April 10th, 2005

(no subject)

1/64th Suave.

When I was in high school, there was this kid named Matt Dunn. Matt Dunn had his moments; his good moments and his bad moments. His good moments consisted of things like selling me painkillers, doing stupid things for the sake of everybody else's entertainment, and being somewhat hot. His bad moments consisted of wearing bright yellow cargo "shorts" that went down to his ankles, putting cornrows in his hair, and ranting about how he was 1/64th black, even though putting him in the sun for over ten minutes would turn him red as a tomato. Like I said, Matt Dunn had his moments.

I dated him for a few months in eighth grade, but for the most part, we didn't discuss that. We were acquaintances at best, and sometimes he would act so lame that I was tempted to go the lowest of low and just kick the bastard square in the nuts and ask him what he'd done with his logic. But I saw him yesterday on the marketplace and we exchanged numbers, because it appeared as if he had dropped the lame image and had become a normal, decent, well-dressed human being. He was nice to talk to because he was good at keeping the conversation going, and his normal hair and attire had turned him into a relatively attractive young man.

So I called him last night and we ended up getting together and hopping between a few parties late last night. From King Street where a bitch fight between me and some self-proclaimed "hippie" almost broke out, to Pearl Street where I relieved some sexual frustration by making out with Ben Weeks, and then suddenly to the middle of nowhere: a town we like to call Ferrisburg.

Nobody really knows what goes down in Ferrisburg, because it's nearly an hour from town, and populated by no more than a dozen houses. It's run by crazy, middle-of-nowhere-Vermonter freaks; the kind that you can tell are weird simply because they've been living so far from civilation their whole lives. Anyway, we ended up there. We had gone from downtown, Burlington, where every room of every party was swarmed with people, to a random house in Ferrisburg, where only a girl and a guy (obviously a couple) were lying peacefully on a bed in the corner. We talked to them for all of ten minutes before Matt grabbed my hand and pulled me into the next room over. It was completely dark and all I could make out was a bed up against the wall and some weights on the floor. I noticed Matt had been holding a crumpled up brown paper bag, but I hadn't thought to ask him what was in it, or why he had it.

"Why are we in here?" I asked.

"Because we're going to have sex here and then leave," he replied.

Wait... What?? I had made sexual jokes through the evening, but I figured, who at my age doesn't joke about having sex with old friends from middle school, right? And ya know, had I not relieved some of my pent up sexual frustration on Ben earlier that evening, I might have thought about taking him up on it, or at least making out with him. But not in a strangers bed, one room over from two people who could obviously tell what was going on. And especially not in fucking Ferrisburg, and not at 3AM when I'm tired and I've had too much beer. What the fuck?

It was then that I noticed that the bag Matt was holding was a lunch bag completely filled with condoms. Jesus Christ, was this guy for real? I was so taken back by his blatant "request" that we immediately left the house and barely said a word to each other the entire ride back into Burlington. What a way to cut a night...

(no subject)

You may collect bizarre gemstones, or found objects. Maybe seashells or hotel key cards. I have a collection, too.
I collect weird personality quirks. And my collection is extensive.

I have this one girl who likes to keep secrets from herself. She writes the oddities and deepest secrets of her inner-workings down when she's under the influence, but she doesn't allow herself to go back and read. She knows she could learn so much about herself by doing so, but she finds it intriguing not knowing what she's already learned.

And another one who can only walk on the right side of people.

One who never talks, but processes all conversation in her head, and likes to bring it up again fifteen minutes after the conversation has passed, when she's ready to talk about it.

And one who is the exact opposite: he could be the most gorgeous boy in the world if he just never opened his mouth.

I've got one that has composed his life of lies, so that the person he was born to be was killed off by a neverending series of untruths. A boy that has literally made his entire life up, story by story.

I know a Schizophrenic.

And someone with Tourette's Syndrome.

And I have this one guy that is petrified of being seen as anything other than completely ordinary.

One that treats drama as food. She can't go a day without three servings of commotion to fill her stomach and manipulative brain.

One that can't decide if he's chock full of thought and emotion, or completely dry of all feeling, so he goes day in and day out changing his attitude from freezing cold to burning hot and back to freezing cold.

And one that likes to acquaint himself with strangers not with the words they say, but completely by their "essense."

And I have one guy that manipulates people into doing things they wouldn't normally do by pretending to take their sarcasm seriously. So he pulls them into situations they were initially joking about, and comes out having gotten them to do exactly what they had said they would do.

I've got this one guy that doesn't like jazz.

And another who buys Drum tobacco, and rolls all her cigarettes at once.

A kid that only, only writes in red.

And a couple guys that are so afraid of getting old that they've forced themselves to forget their own ages. And literally, they have.

Let me add your quirk to my collection.