These first two pieces are written about the same thing from the points of view of two different people. In this case, a boy and girl both looking at the same girl.
Of The Female
Look at her. Sitting at the front of the class thinking she’s better than everyone else. I swear she thinks that just because of her long blond hair, perfect skin, perfect clothes, and “perfect” personality she can rule the world. It’s like a poodle thinking its poop doesn’t stink, the reason simply being that its coat is just poofy enough to put that extra bounce in its step and that its nose is the perfect shade of black and always wet, but not too wet.
The worst thing about it is the fact that the teachers love her, the boys drool over her, and all the girls are so fascinated by her that they hang on her every word and think she’s the epitome of flawlessness. Everyone might as well bow down in the hallway as she walks by, lay down a red carpet wherever she walks, and constantly tell her how beautiful and impeccable she is. Just like the poodle. It’s owner gives it a pink, rhinestone incrusted food bowl with the words World’s Best Dog on it, everyone passing on the street admires it, and the breeders say how jealous they are of the owner to have such an immaculate specimen of dog. IT’S HORRIBLE!
It has to be an act. I mean, no one can be that perfect. There has to be something wrong with her. Maybe one of her boobs is bigger than the other. Webbed toes possibly? What if she was supposed to be born a twin but the other baby didn’t grow so she has a lump on her arm with tiny, little bones in it that was her twin sister! I’ll have to do some investigating.
What’s this? The girl next to me just handed me a note. I can already see the name Stacey May as I unfold the paper in the shape of an envelope. That’s her! Maybe this is just the thing that can finally reveal to me her imperfection! I finally get the paper opened all the way and it reads, “Stacey May had sex with five guys at camp over the summer. She’s ready to party this weekend.” Then they put a big smiley face at the bottom of the page. Wow. What a slut. Well I guess I got my answer. Stacey’s flaw was easy. Literally. She is easy and that is her flaw.
Of The Male
Jeez she is, like, the ultimate chick. I mean, look at her! She has long blond hair that ever so often catches the light and it glimmers like she’s a goddess or something. And her face? It’s totally awesome. She’s got these big brown eyes that could burn a hole right through you, a cute little nose that looks perfect for Eskimo kisses, and her smile. Oh, her smile. Is there even a way to describe it? If she were ever to smile at me I am for shiz up the spout that I would melt like . . . like something that melts really fast. See what she does to me? I can’t even form proper metaphors or similes or whatever they are.
As if that isn’t enough, everyone loves her. Like literally, everyone. It’s crazy. All the teachers think she’s the perfect student; all the guys (including me) are in complete agreement that she is the best thing since, like, that time they made Pepsi clear; and the girls worship her. This girl is like the chick in all the movies that all the girls want to be exactly like and all the dudes would die to be with.
If you think about it she’s kinda’ like a combination of that little teddy bear guy from the Snuggle commercials and an Abercrombie model. Just go with me here. Well, it doesn’t really take much to see how she resembles an Abercrombie model but as out there as the teddy bear idea sounds it is completely viable if you just give it some thought. It is impossible to not love the Snuggle teddy bear. Everyone does. Not only is he adorable but every time you see that smiling face come on your TV you can’t help but crack a grin. It is out of the question not to smile when I see that beautiful creature walking down the hallway in my direction, which makes it hurt that much more when she doesn’t even notice me. One of these days though. One of these days I will get Stacey May to notice me.
Woah! A piece of paper just flew past my head and onto my desk. It says, “Stacey May had sex with five guys at camp over the summer. She’s ready to party this weekend.” Guess who’s goin’ to a party this weekend and totally living the dream! This guy right here. Today is my lucky day.
These next few things are excerpts from my nonfiction piece I wrote about the time I spent in the library my second semester of college called Second Home.
I order the same thing everyday: a small mocha with whipped cream. If I had the choice, I would then proceed to sit in the same seat everyday, but that doesn’t usually work out. I am an (OCD) creature of habit . . . and I’m okay with that. This obsessive-compulsive disorder I speak of is self-diagnosed, but perfectionist just doesn’t seem to be an extreme enough word. Many times I have called attention to myself by someone noticing one my eccentricities; for instance having the need to check my back pocket at least ten times before feeling confident my phone isn’t going anywhere, everything having to stay in the exact same place, my daily happenings remaining as constant as possible or else I get anxious and the stomach pains begin, my color coordinated closet, my constant “tick” to sit perfectly, have my clothes situated perfectly, everything around me in its place, my aversion to anything dirty or messy, my mini-freak outs when I get even the smallest speck (you could only see with a microscope) of something on my clothes, not liking to touch food with my hands, germs in general, the list goes on and on. Just listing them distresses me. Clearly, not things I would like to be remembered for. These things don’t make up who I am, but they are a hefty chunk, so instead of being recognized for them I would rather not be noticed at all. It may not make sense to some people, but it makes sense in my (mixed up) mind.
