Teenage Dream

   I have a confession, you guys. I think I'm a pedophile.

   Now, I know what you're all thinking: That's creepy and disgusting, and seriously, put this bitch in jail, that is so fucked up! but calm down: I'm not that kind of pedophile. I have, like, standards. I mentioned Mark/Matt AKA the bearded minors in my English class, and I've been sitting with Matt for a couple weeks and that beard is nothing to shake a stick at. What does that even mean? Is that even a real expression? Whatever, I'm not changing it. Learn to like it.

   So, aside from Mark/Matt, there is the kid who commented on my "two first names" (whose name is Adam), and I work with another 17-year old named Alex. They're fucking everywhere. Initially, I was finding myself being driven to the brink of madness, their young flesh serving as a constant reminder of my old age, until, feeling desperate, I decided it's time for a new perspective. I've interpreted all of this as the universe's way of telling me 20 is the new 40 and it's time for me to go all Cougar up in this bitch. Get out of my way, Courteney Cox. Your show sucks anyway. Seriously, have you guys seen it? It's terrible. Like, painfully bad. Why was it renewed for a second season?  I mean, think about it: They're young, inexperienced perhaps, struggling to find their place in the world during their first months away from home (or, in Alex's case, his senior year of high school, oh my God that's disturbingly young, hey maybe he'll take me to prom-) and I could be a real resource for them. I could give them a place to belong. 

   So I've spent English class mentally planning my various illicit escapades (English 102 is really boring you guys, forreal) and today we were assigned to do group work. Matt and I were put to work together with some other kid named Tyler (who I couldn't help noticing is also pretty easy on the eyes), and we got to talking. "Wow, did he just ask me what a thesis is?" I asked myself, feeling a mild sense of panic. "Calm down, Linnea," I ordered myself. "Now is not the time to be pretentious. Just think of the beard." 
   I laughed and played with my hair as I directed him to the page in our book that explains how to write a thesis. "It's like, right there!" I said, giggling.
   "Wow, I'm like, jealous of your writing ability," he said, reading my introduction paragraph.
   "Yeah, well it's my third year of college, so I have like, a lot of like, experience...with this kind of thing," I said shrugging. "So when do you turn 18?"
   "A little over a month," he answered excitedly. "I'm so ready. I can't wait to drive after 9."
   "Yeah, that'll be really- wait, what? Holy shit. Oh Christ, this is... I am old as fuck," I said, gathering my things in a mad dash.
   "Hey, do you live in Spaulding?" he asked.
   "What? I, oh- what? No. I-I d-don't live here. I don't live here. I'm-I have to go." I muttered, running out of the classroom.

   They're so hot until they talk.

Wish You the Worst

   Can I write a seething post about how bitter I am over the fact that I spent four fucking years in a dead end, terrible relationship with a selfish, lying asshole who came and went as he pleased with no regard to how I felt about it, then suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth to reappear blissfully ENGAGED to the least attractive girl I have ever seen in my entire life?
   I'm trying to dismiss it and concentrate on other things, but it's always in the back of my mind. I have anxiety-inducing premonitions of myself publicly drunkenly sobbing and insisting how much prettier I am than she is, and I've been hiding from alcohol to avoid them coming true.
   I need more self-control. I'm still masochistically stalking his facebook, hands shaking with anger, frustration and jealousy at their idyllic romance. (I almost said picturesque but, you guys, seriously, there is nothing picturesque about this bitch. She's a total ugg-o.)
   Sorry I'm whining. This post is a catastrophic waste of your time.

