Tag Archives: romance

By Jamie

Jamie (Mobile)
Sent: April 22, 2011 3:31:34 PM
Are we still on for dinner plans tonight?

The Guy I like (Mobile)
Received: April 22, 2011 5:11:28 PM
Oh, that’s right. That was for tonight.
I forgot I have to stay late at work.

The Voice inside Jamie’s head: What the hell?! First off, it took him… (uses fingers to count out the math)…an hour and forty minutes to even respond back to my text! Secondly, he forgot!? So, you know what? I won’t even respond back. Or if I do, it will be three hours from now.

–

If Life were an exam, the above scenario* would be question number 34. The above example should feel quite familiar to most (at least I can speak on behalf of women). And if not, I guess I’m alone here and hopefully, you the reader, will continue following along anyway.

[*This scenario did not actually happen to the writer.]

After reading the said scenario on the exam, this question would follow:

What do you do next?

Tell him that you’re disappointed in him forgetting, but arrange for another night. He suggests breakfast instead, you oblige, and live happily ever after.
Call him, immediately, demanding to know why it took him so long to respond. Also make it known that you’re starving, and it’s all his fault.
You refuse to text him back until three hours later, feigning disinterest about the fact he completely forgot about dinner plans.
Other (Please write comments in the appropriate space below.)

However, this isn’t a question on the Life exam. We don’t have the time to clearly think about what we should choose. We don’t have the opportunity to study for it. It just….happens. We more than likely choose to do the first thing that comes to mind, regardless of how silly, crazy, and ridiculous it sounds at the time. (More than likely it sounds brilliant to you, anyway.)

Thus, irrational, crazy side ensues.
Thus, playing games occur.

And no, I am not talking about those games. I am not talking about a game of Scrabble, an episode of Jeopardy! or a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek. As those are quite fun. I am, however, talking about the games we play while in relationships.

The said scenario in which I keep referring to is an example of playing mind games in a relationship. The Voice Inside Jamie’s Head was contemplating what should she say to him, what should she do, or should she even do and/or say anything at all?! But why? Is it because playing games are inevitable? If so, when are they initiated?

After much thorough thinking, I have come to believe there are different games played while at different stages in relationships. I have provided some examples below. (Age, sex, and IQ can also be factors when it comes to choosing what game to play.)

A five-year-old boy teases a five-year-old girl. He pushes her on the ground to proclaim that he thinks she is cute. She is crying and never wants to speak to the boy again. [Note: The games are physical.]

There are two people, right now, unaware of how the other person feels about them. These two people are probably playing hard-to-get because one must never come off as needy, desperate, and readily available. EVER! [Note: The games are now mental.]

The aforementioned two people are now in a relationship. It has been three years already! However, they fight, a lot. They also threaten to break up with each other, and if they do, they come crawling right back to one another. They continue trying to make the other person jealous by going out, taking pictures with “good-looking” strangers and posting it on their facebook. They both are miserable.

There could also be another two people, right now, where one person is aware of the other being completely smitten with them. This person finds it flattering, and takes advantage of the smitten one. I don’t know the name of the game, but the person playing it is an asshole. They take comfort in knowing someone, right now, finds them fascinating even though they have no intention of getting with this person. (Namely because they already have a significant other.) But it’s a a nice stroke to their ego, and so it continues.

For the past few months, I have begun to like someone. Fortunately for me, the feelings are mutual, which basically means I don’t have to play hard-to-get. Yes! However, there could still be other games that will be played along the way. (You know, like naked Scrabble.)

But the thing is, I don’t feel like I need to. (Yes, there have been times when I felt I needed to. Don’t you remember the miserable couple from above? They believed getting one another jealous would prove to themselves that their significant other cared about them.) I feel quite all right with calling him or messaging him anytime I please without asking myself, “Am I being too…much?” (It also helps that he responds within a reasonable time frame.) But it could simply be because it hasn’t been long enough. We are still at the point where everything the other person says is fucking fascinating.

