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."
About the Author
- Artemis.
- One of those crazy teen blogger types. Completely bribe-able with coffee. An INTP.
Showing posts with label the president. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the president. Show all posts
Monday, July 18, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Issues to Rival Those of a Magazine Rack
I'm going to try and go through all my relationship issues- and all my issues that may even vaguely affect my relationships- and get them out into words. I think it might help me feel better. Usually when I have something to write about, I start writing and realize that either a) what I'm writing about has zero significance whatsoever, or b) there's not enough substance to create a post around it. So, yeah. There are a lot of shitty-ass posts you guys get to miss out on purely because they aren't worth posting.
Oh, and maybe in the future I'll just print this out and give it to any male who wants to be in a relationship with me. Ooh, that's either the best idea I've ever had or the worst. Aww yeah.
Issue #1: I'm bound to stop liking him.
It has happened time and time again. When I found out that a guy likes me, it destroys all chance of me liking him. I have no idea what causes it. Theories include a) I enjoy the chasing ritual too much for my own good, b) I'm afraid of commitment, but my hormones make me like boys, c) I want a guy that's a challenge, so much so to the extent that I want the entire relationship to be a challenge, and me knowing he likes me just doesn't provide a challenge, and d) I'm so afraid of getting hurt that the minute it threatens to become a "relationship," I back off. My personal favorite is theory c, but I think deep down it's a mixture of all of them.
Issue #2: I fully expect the relationship to fail.
I just do. I don't really know why. I have a theory, though; they say that people's attitudes towards relationships are greatly influenced by what they saw with their parents while they were growing up. Whether that's true for everyone or not, it would certainly be fitting for me. My parents have not had the greatest relationshit history (see Issue #3).
Issue #2b: That, or I expect it to never end.
At first, this doesn't seem like an issue; it just seems like a little girl fantasizing about dancing with her Prince Charming. And, on a certain level, that's exactly what it is. (Shit, throat going dry, eyes watering, gotta go in a different direction...) However, it is a problem. I'm not going to magically have a happy relationship just because I want one. Everyone fights, and every relationship has its rough patches. I can't just expect that since I'm elated for the first five minutes, everything is going to work out perfectly. But I do expect that. Hell, for one example of what could go wrong, just check out Issue #1. Crap's for real.
Issue #3: My parental units... they're fucked up.
My mother and my birth father divorced before my first birthday. I didn't see him or speak to him until about a decade and a half later. I still don't call him Dad. My mother and the man I grew up calling Dad divorced the winter I was in eighth grade. It came straight out of the blue to me. I only call him Dad when I'm around him or someone who might tell him I call him by his full name when he isn't there to hear it. My mother was engaged to a very dependent man through my freshman year. She kinda sorta kicked him out of the house one weekend the summer before my sophomore year while I was at my "dad's." Speaking of "Dad," he married a gold-digging whore who led me to have suicidal thoughts and behaviors and refused to leave her despite the fact that he- along with my mother- had made a very explicit promise that we, the children, would always come first. Apparently what that meant was that we, the children, would come first until "Dad" got some fresh pussy. I can't believe I actually typed that. I'll be done with this topic now.
Issue #4: I can't decide about physical stuff and PDAs.
On the one hand, I hate couples who stand in the hall and make out. They're fucking annoying. They're almost as bad as those people who walk reaaaaally slow and in a line, blocking everyone who isn't daring enough to push through them Red Rover-style from doing something as simple as walk to third period. Yeah, I know, I'm refocusing. Back to what I was saying. I like the idea of making out, to be honest. Lips touching, hands running through hair and roaming the body... that all sounds good. Hugs, on the other hand, I find incredibly awkward. I hugged Pansy Boy good-bye every morning outside my first period class. I hated that shit. I look retarded when I hug people anyways. Now, a chaste kiss? I could probably make that work. But in public? It depends. On what? I have no clue. I have a feeling this is one of the ones that will work itself out in its own time, without the therapy necessary for Issue #3, hehe.
