almost a whole year ago, in december of 2008, a friend of mine invited me and another friend to a party. it was early in the month, the school semester had just ended, and a celebration of our temporary scholastic liberation was in order. the party was a combination of occasions: there was a december graduate as well as two birthdays (we got invited for the graduate). the party started off great: no one we knew was there, it was a totally different and nice crowd, and there was just a very good vibe in general. just being with two of my best friends was great. that drinks were a-flowing and people were kind were just added bonuses. the three of us were laughing and smiling and dancing.

another surprise came that night. i’ve always said that i have the most beautiful friends, and these two girls i was with are no exception to the rule. the girl who got us the invitation was flirting and getting friendlier with the guy whose invitation we were riding on as the night progressed, and the other friend i was with had, if i recall correctly, at least three guys all vying for her attention. they both got asked to dance, and while they were out on the dance floor, doing their thing, i headed over to the open bar to get a refresher. as i leaned against the bar to wait for my new drink, i people watched. one group of friends in particular caught my attention. they were all arranged in a circle and dancing. one guy in the dancing ring caught my attention as he looked a bit silly, trying his hardest to keep rhythm with the pumping bass of the music that was pulsing through the room. i couldn’t help but stare! he looked so silly. i watched him for a while as he did this weird knee-bending, shoulder-rolling dance move, but i had to turn away from him to get my drink. when i looked back to the group of friends, i noticed that he was missing and was ready to go find my girls. however, i was distracted from doing this when i noticed that the lame dancer was actually standing in my way.

worried that he might question my totally obvious staring, i avoided his gaze, hoping he would just go away. he didn’t however, and i finally had no choice but to look at him and awkwardly smile. the following is my best recollection of our conversation:

him-> hey do you want to dance? with me?
me -> uhm, no thank you, i don’t really dance.
him-> well, you saw me dancing, right?
me -> er…
him-> come on.. you can say yes.
me -> well, yes, i suppose i was watching you a bit.
him-> it looked kinda like you were making fun of me…
me -> oh, no way. i would never.
him-> it’s okay, i know i’m not that great of a dancer.
me -> i, uh, i really wasn’t.
him-> well, i still think that in order to be able to tease people about their dancing, you have to show off your own dancing skills in order to prove that you are better.
me -> oh, no, that’s not–
him-> no, come on, show me what you’ve got.

at this point, this very bold stranger takes my arm and leads me to where everyone else is dancing. when i’d told him earlier that i didn’t dance, it was the truth. i am quite okay with the fact that i’m a rubbish dancer. truly. i’m awful at it. i blame it on having no grace. or poise. or rhythm. but there i was. standing way too close to a stranger who reminded me a little of the author’s portrait on the inside of the dust jacket of neil gaiman’s The Graveyard Book. when he noticed that i was a uneasy with the prospect of dancing, he smiled and did his best to teach me the secret of his bending knee, shoulder rolling prowess. he made me laugh, and each time i made eye contact with my busy friends, they gave me looks of encouragement. we danced and laughed and joked the rest of the night and when time came to wrap things up, i actually felt bummed. time had passed quickly but, sure enough, when i checked the time, i realized that we were closer to morning time than we’d realized. we sat down to talk for a bit, and i told him i had to leave and just as my friends were rushing me to get a move on, i leaned towards him and i gave him a kiss. it was a short, sweet thing, but it was nice. just like him.

a few weeks passed after this and i didn’t know anything about him except for his name. i turned twenty-one, celebrated a new year, started a whole new semester of classes, saw another guy, and went on spring break. during spring break, i went out with a school friend of mine for a cup of coffee on her birthday. i walked into the café and i spotted someone who looked like my lame dancer of three months prior. one of the friends who i’d gone to the party with was with us and i asked her if she thought that was him. she said no, he looked too old. naturally, i disagreed. he looked just like the guy. granted, i’d spent hours with this guy in a dark room, so how good of a look did i really get? i tried to convince her that it was him, but i noticed that he was getting ready to leave just as we were arriving. he walked up and looked in our direction, and we made eye contact. he looked away to put something away in a bag he had with him, and i walked past him to find somewhere to sit. as i looked back to catch another glimpse of him, he also turned and we shared another look. and that was that. he walked out and away.

