My Exact Thought Process

I have been sitting in front of this damn screen for 24 minutes now. I can’t think of any epic story that I actually feel like writing about at the moment, so I’ll just wing it. I’m writing this exactly as it comes to my mind, so it’s not in chronological order. You can figure it out.

I wanted so badly to be high, but what happened instead was much better.

Thanks for the pancakes.

I bananna smiled from ear to ear while you serenaded me with Across the Universe. The way I felt is the same way that I feel when I listen to music.

Our bodies became one a few hours earlier on that exact couch.

But it wasn’t the music that was making me feel that way.

“We’re so… Naked.” you announced. Thanks for the memo, Sherlock.

I was pretty comfortable, weren’t you?

“Hey Matt? Um. I don’t want to freak you out or anything but I think I love you.”

You looked me straight in my eyes. I was terrified. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. “I love you too. I’ve been meaning to say it all day, but I didn’t know how to”

I love you.

“Oh my god this is the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.”

You said that. You also told me that my zit made me look like Rudolph.

“Suck my dick, you fat piece of shit. Bastard.”

We’re naive.

I’m okay with that for the time being.

Actually, I’m happy.

I felt at peace when we were sitting on the porch under the lights.

I feel safe around you.

We bounce back between youthfulness and maturity.

I will never look at my cat socks the same way again.

 

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I DIDN’T ACTUALLY WRITE THIS.

“Every time i have a crush on a woman, i have the same fantasy: I imagine the two of us as a synth-pop duo. No matter who she is, or how we meet, the synth-pop duo fantasy has to work, or the crush fizzles out. The girl is up front, swishing her skirt, tossing her hair, a saucy little firecracker. I’m the boy in the back, hidden behind my Roland JP8000 keyboard. She has all the courage and star power I lack. She sings our hit because i would never dare to get up and sing it myself. She moves the crowd while i lurk in the shadows, lavishing all my computer-blue love on her, punching the buttons that shower her in disco bliss and bathe her in the spotlight. I make her a star.

The new wave girl knows what pop dreams are made of. She knows that Debbie Harry was just kidding when she sang, “Dreaming is free.” She knows dreams are something you have to steal. The new wave girl scams on other peoples identities, mixing and matching until she comes up with a style of her own, knowing that nothing belongs to her, that she just gets to wear it until somebody else comes along with faster fingers to snatch it away. She knows pop dreams are a hustle, a deception, a “glamour” in the witchcraft sense of the word. She knows how to bluff and how to scam. She sings about counterfeiting, shoplifting, bootlegging, home taping. She’s in on the hustle – you steal it, it’s yours, it’s legal tender. The new wave girl knows all this, which is why she is dangerous. The new wave boy knows how dangerous she is, which is why he stands behind her. The boy and the girl, together in electric dreams”- Rob Sheffield.

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Potato Leek Soup

I tapped my stiletto toe while I nervously waited for Boy to let me into his house. After hours of getting ready for his Uncle’s wedding reception, I thought I looked pretty damn good in my short black dress and signature red lipstick. However, when Boy opened the door, all hopes of me looking better than him were crushed. God damn he looked great. There’s this unwritten rule in womanhood that a female should never be upstaged by her date. Thanks to Boy’s charming exterior, I broke that code. This knowledge only made me more uncomfortable about meeting his extended family.

Granted, at this point in the evening, we were just friends. That didn’t change the fact that I was his date and was obliged to impress his family. I put on my most charming smile and shared pleasantries with his grandparents. Soon enough it was time to drive to the reception. I buckled myself into the passenger seat of Boy’s shitty saturn, not quite knowing what to expect. The ride to Bobak’s Signature Room wasn’t unlike any other drive we have taken, but there seemed to be tension between us. Maybe it was just me..

I swear to God, we were just friends when we arrived at the reception. We walked into the room, marveling at the nicely done decorations. Once we were seated, Boy looked over at me with a devilish smirk “Let’s explore a bit”. I perked up a little bit and replied “After you!”. We searched through a few of the halls and eventually found ourselves on a path leading to a field behind the building. Matt lit a cigarette and laid down on the fresh grass. He gestured for me to lay down with him. Next thing I know, his lips are pressed against mine and I find myself really enjoying the taste of Malboros. He pulls away and we smile at each other. “Will you go to homecoming with me?” he asks. –FORESHADOWING– Way to go, Boy. Way to ruin a good fucking moment. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help being elated. I grabbed his hand and we walked back into the reception.

Once we were seated, it was time to make toasts. I’ll drink to pretty much anything, so I downed the champagne within the first few speeches. Boy turned to me and asked “Is it gay of me to love weddings?” to which I responded “Well.. A little bit, but it’s really sweet. Weddings are the best.”What he said next shocked me in a rather pleasant way. “I guess I’m more looking forward to a marriage. Yeah you have shit to deal with, but you can wake up every morning knowing that someone will always be by your side.” Here’s the deal. I know I have a rather hard shell, but I’m a sucker for romantic crap like that. I didn’t really know what else to say, so I just grinned and took another swig of my champagne. Other than that, the only monumental part of the meal was the potato leek soup. Before the entrée, Boy was craving another cigarette, so we decided to take another walk down that path. I’m just going to be blunt here. Well I’m always blunt, but sometimes I feel the need to announce it.. If you’re prude, just skip this next part, because it gets a little raunchy.

It was dark outside. We just kind of cut to the chase and began to make out with much intensity. After who knows how long, Boy asked if he could go down on me. I’m not really the type of girl to be like “NO. THIS IS GONNA BE GREAT, BUT NO.” So yeah. That happened.

