Something I Secretly Want To Do

I’m just going to throw this out there, no explanations or anything:

            I want to get dressed up, with advice from my friends on how to look hot. I want to drink some alcohol. Then I want to go to a real college party. I want a guy to offer to get me a beer, or show me how to take a shot like they do in the movies (with the lemon and the salt). I want to get mildly drunk and dance with the guy I’ve had a crush on for the past two years (whom I haven’t spoken to in the past year and a half). And I want to tell him that I like him. Maybe I want to kiss him. Then I want to leave and go to sleep and suffer through my first hangover the next day.

            But first I want to lose ten pounds.

There you go. A glimpse into the secret desires of a twenty year old goody-two-shoes.

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Miss Jone’s Night Out – Part 2 (fiction)

            Brooke is the first to arrive at 591 Yeti Drive Apartment B and is ushered into the house by a half-dressed Pam. At least, Brooke thinks she is half-dressed until she realizes that what she thought was a sparkly shirt is actually a very, very short dress. Her hair is still in curlers and she’s holding a damp toothbrush, she’s smiling but clearly surprised by Brooke’s punctuality. Being late is something Brooke avoids at all costs, because it could lead to a variety of embarrassing situations. But occasionally, Brooke reminds herself, being on time can be even more awkward.

            “Hey girl,” Pam says brightly and glances at Brookes outfit raising one eyebrow and pursing her lips slightly.

            “Hey,” Brooke draws out the word because she doesn’t know what else to say.

            Pam’s apartment matches her personality exactly. The standard white walls are covered by sheets in shades of yellow and orange and fake bunches of flowers in clear vases add a splash of red. It should look very messy, but something about it a perfect balance between fun, stylish, and put together. Just like Pam. Brooke is envious as she thinks of her bland beige walls and her equally boring personality.

            “So, we are going to this club called Vortex. It’s ladies night, so drinks are half price!” Pam says excitedly, a bit too thrilled in Brooke’s opinion, but she decides to play along.

            “Oh, fun,” she says with feigned enthusiasm, although she’s doubtful she’s fooling anyone.

            A knock on the door breaks the silence and Mary comes in before anyone has a chance to respond.

            “Hello ladies! Who’s ready to get drunk?” Clearly the life of any party, Mary pulls a small silver flask from her shiny red purse.

            “Wooo! I know I am! You look gorgeous as always my dear!” Pam looks over Mary’s stunning outfit – a tight leopard print dress with red stilettos – before grabbing the flask and taking a long drink.

            She hands the flask to Brooke, who takes it with a look of surprise that neither girl notices as they hug and check each other’s makeup. In the span of two seconds a million things race through Brooke’s head before her hand lifts and she takes a sip of the bitter liquid. The warmth races down her throat and she hands the flask back to Mary who takes a drink and cheers loudly. Brooke’s not sure exactly why, but within a few seconds the three of them are laughing hysterically.

            When they all calm down Mary turns to Brooke and looks her outfit over. Brooke knows she’s not the most fashionable person, but she was pretty proud of her outfit of tight, dark wash skinny jeans and flowy shirt that shows just a bit of cleavage.

            “Honey, that would be an adorable outfit for the office, but tonight we are going to party like there’s no tomorrow! Let’s go find you something sexy.” Pam nods and the two girls lead Brooke down the hall without another word.

            “I think I’ve got the perfect thing,” Pam says as she rifles through her closet. Mary is looking through the bin of shoes in the corner, and Brooke is standing tentatively in doorway like a deer in headlights.

            “What size shoe are you?” Mary is throwing shoes on the bed, unable to find any of the matches.

            “Um, eight.” Brooke wishes she could come up with something else to say, but that’s all she’s got. And she’s really wishing she could have another sip of whatever’s in that flask.

            “Perfect!” Pam pulls a flowy white dress from the closet with a triumphant smile. It is beautiful, but Brooke is wondering how it is possibly going to cover her curvy ass.

            “Wow. It’s gorgeous, but I’m not sure if it will fit.”

            “It’s stretchy. I swear, it’s going to look great,” Pam says as she hands the dress Brooke and Mary holds up a pair silver platform heals.

“Girls, you look fabulous! If I weren’t gay I think we would be having a threesome tonight.” Kent jokes as they walk from the parking lot to the club. It’s getting cold outside and could start raining at any minute. “It’s nice to see you outside of the office, Brooke. You should come out with us more often.”