I’ve already discussed when the best time in a relationship is: the beginning. Right now, we are both on the equal-playing field. The trust is still intact. It has not been lost, forgotten, abused, or abandoned. Namely because I have put it in a safe spot, under my bed, wrapped in plastic, bound by a chain.

–

Jamie (Mobile)
Sent: April 22, 2011 5:23:14 PM
I can’t believe you forgot! When can
can we reschedule then?

The Guy I Like (Mobile)
Sent: April 22, 2011 5:25:09 PM
How about breakfast instead?

Jamie (Mobile)
Sent: April 22, 2011 5:26:27 PM
Doughnuts?

The Upgrade

By Jamie

April 11, 2011

jamie, life, love, Uncategorized

4 Comments

by Jamie

If I had a conversation with someone, and he or she were to ask me to describe a potential mate, the following dialogue would occur:

“So, Jamie, what do you look for in a mate?”

“Ah.. well, I seem to always look for the same characteristics in a potential boyfriend. I believe Mr. Almost Right must be attractive, intelligent, and funny.

“How… broad and unoriginal.”

“Okay, he must be a quick-witted, cynical, adorkable, and charming man, who plays Scrabble.

After exchanging the above conversation with the voice inside my head, I couldn’t help but wonder: if we look for the same qualities in a potential mate, are we just dating the same person over and over again? (Just in a different body with a different last name?) At first glance, yes, I was certain that I was dating the same person. Everything seemed to be the same: their mannerisms, their music tastes, their quirks, and even their noses. At giving it a thirty-second thought, I believe that we are just dating an improved version of the former mate.

Also known as an upgrade.

I have heard that people can sometimes be like fine wine because we typically get better with age: our wisdom, our patience, and even our confidence. We improve in our every-day relationships, including the romantic ones: what we look for, what we will and will not put up with, and (hopefully) develop a better sense to detect if he or she would be good for us. Which ultimately means we are one step closer to meeting that someone who is willing to put up with our shit, and find it completely endearing.

As adults, (normally) we throw out the superficial must-haves: He must be tall, dark, and handsome. We do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, they’re undoubtedly unrealistic and shallow. I, a woman who stands at five feet, three inches, am coming to terms that wanting a man who is over six feet isn’t going to love me anymore than a man at five feet, nine inches. (He still needs to have dark hair, however.) Secondly, what we found attractive four years ago may not be so appealing now. I’m fairly certain the only prerequisites for a boyfriend I had in high school were that he should be good-looking, on the baseball team, and not in the Anime club. Who cares if he couldn’t hold a conversation? He was hot and I could flaunt him on my arm. You know, like he was an accessory.

Of course, I never managed to acquire the popular baseball player and wear him like a handbag. The only (and first) boyfriend I managed to get in school was during my senior year. He was tall, lanky, and musically inclined. He lived at home (his mom cooked us food), worked at Abercrombie and Fitch (Hello, discounts!?), and could get alcohol in my hands (Need I say more?). He was Mr. Almost Right to seventeen-year-old Jamie.

However, he would not be Mr. Almost Right to twenty-two-year-old Jamie. I wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that a man over the age of 26 was still living at home. Sure, it would be nice that his mother could cook for us every time I came over, but it wouldn’t be so nice having to worry about a mother coming into the room, uninvited. And I wouldn’t be too delighted to learn that anyone out of high school is still buying clothes from Abercrombie and Fitch.

Like most good things, it came to an end. He shattered my heart and left me on my own. I was devastated. After all, he was my first everything: kiss, love, the one to see my naked body in all its glory, and now.. breakup. The inevitable thought occurred: I will never be able to do this again with someone. But after the seventy-second time of him dismissing my pleads and cries, I did the only thing a desperate seventeen-year-old girl would do: I went for an upgrade.