Okay you prude motherfuckers, keep on reading. Hand in hand, we walked back into the reception with a “Hell yeah, I just got some” smile plastered on our horny little faces. We missed the entrée, but no one really seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. Fine by me. Soon enough, it was time to dance. Boy and myself were among the first on the dance floor. With his hands on my hips, we pressed our foreheads together and chuckled. I couldn’t have been happier. “Well. I think we just hooked up at your Uncle’s wedding. Oh.. And it’s September 11th. We’re pretty scummy.” Boy laughed and kissed me on the cheek. “Ya know, in a few years, we’re gonna laugh so hard at all of the shit we get into.” he replied. I smiled, thinking to myself that he would still be my best friend in a few years. That’s when I knew that this was going to last.

this may be my favorite story we share. remember 9-11! i’ll never forget it.–boy

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Garcon, coffee!

april 15th, 2011

my parent and step parent seem to disappear every 4 or 5 months with some work related excuse for a vacation to a warm tropical climate with lots of other almost old folk. I’d never considered hosting a party when the couple i live with decided to leave, but on one occasion, i did.

i couldn’t explain to you why i did such a thing. I just felt like it was the right thing to do. Something either convinced me or planted the idea and i would have it no other way.

the way i planned it probably helped me get away with it. i would allow no one in that i didn’t personally know. except amdur(yes, this is a fake name) but she was “girl’s” best friend, so i trusted her. the days leading up to the event held a lot of planning that i meticulously combed over in my head. i needed…

1. alcohol for all that were in attendance(the hockey team was helpful in this feat)

2. my empty house

thorough planning, i know. but i didn’t care. i knew i had to funnel people into my basement and keep them there. thats all the plan i was going to worry about until the morning cleanup.

“girl” and i had a really odd friendship at the time. i wanted to call it more than friendship but she wasn’t willing.  she didn’t trust men, i don’t blame her. i have a hard time trusting myself. regardless, we were at my empty house hours before this shitding. i, being the not ladies man i am, offered an activity of listening to tame impala. if you’ve ever listened to tame impala or any psych rock or fuzz rock you know that its not great music to put on if you have romantic intentions. i would rather listen to a garbage disposal running on full blast with a chicken bone just teetering on the edge of entering its most certain doom. Regardless, even with my poor music choice we did end up hooking up.

this was the first time we hooked up and only the second girl i had ever kissed. Naturally, i was terrified. as my heart beat the shit out of my ribcage, things seemed (at the time) to have gone well. she told me i was a great kisser (later she revealed what a terrible kisser i had been). in my naive mind i thought that this meant something and she wanted a relationship. i was very wrong. i was also really confused. at the time, there was a very direct correlation between hooking up and wanting a relationship in my brain. i was very wrong.

her friend amdur came over before the rest of my guests. she was high on hash. i forgot the whole reason for even having this party at my dads. Watching “the room” was cover for getting shit faced. so i left the girl and amdur in my house and started my 24 mile round trip for the worst movie ever created. when i returned, there was entire cakes missing and the alcohol already flowing. the girl was drunk. it was 6:30 p.m. and nobody had even showed up yet.  it wasn’t her fault though, she is an extreme light weight with any legal or illegal substance. 1 cup of coffee and she shoots to the moon. shortly after, some of our friends started to show up and the party began.

my basement is the ideal place to host an underage drinking party. a large tv, tile floors incase of spills, dinning room table behind 2 shitty couches. its perfect and perfectly white in every shade of the word. amdur brought beer and i had a handle of vodka and a fifth of rum. the rum went the fastest. i drank far too much and things get fuzzy. the girl left with amdur because she didn’t lie well enough to stay the night.  i drank so much that it was decided by me and my close friend pheter that we should go smoke outside of my house. what a horrible idea. being crunk was the most funny experience of  my life. i can only tell you what people have told me. i don’t remember much of it.

apparently, i was lying on the floor and could not get up due to me laughing so hard. i was dragged into the elevator my house has for the handicapped and taken to the top floor bathroom. i thought i was going to puke so i rested my head on the toilet only to wake an hour later flat on my back in my bathroom. i got up and went to bed. at the same time, one of my friends puked many times in my mid level toilet. gross.

we never even watched the movie, i was horribly confused about the girl, incredibly hungover, and faced with a monster mess to clean up. my morning sucked.

— boy

 

Hey, thanks for putting me on the couch and feeding me Cheezits after I fell down the stairs. You’re the best. XOXO- girl

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Motherfuckin’ Intro

To whom it may concern:

This is a typical cliché story that involves underage parties, naivety, a pinch of heartbreak and teenagers falling in love. If you’re into that kind of stuff, keep on reading. I just know that if I were reading this, I would immediately put it down and run as fast as lightening to the nearest Kurt Vonnegut novel. In fact, the only reason why I’m writing this is because it has much sentimental value. Before I start telling this story, you should know a few things.

              A.) Everyone in here (including myself) is a real person with a fake name.             

              B.) 98% of what happens in this story is true. The 2% that’s fiction is most likely embellishments written by yours truly to make myself sound cooler.

              C.) I love life. More specifically, I love my life. The mistakes I’ve made- and trust me, there have been many. You’ll read about them later- have led me to be the person I am today. So feel free to laugh at me, because I laugh at myself every day.

              D. ) I am unaware of how this story will end. In my opinion, a good story never ends. Don’t get your hopes up for a conclusion.

If you’ve already read this far, you might as well finish the book. You can decide whether or not it was worth your time when you reach the last page. Enjoy.

With Much Love,

Girl

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