shortly after this mid-march week, i flew laterally across the country to the great state of minnesota for a literature and rhetoric conference in minneapolis. i was gone for about a week. the very day i fly back, i met a friend at this same coffee shop that i’d gone to before, and i saw the guy again! this time, feeling so confident after successfully presenting a paper of my own creation to a panel of my peers and professors, i decided i would say hi. i walked right up to him and said, “hello, do you remember me? i met you months ago.” we had a good chat, and, while i began to say my goodbyes, he asked me for my phone number. i felt amazed. how could a funny, cute, older guy like him want my number? i gave it to him and weeks, weeks passed and he never called. i was kind of upset. however, as i have mentioned before, i always have several crushes, so i wasn’t too devastated.

easter came around and i met up with three of my best friends at this very same cafe. soon, i noticed that there he was again! sitting quite close to the four of us. this time it was he who engaged me in conversation. after all, he hadn’t called me and i wasn’t going to waste more time with him again. we spoke with each other as if old friends and, once again, he asked me for my number! i will make mention that both times, he simply wrote my number down, and never actually punched into his phone. whatever. i gave him my number for a second time. for a second time, i waited for weeks for a call and did i get it? no.

that was april. fast forward through the rest of spring, an insane summer, and i find myself in october. a friend’s significant other mentions to me that he’s working at the same place where i could swear that this man had mentioned to me that he worked. i ask the old boyfriend if he knows anyone by this name and the  answer is yes! i am pleasantly surprised. i ask questions and learn some insignificant but charming details about him, and i satiated.

then tonight! tuesday night! i go to this very special cafe and there he is! i see him and say hello, but just walk straight on through. let it be known that i was at this coffee shop today with the same two girls i was with the night i met this guy. when we’re getting ready to leave, i decide that i’m going to say a nicer say hello to him, and i approach him. he’s polite as ever and we’re talking about halloween and his work and i compliment him and he’s graceful and i tell him i’m going to austin tomorrow and i wish i could be there for halloween and then. then. then he says that i should go to austin. and i would be more than welcome to stay in the apartment he has there. WHAT. i know.

the only better thing i could have heard him say would have been, “will you marry me?” i mean, seriously. an invitation to stay at his place? i say that i’ll think about it, and this time he changes things up. he asks, “do you want my number in case you do decide to go to austin?” i tell him that yes, i would like, but i left my phone in the car so if he could please write it down, i’d appreciate it. he says, no, he can just call me from his phone. so he asks me for mine (for a third time), and i give it to him. this time, he does save it in his phone! and he calls me! i tell him goodbye and that i hope things work out and i’m able to go to austin. i practically run to my car to get my phone, and, sure enough, there is a missed call from his 512 number.

i’m still floating, but i know i probably won’t get to go to austin for halloween. talking to him was good enough, though, and should keep me in the clouds for a good while.

over the years, we’ve been able to discuss books both of us have read and we’ve also gone to midnight premieres of lots of movies. we also have been to a few concerts together. we also share likes as far as clothing goes. we both really like the sister company of abercrombie, ruehl (that will soon be closing down due to insurmountable financial loss), and we are crazy about the online clothing store, alternative apparel. while i do wear a different size than her, i have on occasion lent her clothes that she’s been able to rock into amazing outfits. we have the same item in our respective closets, but in different colors.
in one thing, i have noticed, that our tastes differ greatly. guys. while she usually is attracted to fun-loving, carefree very cute and funny guys fairly close to her age, i tend to gravitate towards surlier, brooding, devastatingly handsome men that usually run a bit too old for me. her guys are music-centric, and i fawn over those who like to consider themselves writers.
not too long ago, though, we had a bit of a weird situation. she started crushing on this guy, and i started crushing on his best friend. these two guys were practically brothers. it was i that was changing tastes. he was much closer to my age than any guy had been in a while, and he was very easy going. totally different than my usual “type.” the four of us are all still friends, which should tell you, obviously, than nothing seriously romantic came of our respective crushes. both of us crushing on those two close buddies was a very interesting experience. we were able to talk about these guys all the time and (sort of unfairly to the boys) compare their personalities and actions.

