I Am King Jong il This Weekend

I'm So Ronery
So ronery
So ronery and sadry arone

There's no one
Just me onry
Sitting on my rittle throne
I work rearry hard and make up great prans
But nobody ristens, no one understands
Seems like no one takes me serirousry

And so I'm ronery
A rittle ronery
Poor rittle me

There's nobody
I can rerate to
Feel rike a bird in a cage
It's kinda sihry
But not rearry
Because it's fihring my body with rage

I'm the smartest most crever most physicarry fit
But nobody else seems to rearize it
When I change the world maybe they'll notice me
But until then I'rr just be ronery
Rittle ronery, poor rittle me

I'm so ronery

I Heart Stereotypes

The Middlebury Guy -

He wears a Northface coat and flannel underneath his shirt. He has dirty blonde hair and blue/green eyes. He's either tall and gangly or thick and bro-like. His name is Alex/Matt, and he takes at least one WAGS class during the semster. His sport of choice? Lacrosse or crew. His girl of choice? Asian, Asian, Asian. He also takes all the damn blueberry pancakes right in front of my face and has two glasses of milk with every meal. Initially interesting, but eventually boring.

~~

The Middlebury Girl -

She also wears a Northface coat over her t-shirt and leggings. She doesn't wear any pants though, just leggings/tights paired with Ugg boots. She has mouse brown hair or an artificially dyed blonde that is painfully obvious, and brown eyes. She only eats salad with no dressing at meals and takes art history classes. Maybe she even majors in Art History too. Either she has makeup caked on her face or she goes au naturel. Her name is Brittany/Anna/Sarah: Plain Pretty or Pretty Plain, but ultimately vapid.

~~

And don't even get me started on the Asian girls here @_@

Say Yes

I don't want to count how many times I see you per week. I don't want to be aware of how I laugh at your jokes and know that I should follow my flirtatious giggle with a hair toss/eye flutter/leg crossing. I don't want to calculate how long I should hold your gaze before saying hi. I don't want to strategize, or plan, or scheme, or do any of those ridiculous synonymous verbs that so many of my friends advise. They aren't necessary, are they? Why should I have to approach my sentimental state of mind like a general in a war meeting, placing blockades here and there, maneuvering several army units at once in order to trap you in the right time and place? That is not, and never will be, my style. In fact, I have no style.

I just want to like you. Is that so hard? Is that too revolutionary a concept? That I can simply express how I feel without stopping to consider if it fits into my Plan of Attack? I want to be able to stare at you if I want to, talk to you if I want to, laugh at your witticisms if I want to, wander around your hall if I want to, light up with you all the time if I want to! This shouldn't be so difficult. I don't want to think about how I want to kiss/caress/undress you in your room; I just want to do it.

In the words of Frenchie from Def Jam Poetry: "Fucking ain't conscious."

Get it?

Tell Me a Lie

Oh O*****.

You're so...pretty. I mean, you're cute too, but it goes beyond that word. You transcend conventional standards of aesthetics to this entirely new level of...godliness. Okay okay, I'm exaggerating. But still, you must admit, you're a lovely male specimen, better than what I've come across in a very long while. I'm surprised that guys and girls aren't constantly throwing themselves at you from all sides. However, I know more than a few people who wouldn't mind being alone with you in a dark corner of Bunker on a Friday night, myself included.

But that's where my infatuation stops. I found this out today at lunch, when you were sitting across from me and wincing at the sickening sweetness of dessert (lemon mousse. I enjoyed it, of course). You were being so funny too, and golden blonde tufts of hair peeked out from underneath the gray fedora you had on. I sneaked admiring glances at you from time to time and tried to imagine a few PG-13 rated fantasies. No go. I looked at you again, puzzled and confused. Why not? How could I not have cooked up a juicy scenario for the two of us? It didn't make sense until several hours later at dinner.

This time Karen was sitting across from me, and it was all I could do not to stare at her for the duration of the meal. When she laughed, I turned my neck so quickly towards her that it's a wonder I didn't get backlash. When she talked, I was all ears, hanging on her every word for dear life. I know I still like her even after November, but this past weekend's events reignited this dangerous, all-consuming passion I have for her. I'm hopeless. In any case, I was memorizing the outline of her profile and tracing the shape of her eyes on the palm of my hand, over and over, when it abruptly came to me: O***** is phenomenally good-looking and obnoxiously nice, and if he wanted a hook-up I would be only too happy to oblige. But I could never date him seriously. And therein lies the problem.

You see? I want an asshole. You can be mean, but there are lines you won't cross, lines that I've crossed and jumped and did a little dance on the other side. I need someone completely inappropriate and politically incorrect in the worst possible way, and you're not it. Such a shame though.

Also, and most importantly, I don't like you like that because you're my obstacle. My obstacle to the one I truly want right now: Her. HER. She wants YOU, and I want HER, and you're single now, and wouldn't it be beyond fucked up if you--by some freak accident--wanted ME???

Now that would be a TV show I would watch every week.

