MILES to GO || before I sleep

Having seen Australia's "Thunder From Down Under" boys for a second (incredible) time at the Rrazz Room in the Hotel Nikko here in San Francisco the other night with my girlfriends, I have come away from the experience delighted, amused, and, as all experiences ought to be, thoughtful.

Why do women of all ages (and men, too!) come to events like these, groping, pawing, squealing and giggling over these hot "Australian exports?" What is it about these guys that makes them so sexy, so all-around appealing, enough to make so many different people go absolutely nuts for a few hours in one night--repeated many nights in a row, in many cities all around the world?

So here are my thoughts on that very subject, and what "regular" (because TFDU guys seem to be in a class of their own) guys and gals could stand to learn from male entertainers such as the TFDU blokes.

( Read more... )

I'm a horrible liar, thinking I can just move on with my life. Maybe it's pathetic of me to be so attached, but I don't think I can survive a month. Two days has been hell. Maybe I just need something to distract me. Like these songs.

I'm dreamin'/And dyin' inside/Just don't care anymore/Keep on sinkin'/Stayin' me.../Thought I was real/Thought I could feel/The walls crumbled/Time passes/And the world keeps on movin'/But I'm drownin'/Always sinkin'/In my own despair

Pathetic, ne? Reminds me of the Clementine song. Now THAT was eerie. Oh well, I write what I feel.

My life is told in the magazines/Hidden by flashes, my heart unseen/I try to smile/And pretend that it's ok/I'm living through another day/Scandals and heartbreak/Shockers and heartaches/All there for the world to see/I'm a million-and-one masks/Adaptin' to any situation/Never see the real me/I survive, hiding the pain/Dreamin' of the day/That shoulder I lean on.../Will finally stay/Be more than a faceless/Name to drop/I'm living... through another... day.

Ah, this one is strange... it's like a sad song for a celebrity whose live is always misinterpreted by tabloids. It kind of reminds me of "Lucky" (Britney Spears- *Shudder*) and of Pink's "Lonely Girl". Eh, go figure.

( Bleh... 2002-2003 Classes )

Oh, in better news... ^^ He talked to me~! We talked about everything and anything but the fact that we were broken up, or that day. But now it seems like we really are living up to that "unspoken" promise of staying friends. I really hope it lasts. =)

( Hoax or Opportunity? )

If you've read the title, you know what's coming. I shouldn't even have to say it... so I'm not going to. Today is Tuesday, August 13th, and it is 5:38pm. I am now single.

Since the weekend of April 27th, I was considered "taken" -- that is, I was going out with an intelligent, considerate, generous, sweet, and funny man of 19 years by the name of Joe.

In the beginning, I wasn't sure if I was in love with him... but I certainly liked the way I felt around him, and the way he made me feel-- about myself, my surroundings, and about everything.

In the past three months our relationship kept climbing those stairs to a new level... and we sort of reached that level today. Shortly thereafter, Joe looked downright uncomfortable... and I asked him flat out what was wrong. After what we had done, I had 75% of me screaming that if he didn't want to continue, then that meant he was going to -as I had feared the night previous, coming up with excuses as to why I didn't want to do The Deed- "use me and lose me." It had been a long 3 months of using and losing, and I know he could have done it in a far less expensive manner.

But that's not what happened at all. He'd gotten to the stage in our relationship where "the spark was gone," and the love he felt for me wasn't romantic in nature anymore. I appreciated -and still do- his honesty. He told me that his first relationship failed because both he and his then-girlfriend didn't want to admit to the failures in their relationship-- wanted to keep going for the sake of making out. But he appreciated and honored me as a friend so much that he told me this, and that he didn't want that happening to us. He'd been thinking about it for a few weeks now, trying to rekindle whatever he'd originally felt, but without success.
I tried not to cry, tried to ignore him holding me for a good twenty minutes. I finally got up off the couch, grabbed my shirt, and stalked to the bathroom. I looked like a wreck. I brushed my teeth till they bled (so what, I have sensitive gums) and then wiped my face clean. 'Crying is a weakness,' I told myself, brushing and setting my hair, and putting on my glasses. He was out there waiting for me when I came out-- I wasn't surprised. I would have been upset if he'd just up and left, or if I'd been stupid enough to be MAD at him for being honest and forthright, and kicked him out.