i never thought we’d every be in a situation like this again, and we haven’t been! however, my friend and i currently find ourselves in an even more complicated scenario. what’s more complicated than one pair of best friends crushing on another set of best friends? i’ll tell you. a pair of best friends crushing on… the one and the same guy! in a previously mentioned bar, we met a very charming fellow. she might disagree, but i’m going to go ahead and say that it’s her this time who is straying from her usual taste in guy. he’s more than just a few years older than us. he’s moody and, at times, rude (not to us but his co-workers). but he’s really funny and smart. we have, so far, spent hours talking about him and trying to decipher everything else. like a very concentrated stoner who is cleaning out their weed, we try very hard to separate the (non-malicious) lies he tells us from the truth. it’s a fun little challenge.we also talk to people we’ve discovered who have any sort of acquaintanceship with him to find out anything about him. again, it’s fun and entertaining. when you are just a college student with a part-time job, you tend to latch on to anything out of your daily routine, like we have.

he’s a great guy, and we like to visit him and work and flirt with him. he makes us laugh, but that’s pretty much all it is right now. i’m going to include a very poor quality picture of him just because i we like him so much!

he’s on the right

after our supposed reading of beloved, came sandra cisneros’s the house on mango street. i have much less beef with this book, because it’s a much lighter read. whereas beloved is the lengthy story about a slave on the run who is now being haunted by the angry spirit of the 2-year old daughter whom she murdered, mango street is a short collection of vignettes by a tormented teenager with mexican heritage. while the narrator can sometimes be a bit whiny, i find myself relating to her situation in life. while my homelife is not as tragic as esperanza’s, i feel that sometimes i am a bit too harsh on my parents. i know that sometimes they cannot give me all that i wish i could have, but if they had the means, i know they would. it’s not like they’re holding out on us, their kids. but neither do my parents, unlike esperanza’s, have their heads in the clouds. pera’s mother spends her days at home wistfully sighing about the life she could have lead had she done one thing or another and how as soon as they win the lottery, they’ll finally start living the life they deserve. i do understand what that feels like, but never have my parents shown that dreamy, airheaded attitude.

before we started discussing the actual book, the professor told us about the author, sandra cisneros. she wrote the book when was supposedly twenty-four while in a poetry seminar for her master’s degree. we watched some videos about the author and her inspiration for mango street. in one particular video, she spoke about writer’s block. she said that writer’s block is not having a lack of something to say, but being afraid to say something that really means something to you.

“Writer’s block doesn’t mean you don’t have anything to say. Writer’s block means you are afraid to say what you really have to say.” -Sandra Cisneros

i am aware that too much time has passed since my last entry in this blog. in fact, the last thing i wrote about honesty, i wasn’t even happy with. it’s true. yes, it’s an important thing to me, but i couldn’t even be honest with myself to write something good. for the past week or two that i haven’t written anything, it’s not that i’ve had “writer’s block,” it’s just that i’ve lacked inspiration. my life, right now, is at such a stagnant point, there is truly nothing that inspires me to write. i am stuck in a routine that i won’t be able to get out of for another year or so. what does inspire me to write are completely vapid thoughts that i should have outgrown when i was wearing my plaid skirt and knee-high white socks in the eighth grade. things that are going on in my life are my classes, my job, my family, my friends, the shows i watch, and the men that i find myself “in love” with. i’m not saying that any of these things are unimportant. they totally are. without one of them, all that would be left would be fragments of a life that used to resemble mine (except maybe for the tv).

take today, for example. fearlesslydelicate has been in the back of my mind for the past week or so. i peel my eyes open for anything i can write about, but nothing seems worthy. the monotony of my life has left me with nothing interesting. today, however, i went to an art gallery with a friend, and it was nice, but things didn’t start to heat up -literally- until someone for whom i have very strong feelings walked up the stairwell and i turned into a mess. i say that things literally heated up, because at the moment, i became totally flushed, my body temperature must have risen about fifteen degrees, and i could feel a light sheen of moisture accruing all over my skin. all this over the mere presence of someone. that’s right. i didn’t even talk to this guy. i think i may have made the slightest bit of eye contact with him but it was totally dismissible if existent at all. i went home almost immediately after this scene that went unnoticed by everyone except the friend i was with. once i was home, all i could think of was writing a story in which a girl like me finally had the guts to say what she really wanted to a guy like him, but i couldn’t. and i guess that’s where sandra’s quote comes in.