It didn’t take long to find my upgrade. I didn’t even research my options. In fact, I went with the first one that I saw that made my stomach flip-flop. That one, right there!

So, let me get this straight: You live on your own? You’re actually tall, dark, AND handsome?! You really ARE bigger and better.

Of course with every upgrade, come the risks. The risk that the upgrade may not be entirely compatible with the user. The risk that the upgrade could actually worsen the product. And it did.

I’ve developed a habit since. A habit where I (subconsciously or not) compare and contrast the past and present boyfriends to one another and to the ideal boyfriend who lives inside my head, rent free.

I must ask myself: (If yes is said, I move on to the next question. If I say no, I abort immediately.) Is he attractive? Does he know the difference between your and you’re and other homonyms? Does he make me laugh until I cry? Does he play Scrabble? Does he like cats? Does he read? Does he vote left? Does he find it funny that people believe in an imaginary man in the sky? Does he have good taste in music? Does he dress well? Does he cook? Does he like pulp in his orange juice? Which inevitably leads me to:

Is he worth the upgrade?

Unfortunately, most cannot seem to pass the homonym question.

My First ‘I Love You’

By Crystal Maldonado

March 24, 2011

crystal, humour, love

5 Comments

By Crystal

I was five when I first told a boy I loved him.

It was kindergarten – my most sophisticated year ever, the same year I’d accidentally tasted wine for the first time and learned grand things like how to write my name and make chocolate pudding – and I was smitten.

Before school, I’d never spent much time with children my age. There was my younger brother (at this time, he was a boring one-year-old who happened to share my birthday but couldn’t do anything cool like play Barbies with me) and my cousin (whom I lived with and who was like my brother, except he was a year younger than me and I could make him do awesome things like swear and lie).

The rest of my time was spent with people at least five times my age or older. I liked to think of myself as a classy five-year-old – I did, after all, own a Disney tea set.

So my first encounter with my peers was slightly fascinating, slightly confusing. At five, I already knew that carrying a Barney backpack was poor form. Others did not seem to know this and proudly donned Baby Bop lunchboxes and sang the “I love you” song. I wasn’t concerned with trivial things like purple dinosaurs. I knew all about relationships from the refined programming that I’d seen on television: soap operas and talk shows. I knew that relationships were the end-all, be-all, and I was behind in life because I was five and I needed a boyfriend.

That’s where Danny came in. It was my first real venture into a real-life person with eyes a different color than brown (nearly my entire family, aside from my grandfather and an uncle has brown eyes). I was in love. From the way his hair was always sticking up in the back like he’d just gotten out of bed and didn’t have a care in the world to the way that he, too, knew carrying a Barney lunch-box was soooo not cool, I knew this man should be my boyfriend. (Though I had no idea what real boyfriends and girlfriends did, aside from look at each other longingly.)

Being the shy, introverted, but clearly-full-of-emotional-turmoil child that I was, I decided that simply telling him wasn’t enough. I had to write it to him in a letter, much like I’d seen in the movies. I used free time one day to make a card that was short and sweet: “Danny, I love you. Love, Crystal.” At the end of the day, I marched up to him (in probably a more confident manner than I’ve ever done anything since) and said, “Here.”

School was let out and off we went. I didn’t think much of the letter when I got home, except that I knew now he also had to tell me that he loved me and then we could love each other forever or something, whatever that meant.

The next day, when my mom picked me up from school, my teacher and my mom called me away from my friends, giggling. They held up the letter. I was mortified.

“Did you write this?” My teacher asked. I remember being so embarrassed that I just ran away, leaving them giggling. I wondered how they’d gotten that note and why they felt the need to intrude on what was clearly going to be a lasting relationship.

Danny never did say he loved me back. Perhaps it was the ethnic tension that may have emerged if he had – he was white, I was Puerto Rican (probably the only in the town, aside from my family). Or maybe it was because I was really kick-ass at drawing giraffes, and he was intimidated by my budding art skills. Or maybe it was because we were five years old and had no clue what being “in love” actually was.

