Little Moments

Over the second semester of last year, there were... moments. Moments where I caught myself feeling way beyond what I probably should have. I don't even know this guy's favorite color. I have no idea what kind of music he listens to. But are those arbitrary things? Do they matter? I think they do, but I have no idea. I've known (well, known of, certainly) this guy since the seventh grade. We never really spoke a ton, even though we've had every math class together from the seventh grade forward. That changed last semester, though.

We were all hanging out in the science classroom before class. For whatever reason, I brought it upon myself to make fun of him (we're talking about the President here, the same guy I've been rambling about the last few posts). When the teacher said we were going to draw random seats, I said something along the lines of, "God forbid I get stuck sitting next to you," to the President. So, of course, I ended up sitting next to him for the first half of the semester.

I had the sniffles something awful, so I was rather noisy that first week of the semester. At some point, the President said, "Well, that's attractive," and all of a sudden something in my head clicked and I thought, "Oh, no!" a la Mike Birbiglia. I thought it would go away, but of course it didn't. By Valentine's Day, I was dating someone else, and when he asked if he could be my Valentine, I said no in a more snippy manner than intended. He just said, "Oh."

Before then, we'd joked all the time about how clearly I was desperately in love with him, and at some point he'd tripped up making a joke about babies and had somehow managed to imply that I was going to have his babies. (I'm laughing just remembering it- at first he stuttered, trying to fix it, but then he just went along with it, which was even funnier.)

After that, it was weird for a week or two. Eventually we got back to normal, though we didn't joke about being in love with each other as much. I go back and forth between thinking that it's because he realized I liked him and didn't want to egg me on and that it's because he realized he liked me and didn't want to accidentally seem too obvious.

One time in the library, we were sitting talking at one of the tables- our math teacher was off doing something or other and had sent our class to the library for a few days- and we were talking about all the books in my bag. I said something about how they weren't going to fit in my purse, and I believe I started pulling things out of my purse and stacking them rather precariously. Of course, my calculator (a lovely bulky TI-84 Plus, my little baby) fell, and he caught it against my leg. Either he held it there for a second too long, or my mind stopped time for a moment. The latter is incredibly likely.

And then there's the time we did a science experiment involving burning metal solutions to determine which metals burned which color flames. The teacher, being an advocate for general safety and not catching on fire in the classroom, warned us all to pull back long hair and long sleeves. I pulled my hair- which I'd been wearing down regularly (without putting any effort into it) since it was cold as fuck- up into a bun while the President pulled his sweatshirt off. Which, by the way, he looked very good in, but even better out of. He can really pull off a t-shirt and jeans. Anyways, he looked at me and said, "You look... different with your hair up." I don't remember what I did, but I probably shrugged or some such. When my dear friend... hmm, what shall I call her? Oh, I know, Luna! When my dear friend Luna came over, she (as usual) told me I was looking exceptionally sexy. So, of course, I said in a very clearly-joking arrogant voice, "Yeah, [the President] here thinks so, too." And Luna and I laughed. But I thought- I could have sworn- I heard him say something along the lines of, "That was the message I was trying to get across," or "That was the general point." It was a while ago, so I don't remember the exact phrase, but it was something like that. But I think I imagined it.

To quote the great Brad Paisley, "Yeah, I live for little moments like that."

I Imagine

I imagine what life will be like when I'm older, when I know what I want to do with my life, when I can buy a red futon and dark coffee because why the hell not, it's what I want to do and I'll do it because I can. I imagine what I'll be like, what He (because there's always a He with me) will be like, if maybe I already know who He is. Sometimes I hope I do, but then it snaps and falls and I desperately hope I don't.

But back to imagining.

I imagine what it will be like to have to work through the summer and not get a nice break every few months and to not be able to sit out by the pool all day. When I imagine that, I cry and I start to think that maybe Xeno had the right idea when he said he didn't intend to live past his 20s.

I imagine what it will be like to be fucked. To clutch a sweaty body, to be held tightly as... well, we all know how that works.

I imagine decorating my apartment. I imagine the little red futon and the shitty coffee maker. I imagine the view out over my little private Hell: suburbia. And I don't imagine that I'll mind, because it will be my place to call my own for as long as I keep paying the rent, my refuge from the real world.


I imagine... I imagine being just like I am now, only older. I imagine meeting, meeting a guy and thinking, "Oh my God, he's so amazing," and then, not falling, but absolutely crashing into love and then getting so worked up and analyzing what he says and doesn't say, and oh no we're still in the friend zone, and hating myself for being so inadequate that I plummet back out of love, only to discover later that maybe had I made the right move at the right time, everything would have turned out perfect. And I imagine wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I managed to mess it up like that.


I imagine sitting, alone but for a bottle, crying myself to sleep because nothing is turning out the way I want it to. I imagine reaching into my wallet in the checkout lane and realizing I don't have enough to pay for all these groceries and having to walk, ashamed, back and downsize the milk to a half-gallon and put back the Nutella and switch the cereal out for oatmeal. God, I hate oatmeal.


I imagine my dead-end job, drudgery of the worst sort.