99 Problems

   Today started at 4:58am. I woke up suddenly, noticed the clock and thought to myself "Man, there are those crazy people who wake up at times like this and then somehow don't fall asleep! What stupid assholes! Ha ha ha! What's wrong with them? They need to get it together! Thank God I am the master of slumber! I make dreams my bitch! If sleeping was a super power, I'd be the hero of the land! Of ALL lands! Ha ha ha stupid assholes with insomnia!"
   Then I, of course, lay awake for about five hours.
   Now, perhaps there are those of you out there wondering why the hell I didn't get up after, say, the first half hour, and that is because I am really, really, really stubborn. I was in severe denial about being one of those people I had laughed at derisively and was determined to fall back to sleep. It didn't happen.
   I got up at 9:42, made some breakfast, then sat at the computer until 10:06. Then I plucked my eyebrows and gazed lovingly at my own reflection until- oh shit! 10:12! I'm supposed to be out of the house in 3 minutes! And I have no makeup on and I'm not dressed and my hair is disgusting!
   It turned out to be a messy ponytail, blush and mascara kind of day.
   I got to school at 10:59 for my 11:00 class and decided to go to the library first to print out a paper for my 12:30 class. My first professor doesn't even take attendance, and my second one is pretty uptight, so this seemed like the right order.
   I went to a computer and took my sweater off as it turned on. Then I looked down and realized there was an extremely inappropriate amount of cleavage happening and had to put it back on. Annoyed, I made a mental note not to wear this shirt to school anymore.
   When I opened the e-mail I had sent myself with the homework files attached, I wanted to slap myself. I had saved them in .wps and the school's computer only opens .rtf which I am 100% aware of.
   I then remembered it's the 14th which, aside from being my parents' 36th wedding anniversary (Congrats guys!), is also the first day I need my iClicker for class.
   Cue mild panic attack.
   I realized then I was not going to make my first class. I hate missing classes. A lot. A whole whole lot. 
   I eventually resigned myself to this and decided to make the best of it. I started calling people to see who could open the files on a different computer, convert the format and send them back. Finally finding a willing sister, I asked a librarian where to find the stupid iClicker. After telling me it was going to set me back 50 bucks, she gave me directions to the University Bookstore, which I didn't understand a word of.
   I left and called Johnny, hoping for some clearer directions. He didn't answer. I wandered in a sort of frenzied haze until I heard from the distance: If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a bitch aint one!
   "Whaa?" I found myself wondering.
   Then I noticed it seemed to be coming from my pocket. Curiously, I removed my cell phone which was vibrating and, yes, supplying the sweet sounds of Jay-Z. Apparently that's my ringtone? This had escaped my notice for God only knows how long because my phone is constantly on vibrate. Johnny was calling me back. He gave me directions that made sense and I found the bookstore.
   By 12:30, I was in class, with the required assignments. I should mention that this is Writing 102. For some reason my English credits didn't transfer and I'm being required to take WRITING 102. It's mortifying. Except there's this one bearded, nature-y kid who I think is named Mark (who is totally 17) and he's extremely hot. Anyway, he came in a bit late and started to walk towards me. I got excited that he was going to sit next to me, and then he broke my heart by instead sitting in the open seat in front of me.
  In the middle of silently reassuring my bruised ego that he was just making the studious decision and not avoiding the creepy older chick who always has dirty hair, I looked to the front of the room and saw another bearded, nature-y guy. Confused, I looked at Mark sitting in front of me and realized it wasn't Mark. It was some kid named Matt. Mark was sitting in his usual seat. I spent the rest of class trying to decide which one was hotter until the kid who sits next to me (who is ALSO 17- I'm surrounded in them) looked at my paper, pointed at my name at the top, smirked and said "You have two first names!" I smiled and said "Yeah," (I'm a first-name-last-name... as in, my last name is also a first name) and then I got creeped out by myself for having to remind myself I could literally get arrested.
   Walking between classes, I kept noticing men very openly staring at me as I passed by them. I kept rushing to the bathroom to make sure I didn't have anything weird happening, because I really didn't look so cute. Glasses, dirty hair in a pony tail and almost no makeup? Seriously guys, have some standards. And I was still wearing my sweater, so they really have no excuse.
   During my third class, I suddenly noticed a remarkably strong smell of urine. I wrinkled my nose and wondered where it was coming from, looking around me condescendingly and judging everyone for being so gross. Then suddenly I got nervous and was like "Oh my God, what if it's ME? DO I SMELL LIKE PEE RIGHT NOW? DOES EVERYONE AROUND ME SMELL PEE AND IT'S ME AND I STINK LIKE PEE AND EVERYONE KNOWS? OH MY GOD!"
   I spent most of the next hour having that conversation with myself until class ended and I got out of the room and realized I, in fact, did not reek of urine. My sweater smelled kind of bad though, I'm not sure what was happening with that. I guess I don't remember the last time I washed it. I'll have to do that. Hopefully before I wear it out in public next.

So Long Sweet Summer

   Fall is settling in and, for the first time in a long time, I'm finding myself seduced by the biting chill that has undercut the stifling heat of summer.
   I smile to myself as I layer fabrics on top of each other, reveling in the newness of the season.
   I'm grateful for the change. This is the first fall I'll enjoy at home since my senior year in high school. I'm missing the mountains I spent the past two autumns in on an entirely different level, with an aching, bitter force that leads every step I take.
   My new school is still odd and foreign. It's overwhelmingly large and the atmosphere is decidedly different from my little, relaxed Adirondack home. There's a pretentiousness I can't stomach. But I'm learning a lot in my classes, and, as I keep reminding myself: that's what I'm there for. I'm relieved I don't live there. The distance between myself and the self-congratulating student body is worth the commute.
   There are five classifications of students that attend my new school:

1. The Kid Who Wrote "AP" On All His Folders In High School To Remind You How Smart He Was:

This is the main group of students. They ALL carry bags and wear clothing bearing the school's emblem, as if they're rubbing it in that they were accepted. I get it, assholes. You go here. So do I, that's why I'm in your class. Now please stop hinting at what your SAT scores were. I don't care. PS: Mine were higher.