So I said, "If you want to talk, we'll talk." And we did-- in short, little two-minute bursts. He explained that we needed a break-- just a month or so. It wasn't me-- the classic line that no one believes anymore, but my already deprecating self-confidence swallowed it, hook line and sinker.

I seem to be more eloquent when I'm depressed, you notice?
He didn't want us to stop seeing each other-- but since he lived so far away, trying to maintain a relationship when he felt there was no more "spark" would just be a waste of his time and money. It probably will be a month until I see him next-- and I find myself a bit upset that sad songs and quotes keep popping into my head.

Things like "Friendship often ends in love, but love in friendship never," (HORSERADISH! I'm going to MAKE THAT STATEMENT FALSE!) and "What of the soul was left, when the kissing had to stop?" The 98 Degrees song, "The Hardest Thing [I'll Ever Have To Do]" and a2000a's "You're Original." Last night, I kept recalling the first time he kissed me-- and the first time my mom saw, and the look on her face was priceless. I remember the time I stayed at his house, and even when he was dead tired after all his party hosting, he held me in his arms like I was the most precious thing to him.

I believe him when he says that I was the farthest he ever got with a girl-- it's not a monumental achievement or whatever, but at least that means we've both gotten to certain stages in our romantic lives.

I asked him if he planned to see other people-- no... he wasn't sure. I tried to say I wouldn't be jealous, but I think in reality I would. I feel bad just for admitting this, when less than a month ago I was feeling awfully superficial about our relationship, almost ashamed that he wasn't a handsome Prince Charming, or some studly, mysterious bishounen out of a shoujo manga. But as time went by, I realized I didn't care about that-- anyone who does isn't looking past themselves either. In the beginning, I always asked Joe why he went out with me-- what in the world he saw in me, or why he found himself attracted to me. Whatever he felt, he couldn't put it into words. Maybe I'm being naive, and he really DID use me and lose me-- but I feel such a deep connection to him, even after he's left. It's not a goodbye-- it's a see you again next month. It's not I hate you, but thank you... for everything you've done... everything you've said, and everything you've given me the opportunity to feel.

And I miss him... as if he were gone for real, gone from my life. He's not, in reality... I know we'll see each other again. Soon, maybe. And if people say that we can't be friends, I'll prove them wrong. I'll find that someone out there who loves me for who I am, and who doesn't let "sparks" die. Maybe it'll be Joe still, and maybe it won't. I have to be optimistic.

I have to try and keep on living. Right now, I am moving on with my life.

Six years ago today-- on a Saturday, too, in fact, I got the worst news a ten year old could receive in her life. My half-sister Michelle died six years ago, and it changed who I was forever. I'm a different person because of it-- for better or for worse, and for the first time in all that time, I went to the place where she died.

It's called Land's End, and is basically a rounded cliffside that drops-- over 200 feet-- right into the Pacific Ocean. When Michelle died, it was shocking... unexpected, to say the least. She might have only been my half-sister, but she meant the world to me, and I had a hard time expressing it, because I was so childish. Like all people who lose someone, I had a million and one regrets-- things I wish I could have said, or could have taken back. I wish I could have apologized for that stupid argument the night before, wished I could have thanked her for all she'd ever done for me, and told her, above all, that I loved her.

Six years later, I'm still sad, but I guess the need to hide my sadness and loneliness isn't so great. My sister was the only one I could relate to about a lot of things, was the only one I could talk to when I had problems with boys, or mom, or my own friends. My mom didn't understand any of that.

When Michelle died, I felt the need to be strong for my mom-- not show any weakness. People passed by us, offering their apologies and condolences, but it all seemed so empty then. I kind of get irritated even now, when people get nervous just *asking* me about my sister, or when they do find out about her dying, say "sorry," as if it were their fault. I suppose it's only natural to react that way, since people who haven't experienced loss at such a young age (Michelle was only 19) don't know what to say-- they couldn't have known how it felt.