Whatever the case, it didn’t discourage me. It just taught me not to throw the words around so carelessly. I didn’t say them again to another boy in a serious way for fifteen years. But it was glorious.

Getting The Hand

By Jamie

March 20, 2011

jamie, love, opinion

6 Comments

by Jamie

The beginning of a new romance is more often than not considered the best time period in a relationship. (At least according to me and I’m quite the reliable source.) It’s the time of learning about one another (for 17 hours a day, non-stop): favorite colors, cats or dogs, and what’s his or her’s life motto. It’s the time of firsts: kiss, date, and seeing each other naked.

It’s the time when I’m usually my most charming to the opposite sex. The time period is usually within the first three months, give or take. He thinks: She’s cute. She’s funny (and not in a Will Ferrell kind of way, either). She’s a dork. She laughs at what he thinks are rather lame jokes. He wonders, “Why is this clever, amazing, and attractive girl still single? And why does she like me?”

Then he discovers.

Online Dating and the Cyber-Self

By Dan B

February 13, 2011

humour, love, me, opinion

18 Comments

Who am I?

It’s a question I’m sure everybody has asked themselves at some point in time. When we’re unsure of where we are going, or why we have done something. It’s a question that is completely valid to ask, it’s only natural to be introspective. Unfortunately there is no valid answer.

To explain who a person is in a sentence, a word, or even at all, is impossible. No person is so simple. Yet we constantly seek a simple answer. An impossible answer.

From time to time people believe they have found that answer. They believe who they are is finite and fixed. We’re good or evil. Happy or unhappy. Black or white.

But they haven’t found any reasonable answer at all. Who we are is a complex thing, we change constantly. In different situations we are different people. Really, we are a lot like a rainbow (lame!). We consist of a range of different colours and different shades.

A lot of people don’t understand this though. They can’t comprehend that a person is made of many different identities.

There’s an episode of Seinfeld which perfectly illustrates this. George reveals he has two distinct personas. One is “Relationship George”, the type of person he is when he’s with his girlfriend. The second is “Independent George”, the type of person he is with his friends. But George realises that if his girlfriend becomes friends with his friends, then his two personas will be forced together.

We all act differently depending on the person we’re with, or the situation we’re in. We change ourselves to reflect our circumstances.

As technology improves though, our means of communicating have changed. Our circumstances are now almost as complex as our personalities. Which has lead me to ask another question:

Who am I online?

We now have a new persona: a cyber-self – who we are on the internet.

Unlike our real life persona though, our cyber-self is something we are in complete control of. We can be whoever we want to be. We can edit out the bad bits and leave in the best bits.

Reading this blog, I’m sure you’ve already come to a conclusion about what type of person I am. This person is Internet Dan. But the thing is, Internet Dan and Real-life Dan are completely different.

Which leads to a problem. What if you meet Real-Life Dan, when you expect to meet a real-life version of Internet Dan? Can both Dans survive together?

The meeting of Cyber Persona and Real Persona is never usually a problem, we can take into account that people will differ slightly in real-life from how they appear on the internet. But sometimes a real-life relationship might hinge on a relationship made online. Never is this more important than during online dating.

Now it’s time to admit the sad truth. Last year I tried online dating. I say I tried it, but really I never went on an actual date. I signed up to a few sites, and waited. And waited. And waited. But nobody knocked on my door. I started to wonder why. Perhaps it was the unflattering photo on my dating profile that showed how massive my nose is?

So I changed the photo. And waited. And waited. Still no knock.

So I took another look. Maybe it was because I mentioned I was an atheist? If a girl was into her God, that might put her off.

So I changed my religion to Other. And waited. And waited. No knock. Another change. More waiting. No knocks. More changes.

They say the most important thing in online dating is to be honest. Please. We aren’t even honest in real-life, so why should we be on the internet? Honesty doesn’t make a person attractive. Unless you’re the type of person who likes the look of somebody who’s profile says “mostly I just like to sit around in sweat pants and watch TV.”

