Monday, March 21, 2005


Obnoxious? Me? I was charged with it today as I stood outside the tutorial building with my COMS girls, among them Lunette (25, women's studies) and VanRed. In the distance, I spot this delish male specimen from our program secretly (and universally) hailed for his WB-friendly looks - a hipster Adonis better dressed than half the ladies. He's a bit of an airhead but ahoogah choogah! what a damn fine example of mating gone right.

"Hey you!" I called out to him. He looked over, a bit stunned, pointing his index finger to his chest.

"Yeah, you!" I confirmed. "What's your name?"

He turned to his friends and laughed. "What's your name?"

"No, no," I insisted as I shook my head in the sun, porno shades positioned perfectly across the bridge of my nose. "You're in my class. I want to know your name."

He grinned as he walked across the lawn. "I know," he replied and introduced himself to me. His friends, hands full of video equipment, waited by the alternate entrance, watching.

"I want to know your name," I repeated, half-kidding.

This seemed like an innocent enough a request. I really was just looking to attach a name to the face.

"[J.]," he said, "and yours?"

"Lily. Nice to meet you."

We shook hands and smiled seductively, exchanging criminal glances, highly amused.

"Oh my God, you were so obvious!" cried Lunette, a while later by the candy machines. "That was so random, you ballsy bitch! But I'm sure he was flattered. He looked it."

What can I say? I don't care what airheads think of me. He was prime rib and I felt good objectifying this hottie biscotti.


The girls went inside when the Boy casually approached me with a cigarette dangling from his lips. (I thought he quit, but I guess the poseur recently ransacked the James Dean archives.) He teased me with some stupid comment, which I brushed off and ignored before venturing inside too. I didn't want his presence ruining my temporary flirtalicious high.

He "accidentally" bumped into me a few times after our tutorial, which only fueled my growing irritation. The Boy's become a nuisance. Why won't he realize I'm never going to be the jealous type? If a man's single and he's being pursued by more than one suitor, you bet your gay tap dancing shoes I'll be the first one to throw in the towel. (Did you notice how I was careful to say single?)

I don't understand how any thinking girl could have a crush on the Boy. He has a decent sized following of giggly gals - women! - absolutely enamoured by him even though he's nothing more than a third-rate Casanova with a Napoleon-complex. It's so junior high, high school. Lunette and I were trashing him on the bus when two of her friends asked us whether we were in a discussion about the Boy.

"No," I lied. "We're talking about this guy, Jacob, in my journalism class. Jacob ... from journalism."

"Oh, we thought you were talking about [the Boy] because he definitely doesn't sleep around. I like him a lot. He's really nice and ..."

Blah, blah, blah. I tuned them out. Although I am surprised he's choosy when it comes to women. (He slept with me, didn't he?) But what's wrong with him that he can't take the hint? Does he enjoy my tongue-lashings? During today's tutorial, he accused me of preserving the status quo, to which I shot back: "Don't tell me what I think" and proceeded to beat him with his own contradictions. That was when Lunette started suspecting we were more than strangers. She said he's always been chased, so finding someone genuinely repulsed by him must feel like a novelty.

Ugh! The cosmos are playing one heck of a trick on me. It's like something out of Andre Breton. (*sidenote: I highly recommend his 1937 offering, Mad Love.)

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