Over the years, there's a lot of things I wish I could talk to Michelle about... things I wish I could simply ask her, or maybe tell her. It tears at my conscience to try and imagine her voice in my head, and not come up with anything solid. All I have are memories, and they mean so much to me, good and bad alike.

When my sister died, there only seemed to be two people in my life who cared that *I* had lost someone too- my dad and my then-crush/boyfriend (if you can call it that in 5th grade, but that's another story), Chris. Chris is probably in Santa Cruz right now, doesn't even remember what DAY this is-- and we parted on bad terms, so I can't expect anything on his end. But I do kind of wish, even with all the hostility between my father and I that he would have called me today.

Even if he doesn't, in the last forty-five minutes there are LEFT of this day, I know that I take comfort in at least knowing that I *have* a father, whether he talks to me, thinks about me, cares about me at all, or not. I hope that he does call me one day-- or maybe write.

I know my sister didn't like him much-- even convinced me several times that my father was a downright bad person-- but now that both of them are out of my life, and Michelle is gone on a permanent basis, I can't help but want to talk to my father. If something happened to him, I'd still feel loss... regardless of us not talking in so long.

I'm glad my boyfriend was with me today. I found myself apologizing and saying thank you more times than I thought I would, and I especially thought he'd be uncomfortable with the whole idea of being with me on a day that held significance only for my mother and myself. We took a long walk all the way past the beach to Land's End, and just sat there for a while. I'm not ashamed anymore to say that I cried... I missed my sister, was angry at the world for taking her away from me, and was angry at myself for not saying what I should have that day six years ago. But the one thing that stays in my mind-- all this time-- is that you never know how much someone means to you until they are gone.

People hear that all the time, and never take it seriously enough. But it's true. People may lose grandparents, or distant relatives who die of old age, but when someone as young and close to you as a sister is suddenly *ripped* from your life, it's a greater shock than anyone can imagine. I told my boyfriend to go home today and tell his sister that he loved her. Even if she was mad, even if it didn't sound like he meant it, it would matter to her-- it would COUNT, in the end, regardless of how many days, weeks, months, or years passed between him saying that and the inevitability of death. 'It's the thought that counts' has never had more significance than now. So, unlike my other rant-like entries, I ask you, dear reader-- go home today-- or if you are home, leave this page, get up, and find a family member. Be it a mother, father, sister, brother, cousin, aunt, uncle... anyone. Walk up to them, hug them as tight as the both of you can stand, and tell them you love them. There doesn't need to be any celebration, or any explanation. But just telling them will make the day a bit brighter... even if it doesn't seem that way.

Well... it's been one whole week. It's been a weird week too, sort of like those days that never seem to end, but you keep on remembering them long after they're over? Yeah, something like that... out of Groundhog's Day or something.

It's weird, thinking it -let alone saying it- aloud: I have a boyfriend. I want it to stay that way, too, because I have this inert sense inside of me saying "You will *always* be alone." Pathetic, isn't it? My friends have been warning me all week to be careful-- that all guys think below the belt, and even though this guy is the absolute sweetest, kindest, and certainly most romantic (to an extent) guy I've ever dealt with, with a great sense of humor and... yeah, this is me waxing eloquent about the 'hated opposite sex.' Wow.

I like being with him, but I always have that stupid conscience in my head yelling at me that it won't last-- and with the way I think (the same way I write-- to escape, and find a new world that is just as impossible to find in real life as fairy tales or Harlequin Romances) I end up going too far into the future, and imagining whether or not we'll be together four years from now.

I remember him telling me in one instant message that he doesn't like to dwell on the past, and that he lives in the present-- and he loves being with me, and that was all that mattered. That had to be the sweetest thing anyone ever said about me, and my idiotic conscience promptly shut up. But still, a week alone...?