The problem of how we present ourselves online, has another layer though. Even if we do decide to present ourselves truthfully online, we wont manage to come up with a realistic version of ourselves, because as I’ve said, we can never truly answer the question “who am I?” and whenever we do answer this question it is just our own perspective.

In presenting yourself online, you are making a document of your self-image, the person you see yourself as. But what you see, and what others see can be completely different. We’ve all met people who think they’re hilarious, who think that everybody is laughing at their jokes, when really everybody is laughing at how pathetic they are. If you asked them if they were a funny person they would say “of course, everybody thinks I’m hilarious” and their online-persona would reflect this. But if you asked others they’d say “that guy’s as funny as cancer.”

With all of this in mind, I attempted to make my online-persona more attractive to the opposite sex.

Internet Dan was a millionaire, he owned a small island in the Indian Ocean, his profile photos weren’t even of him, they were photos of a male model, stolen from a website. To top it all off his penis was huge, so huge it was worth mentioning on his dating profile.

Yet still nobody knocked at my door.

Eventually it dawned on me. The reason I was receiving no messages was because girls don’t send messages to guys on dating sites. The guys chase the girls. It’s like being in the playground at school, playing catchy-kissy. You have to catch the girl before you can kiss her.

So I started searching for girls to catch. I started scanning their profiles, looking for my perfect match.

Unfortunately, a lot of these girls weren’t as smart as I was. They were simply too honest in their profiles, or they didn’t understand what persona they were projecting online. Some had pictures of themselves where it was clear they had a double chin. Some couldn’t use apostrophes. Some thought it was a good idea to mention their love of taxidermy.

But eventually I found her. My perfect girl. She was intelligent, funny, she was into baking and Scrabble. To top it all off, she looked smoking hot.

I started to wonder. What’s the catch? There’s got to be a catch, right!? She’s perfect!

We arranged to meet. She’d be wearing a red silk scarf she said. When I arrived I wondered why an obese man had stolen her scarf. Then I realised that the obese man was actually her. I was shocked. She had a full grown beard and everything.

I’m ashamed to say, I snuck away and didn’t speak to her again. I would feel bad, but she’d sold me a lie. Maybe she was intelligent and funny. (She was definitely into baking, you could tell she enjoyed her cakes!) But her physical appearance was so different from her online appearance, that I knew it wouldn’t have been the only liberty she’d have taken in presenting herself.

I realised then, that it was pointless to make Internet Dan the most amazing man alive, because Real-Life Dan could never compete. A girl would only feel disappointed if she met me, because she wanted another guy. Just the other guy would be some freaky version of me. I couldn’t exactly fight myself in a duel, it’d just be suicide.

So maybe the solution is to be honest after all. To let people meet our real-life persona online, so that the transition from online to real-life is easier and harmless. Maybe it’s time Internet Dan became just a part of Real-Life Dan, instead of a separate entity.

Although Internet Dan, really doesn’t want to give up his huge penis.

The Bus Inspectors

By Dan B

November 21, 2010

short story

5 Comments

The bus stopped. He stepped on. She noticed him. She’d seen him before, many times, but only now did she notice him. Only at that moment did she stop thinking of him as a blur in the background, a figure outside of her conscious thoughts. Only at that moment did he become real, a part of her world.

Silence and Tears

By Dan B

March 7, 2010

short story

Adrenaline

By Dan B

November 24, 2009

humour, short story

Hot Librarian Girl

By Dan B

February 25, 2009

me, short story

1 Comment

I don’t know your name. I don’t need to. You’re hot. You’re a librarian. You’re also a girl. Thus, I call you – Hot Librarian Girl.

I wonder what makes you so hot. Maybe it’s the librarian part. But possibly it could be that you’re a girl. I’m shallow. That’s enough for me.