Issue #5: I don't want to have to say, "I love you."
Maybe this is less an issue and more of a pet peeve. I don't really know; I haven't been in enough serious relationships (at the time of writing, I've only been in one, and I ended that after a month) to know if what I feel is normal. I have this major aversion to saying those three little words. I think this aversion stems from the fact that my first boyfriend, Pansy Boy, told me he loved me after, oh, I think it was two days. We got together through text over winter break. We'd known each other for maybe a week before the beginning of winter break. We flirted incessantly over Twitter and via text. He asked me out, we had a few snow days... we hadn't seen each other for weeks, and he told me he loved me. And I panicked and told him I loved him, too. I felt like I had to constantly tell him I loved him throughout the relationship. Looking back, even Pansy Boy can admit he was a needy bitch. But acknowledging it isn't enough. That crap has stayed with me.
Ugh, I think I'm done for now. Too much heavy stuff, and halfway through this post I had to run and complain to Rissa about the President (not Obama, the guy I've nicknamed the President for the purposes of this blog).
Oh, and maybe in the future I'll just print this out and give it to any male who wants to be in a relationship with me. Ooh, that's either the best idea I've ever had or the worst. Aww yeah.
Issue #1: I'm bound to stop liking him.
It has happened time and time again. When I found out that a guy likes me, it destroys all chance of me liking him. I have no idea what causes it. Theories include a) I enjoy the chasing ritual too much for my own good, b) I'm afraid of commitment, but my hormones make me like boys, c) I want a guy that's a challenge, so much so to the extent that I want the entire relationship to be a challenge, and me knowing he likes me just doesn't provide a challenge, and d) I'm so afraid of getting hurt that the minute it threatens to become a "relationship," I back off. My personal favorite is theory c, but I think deep down it's a mixture of all of them.
Issue #2: I fully expect the relationship to fail.
I just do. I don't really know why. I have a theory, though; they say that people's attitudes towards relationships are greatly influenced by what they saw with their parents while they were growing up. Whether that's true for everyone or not, it would certainly be fitting for me. My parents have not had the greatest relationshit history (see Issue #3).
Issue #2b: That, or I expect it to never end.
At first, this doesn't seem like an issue; it just seems like a little girl fantasizing about dancing with her Prince Charming. And, on a certain level, that's exactly what it is. (Shit, throat going dry, eyes watering, gotta go in a different direction...) However, it is a problem. I'm not going to magically have a happy relationship just because I want one. Everyone fights, and every relationship has its rough patches. I can't just expect that since I'm elated for the first five minutes, everything is going to work out perfectly. But I do expect that. Hell, for one example of what could go wrong, just check out Issue #1. Crap's for real.
Issue #3: My parental units... they're fucked up.
My mother and my birth father divorced before my first birthday. I didn't see him or speak to him until about a decade and a half later. I still don't call him Dad. My mother and the man I grew up calling Dad divorced the winter I was in eighth grade. It came straight out of the blue to me. I only call him Dad when I'm around him or someone who might tell him I call him by his full name when he isn't there to hear it. My mother was engaged to a very dependent man through my freshman year. She kinda sorta kicked him out of the house one weekend the summer before my sophomore year while I was at my "dad's." Speaking of "Dad," he married a gold-digging whore who led me to have suicidal thoughts and behaviors and refused to leave her despite the fact that he- along with my mother- had made a very explicit promise that we, the children, would always come first. Apparently what that meant was that we, the children, would come first until "Dad" got some fresh pussy. I can't believe I actually typed that. I'll be done with this topic now.
Issue #4: I can't decide about physical stuff and PDAs.
On the one hand, I hate couples who stand in the hall and make out. They're fucking annoying. They're almost as bad as those people who walk reaaaaally slow and in a line, blocking everyone who isn't daring enough to push through them Red Rover-style from doing something as simple as walk to third period. Yeah, I know, I'm refocusing. Back to what I was saying. I like the idea of making out, to be honest. Lips touching, hands running through hair and roaming the body... that all sounds good. Hugs, on the other hand, I find incredibly awkward. I hugged Pansy Boy good-bye every morning outside my first period class. I hated that shit. I look retarded when I hug people anyways. Now, a chaste kiss? I could probably make that work. But in public? It depends. On what? I have no clue. I have a feeling this is one of the ones that will work itself out in its own time, without the therapy necessary for Issue #3, hehe.