I mean, it's JUST been a week. We've gotten far more heavily involved than I'm sure several other couples do in their first week, but then again, what do I know about other couples? I don't spy on couples, and I've never been in a real relationship before. So what do I know? But light kissing, sweet touches, and holding hands gets heavier every time he comes over to my house, and even though I trust him (and should I lose that trust, I can kick his arse from here to high heaven) I'm not exactly sure what to do around him, or how to react.

I'm not complaining, you know, but I would have to say my greatest fear is being alone-- and I don't want to be one of those sitcom girls who recalls her first love (and I mean love, not crush) with animosity. They meet each other coincidentally on the street, have a latte and catch up on old times. It turns out he's successful--and married, with 2.5 kids, a lovely wife, and a white picket fence house near a country club. I don't want to be like that. I'm not expecting one of those 'high-school-sweetheart-turned-husband' relationships, but I just get so scared sometimes... and it freaks me out that I can even admit it.

Last night, when we were at the bus stop to wait for his bus to catch him and bring him home, I just started crying. I know, I know-- pathetic. As you can tell, I have very little self-confidence, no matter how overblown my ego can seem at times. So when a guy finally starts treating me like a person and not a reputation, I have this backup mechanism that puts me down. I had had this rotten nightmare two nights before-- just of all those practically impossible yet still everyday occurrences that could take him away from me. I had these daydreams that he'd go home, ask his sister why in the world I'd be so afraid of something, and she'd muse a moment, say "I think she's afraid of losing you-- not of you breaking up with her, she sounds too strong for that to break her-- but of something outside both your control taking you away from her. Maybe she thought you would die or something." And that's exactly what I think the dream was-- that I would never see him again.

This was a more vivid version of the dream I'd had Friday night, after we'd both gone to an anime screening together, and we had to part ways just outside the college. Because I was so out of it that day, when I set my alarm clock Friday night (since I had to take SATs on Saturday) I set it for 630p, not 630a... so I overslept and missed my SATs. I still got to spend Saturday with him, but I kept on remembering that horrid dream about never seeing him again-- because I wouldn't be able to, not because it was just a coincidence or anything.
I have to wonder-- why me? Why do I always get so attached, and then so afraid, almost desperate to push what makes me feel better away? I'm telling you-- I'm a shrink case. I've probably got more psychological "issues" than the standard schizo, and all number of Docs would no doubt love to pick apart my brain. Heck, if they could finally make me understand why I keep on reacting to relationships (of any kind) like this, I'd let him have at it.

One week... I really want it to last, but I am so afraid that, of my own doings, it won't.

I seem to have this thing where I swing from being happy to being mega-depressed. Sometimes my friends help keep me in a good mood, sometimes not.

I went to this anime screening at State on Friday night. I love going there, but sometimes it pisses me off that my younger friend that I used to go with blows me off. I mean, it's a few hours on Friday night-- and the way I figure it, if she wanted so badly to go to another high school or go to a game center, she could do it when she cuts school, or on a weekend. Not like I'm encouraging that or whatever... I guess it's cool to make friends with the college guys. One of them is really nice... but as I said, he's a college guy. Why do I always like the tall ones?

I'm finally getting a head-start on some of my webpages--the one for my school's anime club, Les Soldats, and another for my fav TV shows/movies and their fanfictions. But that seems to be distracting me from school, as usual.

Oh yes-- one of my best friends-- the total tomboy, anti-guy one whose mom has a terminal illness-- she has a *boyfriend*. He's a college student at Berkeley, and they met because she's supposed to be his tutor-- as an excuse to me, my friend says... "if it can happen to me, it can happen to you too." Oh, I can't wait.

I already ranted enough about my lack of money, my desire to drop out... yadda yadda. So today I try to convince myself that motivation comes from wanting to one-up all those assholes that have made my life miserable at a high school reunion. But in order to be better than them, I have to graduate-- and graduate with honors, so I can go to some great school, meet some great guy, and live the fairy tale. My short-lived and fading motivation is simple, quite like Thomas the Train-- "I can." I will. I hope I can-- and I hope I will.

