The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Ross and Tom written @ 5:03 PM on February 11, 2003 Let me tell you a little bit about Ross. Ross is rather dark in that he's very much Italian, tall, is passionate about music, and is a sophomore, junior-- thereabouts-- and happens to sit in front of me in speech class. He also has a girlfriend. Previously to speech class, I had met Ross in a coffeehouse back in November, and we hit it off all right, it's just that I never expected to see him again. Then when I finally got to speech class, I realized the guy in front of me looked familiar, and it was only until he asked me about the coffeehouse did I remember. A nice guy, I suppose, except for the annoying facts that he often turns around to stare at me and my chest (he claims he's "reading" what's on my shirt-- yeah right, if that's what they're calling it these days) and often likes to comment on the condition of my shoes and my pants-- in other words, he also stares at my legs. While other girls would be most flattered by this behavior, let's be realistic: I'm Sam and I'm not like the "other girls." Today in class, Ross, my friend Kirsten, and I were sitting around discussing relationships-- my favorite topic and note the sarcasm. We had gotten onto this topic in the first place because Orlando Bloom is engaged to Kirsten (he just doesn't know it yet), as Heath Ledger will be chained to me. Kirsten said, "In reality, I've met one or two people I'd be willing to marry." "Yeah, me too," agreed Ross. "I mean, it's not that we would have been perfect for each other, but we would have made the perfect relationship, you know?" And then they turned to me expecting an answer. "I've never met anyone I was willing to marry, no matter what the situation. At all," I said, after a begrudged moment or two. "That's kinda sad," Kirsten said. "Are you sure?" I laughed sickly. "Oh yes. I'm sure." "That's really sad," she said. "I mean, how are you going to know what you want?" "But I *do* know what I want," I protested. "Now be realistic, Sam." I guess she thought I was still carrying on with my Heath Ledger rampage. "But I am--" "You know, Sam," Ross declared suddenly, and already I was thinking he would be the wiser if he kept his trap shut, "I think you would be the kind of girl that's high maintenance." Already I knew I would be posting this conversation in my diary later today. I took my cue, narrowed my eyes menacingly at him, and smiled evilly at him. "Oh really..." Well, already he knew he had stepped into a beehive. "I mean," he said, trying to elaborate, "I mean I think you would be the type to be emotionally high maintenance, you know? Hold on, let me think--" "Yes, Ross, people learn to choose their words carefully when they're around me," I purred, still glaring at him. "What I mean is that you would be emotionally high maintenance. Like you would do all sorts of kind, sweet things for a guy in a relationship and expect to be compensated for it." I looked at him like he had a head full of sewing pins stuck in his thick skull-- probably because I was already thinking of making a voodoo doll out of him and punishing him. "I think you're wrong, Ross." "But do you see what I mean? You seem like the type of girl who wants things, like... do you see what I mean?" Number one, who the fuck doesn't want something out of relationship? But my answer, if I do say so myself, was extraordinary and made him think twice. "Ross," I said, "they called me the Ice Queen in high school." He leaned away curiously, whimpering, "Oh," and then he stared at me a long time like he finally got both the picture and the message. Score: 1356 for Sam, -2 for NKU males *** Erica, who is another stagemanager for the Y.E.S. Festival, finally told off Tom, the theater department's resident dirty old bastard/son of a bitch (the nicknames vary from person to person.). So Tom, as is turns out, is detested department-wide by both men and women. Erica said to him, "Tom, I don't need to be fucking complimented on the blouses I wear everyday." I thought what she said was completely understandable. I mean, I find it very unappealing when 55 year-old men begin complimenting girls in their late teens, early 20s on fashion. And then Tom apparently launched into a lecture on how his mother was mortician and taught him to compliment people before they died. I think Tom has done his job if every girl in the department is scuzzed-out, don't you? The next time he approaches me with something "dirty old bastard-ish," I'll send him to a mortician. You know, in spite of all this, I really am not a militant feminist. In fact, I wouldn't classify me as a feminist at all. I just happen to rope myself into these situations that leave me convinced that I have not yet met a single person I would be willing to marry. And perhaps Kirsten is right when she says that's sad, but quite frankly, at this stage in my life I really don't give a damn. *self-satisfied smile*
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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