So I have a bit of a situation at the present, and I hope you won't mind my sharing it with you, because really, it does bear explaining in all its absurd glory. You see, my problem with the boys has not abated, although it has changed a bit, and is possibly slightly more preferable now than it was before. Let me explain. Darnay happened to text me while I was at dinner with Eric and the others, and Eric, deciding to be helpful, promptly texted back (on my phone) that I have a boyfriend. I suppose I have to be grateful that he wanted to aid me in my predicament, but I can't say I'm overly delighted with the manner he chose to employ. I didn't want to perpetuate a falsehood, man! It's not right! But, like an arrow that flies from the bow, words that are spoken cannot be taken back, and there is no retracing it now. The one bright spot in all this mess is that Darnay is now leaving me alone, but even that is really not a bright spot, because Irene told me that he really liked me, and is heartbroken now, and really, that makes me feel terrible. Romantic as it might seem to be a heartbreaker, it really isn't the most pleasant position in the world. Do you think Helen was happy in her tower, and was Circe content on her island? (okay actually Circe was probably fine with her circumstances, but my point stands) It's so drastically uncomfortable! And matters are worse than this. Like the hydra, when one man leaves, another immediately rises up to take his place, and this is the case in my poor life. One delightful 25-year-old who is in the employ of the honors office, but apparently not any honors society of the brain, has taken it upon himself to "get to know me," as he calls it, and text me many times a day with rather non-sequitur questions, ranging from the age of my parents to the time that I've been single. Unfortunately, he never asks me about modal auxiliary verbs or generative grammar or anything like that, so I can't hold forth for long enough to keep him at bay. I did try today to talk about Star Trek and Cyrano de Bergerac to see if that would shake him off my tail, but alas, it did not. When someone is a buxom young lady with lissome features and a bright smile, after all, the last thing on most people's minds is whether or not she is talking sense. Now, if I were a pox-ridden Neanderthal with three noses, perhaps someone would actually listen to what I have to say, but as it is, all that occupies their minds is whether or not I have any underwear on. It's a sad life, it is, but at least I can talk about Star Trek without recrimination, so all is not lost.
It does make one wonder, though– is 5 years too much of a difference at my age? If we were in our 30s, there would be no problem, but at this stage of the game, it seems like there is a substantial difference in our levels of experience and knowledge about the world. I am no innocent waif (or at least I'd like to think that I'm not), but I am far from being the mature sophisticate that more advanced age will bring. There's still so much I don't know, and so much that I haven't seen! Is Rochester (that's what I've decided to dub my new suitor, for obvious reasons*) trying to prey upon my naiveté? Or is he really and truly a good (if misguided) person, merely looking for some companionship in this cruel world? I'm tempted to think that it's not that, but I suppose one never knows. Perhaps he will perform a great and honorable deed and sway my heart in his favor forever after. Could it be true love? I rather hope not. I mean, I'd like to think that my true love is someone who can at least recognize allusions to classic literature, and capture my full attention while I talk to them. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But if so, why then I will stay alone for all time! No settling for me, no sirree bob! I will live my life to the fullest, and whether I spend it in splendid isolation or in contrapuntal harmony, it will be one for which I will not have to make excuses! I must say, that sounded good, didn't it? Maybe I will win that Pulitzer yet. Anyway, I must figure this out, and hopefully I will figure it out soon, because Rochester has already progressed to the level of wishing me, "good morning beautiful" with fifteen emojis, and it won't be long before things have gone altogether too far. But I will figure it out! If I can formulate theories about negative polarity items and their role in questions, I can do this. Let's go! Figuratively speaking, I'm going to go, yes, and literally speaking too, because I got up at 6:15 this morning, and I really should get some sleep. So, goodnight!
*It might actually not be obvious, actually, since I have just now realized that Rochester is a place as well as a person. But I was referencing the creepy and dishonest Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, who is, of course, much older than the heroine. (I hope that doesn't make me Jane though– I don't think too highly of her. I would much rather be Eustacia.)