2. The Hot Girl In All Your AP Classes Who You Always Thought Was Real Dumb:

Aside from their presence, they generally offer little evidence to prove their intelligence.

3. Douchebags

Self-explanatory. 

4. The Kid You Always Thought Might Shoot Up The School

They're just as scary in college.

5. The Adult Going Back To Get Their Degree

Present at every school in the country, this is, hands down, the most annoying person at school. They never stop asking questions or telling stories about their busy lives and their children, which, unfailingly, are not as impressive, interesting, cute or funny as they think they are.

   Anyway, I had my first day of work, but it was all paperwork and orientation videos. I start for real Wednesday. And one week from now is my birthday! I'll be 20! And have no excuse for angst!

A Good Man is Hard to Find

      Friday during the day I was facebook chatted by a man almost a decade older than I, whom I have met a handful of times, who has always been overtly interested in me. If you've read carefully (which I'm certain you all have, right?) you will know that I am instantly put off by that. I hate it when people awkwardly stare and smile at me for extended periods of time. It actually makes me mildly disgusted. I'm sure there's something Freudian in there, but I'm not particularly interested in the psychological underpinnings of my sexual interests. I digress.
   So, he's facebook chatted me before, and asked for my number a month or so, which I begrudgingly gave him. I don't really know how to refuse my phone number to someone who isn't a stranger. I just feel like it's rude. Anyway.
   Our facebook convo went something like this:

Man Pushing 30: So, any plans for the weekend?

Self: Drinking. To excess.

Inappropriately Older Man: Want a partner?

Self does not reply.

Elderly Guy Who Lacks Subtlety: So, can I tell you something? It will sound weird in this context, but life's about taking risks, right?

Self: Uhh... maybe. I guess.

Senior Citizen: I think ur really cute :)

Self: Oh, thank you. That's nice of you to say. 

Social Security Recipient: So uh, can I ask you the same question?

Self: I'm not sure what you mean.

Retiree: What do you think of me?

Self: Oh, I think you seem very nice. But I'm... off the market, so to speak.

   He texted me that night asking where I was, and I told him I hadn't left yet but intended to go to a bar in our town. He replied that he was at a different bar, but would meet me there. I groaned in misery.

   Esther unsympathetically insisted that I agree to meet up with him, pointing out that he would pay my tab at the end of the night. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about not needing or wanting a man to do that.

  When he arrived, he proceeded to awkwardly smile nonstop at me and never break his gaze. He basically cornered me and rambled his life away for a couple of hours, told me he was going to marry me, repeatedly asked me "how crazy was it, what I said to you today?" and otherwise just generally creeped me out. I made excuses to leave every 10 minutes or so. 

   During these breaks from torture, I would take Esther into the bathroom and explain how much I hated what was happening. She drunkenly (and rather condescendingly, I might add) informed me that I needed to "deal with it" because "he was buying me drinks" and did I know how many guys stare at her and she deals with it? She insisted that I "learn to go with it." She then proceeded to bring up a few unfortunate looking fellows in the past month she has spent the night talking to at the bar in exchange for drinks. Frustrated, I insisted that I wasn't interested in leading men on in exchange for access to their wallets, and that I wanted to get the hell out of the situation immediately.

   "He's not that bad," she insisted. "He's not ugly."

   "I don't hook up with people because they're not ugly," I interjected, hotly.

   I realized pretty quickly that these trips to the bathroom were doing little, aside from enraging me further, and miserably stepped back into the bar where he would descend on me like a piranha.

   He gradually moved in closer and closer and awkwardly began rubbing my back and legs. I moved as far away as I could, but it was pretty crowded in there.

   I eventually found Esther outside and incomprehensible. Seizing the excuse, I told him we had to leave immediately and made an unceremonious departure.

   After we left, the night improved substantially. We went back to the apartment of two guy friends where she got something to eat and we all hung around laughing for a few hours, until Bobby picked me up and took me home.

   It was the first time we'd seen each other in weeks and, thrilled, I spent the car ride home basically just grabbing and squeezing him and shrieking about how happy I was to see him. He just laughed the whole time.

   When we pulled into my driveway, I took my seatbelt on, leaned over and grabbed him in an embrace.

   "I MISSED YOU I MISSED YOU I MISSSS YOUUUU!" I squealed.

   "You're squeezing my head," he replied.

   "I KNOW! I AM! I love you! Ahhhhhhh I love you so much I can't stand it! Oh, shit, I'm squeezing your head!" I released him, and he leaned back in, grinning.

   "No, no, I like it."

