I wonder, when you're 15, innocent, naive, and stupid, what do you call someone you "went out" with who never attempted -- okay, not 'attempted', more like 'accomplished' -- anything more than holding your hand?
And none of that tingly "oh my god, homicidal butterflies are going to explode out of my belly and leave me in a bloody and disgusting pile of slush and happiness" feeling.
Yeah, wonderful.
I think this is the... 482th horrible dream-shattering epiphany I've had so far.
No, just kidding. I never really counted. Did I seem the type to? I'm sorry.
I'm glad that I've kept my precious first kiss until now.
Yes, I'm a sixteen-year-old lip virgin living in twenty first century San Francisco, the craziest city in all fifty states. (Also wildest, boring-est, overpopulated, Asianified, and diverse.) I didn't say most dangerous, horniest, loudest, richest, or most overrated. That excludes Vegas, LA, New York, Miami... I would go on, but I'd be driveling.
By the way, I went to the Gay-Pride festival today. I might add "kinkiest" to that description.
Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Snap, snap.
I don't think it should be called a "boyfriend", should it? A close guy-friend? A super-close-but-not-in-the-way-you-are-thinking of guy friend? Yeah... no.
I'm probably overreacting, and by telling myself that, I will under-react, which will cause me to psycho-analyze whether I'm under-reacting, and then overreact again.
Beautiful.
Whatever. I don't have any hostility toward my ex man-friend anyway. Why should I? It's not like he left me empty and soulless, or a pathetic shell of my already pathetic former self. It's not like I can't stand to even breathe without his darly, angelic presence, and all I could do is mope around at home all day, act like a PMSing bitch to my father,then go hanging out like a chirpy school girl with my werewolf best friend, and jump off a cliff for the hell of it.
Oops, driveling again.
By the way, this is a subliminal message. Psst. The Twilight Saga sucks. (And if you laughed at the stupid pun, you're probably a stupider fan. Ew. Rabid Fangirl Cooties.)
Honestly, I could care less. Sure, I'm sorry. (I was a lot more sorry before his subtle expression of his incredible sadness and rage. Oh, boo-hoo.) If you have something to say, then say it. If you don't, then take that melodramatic whining of yours and shove it up your ass. (Unless, of course, you find some strange pleasure in that... then I apologize for my mistake in wording, and please proceed to shove it up another obscene body part.)
Hey, I think I've got my new motto.
I can't believe I actually let myself get dragged around by my stupid imagination and teenage naive. I'm too young for this, and the guys around me are too.
Honestly, high school guys are only "kinda cute", never hot. The ones that show slightest signs of hotness are taken and/or gay.
Oh, how unfair the world is.
The world is never the same as what you read in manga and romance novels. Damn those authors!
(No, I'm sorry. Don't take it to heart. Please continue writing terribly unrealistic, disgustingly cheesy, extremely over-dramatic, wildly romantic, and annoyingly addictive abominati... er... novels.) No really, I'm serious, don't stop. Oh, don't mind the sarcasm is just part of my nature -- the part that's too much of a spineless coward to unleash its full claws to the general every-day public. Damn me and my over-consciousness of self-image!
You know, I should forget about that "self-image". I should look pretty for myself, not eyes that can't appreciate girls (or women) for more than the subject of stupid sexual innuendos -- since those eyes aren't even old enough to see women as a piece of meat. Hey, I'm not really trying too hard anyway. PRIDE IN NO MAKEUP! WHOO! That's right, not a single thing on my face except my trusty Chapstick and moisturizer (with SPF 15 <3). Face it, if Prince Charming was stupid enough to fall for someone as naive (those step-sisters of hers need a bitch-slap) and crazy (schizophrenic bitch who talks to birds and fat faeries, anyone?) as Cinderella, he's probably got a more than a few lose screws under those pretty golden locks of his. Or was he brunette? Hm, I wonder which would be cuter... Ahem. There are no good guys out there, especially not at this age. This feels like when I realized I'll never discover my inner unicorn and suddenly sprout wings and a horn. I'll probably end up married to some typical "Oh, well, I know he's not perfect, but he's good for you. And hey, at least he's not handicapped or deformed." guy and die a disgustingly ordinary old woman. Oh dear, who will take care of my cats?
Lily Allen - Naive (Cover of The Kooks)
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