Friday, March 20, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
The un-MEN-tionable
I got a big ol bone to pick, y'all. I'm as fed up as a bear in summer, and I'm so wool-gatherin angry, I could just throw a hissy fit right this very minute!
Ugh.
Now, let me just start off by saying that I'm a very nice person in general, I mean I try my best to give people directions, and I swipe people in at late night, and I even recycle most of the time. So, this leads me to believe that karma is a thing that does not exist in the world, nor does any conception of justice, for how else could such a bright, upstanding citizen like me constantly be getting the short end of the stick in the one walk of life that shouldn't be an issue? In other words, why the flaming flapdoodle do boys keep developing crushes on me? It got real old real fast when it first started happening, and it's even older now. I mean, come on now, fellas, get your collective act together. There are illimitably many pretty lasses in the world, none of whom are me, and they might be a tick more flattered by your amorous intentions than this grumpy old scouser. Give it a try! Or maybe actually don't, because some of y'all are quite irritating, and I wouldn't want to burden any other woman with the nuisance of dealing with all that.
Dear me, you may be saying to yourself, this girl has quite an ego problem! And I don't blame you for that. Read out of context, this post might indeed hint at a bit of megalomania on my part, and it would not be amiss for you to call it out, if it were unsubstantiated by anything but the most empirical evidence. However, you can save yourself the bother of creating a scathing and witty rebuttal of my claim, because that empirical evidence, I do have. Listen to my sad tale and weep, oh children of doubt.
There is a young man in my hall, whom I will not name, but will refer to as Darnay, partially because of his irritatingly bland nature, and partially because it includes the word "darn," and I'll be darned if I go out with him. Anyway! So Darnay is in Irene's physics class, and for this reason, when he sees us together, he will say hi. This is all fine and dandy, I mean I'm not such a misanthrope as to disapprove of a friendly greeting or two, but unfortunately, Darnay did not leave it at that. Oh no, not him. Not only did he ask Irene about me many times, thus betraying one of his many irritating traits of unencouraged persistence, but he actually had the temerity to track me down when I was all by my lonesome, vainly looking for a lounge from which I was eight floors away, and getting my number! Well my dear, you might be saying, isn't it your own fault for giving it to him? Yes, it is true, I did make a mistake there. But I could not have possibly foretold the comedy of errors that would follow!
(Yes I could have; it's happened to me countless times before. But that's neither here nor there.)
So, without further ado, young Darnay began texting me with alarming alacrity. If only all realities of life could be governed by the cold splendor of science! But sadly, though the rate and time of his texting increased to an unreasonable degree, the distance between us failed to grow any bigger. In fact, I feel it closing in in an unpleasantly claustrophobic way. On the very first day he texted me, he asked me to dinner, in no uncertain terms. Make no bones about it, the pugnacious little pustule was asking me on a date. So I suggested breakfast instead, thinking that there was no possible way for him to screw that up. But oh, the folly of man! Not only did he spend the entire uncomfortable period staring deeply into my eyes and behaving like the most embarrassing of bad dates, he also made me late for my class, and gave me bad directions to boot. The only thing I can be grateful for is that no one saw us together. It is no wonder that after this debacle, I wouldn't want to go anywhere with him again, and I thought I made this abundantly obvious. But I hadn't accounted for his cursed tenacity. Not only does he continue to text me unabashedly, he also continues to ask me to things with him, all of which I turn down politely but firmly (despite his many protestations). In fact, not five minutes ago, I turned him down to go to a play tonight (which is unfortunate, because I sort of would like to see it, but there is no way I can now). This is simply a disaster! If only Cute Sean from semantics would pay me half this attention, now, that would be a different layer of the cake entirely. That boy is so charming, let me tell you. He could have dinner with me any day. But I fear our romance is not to be, not only because he is an adorkable nerd who can't tell that I'm flirting with him, but also because he seems to show a sad lack of dedication to the field of semantics, and really, that just puts a damper on matters. But what was I saying? Oh yes. Darnay is stressing me out to the extreme. It's going to give me the gout. How do I get rid of him politely? I fear there is no polite way. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward! I fear there is no comfort for me.
