand through her. This included the fact that Connie had secretly had an abortion when her boyfriend (or maybe a different one before him?) knocked her up at sixteen or so. She related this news to Tracey sometime well after the fact upon bursting into tears at the sight of one of the many anti-abortion bumper stickers on the roads of rural Louisiana. I think she got on the pill after that.
Personally, I much rathered the stories involving things like her boyfriend pulling out of her and spurting all over her stomach and chest, then rubbing it all over her with his dick. Since every generation thinks they've just invented sex, we tried to keep abreast of all the developments in this emerging field, and you didn't find this sort of material anywhere in the stack of Seventeen magazines in Tracey's closet.
Once Tracey and I broke up, I stopped getting regular updates about Connie, and we lost touch permanently a few years later when I transferred to a different college.
Connie had her profile locked down to private, so I'd ignored doing anything with her for the last year or so since I'd first found it. However, I've been trying to collect ex-girlfriends for this project, and since I was having no luck finding Tracey, I finally wrote Connie directly to ask what became of my ex-girlfriend.
Connie still keeps in touch with Tracey, but apparently the latter wasn't interested in talking to me, probably still smarting from the fact I hadn't bothered to call her back on several occasions when she'd rung me up over the years. (In my defense, on at least two of those occasions that was because she didn't think to leave her number, and this was at least a decade before there was a superpages.com to consult for non-local numbers.) I guess that until Tracey gets over it or I take the time to do some detective work on my own, her episode in this series will just have to wait. However, what was merely the means became an end.
See, after talking to Connie by email a couple times in this quest, she sent me a friend request. Once I'd added her, I found myself doing something I almost never do: reading surveys in the bulletins. Mixed in among the inane ones asking about favorite movies/flavor of ice cream/person you slept with, were the lines I didn't really need to read between to get her life story up to this point.
For starters, she got knocked up yet again around 18, only this time she kept it. For most, this would derail any future, but Connie and her guy got married. A couple years later she started college and finished with a degree in business in a respectable amount of time, which tells me she didn't half-ass/part-time it. I'm impressed because this is certainly at odds with my overall impression of her and her lack of condom sense. She's still with the same guy, and together they topped off the family with three kids.
The only significant marks against her in my book are her apparent inability to not take rhetorical sarcastic questions literally (Didn't she feel stupid even attempting to respond when I asked her?) and she's a Saints fan. I mean, WTF? The fact that she owns a Hummer doesn't really bother me so much since there's more irony to the gallon here than what she swallowed to get it.
This is like that episode where George and Elaine try to strike up a conversation when Jerry isn't around. With Tracey out of the picture, I really can't think of anything to talk to you about.
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