La cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point numéro deux


	January 25, 2006

"The Final" - Dir en Grey

Being in a noncommital relationship can be unnervingly commital at times.

I suppose I should take a moment here to introduce everyone to a guy I'll call Jared. Oh wait, that's his real name. Anyway, Jared is the worst kind of chauvinistic bastard there is--the intelligent kind, the kind that actually has a valid point once in a while. Jared and I formally met when we were both on our way home on the bus and he decided to ask me ever so subtley:

"Are you a lesbian?"

I replied to that with a fist right up against his jaw.

The next time we met was during the first semester of my senior year when I was stuck in a class of nine unlucky advanced placement physics students taught by one geology majoring earth science teacher. The ship sank before it even started to sail, and, before we knew it, we were spending more time in physics doing English papers than Newtonian mechanics.

Life in physics class was odd. It was a mishmash of relatively intelligent people stuck with a teacher who couldn't dig her way out of first year calculus even if we gave her a shovel shaped like Einstein's brain. We were bored. We were disappointed. We were restless.

And we were delinquents.

So we did what delinquents do in advanced placement physics: play Taboo. That and sell marijuana-infused brownies. In any case, we became good friends even though Jared was still a chauvinistic bastard and we had a physics teacher who didn't actually understand physics. Eventually one thing led to another, and, before I knew it, I was in the passenger's seat of his little red Hyundai (he still prefered my Honda though, said it had more horsepower) snogging and fogging up the windows.

We were an odd couple, I won't deny that. Hell, even the odd ones of our school thought that we were odd. I mean, here I was, a little Asian girl hardly one hundred sixty centimeters tall strolling down the hall with my one hundred eighty centimeter boyfriend who happens to have a very Christian, racist mother and a history of working in the orange groves of Florida. Oh, but that wasn't really the only thing odd about us. What was really odd about us was how we'd bicker like an elderly couple who had gone three hours over their medication time over something trivial like whether the dandelions should be arranged differently for my still life drawing. More often than not it'd result in airborne objects like textbooks and soda cans and the occasional lemonade pitcher.

We were also an odd couple, because we weren't really a couple. We were about as coupled a couple as penguins waiting for their next mating season. I went to prom with another guy, kissed girls while half naked backstage at a fashion show, necked with a visiting boy in a piano practise room, and discussed the dynamics of mindblowing threesomes with classmates. He wasn't quite as bad, just because he had always been the demure one of us both, and he would always say:

"Go on and see other people, Danielle, so long as I don't find out about it and so long as you don't forget about me and so long as you're still mine."

And can you really blame me for taking advantage of my senior year?

Eventually, the summer came to an end and I had to be shipped away to college. However, unlike some irrational people in our grade, we decided to break things off simply because there wouldn't be any sense in being attached. Well, supposedly we broke things off.

That is until I went home for Winter Break and found him antisocial, floundering in his grades, and even more hostile than I am on a bad day. I can't very well be pretentious and say that it was because I wasn't around, but I can assert that he was never quite that bad when I was home. We talked for a while and I told him to go out with the cute brunette girl that kept trying to get in his pants last year.

And we just kept talking and talking and talking.

And. Well. Let's say that I've got something to look forward to during Spring Break.


	lettres d'amour

Wow that was a rather surprising entry…

I kind of assumed you'd tell a story how you met a kid in class, talked about equations of sorts, bonded on an intellectual level so high only you and he could understand and then end up becoming prom king and queen, or whatever.

Well, it's obvious he's feeling miserable without you.


	Rafia

what a great story. it reminds me of yours truly and a certain someone. i believe the best couples are the ones that don't call themselves couples.

miss techie

Wow. This simply means one thing - you are fabulous. You make men forget to live their lives and wait for your return. You simply must bottle that and send me a flask.
Beaucoup d'amour,
Ash

Ash


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