One thing I don’t understand is. Why would a hot girl work as a librarian? It makes sense in a porno. But in real life? Not really. I guess you must have some reason. Maybe you simple enjoy reading books. Or maybe you’re trying to open your own bookshop. Stealing novels one page at a time to add to your collection. A sheet of Shakespeare here, a leaf of Lovecraft there. Who would notice?

It’s be a second hand bookshop of course. The type where the walls are held up by books. There’d be no order to your shop, only chaos. The self-help section wouldn’t be in the back, the travel area wouldn’t be downstairs. There’d be only one department: books.

Every day I ask you to stamp my books and check them out. Each time I hope you check me out instead. Sometimes I even hope you’ll “stamp” my “book.” It’s an innuendo I know you’d understand. All librarians understand library based innuendoes.

I’ll never forget the time you asked my name. It was a special moment. It’s when we took a step forward in our relationship and became friends. Sure, you only asked my name so you could access my account on the computer system, but it still counts. Once you know my name you’re my friend. Sorry.

Do you remember the time when I asked you to come and fix the printer? I said I didn’t know what had happened with it. It had just stopped working. You came over and pressed a few buttons and fixed the problem instantly, smiling at me brightly. You told me that someone must have been messing around with it. I laughed and said thank you. What I really wanted to say was. It was me. I was messing with the printer. All I wanted was an excuse to spend some time with you.

I wonder when you’ll suss me out. Recognise my feelings. No human being can read 5 books a day, and I’m obviously not coming to stare at any of the other librarians. One of them has a mole. I hate moles.

When I borrowed that book on feminism did you think I was the perfect man? When I borrowed Dracula did you think I was kinky? When I borrowed Pride and Prejudice did you picture me as your Mr Darcy? I hope so.

One day I will write my own book, I’ll call it “I Love You.” I’ll come to the library and check it out. Then you’ll understand.

The Girl In My Class

By Dan B

December 3, 2007

me, short story

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After a long boring summer with nothing much happening, I came back to university for another year of pain and hard work. My first week of classes started, with an introductory session to each cass and by the end of the week I knew what my favourite class would be: screenwriting.

When I turned up for the first lesson it was business as usual. I did as I usually do. I glanced around the room at my fellow classmates, looking for anyone familiar, anyone to pair up with, someone to sit next to. I noticed a group of guys I barely knew from the year before and after a short think and a nod in their direction I decided to sit alone. It wasn’t awkward, we were acquaintances, not friends.

As I sat down my brain changed modes. This time instead of glancing around the room for friends, I was glancing around the room for hot girls. I can’t help it, I’m a guy. After a brief scan my brain reported back that there were two reasonable girls in the room but nothing of note, so I sat back in my chair waiting for the lecture to start.

A few moments later my new lecturer entered the room, a small chubby man named Martin. He waved to the class and beamed “hellooooo my wonderful new students” and a few lone students grumbled back in apathy. He just kept on smiling, walked to the front of the class and said “you guys need to lighten up…do some drugs or something.” At the mention of drugs the class seemed to spruce up somewhat and Martin beamed back “that got you all in the mood didn’t it!” He laughed before moving on “anyway, welcome to screenwriting 101, where you will learn everything about…” when suddenly the door slammed shut cutting his voice out. Everyones head span towards the noise instinctively; just in time to see a petite brunette girl jumping at the sound. I looked at the girl and a voice popped up from the recesses of my brain. It said “BINGO!”

The girl stuttered out an apology, before running off to a chair next to a good looking boy who was waving to her. A pang of jealousy shot through me momentarily before Martin’s speech distracted me back to reality.

Part way through the speech a picture of the girl popped into my head and to verify to myself that she was actually real I turned my head to look at her. Getting a closer look I noticed she was hotter than I first thought. My mind screamed “B-B-BINGGOOOOOOOOO!” and a twinge of excitement was in my stomach as it usually is.

