I think you're fresh and stuff.

I woke up several weeks ago and found myself to be in a strange and alarming state. I couldn't identify this feeling of discomfort at first and thought it might be a respiratory problem judging by the tightness in my chest and a sort of lightheadedness that was occurring. I had trouble going about my daily functions, this malady had befallen me at least once before I could tell, but I still could not identify what could be going on with my body. I looked to my standby favorite, WebMD. Apparently there is no place to type in 'stomach feels like it has a brick in it'. Unable to diagnose this issue (Tuberculosis? early stages of Leprosy?*) I started to shovel through my memories mining for when I had last felt this sensation, it came to me amidst the reading of my student's paper. I groaned and laid my head down on the desk.

My student asked me 'Is it that bad?'
I say Paulo, your paper is fine, I think I have a crush that's all.
A pause occurs.
Not on you Paulo.
What are you going to do about it Miss B?
I'm not sure. What do you do when you have a crush on a girl?
I send a text to her telling her I hella like her, and if she acts like its cool, I send her a picture of me without my shirt.


Flashbacks arise to the last time I had a crush, lets call him, I don't know, Rob. Actually his name was Rob. Later on I found out that his middle name was Thomas and couldn't stop making jokes about it, further alienating him. He had a hearing aid and his eyes were set sort of like a hammerhead shark's, I could have loved him. After a series of failed attempts at initiating, I somehow through a stuttering phone call asked him if he'd like to get a drink. Shockingly, he agreed. I was nervous and reticent with my conversation at a nearby bar.
He attempted to engage in conversation
"On the count of ten tell me the most embarrassing thing about yourself you can think of"
I replied with exactly the worst response that could be ushered forth from my mouth
"I had a UTI last year."
Immediately I cringed, I'm not sure that I had even had one. You see, I have this nearly demonic voice that makes me say the worst thing possible during situations where I have my personal dignity laid out on the line. Dates and interviews tend to bring this voice out, it was responsible for me spouting out an anecdote related to my urinary tract. It has also resulted in me being yelled at for trying to touch the artwork in museums. He replied with his most embarrassing moment after a moment's hesitation.
"I used to be a dj on college radio"
Needless to say I never spoke with him again. I would not be surprised to find out that he has a restraining order against me.

I stopped being able to sleep as well at night, disgusted with myself for having succumbed to this madness. I found myself staying up late, listening to AM programming typically conspiracy theory related, starting to believe I should be buying non-hybrid seeds to store for currency in the future. What would I do about this situation? How could I express my crush to the object of my affection while still retaining some remnant of composure?

Finally the solution came to me.



Let this be captioned one of the following:
"Shawn A., I HELLA like you"
or
"Had I know a more somber melody was warranted, I would not have selected the Fine Young Cannibals"

*Hansen's Disease (I'm told leprosy, while more fun of a term, is antiquated)

Ike and Tina inspire my romantic ideals, I am still going to die alone.

Gentle Reader,
I ask you today, have you ever been in love?

If you are like me, it conjures up a caucophany of terrible associations. That having been said, let me revise my initial question,

Dear Reader,

Have you ever fancied yourself to be in love with someone who loathes you?

I know this feeling well, having spent the majority of my young adult life in unrequited love, and so the images that come to my mind are usually of myself in various corners (bedrooms, dormrooms, parties, Robertitos?) often in a fetal position (mostly in sweatpants) listening to songs about, yes you guessed it, failed love.

I don’t understand it exactly, but it seems to be some sort of visceral reaction to someone not being interested in me that elicits my passionate response (he must be perceptive indeed, if he hates me as much as I hate me).

Endless meta-cognitive activity devoted to projected interactions at strategically situated social events, interactions usually stultified by the aforementioned slumping in the corner, as we see the hero of our story take home the Belle and Sebastian caricature girl with (and shall we speculate it to be premeditated) a predilection for taking pictures of herself in ‘the outdoors’ (typically clad in weather inappropriate vintage summer dresses). Hours spent regaling your story to your friends, exploring the subtle nuances of the hero asking to borrow a pencil in your Marxist Literature class or coming down to the dining hall at your regular time for luncheon “what do you think that means, Emily?” The warm comfort of weekend nights spent alone pining over the loss of someone who you make uncomfortable, Morrissey’s animalistic moaning providing you with solace in this time of need. Your dorm mate turns to you and says, “I liked you better when you were LESS introspective.”

In honor of this complex and beautiful feeling called L-O-V-E, Let me share with you some of my favorite songs about love:

I'm not going to lie, I've gotten really fat lately. I keep looking at my phone to see if any of my friends have called me, no missed calls ever appear. They say they're busy or staying in, but I know the truth. They are ashamed to be seen with me because of my new found corpulence.

I'm thinking there is only one solution for this, to get even bigger. At least there is a niche market for that. I haven't yet heard of an audience for conspicuous issues having to do with the torso area on an otherwise average sized person.

Henceforth, I will make it my resolve to be one of those really jovial large people. I'll start wearing more prints or something (now that I know my place, resigned to the social periphery ). Next time you see me I'm going to look something like John Candy, but more self effacing with longer hair.

addendum to my recent failings

I made this list while embarking upon my daily commute:

Things that would make me uncomfortable to do (inspired by people I've seen today)
Wearing flip flops with socks
Eating while walking down the street
Going on a first date with anyone who wears gel in their hair
Wearing basically anything that features spaghetti straps
Wearing anything involving houndstooth print

Yes, I realize that 3 out of 5 involve concerns of a sartorial nature.

Wearing bleach stained sweatpants while eating a 2nd bowl of Mini-Wheats and watching Vh1 programming on the other hand, I feel exceptionally comfortable doing this. I live with a girl whose celebrity look alike is Andre the Giant, no matter what I can always feel pretty sexy (comparatively).

Still so misunderstood

I was sitting on the bus today listening to my Ipod and making a list of things that make me uncomfortable when a small Asian man wearing stone-washed pants with an elasticized waist chose to sit down next to me, on a nearly empty bus. This happens to me a lot, not necessarily that particular model of weirdo, but something about me appears to be so compelling that people (often those with circumspect hygiene) choose to sit next to me in public settings. I have a tactic I've developed in response to these repeated attempts, which is actually not a tactic but a course of action. I select rap music on my Ipod really loudly, and rap along until the perpetrator leaves. Today I chose Petey Pablo, often it's Lil' Kim. I am proud to boast that this strategy has about a 65 percent success rate. Today I elicited the response ( shortly before the aforementioned subject moved) of "There is an awful lot of profanity in that song." That's right sir, these black people, they're really angry. He picked up his man bag and left after a horrified glance.


I don't have a lot of friends, I have a limited amount of friends, and I'm pretty sure none of them like me. That and my lack of any intellectually, economically, or artistically viable pursuits leave me with an incredible amount of free time. Often I go on long walks where I spend the duration of my time reliving childhood humiliations or thinking about possible life pursuits that I don't feel I've already sabotaged (i.e. becoming an r and b video girl). Usually the bonus is that I get to play with lots of dogs, dogs (not unlike people on public transit) really like me, which I find disconcerting. I mean it must be my scent, and dogs also like the scent of other dog's excrement, and people's crotches. Anyhow, recently this dog ran up to me and started playing with me, I looked up to see his 50+ punk rock owner and jokingly said "Are you training your dog to pick up girls for you?" He looked offended at what he considered to be a sincere suggestion and responded that he was already married. My response was to be offended that he was incapable of discerning what was obviously a joke and I replied "I'm joking, I'm a total dyke.' This also didn't amuse him. I'm a constant failure.