Anyway. I've been thinking a lot about Bridget. (Of course I've been thinking a lot about her. She's fucking taken over my entire brain. It's insane. She's a mind tyrant.) My friends, particularly Karl and Kim are convinced that a) she's a lesbian and b) I need to "make a move or something." (That quote was curteousy of Karl.) But it's not like that. Do I like Bridget. Yes. Hell, am I obsessed with her? Absolutely. If this were all taking place last year and she were exhibiting a little more willingness to question her sexual preferences would I "make a move or something?" Possibly. In fact, the chances are pretty good. But as it stands, in six months, I am going to be in Madison and she is going to be in Duluth. As it stands, we have two and a half months of seeing each other every day. As it stands, I can't even maintain a conversation with her because I have no idea what the hell to talk to her about. It's not even anxiety now. I'm not afraid of her anymore. I just don't know what I am supposed to say to her. Apparently when I talk about hot chicks and orgies and use the word "fuck" a lot (which is pretty normal for me), Bridget gets a little scared. I remarked to Megan about how I seem to frighten Bridget off with my faux-naughtiness, and Megan said, "She's virginal. That's why she has such a nice complexion."

True dat.

I'm laughing my ass of because I just used that phrase. Yes, I realize that it's not that funny. During my creative writing class I had a riveting conversation with my student teacher about how I was going to be working all weekend, "Representin' the Big K" and "hanging with my homies in the red vests" and "bringin' in the benjamins." and when cedar winced at our horrid dialogue I told her Mr. Mayer and I were just a couple of white kids trying to bring some culture into our lives. Anyway, it was really bad. And all completely sarcastic in case anyone even thought of being offended. And if you were offended, fuck you.

So anyway. Back to what I was talking about before I interrupted myself. I don't want Bridget to be my girlfriend. I don't even know that I'd want to be her friend because she is so virginal and I just don't seem to relate to people who aren't . . . well, a little fucked up. Or at least own that they're a little fucked up. I guess everyone is essentially a little fucked up. So, in conclusion, there will be none of this "making a move or something."

I was sitting in the library with Karl on one of those days when I was trying to read and he wouldn't shut the fuck up, and Karl asked me a question that had something to do with Bridget wearing a strap-on. And I was really disturbed by the thought because strap-ons are not for Bridget. Maybe in her future life, but certainly not now. And certainly not with me. Not because I have anything against strap-ons, but a strap-on on Bridget would seem nothing short of perverse. I can't even imagine her going down on me because I'd just feel way to creeped out because she's so . . . not dirty. Let alone dildo fucking. That be like child porn. I'd feel like such a dirty old man.

And if I can't have my girl in a strap-on, then it just wasn't meant to be. I am withdrawing all previous hopes of ever having a relationship with Bridget. It's not worth it. However, that doesn't mean I don't still think she's hot.

So I will leave high school in two and a half months having never had a a girlfriend, only the could-have-been best friend and the pathetic crush. Oh well. Fortunately, I don't base my self esteem on who I have or haven't fucked. Self esteem? What self esteem? See, it hasn't been affected. Status quo.

I think I'll leave it at that for tonight. My dad is going to wake me up early tomorrow so that we can clean the fucking house together. Yippy skippy. My father doesn't have a problem with me having a bad mouth or dressing like a slob or questioning Christianity or even being a dyke. But there are two things that he can't seem to deal with: a) that I have no faith at all (I think he would prefer I be Buddhist or Wiccan before I be an atheist) and b) that I am a slob.

Sorry, Dad. The neurotic neat freak gene must not be dominate.

last - next