            “Let’s see if she even survives a night with up first.” Brooke knows that Mary is only kidding, but she’s afraid of how true the statement might end up being by the end of the night.

            The club is all pulsing lights and loud music with the base turned up way too high. The sight of people dancing reminds Brooke of the one thing that she is more worried about than getting drunk: her horrible lack of dancing abilities. She exhales in relief when her group heads straight to the bar and orders a round of shots.

            The girls all head to the restroom, which gives the alcohol a bit of time to take effect. By the time Brooke hits the dance floor, her anxiousness has toned down a bit and she can dance with less inhibition than when she’s sober. Her dancing is still awful compared to everyone else in the room, but Brooke is happy with the improvement.

            A few songs in, two very fine guys start dancing with Mary and Pam, Kent is chatting with a few friends he ran into, and Brooke decides that a trip to the bar would be a better choice than dancing awkwardly by herself.

            “I’ll have a … um… Mojito?” Brooke says the first thing that comes to mind. She’s not sure what a mojito is, but she likes the sound of it. She pays and takes a sip of the cool liquid. Not bad, Brooke thinks as she takes a look around the club. There are about twice as many girls, but there are some very good-looking guys.

            She catches snippets of the conversation the men are having to her left, something about football or hockey, or something like that. Most of the girls in the club are dressed so scantily that Brooke’s dress looks conservative, even though it’s probably the most skin she has ever shown away from the beach.

            Brooke is wondering how people end up so sweaty from dancing, when she sees a familiar head of messy ash blond hair across the club. She would recognize this person in a state of utter drunkenness. It’s the guy whom she has secretly pined over for two years: Peter Raveniss. Tall, handsome, and funny. The whole package, in Brooke’s opinion.

            She quickly sucks down the rest of her drink, giving her a brain freeze, and rejoins her work friends, careful to stay out of Peter’s line of vision.

Miss Jones’ Night Out – Part 1

Note: I expect this to be about a three-part story, and I hope to post all parts within the next week our two (ok, make that 3 or 4 weeks, summer break is more time-consuming than expected!). I hope you enjoy it!

Miss Jones’ Night Out – Part 1

            It is the seventh of May and Brooke Jones sits on the back porch of her house watching the clouds roll in off the horizon. The likelihood of rain in the next few hours is high, according to the weather report and anyone with common sense.

            Miss Jones, as they call her at work, is making lists in her head. What she wants to accomplish over the summer, what she is going to do to get in shape, witty things to say to Peter if she should happen to see him, items she needs to buy at the grocery store and the mall. The lists run together in her mind and get tangled until she has to close her eyes and shake the nonsense from her head. She knows that no matter how many lists she makes she will not accomplish what she hopes to, she will not get in shape, and if she should see Peter she will do what she always does – pretend not to see him until he’s right in front of her and then give him a shy smile to acknowledge his existence. She knows that he will never realize how badly she wants him.

            A phone rings in the house and Brooke waits a few seconds before pushing herself out of an old lawn chair and starts toward the phone. Brooke has never been a fan of phones. They allow for the possibility of too many awkward moments. There are plenty of embarrassing moments outside of the house, no need to create more. This is Brooke’s reasoning as she picks up the phone and answers with a sunny “hello” and a big smile.

            “Hello, Miss Jones.” It’s Pam, a new friend from work, and she has a playful tone in her voice. Brooke raises an eyebrow in suspicion even though there is no one around to see it.

            “Well, hello Miss… um…. hello Pam,” Brooke blushes as she realizes that she doesn’t actually know Pam’s full name, there goes another awkward moment to add to the list. But Pam just laughs good-naturedly and continues.

            “So, Mary, Kent, and I are going out for drinks tonight and we think you should join us.” Brooke hesitates for a second and Pam adds, “it will be fun.” Brooke does not doubt that Pam and the others will have fun, although she believes that her presence might dampen their fun, but she is not so sure that she will have fun. Rarely invited out, Brooke usually jumps at the chance, but drinks are a different matter.