No, this isn't a rhetorical question, like what is the sound of one hand clapping, or what is the one question you can't say yes to?

Rather, an unfinished series I wrote, based on the events of my freshmen year in high school. I organized events by putting them in a diary, and from the diary, I write the stories. If I post the entries here, would anyone be objecting to the story part? They're all real... the entries would be in prose form, and I'd love to hear some feedback on them so I could avoid the same mistakes twice.

Since I don't want this entry to be horrendously short, here's a preview of what the first "Impossible" entry would be if I posted it here...

( Impossible, Part 1 )

Present Tense Note: I stopped writing "Impossible" because, for one, it was very difficult to write every event that happened, and two, it was becoming very disheartening to stick to the "truth" of the story. I tried adapting it into a Sailor Moon AU, to try and distance it somewhat from my life, but that failed. I don't think writing fanfics that are so similar to real life events is healthy. It doesn't allow for healing or a proper perspective. While the chapters of "Impossible" that I did write serve as a sort of reminder of ME back then-- my feelings, my attitude, and my writing style-- I don't think they deserve a place as fanfiction anywhere on the web.

Lots of songs are out there dealing with dreams. Dreams are supposedly a peek into your subconscious, sometimes a mix of all the things that have been floating through your mind in any given day. I'll admit, I've had some weird dreams, but these, by far, are the weirdest:

5/?/2000 - I put two cheap costume rings (like the kind you get at supermarket gum ball machines) into a Sprite machine inside a soda room adjoining the school's basement and a classroom. The ring I remember seeing was gold-banded, with a sparkly orange heart as its charm. Suddenly, the late afternoon world went black and pulled away from me. The next thing I knew, I was back where I had started again, only the *time* felt different. I know people don't have a great sense of the passage of time, but I felt weird... like it was morning. Part of me insisted that it was almost evening, and that I should be hauling my butt home, but I was inexplicably drawn towards the classroom. Everything inside seemed much newer-- by several years. I saw the class getting dismissed, and who should I see but my crush-- at age 15! Everyone was leaving the class to head for the cafeteria for lunch, and he saw me and paused...

"Do we know each other?" He asked me with a perplexed expression on his face. I was suddenly as glum as a raincloud-- none of the seniors knew me, because they were freshmen! I was their age, but the REAL me was back at my middle school.

"I don't think so," I had responded, because with my obsession with time, I know that revealing parts of the future can damage it beyond repair. But instead of walking away, he asked if he could walk me to my 7th period. Weird, especially since I had been so sure 4th period had just ended!
I blushed a little and said yes. We got to talking, and he told me he liked the class he had just come from-- JROTC, which, for those who are uninformed is a mix between a history class and a military training type class. At the time, I had enjoyed that class as well, but NOW, as I write this entry, I will say I hate that class with a passion.

ANYWAY-- So he tells me he only wants to stay in RO for two years-- to get gym credits. I was off in my own little world, wondering how this cute, sweet guy could turn into the overbearing, egotistical, handsome young man I knew in the future. I told him, in so many words, that he'd make an excellent leader, and he should stay in.

We made it to my 7th period-- back then, it was an Art class with a teacher named Mr.Z. He asked me if I could meet him in the ROTC room after school-- he had cleanup duty, which meant (seeing as he was in the 4th period class, or the 3rd class of ROTC given in the day, he had to do cleanup on the 3rd day of the week) it was Wednesday, but it was too early in the year for uniforms... ?! (Uniforms are worn by the cadets every Wednesday) The art teacher was Mr. Martin, one of my favorite teachers that I remembered from when my sister used to bring me to the high school whenever I had off days and she didn't. He remembered me as well, but didn't understand how I looked 14/15 when my older sister (by 8 years) had just graduated last year (1995).
"It's a long story," I told him, and as he had a class to teach, he didn't say anymore.

In my time, I had told Mr.Z about Mr.M, and, Mr.Z had said the projects he had had weren't that creative. So I suggested some new ones to him, ones that he thought were great ideas.