Issue #5: I don't want to have to say, "I love you."
Maybe this is less an issue and more of a pet peeve. I don't really know; I haven't been in enough serious relationships (at the time of writing, I've only been in one, and I ended that after a month) to know if what I feel is normal. I have this major aversion to saying those three little words. I think this aversion stems from the fact that my first boyfriend, Pansy Boy, told me he loved me after, oh, I think it was two days. We got together through text over winter break. We'd known each other for maybe a week before the beginning of winter break. We flirted incessantly over Twitter and via text. He asked me out, we had a few snow days... we hadn't seen each other for weeks, and he told me he loved me. And I panicked and told him I loved him, too. I felt like I had to constantly tell him I loved him throughout the relationship. Looking back, even Pansy Boy can admit he was a needy bitch. But acknowledging it isn't enough. That crap has stayed with me.
Ugh, I think I'm done for now. Too much heavy stuff, and halfway through this post I had to run and complain to Rissa about the President (not Obama, the guy I've nicknamed the President for the purposes of this blog).
Damn You, Spreadsheet of Truth
I often come up with unorthodox solutions to help me with my problems. In situations in which most people would turn to a best friend, I turn to a friend I only barely know. So, of course, in a situation in which most girls would scratch their pretty little heads and shrug their pretty little shoulders and put the matter at the back of their minds, I turned to a spreadsheet.
I have this thing with spreadsheets. They make me feel... safe, I suppose you could say. Spreadsheets, graphs, charts- they all give me a feeling that everything is going to be okay. They're comforting. Call me OCD, call me a freak, I don't care.
Here's the situation: you know the nerdy boy I've been pining after the last few posts (who, for clarity, we will now call Kirby)? Well, as is the usual when I like someone and they like me back (I think I may write a post about that particular issue of mine), my feelings for him sort of faded. And by "sort of faded," I mean I can still see myself dating him, I just don't see myself kissing him, and when I think about him, I don't get that little lurch in my stomach. Unfortunately, that means I won't let myself date him (I refuse to allow myself to date someone to whom I am not even slightly physically attracted, as I believe that relationships should have a healthy physical level). I don't think it's anything he's done; it's just me being me.
So, while I'm pondering that, along comes a boy we will call the President. Why? Oh, you'll find out. God forbid he ever reads this blog. *shudder* If any of my "readers" who know me still actually read this, and you figure out who the President is (because honestly, if you know me and even know of him, you'll figure it out), you'd best not tell him about this blog, or so help me I will kick your ass. And cry, probably.
Now, I used to have quite the crush on the President. Unfortunately, none of the signals I was sending out seemed to get any reciprocation. I resigned myself to the fact that I was being obvious, and that if he liked me, he would have asked me out by the end of the school year. So... I gave up. I gave up, and (shit, now my throat's going all dry and my eyes are getting all watery) I listened to Bulletproof ("I'll never let you sweep me off my feet," indeed) a thousand times over, and I got over him. I actually stopped talking to him for a period of time. I don't think he noticed, but... maybe he did. I don't know. The first week of summer vacation, getting it off my chest, I told him that when, on Valentine's Day, he'd asked if he could be my Valentine and I said no, I'd actually meant to say yes, but I didn't have the guts to go back and fix it. Of course, he asked me about the message later, and I just told him that I was frolicking about telling people all the things that had been stuck in my head all semester, and that this was all brought on by a Mountain Dew overdose.
Anyways, I thought I was completely over the President. That I was totally into Kirby. But no, the President just had to come along and fucking mess everything up. Actually, he didn't "come along;" he just responded to my starting a conversation. I sent him something along the lines of, "ello there!" and we went from there. The conversation ended with us having gone back in forth in nonsense (him in French, me in Spanish) and having created a Facebook page for his run for presidency (hence, the President), him going off to bed to sleep, and me wondering what the hell had just happened.
