Wednesday, June 1, 2011


So I was kind of working on this post for a while, but The Boyfriend and I broke up last week, so I'm just gonna publish this As Is.

April ninth was The Boyfriend and mine's six year anniversary, so I'm gonna tell you a bit about our relationship so far.

Boyfriend and I met in the summer of my thirteenth year. One sunlit afternoon, some friends and I went to our neighborhood park; the two of us girls walking, and the boy rolling along on his skateboard, practicing allies (awl-ies?), kickflips and what-have-yous as he periodically waited for the girls to catch up. As we reached the grassy knoll between the swings and the tennis courts, a boy approached my guy-friend and they began to converse in skateboarder-jargon while my girl-friend and I sat on the grass to soak up the sun, and I secretly eyed the newcomer with interest. Apparently the two hit it off, because soon my guy-friend invited him back to his house to hang out and meet his step-brother. The walk back was my opportunity to speak with this new-boy; or, more accurately, speak loudly in his general direction. The boys had been walking behind us girls at this point, so I slyly turned around and, walking backwards at this point, looked him up and down. I'm sure he looked me up and down in turn.

I had been strung out on ADHD meds for the past year and was therefore thin and beautiful, with loosely curled, shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair and a very short skirt. He was older, with all the cockiness of sixteen-going-on-seventeen year olds, his skin was dark from his Filipino heritage, as well as the long hours of sun we'd been getting, and he had the strong, slender build of a tennis player (which he was).

After our brief analysis of each other, I turned to my girl-friend and loudly complained: "Why does Mike get all the hott stalkers?!" (the double 't' is very important. It signifies the difference between temperature and sexual appeal).

From behind me I heard the surprisingly deep-voiced reply: "Thank you." (I later discovered that his real voice isn't nearly so deep. This was his "impress the girls with my manliness" voice).

Thus the flirting began. He dazzled me with his manly antics, some of which included peeing down playground slides, playing Halo (probably one; I don't remember if two was out then) like a champ with the guys, and convincing me to ride down a hill with him on his skateboard while wearing a skirt - the result of which would mark my leg for months to come, first as a large, bloody, skinless wound, then as a thick, brown, cigar-shaped scab, followed by a rose-colored scar that eventually faded to nothing. I captured his heart with my feminine wiles; meowing at him over the phone, adding an extra sway to my walk so as to add more movement to the billowing on my skirt in those summer breezes, squeezing my elbows together to the point of discomfort in order to give the false impression of cleavage in the swimming pool...

During this delicate process of having him notice that I liked him without being too obvious, each of my friends had taken it upon themselves, individually, to confront him and tell him that I had a crush on him. To this day he still looks smug about this whenever I bring up our courtship process.

Blah, blah, blah, things went too fast, we broke up then got back together, six-year relationship.

The end.