I imagine not just not-fearing death, but welcoming it, crying out for it.


I imagine a boy with blue hair and a military jacket with peace symbols sewn on. I imagine getting offered a cigarette and politely declining. I imagine trading conspiracy theories, reminiscing about the "good old days," those days we never really thought we'd smile at. I imagine a slower development of emotional attachment, something genuine and fragile, but slowly strengthening.

I imagine a little house with a white couch. I imagine dying my hair blond for the hell of it, not caring about the looks I get or the snide remarks my mother aims toward me. I imagine getting a kitten for Christmas, a little Siamese baby. I imagine it nuzzling my hand.

I imagine a wood floor, a large mirror leaned against the wall. I imagine my feet are encased in ballet shoes and I'm teaching my four-year-old what I remember from my dance classes all those years ago. She doesn't like it. She wants to play basketball, Mommy. I imagine that would kill me.

I imagine now a beauty with flaming red hair and emerald eyes. She's forcing me against the wall, asking what the hell is wrong with me that I'm living like this. Her freckles stand out behind her badly-done fake tan.

I imagine my hair in a bun, brown again, the bland brown eyeshadow and mascara and not-quite-red lipstick. I imagine the pantsuit and the barely-there, 1.5-inch heels. I imagine that I've succumbed to life, that I haven't worn a skirt or dress in years. I imagine that I've missed so many soccer games my daughter hates me, and the worst part is that I don't care any more because the Prozac has finally kicked in.

I imagine sipping the coffee behind my desk at 10:30 PM, ignoring the frantic calls from my husband, the voicemails asking where I am. I imagine wondering if I should even go home. I practically live at the office anyways.

And then I imagine imagining running away. And I do it. I just up and fucking get on a plane and get out. Yeah, it's cruel, but they'll live without me for a few weeks. It won't be permanent, it'll just be until I get to be myself again. Then I can come home, claim temporary insanity, and everything will be fine again. Except it won't.

I wish when I imagine things I could see happy endings.

Gender Bender (or, She Says/She Says)

My friend and I recently got into a discussion about religion (mostly female preachers), and other things you're not supposed to discuss at the dinner table. It's okay, though, because we weren't eating at the table- we were eating on her bedroom floor, and there were no sharp objects involved.

Disclaimer: If you can't keep calm while you're commenting, wait a day or so. Your blood pressure should be at a normal or only slightly elevated level when you comment. You can disagree with anything we say- we won't be offended- but please, for the sake of your dignity and my bandwidth, don't argue. Debate? Sure. But argue? Save it for the playground.

She is of the opinion that God made men first and gave woman to man as a companion, therefore man comes first in the household and in the church- BUT that does not give him the right to control all aspects of a woman's life. He simply stands in front, which by default means he "takes the bullet" for the woman. So, in her words: "Yeah, he can be the head of the household, and have the final say, but when shit hits the fan he's the one that's going to be stinking."

I am of the opinion that God made men first and gave woman to man as a companion. However, I believe that companions are equal. I'm not saying women are better than men, or that we should dominate the household; I'm just saying that women should be given the chance, the opportunity, and/or the "privelege" to protect and defend herself. Should she be able to rely on her man? Yeah, definitely. Whatever floaties your boaty. Should she have to? I don't think so. They need to stand beside each other. In my words: "When the shit hits the fan, we all need a long, hot shower and some baked goods."

Enough said, probably. Thoughts? Opinions? Leave a comment!

This is Offensive

Warning: I may very well piss you off. In fact, I probably will.

I don't really end up conforming to a certain set of political beliefs. I'm not liberal. I'm not conservative. Here's my take on some of the most prominent differences:

1. I think citizens should be allowed to carry guns. I don't think it should be nearly as difficult as it currently is to get a permit.
2. I think abortion should be up to the woman. She is the one who has to carry the fetus inside of her for nine months.
3. I don't think teenagers should have to have parental consent to get a condom or The Pill.
4. I think minors should have to have parental consent to get an abortion, unless they're emancipated (since it's a surgery).
5. Politicians' religious views (and/or their homophobia) should not be brought into the legislative process, dammit.
6. I think people should be able to marry whatever gender suits them (male/male, male/female, female/female- it doesn't matter).
7. Reverse-discrimation is not the solution to racism.
8. Immigrants (here's a shout-out to Costa and Louis!) shouldn't have such a hard time gaining legal citizenship. This should be as simple as signing up for the SAT. Get Mexico to cooperate. Make sure they pass the test. Make sure they aren't a felon. BOOM. Citizenship.

That's all I can think of now. If I think of any more, I may add to this and create a series.

Intellectual Giftedness: Signs and Symptoms

"Generally, gifted individuals learn more quickly, deeply, and broadly than their peers. Gifted children may learn to read early and operate at the same level as normal children who are significantly older. The gifted tend to demonstrate high reasoning ability, creativity, curiosity, a large vocabulary, and an excellent memory. They often can master concepts with few repetitions. They may also be physically and emotionally sensitive, perfectionistic, and may frequently question authority."

I especially appreciate that list bit pertaining to authority. Pretty accurate, eh?