One of the first experiences I had was when I was sitting at one end of a table and a tall man with shaggy blond hair who was on crutches asked if he could sit down at the other end, maybe seven or eight feet from me. Of course I said yes and we sat in silence for a few minutes until a friend of his came along. She was tall, had short blond hair, and was dressed in sweats. She looked really run down, which I later found out was due to her being sick. It’s amazing what people will say when they either don’t think you are listening or simply don’t even notice you are there (my attempt at blending in must have been working that day). This woman shared with her friend, and me indirectly, that she and her girlfriend were having trouble paying their bills and they had to decide which one of them was going to start being a stripper, I mean exotic dancer. Apparently, this woman won, or lost, if that’s how you want to look at it. She began talking about how most of the time she’ll work at the Crazy Horse, but a night or two a week she will dance at Pure Gold. She even talked about the differences between the two clubs and her preferences, as well as her stage name: something typical, unoriginal and forgettable. I just tried to keep looking down, keep myself from laughing, and stay unnoticed so she would continue with her story. I was intrigued by this woman, a lesbian stripper, which apparently isn’t as uncommon as I previously thought. I wish I could have stayed and heard more, not to judge but for the sake of the story, but my child psychology class beckoned.
Another time I was sitting in the library attempting, unsuccessfully, to write a paper. First I only heard him speaking to the man behind me and I could tell just by the shear volume of his voice that he was going to be a character and definitely something to watch. Finally, he came into view. He was a quite large, creepy-looking man wearing an oversized, gray South Pole shirt with the logo in a rainbow of colors. The next thing I noticed was that he was carrying an abnormally large Taco Bell bag filled with food, that simultaneously made my mouth water and my stomach feel nauseous simply because of the amount. As if he hadn’t made his presence known enough with his booming voice, he thought it would be a good idea to teach a random boy a lesson about keeping his skateboard on the floor next to him. The first time he passed by him he pretended to jump on the skateboard and roll away and then proceeded to lecture the boy about being careful with his skateboard and where he puts it. You would think that would be end of their interactions, but no. Strange Man decided it would be good idea that every time he passed by Skateboard Boy, which was at least four or five times, he would pretend to steal the skateboard and laugh like what he was doing wasn’t super weird. That’s all, right? Wrong. There was girl sitting with Skateboard Boy, and Strange Man came to the conclusion that he should stand there talking to her for about ten minutes about her taxes. She looked like she was in pain the entire time. After Strange Man left, Skateboard Boy and the girl didn’t say a word to one another, but instead just stared at each other because one could tell what the other was thinking: “What just happened, here?” It was priceless. I’ve since seen Strange Man, but that time he was wearing an oversized Hawaiian print shirt and carrying a black bag of mysteries.
These aren’t exactly things you see everyday and to some people they may just be odd people, but for me they are people who seem to be confident in their oddities and aren’t afraid to call attention to themselves. At the same time though, they make me feel like my quirks aren’t as bad as they could be. I hate to say it but, they make me feel . . . ordinary.
Oh, here’s an adorable one. Once again, sitting and trying to write a paper (it just wasn’t working for me though) I spotted a boy, well . . . a man, I guess. At first all I noticed was that he was a big, burly man; all manly in his manliness and such. Sunglasses sitting on top of his head, headphones that looked like Oreos covering his ears, a striped jacket colored with different shades of brown, and his bare feet propped up on the table in front of him. Then I looked closer; he is reading Marley and Me and had the sweetest little grin on his face. I even heard him giggle like a little schoolgirl a few times. Maybe it’s just me, but that is one of the cutest things I ever did see.
Then there are always the little things I see that don’t mean much, but are always a sight to see. There was the man dressed in all navy blue who, even though his sweater was pretty hefty, looked like he had breasts, the woman whom it was obvious had just gotten a nose job, and the eerie looking boy with the curly mowkawk with a little pink coloring thrown in there for a little spice.
I also could never forget about Mr. Clean; a man with one of the lowest voices I have ever heard, is incredibly tall, wears pants that are too tight and too short for him, shirts that look like they are from the Baby Gap, and is never without the neon orange baseball hat, worn backwards of course. Then, there’s the chubby Mario! I call him Mario because of the fact that he has one of those greasy mustaches that curl up into little swirlies and a bowl cut. Enough said. He’s a cool dude.
Well, I hope you enjoyed my snippets. And if not, that's ok too. To each his own. Whatever floats your boat. And all those other sayings that basically mean that you are free to like whatever you want. :)
Absolutely loved the library episodes. Was disappointed when it ended.
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