After class, my crush met me, and smiled like a cute dope. Like... smitten, almost, a thought which made my heart flutter. (I love this dream so much) I helped him with cleanup. I don't know how much time passed, but he eventually asked me to the Boat Dance.

I freaked a bit, but accepted. I had no clue where I had spent the past several weeks, it seemed, and no one seemed to notice that I was wearing the same clothes day after day, and rarely went to any of my classes-- because they didn't exist yet! However, I was determined to look nice for the Dance, and went home.

Apparently, I couldn't be seen, because I THINK my past self was home. I got clothes from the closet that I hadn't bought yet-- making me remember the whole concept of time paradoxes-- when two or more times clash, the inevitable is the collapse of both times, past, present, and future. However, my seeing my past self had not had any effect on me at all. I saw my room in two ways-- that of my time, and that of my past. It was unnerving. I left and went to the dance, and I felt like a ghost of sorts.

The dance was enjoyable, I believe... as I remember this now, things are a little vague. I think he kissed me too. People were nauseous because the boat kept on swaying, but everyone had a good time. I was pulled back to my time, somehow, someway, and the last thing I remember is my crush's sad face.

I look back on the dream now, as something so typically me-- sappily romantic and humorous all at the same time. However, I wish I could "accidentally" dream a sequel, or maybe somehow... my crush would be reading this... maybe even know how I feel about him still. I wish I was his age now, because as far as I can see, that's really the only thing between us.

So, this is for you, J. <3

I'm dreaming... dreaming my life away...

I met someone at my after school when I was quote-unquote little. I don't actually put that in quotes, because you could read it as being physically little, which I still am, or little, as in, small, young, immature... which is what I meant. Anywho, he was nice. An outcast like me, for some of the same, and for different reasons. I had other friends, of course, I had crushes, but he was really nice to me. REALLY nice. He bought me presents of quarts, jewelry boxes made out of glass and gold, roses... he spoiled me rotten, and told me he loved me. I didn't know what to think-- I suppose I was young, naive, and inexperienced. Then again, so was he. He was younger than I. Yet he claimed he had "experience". I never believed him about that, though. Up to 5th grade, even after we both left the after school and only saw each other when we arranged it to be so, we were friends.

But that summer, in 1996, my sister died in a tragic accident. I call that the "Year of Hell" because after that one day in summer, my life changed. I never expected to hear that my older sister was dead. Broken legs, maybe even handicapped for a while, but never dead. She was my role model, and I always thought she was more responsible than that. Throughout the whole funeral ordeal, he was the only one there for me. No one thought to call my friends; I didn't have the strength to. I had to be my mother's support, and I slowly grew into thinking that was all I was worth. I wasn't a daughter at all. I blamed myself, of course, almost all siblings involved in tragedies do, but no one ever took the immense pain of it all off my shoulders. I sort of shrunk into a shell, and turned into someone different. Probably someone that would have scared me if I had seen how I'd become.

Middle school started, and I was overjoyed that he was attending the same one as I. I met lots of new people, got involved in lots of problems and work, and slowly drifted away from him. Maybe it was more because of how I had changed, and he sensed it before I did. 7th grade: he ignored me, made new friends, even went to lengths to make me feel horrible my teasing me. But my new friends helped me through. Then, I finally got fed up, asked one of my friends to ask him how he really felt, in private. She returned 15 minutes later, a grim look on her face. Her eyes could have spoekn volumes, but I had hope. Hah. No such thing, not anymore. She related to me that he hated me, thought I was annoying, and stupid, and ugly... the words sounded like something a kindergartener would say, but then...

