Time for a little disclosure.....
To the boy in my Brit Lit and Grammer classes which I have never spoken to:
I'm so into you. You're beard kills me; it breaks my heart. I don't want to date you. I want to be your female best friend that gets to sit next to you while watching movies. I'll help you pick out a new sweater; it'll look great because, well, because I have great taste. I know you like Chuck Palenhuick books and Communism; that's enough for me. I find you adorable, like a potential little brother. A partner in crime. I imagine that you like foreign films, spanish ones. We'd drive the 3 hours to Minneapolis just to catch the new flick by the director of Amorres Perros, I don't remember his name, but you do. The whole ride there we listen to Cake and talk about our Brit Lit class and how the prof's suspenders always fall down. I say that I hate the republican girl in class and you laugh at my admission. You tell me not to worry because you're a moderate and for some reason I'm not apalled. I tell you that I voted for an independent candidate for governor. We both laugh.
You see the sticky thing is that I don't even know you. I've created what you may be like in my mind just because I find you attractive in this Sage Francis/Kevin Smith kind of way. Maybe in real life you're a jerk. Maybe you hate foriegn film and loud chubby women. Perhaps you're writing me a letter that you never intend to give me about you being my new male best friend. I think it's better the way it is. I probably like you better in my mind. If I told you I liked you, maybe you'd just tell me I'm overweight and kick me in the knee; you just never know. Tomorrow I'm going to glance at you and half smile, if you reciprocate all my feelings just ignore me and say nothing.
Sincerely,
The Chubby Brunette in your classes that always has something to say
a.k.a. Julie
I'm so into you. You're beard kills me; it breaks my heart. I don't want to date you. I want to be your female best friend that gets to sit next to you while watching movies. I'll help you pick out a new sweater; it'll look great because, well, because I have great taste. I know you like Chuck Palenhuick books and Communism; that's enough for me. I find you adorable, like a potential little brother. A partner in crime. I imagine that you like foreign films, spanish ones. We'd drive the 3 hours to Minneapolis just to catch the new flick by the director of Amorres Perros, I don't remember his name, but you do. The whole ride there we listen to Cake and talk about our Brit Lit class and how the prof's suspenders always fall down. I say that I hate the republican girl in class and you laugh at my admission. You tell me not to worry because you're a moderate and for some reason I'm not apalled. I tell you that I voted for an independent candidate for governor. We both laugh.
You see the sticky thing is that I don't even know you. I've created what you may be like in my mind just because I find you attractive in this Sage Francis/Kevin Smith kind of way. Maybe in real life you're a jerk. Maybe you hate foriegn film and loud chubby women. Perhaps you're writing me a letter that you never intend to give me about you being my new male best friend. I think it's better the way it is. I probably like you better in my mind. If I told you I liked you, maybe you'd just tell me I'm overweight and kick me in the knee; you just never know. Tomorrow I'm going to glance at you and half smile, if you reciprocate all my feelings just ignore me and say nothing.
Sincerely,
The Chubby Brunette in your classes that always has something to say
a.k.a. Julie