"She wears way too much make-up. I mean, I don't see how she gets anything done with all the time she must spend putting on so much make-up."
It's Friday night, and I'm in the library. Again. I'm working through my reading for Contracts next week, and I'm relying on the white noise to drown out the roar from the fraternity next door to my building. The boys have hundreds of the logs used for building things like, oh I don't know, train tressles or something. They're moving these enormous rectangular logs into a shape to contain, I suppose, the great hills of sand that they've had delivered to their parking lot. Beach party for the weekend?
When I was probably about 14, I participated in my friend's Quinceañera. I became wildly infatuated with her cousin who was also in it, and I maintained a pretty sincere crush on him for a while. One of my friends started dating one of his friends, and 5 or 6 of us started hanging out pretty regularly. He was 18 or 19, and in a band, and really cute, and I had it bad. He ultimately decided, quite reasonably, that he could not date me, and though it broke my little heart, I hadn't thought about him in several years. By clicking through Myspace from a friend to one of his friends, I found the guy, and my honest reaction was, "See? You're 29 and I'm 24 and what's the big deal I bet you're sorry."
Conclusion:
1. Wow I am full of myself.
2. Resentment can last decades.
3. I really DID have it bad.
One time I said to my boyfriend, "If you knew that we wouldn't end up together, that we would eventually break up, would you want to stay with me now?"
I was an idiot to think that would go over well, and though I was just trying to be honest, I can't believe I was so mean. But in all fairness, he was a marijuana dealer.
I had a dream the other night about a guy I once dated, and the thought of our short-lived relationship still cracks me up, so I thought it warranted documentation here. When I was in college, I'd see this man around campus, and I always felt drawn to him. He was so tall (6'5"), had black longish hair, and had that effortlessly-cool intellectual look about him that it seems like only men can pull off. We ended up in a class together called Comparative Religious Ethics. I might mention that the professor of that class was the sexiest professor ever; needless to say, it was an entertaining semester.
This class was so unbelievably liberal arts, and each class was honestly filled with highly-intellectual thought and discussion. This guy, let's call him Steve Smith, was a philosophy major, and he might be the most intellectual man I ever knew. He always jumped right into the discussion and had interesting points. It became more that just an attraction to a stranger; I developed a little crush on Steve. Let me point out that I was 20, and I think Steve was 24. He also drove a scooter. One day after class as my friend and I looked very cool smoking cigarettes outside, Steve walked up and struck up a conversation. He was a confident, articulate man, and he asked me out by saying, "I'd really like to go out with you. I don't know, maybe we could get a cup of water or something."
There was a coffee and long walk date; there was a walk to the Cajun restaurant near his house date; there was a date where he made pesto for me. I was completely infatuated, and he was completely frustrated that I wasn't having sex with him after knowing him for a week. I mean, come on. It had been a whole week. Where was the sex? On our second date, to introduce the idea that we weren't going to have sex that night, I said, "We barely know each other," to which he reponded with a huge sigh and eye roll.
And then there was a phone call. We shouldn't see each other anymore. We want different things. He didn't believe in love. He believed in "living for the moment." He felt like "we think fundamentally different." He had learned all of this in 3 dates. I eventually realized that the difference was that he was a slut and I wasn't, but of course the whole thing broke my little heart. I probably cried. He would be forever referred to as Steve "we think fundamentally different" Smith.
In a coincidental turn of events, we both moved to the same city after graduating. He's pursuing a graduate degree at the university where I work. I occasionally see him around town, and I'm confident he doesn't recognize me (I had fiery red hair when I dated him, and now it's back to natural). The dream goes like this: he recognizes me in a random passing, says hello, and begins to remind me who he is, like, "You probably don't remember who I am." And I say, "Of course I remember you! You're Steve "we think fundamentally different" Smith! What about the sex?"
One time my boyfriend broke up with me for no reason. He said he needed space. About a year later when I bumped into a mutual friend of ours, he told me about the boyfriend's baby. "He had a baby?" I asked. The baby was not a newborn. It turns out that there was a reason.
