The most perfect time in any relationship is before you have even spoken to the person.
For three weeks I have been obsessing over Absolutely Stunning Hot Boy I Have Never Talked To. And for three weeks I have been imagining, romanticizing and creating His personality.
As far as I am concerned at this point, he is a Hugo Boss model who cures cancer in his spare time.
I hope I am not disappointed.
People [often] judge books by their cover. Some people see a blonde girl and immediately think Idiot. I see a pretty boy and immediately assume that he is good in bed. [Bad examples…It’s just science]. This action comes down to first impressions counting and no-one having the time to really get to know everyone we meet. So we pigeon hole people, to make our assessments and regurgitation much easier to explain.
“How was the date?”
“Meh.”
“Why?”
“He chewed with his mouth open.”
“So?”
“You know what that means…”
“No.”
“Small penis.”
Or similar.
Sub genres of people fascinate me. If only because I like to imagine the global population stacked like CD’s in a HMV store.
These days, the categories are multiplying. There are bohemians, hipsters, yuppies, preppies, drunks, stroners, Goths, princesses, my ex-boyfriends and Mickey Rourke. Just to name a few.
“Why do people dress like Nemos?” AM wondered over her breakfast wine.
HMV went right out the window the moment my brain managed to picture a boy arriving for a date dressed as a giant orange fish.
“I think you will find they care called Emos,” I corrected her. But she made a point: Black eyeliner or gills, it is all the same:
Hilarious.
I was recently referred to as a Hipster. Which is a bizarre thing to hear when one is aware that they are much more in tune with Oprah’s book club and the entire works of Aristotle than alternative radio stations or flannel shirts.
“Don’t let the Rayban sunglasses fool you,” I corrected. “They are fake. Just like the concept.”
It is often said that observers get a clearer perception of an individual from the outside. Which may have been the case when we were all wearing loincloth and letting our personalities individualize on their own accord. But, these days, we have become lazy, and when someone comes into my life sporting a mullet hairstyle and a customized Toyota Corolla, I start to hope that first impressions are no longer correct.
To put yourself so openly into one category takes away so much fun in life. Randomness, while still being a pattern, allows for wonder and surprise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to walk into a room, look out from under eyeliner and pierced nipples and know that everyone has assumed Your character before being able to disappoint with politically incorrect jokes and an amateur juggling act.
I live my life by not judging people [as I am in no position to do so] but find it increasingly difficult when people are insisting on being judged by grouping themselves together despite obvious differences in their real personalities. I don’t want to go to extremes and start thinking that all the pretty people are bad in bed [because, to be honest, I wouldn’t know what to do with all of my free time]…
I just want people to embrace confidence and stop hiding behind barriers.
“Why don’t you go and actually talk to [Absolutely Stunning Hot Boy I Have Never Talked To]?’ Boy friend asked me while I hid behind his backpack.
He made a point.
“What if he thinks I am an idiot?” I feared (Read: predicated?) as I curled my blonde hair around my finger.
“Prove him wrong.”
I got ready to make my move.
I just hope he is not disappointed.
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