i’m so scared of some unknown thing, that i can’t even find comfort in writing. one thing in this world that i should have absolute control over.

as my friend and i were sipping on our respective drinks (prepared by our usual tuesday bartender but lacking the usual tuesday care and love that went in it), some guy that we graduated high school with approached us to say hello. we had already been at the bar for close to an hour, and we had spotted this guy early on. neither of us really care for him, so we didn’t bother being the first to make the move. this guy, though, feigned surprised at running into us late in the evening even though just a few moments earlier, we’d seen him macking (excuse the 90s terminology but the term embodies all the douchiness this guy deserves) on some other girl who was sitting one (one!) bar stool away from us. we exchanged pleasantries and, when we went outside for a breath of fresh(-mingled-with-cheap-cigarette-smoke) air later, he followed us. i went on talking as though he wasn’t there, and began making fun of this young fellow a few feet away from us who was wearing this ridiculousity (so ridiculous, it merits the invention of a new word):

no, that’s not a bad quality pic, it’s a bedazzled tiger!

–sidenote: there are so many other people and blogs who have put lots of effort into mocking the ed hardy brand, that i won’t. simply google “ed hardy douchebag” and you will find lots of disgruntled guys complaining about how hot chicks only go for these poor mindless victims of passing trends (von dutch caps, anyone? exactly). meanwhile,  they’re left home alone with their halo odst every saturday night–

so my friend and i are giggling over how stupid this guy looks, and this uninvited idiot sitting between us tells me to stop it because i’m being mean.

whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

exactly.

i immediately drop the fashion-challenged ‘tard in front of us and focus on the how-can-your-brain-be-so-small-when-your-head-is-so-fat ‘tard next to me. i ask him to explain himself and he says that the poor guy doesn’t deserve to be made fun of when i don’t even know him. i immediately counter, saying that i know that he totally agrees but he just doesn’t want to admit it. he’s thinking it and so is everyone else except that my friend and i are the only people in the room that will actually bring it up.

then we start talking about why people just can’t say what they really want to. what is so damn hard about telling the truth? i can’t imagine a possible explanation, because i am addicted to the truth. i want to hear what is real and true and nothing else. if i want to be lied to, i’ll ask for that.

imagine the following dialogue in mocking, overly-masculine voices:

friend: hey, dude, you know that girl brenda?
him: uhh, that girl from that class we had last semester?
f: yeah.
h: what about her?
f: well, she has on a link on her facebook to this blog she writes, and she wrote this whole post all about you and she made this t-shirt that says “i heart aaron” and she wears it under all hear clothes.
h: oh, come on.
f: well, who can blame her? i mean, you’re gorgeous.  and ok, look, I’m not saying she’s a stalker, but she saved this kleenex you used and she said she’s gonna do some kind of African voodoo with it to make you like her.
h: what?
f: i know she’s kind of socially retarded and weird, but she’s my friend, so just promise me you won’t make fun of her.

in the year 2004, the movie mean girls was released in theaters. it was written by the amazing tina fey, and i borrowed some dialogue from it for the second half of this imaginary conversation. it’s totally applicable to my situation. he is totally gorgeous, and i most assuredly am socially retarded and weird. also, i won’t say for sure, but i may or may not have made a shirt with his name, saved a used kleenex, and pondered some kind of african voodoo.

about a year ago, i signed up for this literature class. i didn’t know anyone who was going to be in the class, so i only had the actual course content to look forward to. the start of the new semester finally came around, and, as is my usual custom, i decided to go to class early so that i could get a good seat. my preferred seat is always in the back row and against the wall opposite from the door. so, i’m sitting there with my legal pad and my ballpoint pen and my please-don’t-sit-next-to-me-or-try-speaking-with-me expression when my world is totally rocked. i didn’t notice him until he was walking directly in front of me. he was of average built and height, but he smelled of a smokey musk. he sat in the desk in front of me and it was like this from about late august to early december. writing this post has made me sigh wistfully, over and over again. since that semester, we’ve had several other classes together, which means that we’ve shared some sort of acquaintanceship for more than a year now.