I realized some things while thinking about that conversation: a) I like doing ridiculous things for no reason, and b) the President makes my heart beat and my stomach tickle. Oh, and c) I really need to work on typing things right the first time.
Because this just put me in an absolute tizzy, I ran to the only available comfort... a spreadsheet (see, Persephone is asleep and Ember is at the Deathly Hallows part 2 premiere without me, the little chit). Down the leftmost column (column A), I put all the traits I value in a guy and how much I value them on a scale from one to ten (one being least, ten being most).
Example: Friendly (7)
Then, at the top of columns B and C, I put their names. After that, I just worked down each guy's column, giving him a score for each trait. For example, for Spontaneous (which was worth eight), Kirby got a five and the President got a seven.
At the bottom of column A, I put Total (164) because total, the value of the traits ended up being one hundred sixty-four points. Then, I added up each of the guy's point totals and put them in the Total row.
Kirby got 118.5 points (or 72%), and the President got 133.5 points (or 81%). It's not a wide margin to win by, but I may have upped Kirby's scores a bit for fear I'd be unfair due to my recent feelings as of late, and I may have brought the President's scores down for the same reason.
I think the reason I like spreadsheets is that they tell me what I already knew in a manner I can't ignore. It's fact now.
I have this thing with spreadsheets. They make me feel... safe, I suppose you could say. Spreadsheets, graphs, charts- they all give me a feeling that everything is going to be okay. They're comforting. Call me OCD, call me a freak, I don't care.
Here's the situation: you know the nerdy boy I've been pining after the last few posts (who, for clarity, we will now call Kirby)? Well, as is the usual when I like someone and they like me back (I think I may write a post about that particular issue of mine), my feelings for him sort of faded. And by "sort of faded," I mean I can still see myself dating him, I just don't see myself kissing him, and when I think about him, I don't get that little lurch in my stomach. Unfortunately, that means I won't let myself date him (I refuse to allow myself to date someone to whom I am not even slightly physically attracted, as I believe that relationships should have a healthy physical level). I don't think it's anything he's done; it's just me being me.
So, while I'm pondering that, along comes a boy we will call the President. Why? Oh, you'll find out. God forbid he ever reads this blog. *shudder* If any of my "readers" who know me still actually read this, and you figure out who the President is (because honestly, if you know me and even know of him, you'll figure it out), you'd best not tell him about this blog, or so help me I will kick your ass. And cry, probably.
Now, I used to have quite the crush on the President. Unfortunately, none of the signals I was sending out seemed to get any reciprocation. I resigned myself to the fact that I was being obvious, and that if he liked me, he would have asked me out by the end of the school year. So... I gave up. I gave up, and (shit, now my throat's going all dry and my eyes are getting all watery) I listened to Bulletproof ("I'll never let you sweep me off my feet," indeed) a thousand times over, and I got over him. I actually stopped talking to him for a period of time. I don't think he noticed, but... maybe he did. I don't know. The first week of summer vacation, getting it off my chest, I told him that when, on Valentine's Day, he'd asked if he could be my Valentine and I said no, I'd actually meant to say yes, but I didn't have the guts to go back and fix it. Of course, he asked me about the message later, and I just told him that I was frolicking about telling people all the things that had been stuck in my head all semester, and that this was all brought on by a Mountain Dew overdose.
Anyways, I thought I was completely over the President. That I was totally into Kirby. But no, the President just had to come along and fucking mess everything up. Actually, he didn't "come along;" he just responded to my starting a conversation. I sent him something along the lines of, "ello there!" and we went from there. The conversation ended with us having gone back in forth in nonsense (him in French, me in Spanish) and having created a Facebook page for his run for presidency (hence, the President), him going off to bed to sleep, and me wondering what the hell had just happened.
