A Reminder.

(I swear to Godga I have never posted this many times in one day before.)

“Boys are cute and we like them (unless we hate them) but they’re mere dressing on the salad of life. We find it much more sensible to hang out with people- male or female- whose company we groove on, not to go hunting for a mate.”

-Margie and Mary Ann

And then there's this other thing-

This glaring THING that's been bugging me since that night. A stupid, stupid girl sitting on the bed, audibly gasping when her top falls down, stating she's leaving because she doesn't know where the conversation is going. And it was embarrassing! Just sitting there, watching this idiotic girl play right into the hands of a man's world, I felt like I wanted to take her outside and give her Feminism 101. Doesn't she realize that it's GIRLS-LIKE-HER who perpetuate sexism? Doesn't she understand that GIRLS-LIKE-HER are the reason GIRLS-LIKE-ME are undateable? Doesn't she see that IT'S FUCKING 2010 AND PLAYING DUMB TO MAKE BOYS LIKE YOU WILL NEVER, EVER BE IN STYLE?

Sitting there, on that bed, I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to scream and pull at my hair and throw things and mess up the sheets. I wanted to know why she continued to diminish her intelligence and her potential in the face of boys. I wanted to know why, and how she's made it this far on what little she has. And most importantly, I wanted to know why society has failed to punish her for her embarrassing behavior.

Sex and the City vs. Second Base and the Suburbs

Last night was a real eye opener to the mishaps of teenage dating. You think I'd be well aware after being invited to "hang out" and subsequently "make out" on more than one occasion, but noooooo. Last night, for the first time, I really saw just how difficult it is to establish your feelings for another person. On Sex and the City and usually in adult life, flirting is followed up by a first date. In the sitcom of my life I have oh-so-cleverly labeled "Second Base and the Suburbs" (move along folks, there's definitely no sex here), flirting can be accompanied by a number of things, but "dinner" or a "date" is never one of them. Have we rendered the word "date" obsolete? And if so, how am I freaking supposed to tell the nature of the "hang out"? Asking someone to dinner is the most direct way of stating you're interested romantically, but asking someone to hang out is the most dense way of stating you could have a number of feelings.

So why have we stopped using the word "date"? Are we so afraid of actual romance that we'd sooner pretend it's dead than be upfront about our intentions?

not doing it.

sometimes it feels as though not doing it is easier.

it being kissing, making out, hooking up, saying you like someone.

it.

right now i'm not doing it. a week ago i wasn't doing it either. she's not doing it, he's not doing it. we're all avoiding the big IT.

we are all so fucking afraid of our potential demise. well guess what? it's going to happen anyway. a little rejection won't speed it up. a little rejection could be just what you need to slow it down. the world works in funny ways.

so then there's you. i've known you for ten years. we weren't supposed to know each other for this long; you're a charmer and i'm awkward/you're ballsy and i'm afraid/you're you and i'm me. our history is hardly cut and dry--more like chopped and reordered, segments of one important piece bleeding into another, everything is so muddled. a noteworthy detail: when you liked me i didn't like you. when i liked you you didn't like me.

but then you were back. you were at my going away party. you told S to get rid of his reefer, it was my fucking going away party for chrissakes, don't fucking ruin it. i was surprised at how you defended me. we talked. i felt it again. then i was gone.

while i was out i hardly thought of you except for in passing. whatever we had seemed unimportant, remnants leftover from a childish romance. almost nothing. murky water.

a week ago we spent three days together. three days cut and dry t-shirts soaked in sweat, sunburnt and revealed skin, feelings of pure ecstasy. the world was at peace. the feeling was back, but covered. i wasn't sure if it was mutual. i wanted you so badly. i still want you.

now the problem is how to say it. how do you word ten years' feeling? how do you tell someone how important they are to you, and yeah, you really wouldn't mind kissing them too?

ten years.

How do you get from Point A to Point B?

I contemplated this idea last night while nervously glancing at the object of my desire. Eventually I threw caution to the wind and said "So do you wanna kiss me goodnight?" Well, duh, he did. He was just being awkward about it.

But, honestly. How do you get from a desire to an action? From my car seat to his? In theory it seems so simple- it seems like it should BE so simple. But it's never worked out that way for me. Is that in and of itself a reason not to go through with it? The seemingly unnecessarily difficult aspect of the action? It's a fucking kiss. It shouldn't be hard.

vacanze romane.

you look like rob lowe but italian. you're definitely older than me, somewhere in the 19-25 range (26, tops. i have no idea how italian men age.) and you were unexpectedly nice when my brother and i sat our touristy selves down at the restaurant where you waiter.

so you can imagine my surprise when you asked me out the second time i saw you.

we had passed by the restaurant on our way back to the convent and my uncle decided it would be a good idea to pick up some wine. my brother and i stood outside waiting when i noticed you lingering near the doorway. out of the corner of my eye i could feel you nervously watching me but i feigned ignorance. when you suddenly walked back inside, my brother bent closer and whispered "i think he was waiting to talk to you." eyes wide and full of disbelief, i wandered indoors to see what was taking my aunt and uncle so long. i nervously looked around the crowded store, a pantry packed with pasta. then i see you come down the elevator, changed out of a work outfit and into more comfortable clothing. you catch my eye and we say "how are you?" at the same time.

giggle.

"I'm good."

"What did you do today?"

but my answer was unimportant, merely the bridge you needed to get to your next, more important question: "What are you doing tonight?"

"oh, out to dinner with my family-"

"so you are here with your family? ah. is there any way you could get out of it?"

"well-maybe"

"i have to work tonight, tomorrow night?"

"i'm leaving tomorrow morning"

and so words were passed back and forth, eaten and swallowed and pushed back up until no agreement was reached because i was off to some villa and then pisa and never to see you again.

i wanted to say yes for the sheer thrill of it but practicalities got in the way: you were working that night and i was leaving the next day. and then there was the fact that i hardly knew you and was not sure of your name (had i learned it the other day? who knew?) as we said our goodbyes and i walked away, a feeling and an innate knowledge came to my attention. the idea of going out with this guy frightened me. in fact, the idea of going out with anyone made me feel like i had spent a few too many moments underwater. what?! why was i so suddenly afraid of men? why did the idea of marriage make me want to run for the hills?

tales from the far side - a party

we sit around scratchy burnt sienna couches while glowsicks buzz off foreheads and dull house music thumps from another room. your brown eyes look choclatey and i'm reminded of home; you keep saying "i want to make out." we are sitting on each other. alcohol has been consumed and i am merely a wallflower, an iguana along for the ride. i sit in my proverbial corner and smugly observe the drug induced drama unfolding before me.

i'm still sitting on you. body heat is easier. the bathroom exhales five/six people in a cloud of marijuana smoke. my head is a swivel stick, i am the chandelier overhead. i think briefly about making out with you to pass time before remembering i have never been turned on around you, ever. and so we drape on one another.

five minutes pass and a parent has been in and out, leaving a very visible path leading to "what just happened." he said that she said that, oh, well, we were all about to smoke pot outside when her dad saw. snatched up and the weed was gone.

deep inside, the knife hits wooden chopping block and i think, another one bites the dust. you too?

meanwhile she is poised to dispose of her virginity. a male has been selected and is only too eager to drop his pants. his wife beater clings to his mediocre body in anticipation. both of them are on the stairs, one foot out the door. later i learn that he has a small penis.

back up five minutes and slow-mo the most excruciating boredom you have ever encountered. there we were, experiencing the very medieval torture you are imagining. life had been whisked out of our bodies, which were stretched upon every available surface. someone actually falls asleep. i speak repeatedly of leaving but stay seated.