/Startling (But Not Really) Revelation

Sway

You were so drunk tonight that you danced with me. You danced with me. With Me. ME. You were the one who pulled me in, who swayed my way and enticed me to come a little further. Not me. Never me. After November and my disastrous confession at Bunker, I never expected anything out of you. I never thought--never, not even in my wildest dreams--that YOU would approach ME. I didn't believe it at first. I couldn't believe it at first. And you did it not once, but THREE times. THREE. Did you have ANY idea how I felt during those brief moments? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Why did you do that? Why did you let me touch you? Let me feel your body through the fabric of your dress? Let me put my hand on the small of your back and draw you close, as close as I dare? What are you trying to do to me? My eyes continuously traced the outline of your curvy silhouette, and you could have brought me to my knees when I pressed against your chest. Dear God, we were rubbing up on each other face-to-face! I couldn't even look at you without freezing up.

And then I watched you dance your way somewhere else and make out with a boy who had a fedora on and too much hair.

You sure know how to break a girl's heart and fuck with her mind. And it wasn't even the weed this time.

Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts

Moment 1:

You like him. A lot of people like him. I get it; I'll back off. I just think he's good-looking, is all.

Okay not really. This is so confusing because you two are the ones I want right now, and I have these little threesome fantasies where I'm in the middle, and we're in his room, but his room smells like yours, and I'm--

Okay stopping that particular train of thought now. Not good, never good. The inside of my head is currently a mess. Tell me what to do, someone, anyone. Tell me what and how to feel about this. I like you. And him.

...I need to stay away.

~~

Moment 2:

I purchased illegal substances. Hurrah. I'm a baaaaad girl. Now all I need is a lighter and a pipe. Screw you, joints! XOOO

And this is not an addiction if I'm not craving it every hour of the day. RIGHT? Wait, don't answer that.

~~

Moment 3:

Don't cry, Tia! You're supposed to be the strong one here who never gets hurt! Don't let this one boy get to you! And it's okay to get in too deep! Look at the people who are too emotionally stunted to do even that! (Dana and I) XDDDD Never give up!

Post-Valentine's Day

1. I have clear skin that is incredibly soft to touch.

2. I have smooth black hair that smells amazing after every shower.

3. I have disproportionally long legs for an Asian.

4. I have white, straight teeth.

5. I have a dimple on each cheek.

6. I am neither too skinny or too fat.

7. I am 5'4, which is the perfect height for someone my size.

8. I don't have the Flat Asian Butt.

9. I have an olive complexion.

10. I have wide hips.

At the conclusion of this carefully constructed list, I have managed to convince myself that I am not an ugly hag. I am good-looking. And well, someone else thought the same thing too tonight XD

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

wtf

For once, I got my dream schedule for a semester. AWWW YYYEEEHHH.

WRITING FICTION
INTERMEDIATE FRENCH
ITALIAN RENAISSANCE
HISTORY OF MODERN CHINA

I wiiiiinnnnn. EPICALLY. ^____________________________^

UUURRAAGGHH.

I'm going back to school tomorrow morning. It's in the 50s here in Georgia. I checked Vermont's weather for Saturday; it's the 10s.

Someone, ANYONE, give me a reason to STAY HERE PLZ FOR THE LOVE OF GOD O_O

Once More, With Feeling

He nuzzles my neck and grabs my breast. His shallow breaths betray the excitement and lust he so coolly tried to play off earlier, when he first began. At one point, he inserts his tongue in my mouth, and it slithers about crevices I'm not even aware I have. Slick and squirming, this strange, unknown organ proceeds to sluice my lips in saliva as it slides out, finding a new spot to lick. He whispers flattery into my ear, and I can feel the erection through his pants.

And I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The nether regions of my body are as dry as the Sahara--not even a throb. I know he can sense my lack of enthusiasm, and eventually he'll ask about my less-than-lukewarm responses to his ardent advances. I don't know what to tell him. I won't know what to tell him. Poor boy. ...Wait, what am I saying? Poor me. I'm the victim here.

I blame it all on Eric Gautier. He's the one who made me this way: passionless and cold. I can't even tell this current boy how I see potential in us, that we should continue to meet, that no I don't want to see you with other girls. Instead I pull back and put up my tried-and-true defenses, pretending to be the distant, mean-hearted bitch who doesn't care at all if you see other people or not. The words tumble out of my mouth while my mind kicks back on autopilot and watches another almost-something fall apart before it even has the chance to get off the ground. "No, you and I should totally see other people. This is no big deal at all. Oh, how do I see you? What do I think of you? Well, I see you as a friend. Is that the answer you were looking for?"

That's right people. I'm calm. I'm cool. I'm collected. I'm that casual girl who's always up for a hookup, with no lingering attachment afterward. So go ahead. Do whatever you want with me, and when you're through, don't even bother asking if I'm okay with this because you know what I'll say? YES. I'll lie to myself and say YES.

Why can't I open up? Why am I so scared of being hurt again that I've closed myself off to letting anyone get close to me, despite the cries for a true romance my subconscious makes? I can't seem to expose myself anymore. I'm not willing to let myself be vulnerable again to another heartbreak. I don't want to seem clingy and desperate. This is why I feel nothing, even when it's with someone I like.

Oh, I hope there's someone who can let my guard down.