I realized some things while thinking about that conversation: a) I like doing ridiculous things for no reason, and b) the President makes my heart beat and my stomach tickle. Oh, and c) I really need to work on typing things right the first time.
Because this just put me in an absolute tizzy, I ran to the only available comfort... a spreadsheet (see, Persephone is asleep and Ember is at the Deathly Hallows part 2 premiere without me, the little chit). Down the leftmost column (column A), I put all the traits I value in a guy and how much I value them on a scale from one to ten (one being least, ten being most).
Example: Friendly (7)
Then, at the top of columns B and C, I put their names. After that, I just worked down each guy's column, giving him a score for each trait. For example, for Spontaneous (which was worth eight), Kirby got a five and the President got a seven.
At the bottom of column A, I put Total (164) because total, the value of the traits ended up being one hundred sixty-four points. Then, I added up each of the guy's point totals and put them in the Total row.
Kirby got 118.5 points (or 72%), and the President got 133.5 points (or 81%). It's not a wide margin to win by, but I may have upped Kirby's scores a bit for fear I'd be unfair due to my recent feelings as of late, and I may have brought the President's scores down for the same reason.
I think the reason I like spreadsheets is that they tell me what I already knew in a manner I can't ignore. It's fact now.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Relationshit Rambling
So there's this guy. Same guy I was describing last post. He calls me "m'lady" on Facebook, or sometimes "madame." He uses old words and lolspeak in the same sentence. I don't know him like I knew Pansy Boy or Macarrones or even the President. The extent of our interaction has been Facebook conversations. Over 3000 IMs and messages have been exchanged, according to Facebook.
But I can't make myself be rational like I usually am. With Macarrones, it was all, "I'm not attracted to you in a romantic manner, therefore we shouldn't date." And with Pansy Boy, it was, "I can't stand you and your sense of humor ninety percent of the time, and my life isn't a romcom, so we shouldn't date." With the President, it was, "You don't feel the same way. I get it. I'm moved on now." Edit: Bahaha, yeah right. "Moved on," my ass.
But with this guy, I can't be rational like that. I can't just say to myself, "You don't know him." And it sucks. I'm not good at just giving it all up and being happy, especially after the whole Pansy Boy ordeal and all my new little rules and self-discipline about using the l-word. I'd say, "Maybe he's here to tell me I have to break those rules," but, like I said before, my life isn't a romantic comedy. My life is a shitty indie film. There's a difference, and I accept that.
And at the same time, I don't even want to try to be rational. Anyone else in my situation would sit here and listen to Lily Allen and smile like a fool and say, "Fuck the work for my online class, I'm getting on Spiral Knights." But no. I'm me, so of course that wouldn't work.
The fuck do I have a blog?
By the way, the title of this post should link to the most awesome virtual mix tape ever for the state of my mind right now. You're welcome.
But I can't make myself be rational like I usually am. With Macarrones, it was all, "I'm not attracted to you in a romantic manner, therefore we shouldn't date." And with Pansy Boy, it was, "I can't stand you and your sense of humor ninety percent of the time, and my life isn't a romcom, so we shouldn't date." With the President, it was, "You don't feel the same way. I get it. I'm moved on now." Edit: Bahaha, yeah right. "Moved on," my ass.
But with this guy, I can't be rational like that. I can't just say to myself, "You don't know him." And it sucks. I'm not good at just giving it all up and being happy, especially after the whole Pansy Boy ordeal and all my new little rules and self-discipline about using the l-word. I'd say, "Maybe he's here to tell me I have to break those rules," but, like I said before, my life isn't a romantic comedy. My life is a shitty indie film. There's a difference, and I accept that.
And at the same time, I don't even want to try to be rational. Anyone else in my situation would sit here and listen to Lily Allen and smile like a fool and say, "Fuck the work for my online class, I'm getting on Spiral Knights." But no. I'm me, so of course that wouldn't work.
The fuck do I have a blog?
By the way, the title of this post should link to the most awesome virtual mix tape ever for the state of my mind right now. You're welcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)