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The Girl that Didn’t Change My Life (Review Your Ex-Lovers W/O)Jan 27 '06 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line reiterating a moment that doesn’t matter
(Hello mellifluent readers. This is, as far as I know, the very first submission to Tom Speaker’s bewildering write-off, where one is to review a past or present “significant other.” I only have had one (don’t mock), so this will be the last part I take in the write-off... but YOU can join in the action as much as you want! CLICK, CLICK, CLICK!!!) This world, I’ve noticed, is filled with beautiful women. These many women, I’ve noticed, want absolutely nothing to do with me. Please... please don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I do know that I’d like to know. It would be great to know why it is that a handsome, charming and chivalrous young man—much like myself—is so utterly undesirable to a slightly more attractive young woman. I ask you, are inflamed boils and possession by forty devils really that unsightly? Though, I did once manage long ago to successfully draw some feminine attention to myself. During a class discussion in biochemistry, I came to the sudden realization that bionesis* and chemistricrial* type-things possessed no actual relevance in my life. Disillusioned by this stunning turn of events, I stripped off my shirt and began to engage in some exotic wailing, which I had been told was the procedure I should follow if I was to coax the fairer sex out of hiding. Powerless as she was to resist her instincts, a nice girl named Jaime answered the call. Jaime was, as I said, a nice girl. She had very white teeth that were becoming straight with the aide of a nice purple retainer. Her hair was a nice flat brown, cut at nice semi-short length, hanging nicely at her shoulders. I would’ve preferred it more buoyant, but since she had brought herself down to my level, I suppose I had very little room to complain. Also, the nice girl’s hair always seemed kinda wet and greasy. But then so was mine. Hers might’ve just been a “look” of some kind. Mine was less a calculation and more a hygienical “afterthought.” And if I thought it was embarrassing, if I thought I had something to hide... well, I would’ve just omitted that little detail from the story, wouldn’t I have? I believe in me, my friends, and there is no shame in that. I am beautiful. As for her body... usually, honestly, I consider the body of a girl a little bit of a plus or minus, but not really conducive to the overall aspect of what I’m looking for. Overall, I’m looking for anyone I can get. What I got was a nice girl, and while you will not soon see her photo on the cover of anything, she was certainly not grotesque. She was, clearly, a girl, and that was nice enough for me. She was a *nice* sort of pretty. She was happy and charming in a feminine way, but not feminine enough to use a more feminine word for charming. If she had been in a choir, she might’ve sung a low alto or tenor, except I doubt that she ever wanted to be in a choir. Or that any self-respecting choir would’ve accepted her, for that matter. I hope you have a good mental picture of this girl, because this’s pretty much where the story ends. There really is an alarming lack of anything else to be said. And, honestly, you could just drop your gaze right now and fall asleep, for all the good you’ll gain by reading any further. This paragraph already is a kind of symbol for the nothingness that is the remainder of my girlfriend tale. Words could be said, of course, but they wouldn’t really be saying much of anything, other than nothing. The end. BUT... would you like to know WHY the story ends here? Well, it went like this: I’m gonna go back a little further, because there’s a cute little thing I wanna say about when I asked her out. There’s this song that I played on the tuba in marching band called “Hey, Baby!” The chorus is great, a rowdy sing-a-long thing where you shout “Heeeeeeey, hey, ba-BY!!! I wanna knooo-o-oow, If you’ll be my girrl...” So I had talked to this nice girl Jaime a grand total of ONCE. Maybe twice. There was also that occasion where I begged her for a pencil, so that’s three. And yet already I thought that I liked her very much. I understood very little about hormones at the time, which is why I had mistaken her kindliness to me as an affirmation of shared admiration. Hence, I decided to ask her out to be my very first girlfriend! What an exciting idea; Petey, a woman in his arms, dancing on rose petals in the pale moonlight, sipping dark red cool-aid from champagne glasses, making a mockery of all kinds of things in a romantic way. A vision of