in the handful of classes that we’ve had, the interaction i’ve had with him has been a minimum. in the classes where he sits in rows in front of me, i get to to stare at the back of his head for as long as i want. when he sits in the back row, too, it gets complicated. i have to be sneaky about stealing glances. unless he’s speaking out and contributing to class discussion, i have no reason to be looking at him. as far as talking or face-to-face interaction, it’s at a pathetic minimum. i’ve asked him for a pen and a scantron. i think once i asked him for the time too. i know, i know. it’s pathetic. but hey–i’m okay with it.

i’m quite alright with the whole thing. in fact, i would say that my relationship right now with this guy is absolute perfection. before you start calling me crazy (“you’ve never even had a conversation with him, bee!”), hear me out. i guess you could call it an “open” relationship. we see each other when we see each other. several times a week is perfect. it’s not too much so that means we don’t crowd each other. i never bug him about calling me, and i never expect him to. he’s never lied to me or been mean to me. whenever i’ve asked him for anything, he’s given it to me (see above). best of all, i keep him at a distance, so he’ll never know about all my crazy. i definitely think this will last. this thing where i’m too chicken to talk to him could last for years! say what you will, but my relationship with him is way better than the kind with all the expectations and disappointments.

i am complacent.

i really wish i could share more about this guy, but i’m paranoid. way more then i definitely should be. i mean, the few people who read this blog already know who this guy is but… i just can’t. rest assured, though, that he is totally worth the attention. i don’t know what it is that really keeps me from talking to him. he seems like a pretty nice guy. as far as interaction with the opposite sex goes, i usually keep it at a minimum just because i’m so weird and awkward. for him, though, i hardly ever see him talking to girls. he doesn’t seem like the womanizing type. i just can’t bring myself to talk to him. he intimidates me i guess.

for now though, i’ll be sticking with the love-from-afar (aka stalking) approach.

one day in july 2008, i was just surfing around last.fm. i don’t know to this very day how i got to this profile, but i found a guy whose user pic was a great shot of tom selleck leaning out of some monster of a car in his shining mustache-glory.

there was no way i could just walk on by this profile, so i figured there was no harm in me saying hello and giving props where props go. what followed from there was a very nice shoutbox (last.fm equivalent of facebook’s wall) correspondence. i learned that this boy is named thierry, he’s french, and speaks/writes fantastic english. from there, we moved onto last.fm mail, and after that wasn’t quite personal enough, we started emailing each other. thierry has so far always held that he’s through-and-through french, but i have my misgivings because he’ll send me these enormous emails in english (not his native tongue) where i cannot find a single mistake. whenever i try to compliment him, he always brushes me off, saying he’s terrible. now that we’ve been keeping in touch for more than a year, we have each other on google talk so, sometimes when he’s up really late or i’m up really late, our lives will intersect and we’ll have a nice real-time chat. he lives on the northwestern coast of france so that means there’s a time difference of about six hours.

neither of us is really that large, but the distance between us is </cheestastic>

as far as our emails go, it’s nothing really out of the ordinary or lifetime movie-romantic. we talk mostly about school and our jobs and our friends and how drab each of our countries are. we also talk about visiting each other and how he wants to study abroad here and how i want to study abroad over there. i really do consider him a real friend. just tonight i received another of his emails, and he mentioned that he’d been re-reading our old emails and how funny it was to see where we both were when we first met. i’ve had the happy fortune of having several pen pals in my lifetime, but i readily admit i am a terrible one. i am the first to slack off, and i feel so lame when i get messages from thierry. he takes the time and puts in the effort to write me these passages of what he’s been up to and i don’t. i know that i should be replying to him instead of writing in this thing, but thierry is such a nice guy, i thought i would mention him.

i’m going to go write him a reply right now!