Ugh.
Now, let me just start off by saying that I'm a very nice person in general, I mean I try my best to give people directions, and I swipe people in at late night, and I even recycle most of the time. So, this leads me to believe that karma is a thing that does not exist in the world, nor does any conception of justice, for how else could such a bright, upstanding citizen like me constantly be getting the short end of the stick in the one walk of life that shouldn't be an issue? In other words, why the flaming flapdoodle do boys keep developing crushes on me? It got real old real fast when it first started happening, and it's even older now. I mean, come on now, fellas, get your collective act together. There are illimitably many pretty lasses in the world, none of whom are me, and they might be a tick more flattered by your amorous intentions than this grumpy old scouser. Give it a try! Or maybe actually don't, because some of y'all are quite irritating, and I wouldn't want to burden any other woman with the nuisance of dealing with all that.
Dear me, you may be saying to yourself, this girl has quite an ego problem! And I don't blame you for that. Read out of context, this post might indeed hint at a bit of megalomania on my part, and it would not be amiss for you to call it out, if it were unsubstantiated by anything but the most empirical evidence. However, you can save yourself the bother of creating a scathing and witty rebuttal of my claim, because that empirical evidence, I do have. Listen to my sad tale and weep, oh children of doubt.
There is a young man in my hall, whom I will not name, but will refer to as Darnay, partially because of his irritatingly bland nature, and partially because it includes the word "darn," and I'll be darned if I go out with him. Anyway! So Darnay is in Irene's physics class, and for this reason, when he sees us together, he will say hi. This is all fine and dandy, I mean I'm not such a misanthrope as to disapprove of a friendly greeting or two, but unfortunately, Darnay did not leave it at that. Oh no, not him. Not only did he ask Irene about me many times, thus betraying one of his many irritating traits of unencouraged persistence, but he actually had the temerity to track me down when I was all by my lonesome, vainly looking for a lounge from which I was eight floors away, and getting my number! Well my dear, you might be saying, isn't it your own fault for giving it to him? Yes, it is true, I did make a mistake there. But I could not have possibly foretold the comedy of errors that would follow!
(Yes I could have; it's happened to me countless times before. But that's neither here nor there.)
So, without further ado, young Darnay began texting me with alarming alacrity. If only all realities of life could be governed by the cold splendor of science! But sadly, though the rate and time of his texting increased to an unreasonable degree, the distance between us failed to grow any bigger. In fact, I feel it closing in in an unpleasantly claustrophobic way. On the very first day he texted me, he asked me to dinner, in no uncertain terms. Make no bones about it, the pugnacious little pustule was asking me on a date. So I suggested breakfast instead, thinking that there was no possible way for him to screw that up. But oh, the folly of man! Not only did he spend the entire uncomfortable period staring deeply into my eyes and behaving like the most embarrassing of bad dates, he also made me late for my class, and gave me bad directions to boot. The only thing I can be grateful for is that no one saw us together. It is no wonder that after this debacle, I wouldn't want to go anywhere with him again, and I thought I made this abundantly obvious. But I hadn't accounted for his cursed tenacity. Not only does he continue to text me unabashedly, he also continues to ask me to things with him, all of which I turn down politely but firmly (despite his many protestations). In fact, not five minutes ago, I turned him down to go to a play tonight (which is unfortunate, because I sort of would like to see it, but there is no way I can now). This is simply a disaster! If only Cute Sean from semantics would pay me half this attention, now, that would be a different layer of the cake entirely. That boy is so charming, let me tell you. He could have dinner with me any day. But I fear our romance is not to be, not only because he is an adorkable nerd who can't tell that I'm flirting with him, but also because he seems to show a sad lack of dedication to the field of semantics, and really, that just puts a damper on matters. But what was I saying? Oh yes. Darnay is stressing me out to the extreme. It's going to give me the gout. How do I get rid of him politely? I fear there is no polite way. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward! I fear there is no comfort for me.
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