Over the next few weeks my obsession grew larger as I learned more about her from fragments of overheard conversations and simply just from looking at her. Her name was Julia, she kept a Tamagotchi called Rizla, she had a bonsai tree at home which she clipped once a month, she liked big butts and she wasn’t going to lie about it. Everything I heard built up an image of her. The image was of my perfect girl. Of course I didn’t even know her, so it was silly to like her at all, but after a while my mind filled in the blanks. I knew she liked Japanese food, I knew she was an atheist and I knew she was single. I never heard her say these things but I just knew.

Then, one particular day I came in to class, everything changed. As Martin sat at the front, his legs dangling over the side of a desk he spoke to us. He said “today class, we are going to learn about creating characters.”

A few faces looked nervous and sensing this he continued “but don’t worry, it’s easy. In fact I’ve got an exercise all set out for you guys. I want you to go out to the cafeteria or library or something and I want you to look at a person, any person, then I want you to write about them. I want you to write about what they look like, I want you to write about who they are, I want you to write about where they come from. I want you to write everything…but come back in 30 minutes because we need to finish off the lesson.”

Everyone shuffled out of their seats, the sound of chairs scraping off the floor filling the room. I just sat where I was, opened up my pad and began to write. “Her name is Julia…”

After about 10 minutes of furious writing I looked up to find I was the only person left in except for Martin, sitting at his desk at the front, writing into his own pad. As I glanced over he looked up and made eye contact. Smiling he asked “how’s it going?”

“Alright.” I said back, not wanting to get into a conversation.

Obviously not taking the hint he asked me “so who are you writing about? Me? There’s no-one else around for you to look at.”

I shook my head and laughed “sorry, I’m afraid not, I’m just making this character up in my own head.”

“Way to go, that’s the best way to do it. Keep up the good work man!” he said.

I thanked him kindly before continuing to write, stopping briefly every few moments to think. In no time at all students were filing back into the room and sitting down as Martin greeted them.

Once everyone was in the class he started up the lesson again: “right class, I hope everyone didn’t find the exercise too hard and if you did, don’t worry.” A sigh of relief came from a few students as Martin continued “now I think it’s time we heard one just so I know we’ve all been doing it correctly.”

I gulped. Praying I wouldn’t have to do it, revealing my obsession.

“Any volunteers?” Martin asked. I looked around the room hopefully, attempting to raise someone’s hand with my mind.

Martin, unfazed, said “are you sure no-one wants to volunteer? If no-one volunteers I’ll have to pick someone.”

I closed my eyes and in my head I prayed even more. “Please God, if you exist, please don’t let her find out, please.”

A sweet voice came into my ear saying “I’ll do it.” Opening my eyes I could see Julia, her hand extended.

“Thank you. Come and stand at the front so we can all hear you.”

I watched as she rose to her feet and slowly walked to the front of the class. My eyes were glazed on the back of her head and my mouth went dry in anticipation of her performance.

As she made it to the front she span on her heel and clearing her voice she looked down at her pad and her voice flowed through the air.

“He is a young man in his early twenties with short dark hair. His hair is soft and fuzzy like a fur-ball on the top of his head. A small scrunched up nose sits between his two beautiful green eyes and many a time my eyes sting as I’m so busy staring at him.”

At this a few girls at the back of the class giggled and her cheeks went red slightly.

“He likes bright colors. He doesn’t like to shave, but that’s fine with me because I like the ragged look. He’s caring and gentle and once nursed a cat back to health after it was run over. He’s strong as an ox and willing to fight for the things he cares about, but he’s not physically violent, he only resorts to that when he really needs to.”

Pausing she looked over to Martin and he beamed “this is great, anymore?”

Blushing she said “I really like him.”

Martin looked back and said “I think that was pretty obvious from what you wrote. Does your character have a name?”

Glancing towards the class for a split second she spoke quietly, her face red “his name is Dan.”