            In her entire twenty-four years of life Brooke has drunken alcohol exactly three times. The first time she was 14 and camping with her parents. Her mother offered her a taste of wine and, despite her better judgment, Brooke took a tentative sip. The smell, the taste, everything about it repelled her. The second time was at her cousin’s wedding in which she was a bridesmaid and felt it necessary to take a sip of champagne after the toast out of politeness. The third time was when she was a junior in college and finally worked up the courage to go to a real party. She was so nervous and eager to have a good time that she drank a beer, three shots, and some mixed concoction with mystery contents. She had fun all right, for about two hours. Then she embarrassed herself more in thirty minutes than she typically does over the course of a year. She threw up, left the party, went straight to bed, and threw up again in the morning. This occurred roughly two months before her twenty-first birthday, which she celebrated by going to a casino and spending a few dollars on the slot machines rather than partaking in the more popular birthday festivities.

            Despite her dislike for the taste of alcohol, fear that she will become a heavy drinker like much of her family, and worry that she could ruin her night and her friends’ night, Brooke has a rush of excitement as she thinks of all of the possibilities that the night could hold.

            “Ok. Yah, that does sound fun.” She lets the words escape from her mouth before she has a chance to stop herself.

            “Great! We’re all meeting at my house around nine, let me give you the address.” Brooke jots down the directions, trying to steady her shaking hand. The possibilities running through her head now are nothing worth getting excited over. Part of her is glad she said yes before her overactive imagination paralyzed her with fear. The other, larger part, is cursing at her in a state of panic wishing she’d taken more time to think this through. But as Brooke hangs up the phone she is genuinely smiling.

After a long shower and an hour of trying to figure out what to wear, Brooke stands in front of her bathroom mirror with her small collection of makeup. She never wears more than a bit of mascara and a smudge of lip gloss to work, so she doesn’t want to show up in full makeup and shock everyone, but she doesn’t want to look like she does every day. It takes twenty minutes, but Brooke finally gets her eyeliner perfectly symmetrical and her lashes full but not clumpy. This effort leaves her frustrated, so she hurriedly brushes on some powder that’s a bit darker than her pale skin and applies a natural pink lipstick.

            She stands back, looking at herself in the mirror, and can’t help but smile at the improvements. In college she would get dolled up all the time in the hopes that her latest crush would notice her, he never did. Brooke decided a few years ago that it doesn’t matter how pretty she makes herself look, guys will not like her. Tonight, she’s hoping that this really isn’t true.

            Slipping on a pair of modest heals and grabbing her purse, Brooke takes deep calming breaths and tells herself that she’s going to have a great night. As she drives to Pam’s house, she makes a list in her head of everything she should keep in mind during the night: no shots, no mixed drinks, no dancing on tables, no dancing at all, no laughing too loud, no throwing up.

Another Post About That Guy I Can’t Stop Thinking About

            I really need to be studying for my upcoming statistics test. But I cannot concentrate at all. I keep thinking about a guy. I thought maybe I’d gotten past him, but then I noticed him at the volleyball game last night and haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

            Now, don’t get the idea that there was actually something between the two of us. Only in my dreams. But I’ve had a huge crush on him for the past year. I don’t believe in love at first sight, because I think that’s too superficial to mean anything; but I’ve liked him pretty much since I met him. We had a class together last year, and I talked to him more than I talk to most guys. Which still isn’t much, but it’s not like I am just in love with some random guy who has no idea who I am (oh, I’ve done that before too).

            I don’t know why, but I’m just really attracted to him. I almost never run into him anymore. I think the last time we said hi to each other was a month ago, and it’s been like six months since we had an actual conversation. But still, I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve tried, trust me. Especially when I heard that he can party pretty hard (I’m trying to avoid guys who drink a lot because I have way too much of that in my life already because of my family). But, seeing as I’m in college, it’s kind of hard to find guys who don’t drink.

            It seems like I’m just not going to forget about him. I’m fine with that. But it would be nice if I could see him without feeling like my heart is longing for some great missing piece. Sorry for being a drama queen. But I must add that he has the most amazing eyes ever and I find myself just thinking about looking into them. Yes, the mind of a teenage girl is a strange place.

Attraction

            The other day a friend of mine brought something to my attention that I had never before realized: I think too much. Now, I don’t really think this is a bad thing. I enjoy questioning everything, and I like the fact that my brain seems to be in good working order. But, it does get in the way sometimes. Like when I’m trying to sleep and I can’t stop thinking about why certain people believe the things they do, or when I’m contemplating why the sky is blue. And I’m not talking about what makes the sky look the way it does, but I’m talking about who decided to call that color blue. And who decided where blue ends and green starts. And who decided that those things should be called colors, and how the hell did they come up with the idea of paint!? You see, it gets very complicated in my brain.

