My Mumbling Thoughts

I can't remember when the change happened for me. It happened though. One day, I woke up and actually found boys interesting. They seemed different. They looked different. They made me feel different. They were no longer these annoying creatures that would pull my hair, throw dirt in my face or steal my juicebox at lunchtime. Didn't they used to have cooties? Didn't I used to hate them? When did I all of a sudden actually care about what they thought?

Back in middle school and high school, the drama between boys and girls was always a big deal. Who was so and so dating, when did he cheat on her, or when did she get drunk and cheat on him? He got who pregnant?! And why were they getting married so young? It was mental and didn't we all think at some point in time that we had found true love?

Mine was Micah McSwaine. Oh, that beautiful boy that when I first saw him, he sparked right through my entire body and made me think and feel things I had never felt before. He was so cute, so different, and in some ways so mysterious to me. He was a skateboarder; he spiked his hair with way too much gel, wore his skateboarder shorts low on his hips and had those DC shoes that were always loosely tied and kind of annoyed me. But it worked on him. Everything worked on him.

I'll never forget the day either...I was in 9th grade, Mr. Hurd's English class and at 9:30 in the morning, I sat two chairs behind Micah. Every day I would go to class and stare at the back of his head wondering what was rolling around in that brain of his. What did boys think about? Did he notice me? Surely not. I would think of ways that maybe we could speak and tried to be cool about it all, when really I'm sure I just came off as the world's biggest loser.

He dropped a pencil once and didn't notice. I picked it up at the end of the class and still have it in one of the many shoeboxes underneath my bed to this day. Does that make me a freak? Quite possibly.

As time went by and I got older, things changed a little bit, but not so much. Men and women still play silly little games whether we realize it or not. There are certain "rules" that one must follow if one wants to secure a decent boy/girlfriend. I, unfortunately, suck at the game and never follow the rules, leaving me frustrated, confused and generally in a grump against all men in general.

I go out from time to time, I meet different people, I occasionally pull a random guy here or there, or even (if I'm [un]lucky enough) get a bit of extra action, but I haven't exactly had anything substantial that's worth mentioning ever since I screwed things up with Ash, many moons ago. Sure, there has been the on again, off again saga between Boy Sam and myself, but other than that (which isn't exactly much), I've been a single lady, free as a bird, flying solo or what have you.

Usually I'm fine with that. I don't mind going out and doing things on my own, and I've got my girlies to keep me company who I love hanging out with.

But there are times when a girl doesn't really want all of her girlies around. She could do with a bit of man attention from time to time. A text message here. A movie night there. A sweet note or phone call every so often would be nice. Is that really so much to ask for?

Recently I've been a bit down with the lack of decent man action I've been having. I've found out some not-so-great news about Boy Sam (which just disgusts me and makes me want to puke), found out some other not-so-great news about that other boy I hooked up with that only proves that I live in the tiniest universe, and makes me want to hide underneath my covers until him and his current girlfriend fall off the planet. It feels like no matter how much I try or put myself out there, I'm always going to be the girl that gets stuck with the guy who dropped out of college and installs air conditioning units for a living and probably will for the rest of his life.

I then wonder if there's something wrong with me? I mean, something has got to be wrong with me in order to always attract the ones that I want to forget about and can't seem to keep a hold of the ones that I actually find interesting and seem to have some kind of potential. Am I always going to be punished for my actions in the past? Or, is some part of me subconsciously bringing all of this on myself?

Who knows?

I can take some comfort in knowing that I am not the only one though. Today, whilst Helen and I were out and about in Hammersmith (I got a second tattoo, because I needed it), we overheard a couple of girls having the same conversation that Helen and I have had on more than one occasion.

Gril 1: "I don't get it, I sent him a text this morning saying 'hi, how are you' and he didn't text back."

Girl 2: "Aw, well why don't you give it a bit and send him a text tonight?"

Girl 1: "Well I don't want it to look like I was waiting all day for his reply."

It would seem that I'm not alone in this big 'ole city. Not all of us are walking the streets hand-in-hand with their lover, squishing each other's faces and blocking me from my destination by walking extra slow so they can gaze longingly into each other's eyes. And while it does make part of me churn with sickness, another small part of me hates to admit that I'm slightly jealous and wishes that I, too, could have someone squish my face. In the good way, that is.