8th grade came and went, and with it, he did. He moved, and though I had talked to his mother, a friend of my family's, after the ceremony, and seen him as well, nowhere near his horribly influencing friends, I was afraid, and too hurt to do what I wish I HAD done:

Walk up to him without fear, pull him into my arms, and hug him for all he was worth. Tell him softly that I would miss him more than I could say, and no matter how he felt about me, he'd always have a place in my heart, my home, my life. I never saw him again. I don't even know if he still lives where I heard he moved to. I never had an address, and part of me wonders if I still care. I mean, despite the immaturity of our relationship, when I told people about it, they considered him my boyfriend. So, in high school, I had had an ex-boyfriend, one who had broken it of with me rather harshly, and it still hurt. So that was why I didn't understand how I could have fallen in love (supposedly) so easily with someone else, so unlike him, so different from any other guy I seemed to know. Now he's gone too, and I wonder if I really ever loved either of them, or one more. More often, I wonder, did what we had count? To him? For something more than some youthful stupidity? To me, or my future? I don't know. Maybe I never will.

Note: these entries are being reposted from what used to be my FreeOpenDiary, where my username was *azurite*. I preserved the entries before I left FOD for LiveJournal, but back then I was much vaguer about references to people in my real life; as a result, I can't always provide background info on these posts. Some of these things I don't even remember! The majority of these entries were written in my sophomore year of high school.

It bites not being able to trust someone you THOUGHT was your friend.

The scenario? Picture this: a guy is crushing on you. Whoopee. If you're not into the whole "boyfriend" "Valentine's Day" scene, then this is not good news. What makes it worse is that a) he's about 2 years older than you. Okay, no major diff, but it feels funny. Some people get along with people tens of years older than them. Others, the opposite. And still more-- just don't. They either seclude themselves completely, or just stick with people in the year above or below them. Give or take a few months, maybe. Oh yes, b) is the fact that before you even KNEW the guy, he had a rep. It's prejudice to let someone's rep fool you, but when they live UP to their rep, what are you supposed to do? This guy was a total pervert, and I was getting reports from all my friends. Friends who didn't know the other friends, friends who didn't give a damn, or people I just talked to by accident. "Stay away from him, he's a pig." I heard. Oh well, I'm wishing I had heeded their advice now. So this pig is crushing on me, flattering yes, but distracting. I have plenty of guy friends, and I'm usually never uncomfortable with them. But once I hear that one of them is crushing on me... well, it's BAD. This guy was never my friend, per se, but...

Ok, so my friends now know that this guy is into me, and I'm NOT. Months, and months pass by. I give the "crushee" hints, ranging from subtle to blantantly, smack-you-in-the-face obvious. He's obviously as thick as a pole, because he never got the hints. So a week or so back, one of my guy "friends" decides to drop in in my Bio class. I should note that this "friend" of mine, we'll call him Joe, had been (and still is) crushing on one of my other best buds-- Jane. Jane's in my Bio class too, and that's why he drops by sometimes-- to see her. At the time, she had told him off several times: he pursued her, she wasn't interested or had her eyes on someone else. He didn't get it. What was more, he was highly overprotective, a liar and show-off, an @$$ kisser to the teachers, and worse, a blabbermouth. That was the problem. Blabbermouths are usually eavesdroppers too. I was talking to Jane about my problem with the guy crushing on me, and Joe interrupts, saying he'll talk to him for me. I immediately decline the offer- I think of how it would feel to have someone say to me "Oh, he hates you," instead of from his face. It's more cowardly on the person's part, too. I was really thinking of the other guy's feelings when I denied Joe's offer, and explained to him why. He looked like he understood, but... apparently not, because when I IMed the guy crushing on me, he told me what "Joe had told him" and totally guilt tripped me. He forgave me, and all was well on that end, thank god. BUT. BUT Joe was playing games with me. Not only had he betrayed my trust, lied to me, and then some, but while I was talking to the "crushee" I was also talking to Jane-- and someone else I didn't know, but, after Jane identified the SN, I found out was Joe. For the past half hour, he had been playing guessing games with me, denying my correct guesses... all in all, getting me very pissed.

I ignored him for a while, but it only seemed to make him angrier. Jane totally understood my position, and I believe she started ignoring him too, throwing Joe into a typical fit of rage and depression. Not a fun guy to be around. As of late, I've been wondering why I was ever friends with someone like Joe in the first place. Maybe I'm out of bounds here, but I don't want to speak to him until he apologizes.