happiness, my friends, and I yearned for it. By and large, I asked her “out” by frollicking up behind her and singing at the top of me lungs “Heeeeeey, hey, Jai-ME!!! I wanna knooo-o-oow If you’ll be my girl...” (Cute. Real regurgitatingly cute.) For the life of me, I can’t remember the color of her eyes, but I remember that I looked into them, deeply fraught with emotion, wormed my arm around her shoulder and said “Jaime... I’ve never done this before.” She looked at me with an expressionless face that screamed of horror. I ignored that and pressed on. “Jaime... I really like you.” Still nothing but disbelief. I suddenly began having second thoughts. Did I misread the signs? Does she love another man? Does she even remember my name? Did I... did I remember her name??? Is it Julia? Oh crap, it’s Julia! What have I done? What have I done? But it wasn’t Julia, it was Jaime, and I decided to go through with it anyway. After all, I like her, right? So I should at least ask. Right? R-r-r-r-right. “Jaime... will you be my GIRLFRIEND?!?!?!?” The letters were not spoken with capitalization, but my mind shouted them manically from a balcony within. This was the moment; the denouement that all de-socialites dream about. All she had to say was “yes” to keep my fragile teenage emotions from being dumped into the Blender of Love and set to frappe. And being the nice girl that Jaime was, she did say “yes.” What a nice thing to say. What a nice girl, that Jaime. But the problem was, deep down, I didn’t really like her. And, not so deep down, she didn’t really like me. We were both living a lie, and would continue this charade for the next month and a half. I soon came to the conclusion that we had not one thing in common. I also came to the conclusion that she was boring and I had little that I wanted to say to her. But, you see, I was the one who had asked her for this. And wouldn’t it really be lame of a guy to break up with his girlfriend a mere week after asking her out? What a dilemma. Not wanting to be a jerk (which obviously was the selfish, jerky thing of me to do), we would hang out each day, sit next to one another, and hold hands. We spoke not a word, because we had nothing to say. She didn’t like my music. I didn’t like Ohio. She didn’t like my religion. I didn’t like that she didn’t like my religion. She had gay friends. I didn’t. So there we sat, close together but eons apart. We did this daily, for a month. And a half. Frankly, I don’t think this is how things are suppose to work. Finally I just couldn’t take it anymore, and confronted this nice girl with whom I could not stand one more successive minute. “Jaime... I’ve noticed that... this, relationship... I just don’t think it’s gonna work.” She nearly wept with gratitude, and was only too happy to oblige my request of bereavement. A recondite recompense for such time wasted... but I felt content once again. So I’m not sure if my girlfriend rating should really count for anything, since I didn’t have a typical relationship with her and was unable to really test her out. Unlike a music review, where I spend hours listening and wondering about and semi-analyzing the albums I listen to, this girlfriend thing was like listening once to an album I had never heard by a band that I always thought I should like. Like Bright Eyes. I don’t know enough for this to really have any sway over the reality of this girl’s virtues and discrepancies. So, take from that what you will. But, here’s what I had: A girlfriend who was, in fact, a girl. That gets three stars right there. Also, she was nice enough to accept me as her boyfriend. I’m guess that this would take lots of guts as well as a very charitable thing for her to do. I’ll award two stars for that. She was never a real pain in the butt; it was excruciating to be with her mostly due to our inability to speak to one another about our lack of interest in anything involving the other person. For not being the cause of my annoyance, I award another star. That’s six stars, and I’ll say that’s out of a total of ten, because it seems right. It’s not too high and not too low. A good, neutral number. Six. That’s just fine. But I’m supposed to rate out of five, not ten. Unfairly, nice Jaime’s New Girlfriend Rating is: 2 stars. This new rating reflects an abandonment of objectivity in exchange for something that makes more sense to my inner man. The inner man thinks Jaime was lame, and I guess I tend to agree. That said, I’m pretty sure I deserve something much worse. Lame as she was... there really is no contest. ABRUPT ENDING * These words I made up. Also, as a side note, paragraph two never happened.  |
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