My brain played it back a split second later “his name is Dan.” Holy shit! I’m Dan. Looking up I made eye contact with her and she looked away quickly. Moving back to her seat the class erupted in chatter. I just continued to look to the front in a minor daze.

Martin hushed the class down and spoke “well, after that revelation I think it’s only fair that Dan reads his own character out.” Martin looked at me and winked.

Adrenaline pumped suddenly through my body and before I knew it I was at the front of the class, my body shaking and my heart racing.

“Well….” I started “erm….well.”

The silence in the room cut through me as my audience stared at me, awaiting my character. I cleared my throat and started “SHE IS A TEENAGE GIRL.”

Martin jumped up “woah man, relax.”

I whispered to him “sorry, just a bit nervous.”

Clearing my throat again I restarted.

“She is a petite teenage girl with a cute face and an even cuter ass.” The class laughed out loud and with the confidence boost I continued “I’m slightly obsessed with her and have been since I first saw her because she’s the most beautiful girl I know of.”

The same group of girls from earlier sang “awwwwwww.” Looking down at Julia I spoke.

“Her hair is as dark as a ravens apart from a single stripe of blue. It falls down to her shoulders and moves slowly in the wind as she walks.”

Julia looked back up and a smile broke over her face.

“She likes Japanese food, cult movies and turning her duvet into a little tent while pretending she is camping. Sometimes she spends all day in old clothes reading books and drinking hot chocolate and other times she goes out and takes photos of churches.”

She smiled and nodded and it was then that I knew life was about to get better. I finished off my description and turned to Martin.

“Well?” I asked Martin.

“Well” said Martin grinning “we still need a name for your character.”

Turning to Julia I spoke to her as she smiled. The class held it’s breathe as I said aloud “her name is Julia”

As the sentence left my lips and entered her ear, her mouth contorted and the smile vanished from her lips. Tears welled up in her eyes and she jumped from her seat, running out of the door, slamming it behind her.

The class breathed out and her friend stood up grabbing her bag before leaving the room. As he left he turned to me and said to me “you’re such a prick, how could you tell her in front of the whole class that you fancied her best friend when you knew she liked you.”

I battled with confusion and unhappiness as he walked from the room and Martin turned to me “that was cold man.”

The next day walking into the cafeteria I noticed across the room a bunch of girls eating lunch and my eyes zoned in on one in particular, it was my dream girl again, back to her usual smiling self. As I walked to the sandwiches I struggled with a thought in my head. Should I go over and talk to her, maybe patch things up and live a long happy life with her? Or should I pretend she didn’t exist and continue with my lonely unhappy life?

Deciding the latter wasn’t particularly appealing I detoured and walked towards her table. As I reached the edge of the table conversation stopped dead and everyone turned to look at me. I turned to my girl and said softly “erm, could I just speak to you a second Julia?” Tears welled up in her eyes again and a rough voice to the side of me shouted in my ear “what do you want to talk to ME for?”

Turning my head, I finally realised my mistake. Sitting in front of me – with the exact same haircut and dress sense as the girl I’d dreamt of for weeks – was another, plumper girl. Unable to contain myself I laughed out loud and barked “wait a second, YOU are Julia! Oh I’m so sorry.”

The table looked back confused and taking a deep breathe I explained the whole story. I thought the girl of my dreams was called Julia after overhearing one of her conversations, but that was just her friends name.

I turned to the girl I really wanted and noticed she was now smiling. “So what is your name?” I asked. She replied, winking “I don’t usually tell til the second date.”

“Oh alright” I said “I guess we’d better have our first date now then” and I whisked her off to another table for a ham sandwich and can of coke.

Dan

—Das Bloggen

Archive

Tag Archives: romance

The Dating Game.

The Upgrade

My First ‘I Love You’

Getting The Hand

Online Dating and the Cyber-Self

The Bus Inspectors

Silence and Tears

Adrenaline

Hot Librarian Girl

The Girl In My Class

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