            So, one thing I’ve been way over thinking this week is attraction. Why am I attracted to different guys than my roommate? We are both relatively shy, have similar political views and morals. Yet I’m attracted to red-heads, guys who wear glasses, curly hair, guys who do well in school and make a solid effort (my list goes on and on). My roommate on the other hand likes the tall dark handsome type. Who doesn’t? But I look at the guys she likes and I think they are really attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. My roommate, however, doesn’t see anything in the guys I like.

            One example of how our taste in men varies is age. You’d think two 19-year-old girls would have about the same standard for guys, but we shockingly don’t. My friend (we’ll call her Monica) says she would date a guy as long as he was ten years younger than her dad… that would be about 40 years old. I almost choked on my soda when she said that. 40!!!! Forty years old! We are only 19, and she would date someone more than twice her age? This seems absolutely absurd to me. My roommate wasn’t nearly as shocked as me, and she professed that she would date a thirty year old. Again, to me this sounds ludicrous. Thirty is old, no offense to anyone. Is it so much to ask that I find a guy who is within four years of my age? That sounds very reasonable to me (although, it’s not exactly true. I would date a guy four years older than me, but only two years younger than me). And honestly, why would a thirty year old guy want to date a 19-year-old girl. I understand the whole thing about guys being pigs who just want to get into whichever pants belong to the hottest girl (ok, that’s stereotypical, but you know what I mean). But there is a difference between just getting with someone and actually being in a relationship. I have a thirty year old brother, so I know that they aren’t always as mature as you’d expect, but they have a certain maturity that most nineteen year old girls don’t have. I mean, I’m a really responsible and grounded person, but I’m very immature. To be fair, I haven’t polled any single thirty year old guys, so I’m not saying that they want to be with a 19-year-old girl. And none of my friends have gone out with guys more than a few years older than them. In fact, neither I nor my roommate have gone out with any guy…ever. Maybe my friends are just keeping all of their options open. They said that you never know who you are going to fall in love with. But please, if I fall in love with someone who is ten years older than me, please slap me.

            I’m done ranting about age. But I did have one more interesting observation to make. There is a perfectly good-looking guy in my geology class. I was looking at him on the first day of class. I assessed that he was technically cute but I wasn’t at all attracted to him. He looked a bit like the surfer type, his stance and his tan. So, I figured he was good looking but not my type at all. The next class I found out he was Brazilian, he’s here for the semester or maybe all four years, I’m not sure. The strange thing is that he instantly seemed more attractive. And day by day he is looking more attractive to me. I know, he still looks like the surfer type that I never fall for, but something about him is alluring. I think it is because he’s foreign, and part of me hopes that foreign boys aren’t like the guys here. Maybe they don’t like their girls five foot nine and size two, maybe they like short curvy girls who think too much and don’t talk enough. Unfortunately for me I don’t think I’m going to find that anywhere.

            Maybe girls all have different taste in guys. But in the end, whether they are old or young, nerdy or hot, United-Statesian or Brazilian, maybe all guys are really the same.

Abigail Brown: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

            Abigail turned back to her computer screen with a slight pang in her stomach. Better to get my hopes dashed now than to sit around thinking of his gorgeous eyes for two weeks with no hope, she thought as she returned to her email.

            “Oh hey, it’s you again. Angela right?” His voice broke was clearly directed at her, but Abigail paused confused for a moment.

            “Oh me? Yah, it’s, um, Abigail.” She trailed off as she looked into his blue eyes, maybe if I had a name like “Angela” I would have a boyfriend by now.

            Abigail was still staring at the door as it closed. She then proceeded to rest her sore head face down on her desk. She was about to reach into her desk draw for a sympathetic candy bar when a thought occurred to her. My name may not BE Angela, but he thought it was. So maybe I have to potential to be an Angela type of girl…

            Her mind wandered around the prospect of reinventing herself. Her name suited her perfectly, maybe too perfectly. What if she had been named Amber or Andrea, she wondered. How is it that I have a really nerdy name and I just happened to turn out really nerdy? She tossed around the idea of changing her name. But, she decided against it. After all, she didn’t hate her name, she hated her personality.