All the Right Moves

   Readers! I got a job! I start Wednesday! I work in a store at the mall. My father is beside himself with joy.
   I started school this week. It's all right. I'm not head over heels in love with it, but I didn't really expect to be. I think you only get that once in your life, and I had my perfect college already.

I can't really believe I left sometimes.

   Anyway, just wanted to let y'all know, I'm employed and in school. And tonight I'm going to drink too much, so get ready for a post of shame. You're likely getting used to those by now.

Almost Lover

   Well readers, here I am, tail between my legs, to confess my drunken foolishness.

   Tuesday night, Esther & I went out to the bar. We invited that guy I mentioned who liked me and then didn't like me so much and told him to text her if he wanted to meet us. Eventually he called her and asked to meet her at a store about a block away. Just her.
   I immediately began freaking the ef out, convinced he was going to tell her how annoying I am and why would she ever hang out with me, et cetera. She drunkly reassured me that this was a good sign.
   I stayed at the bar with a few girlfriends who were also there while she left. About fifteen minutes later, she texted me saying his ex girlfriend had showed up.
   Long story short: He went somewhere in her car with her while she waited in the parking lot and I waited at the bar. Already more intoxicated than I should have been, I nervously started pouring drunks down my throat with a speed that, in a contest, would have been impressive and garnered applause. Unfortunately, I was not participating in such a contest, and was actually just sitting at a table singing D'yer Mak'er really, really passionately. For over an hour. 
   Finally, Esther returned. Alone. She said he had forgotten something at home and was getting it and then coming to meet us. I mumbled something about exhaustion and she suggested leaving to meet him.
   When we did, I was wasted, exhausted and bitter about having been kept waiting for such a ridiculous period of time, so my contribution to the conversation mainly went like this: "I need to go to bed. I'm so tired. I need to go to bed." with the occasional aside about having been at the bar alone for over an hour. (I wasn't actually alone, but he didn't know that, and at the time, I didn't feel he needed to.)
   We did return to the bar, and he kept a noticeable distance from me. Esther whispered to me that they hadn't had the chance to talk before his ex showed up, and that all he had said was that he "doesn't want to date anyone right now."
   In my mental state, I took this as a personal affront and was devastated by it. We sat in the back room, the three of us, and eventually were joined by this old ass pervy guy I worked with in high school. He sat next to me and blatantly stared at my boobs until finally asking "Did you ever work at Water Street?" 
   "The Clarkson House," I slurred, dropping my head between my hands.

   Suddenly, Esther and I were alone at the table together and I felt my eyes get teary. My exhaustion and misery had collided, with this awful result. She consoled me and I managed to pull it together by the time the object of my drunken unrequited love returned. He immediately began asking me what was wrong, and I insisted nothing.

   When we finally left, he walked us home. All I really remember about this trip was making some weird comment that didn't make sense that may or may not have included this little gem: "Sometimes I think that's the reason boobs exist, it's so fucking cold."  I don't remember what my reason for the existence of boobs was, but I do recall that my comment on the weather was completely unrelated to the beginning of the thought, and I got confused looks from both Esther and our male companion.
   When we got back home, he & I ended up outside alone together, and I started drunkenly rambling about how embarrassed I was and how unlike me this was, which is true. I know you're all remembering this ridiculous night and not believing me, but really guys, I'm not usually that girl.
   This conversation I remember little of, although I do recall saying something to the extent of "I'm kind of into you." and him offering some lengthy reply about having trust issues. The thought of someone explaining trust issues to me as I was unfamiliar with them was funny to me, and I may have laughed, which I'm sure was offensive and made him think I was even more of a crazy bitch than he already thought I was.

   I eventually went inside and totally fell apart, fortunately without witnesses. I realized suddenly that I was finally upset about the engagement I had been ignoring, as well as the fact that Bobby up & left for school without so much as a goodbye. Then, when I asked him if he was coming home for my birthday (which is on a Friday night, and it's barely an hour drive), he just said "No, I don't think I'm going to do that. This was especially offensive because I was 500 miles away for his past two birthdays, and I spent whole days and hundreds of dollars on public transportation to surprise him BOTH years. (And I bought him a good luck present for the coming year! It's this really awesome hat he would have totally loved. He isn't going to get it anymore though, because seriously, dick move. Times two.)

   I woke up the next morning and went to a job interview (I've been to 3 this past week!) and then went home and wrote an apology message via facebook for my drunken antics. I tried to sound as rational as possible, and explained my lack of emotional intelligence and how feelings confuse me and I need time to process them. I went on to say that, because I was drunk, rather than contain my emotions and determine where they were coming from, I simply started guessing out loud what the problem was, and projected my unhappiness onto him because he happened to be present.

   That was over 24 hours ago. No response yet. He thinks I'm a grade-A nutjob. There goes that, I guess.

   Next?