Before you start pegging me into "that" category, let me state for the record that I loved him back when he was the nerd in "Can't Buy Me Love", so my admiration runs much deeper than when he showed up in a pair of scrubs and that hair with those eyes. When my sister and I talk about how he looks, I remind her that I loved him long before this. But I digress.
If my life were filmed in the context of how life really goes, I have some plots I'd like to submit: (in case my gig with the Tigers doesn't pan out)
The scene where I'm lying in bed with my athlete boyfriend, thinking of the boy in my Stats study group.
The scene where I'm lying in bed with my athlete boyfriend, thinking of the boy in my Stats study group.
He asks me what I'm thinking about, and I say nothing, but find a way to veer the conversation to Stats, then to the boy. "He's in love with you", he mentions, and maybe a little too quickly, I say, "You think"? He snickers and makes some snide comment, because it would never cross his mind that when you're lying there with him, you're thinking of Stats Boy. "You'd crush him". Turns out Stats Boy did the crushing, since ten years later, I'm still thinking of him.
The scene where I'm standing in a driveway with moonlight streaming down, half-listening to what a different boy is saying, but the final sentence, "...so what I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you.." actually causes a whiplash reaction in me, and my stunned response is, "no you aren't." And then when he moves in to kiss me, I turn and say that we need to go in, it's freezing out here. Then I lie awake on the couch all night, staring at the wall to his room, wondering if he'll come out and say it again, but he doesn't.
Instead a couple of nights later he calls at 3:34 a.m. and asks what I'm doing in a semi-hostile tone.
"Laying here, where is X (insert name of current fling)"?
"Don't even do that, this isn't my fault"
"What isn't your fault"? I even feign an innocent look, although no one can see it.
"Fuck this. I'm going to bed. With X."
"Have fun"
"I hate you, Jennifer"
"I hate me, too".
Click.
Then a couple of days later when he and I are playing basketball and he fouled me, instead of calling it, I just got back up.
Him: "That was a foul. Call it."
Me: "No blood, no foul. I'm not calling it, play".
The scene where I'm standing in a driveway with moonlight streaming down, half-listening to what a different boy is saying, but the final sentence, "...so what I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you.." actually causes a whiplash reaction in me, and my stunned response is, "no you aren't." And then when he moves in to kiss me, I turn and say that we need to go in, it's freezing out here. Then I lie awake on the couch all night, staring at the wall to his room, wondering if he'll come out and say it again, but he doesn't.
Instead a couple of nights later he calls at 3:34 a.m. and asks what I'm doing in a semi-hostile tone.
"Laying here, where is X (insert name of current fling)"?
"Don't even do that, this isn't my fault"
"What isn't your fault"? I even feign an innocent look, although no one can see it.
"Fuck this. I'm going to bed. With X."
"Have fun"
"I hate you, Jennifer"
"I hate me, too".
Click.
Then a couple of days later when he and I are playing basketball and he fouled me, instead of calling it, I just got back up.
Him: "That was a foul. Call it."
Me: "No blood, no foul. I'm not calling it, play".
The basketball bounced off my head.
Him: "Call it."
Me: "I guess you shouldn't go around hacking people, expecting them to call it and then getting pissed when they don't".
Him: "Game over"
Me: "You're quitting"?
Him: "Yep, I'm fucking quitting. You win".
Then that night at the bar, he caught me looking at him while he was sliding his arm around someone, so I picked out the person that I knew would most bother him and made nice for the rest of the night. Let him watch me for a while.
"What the hell are you doing" he asked as he came up behind me an hour later.
"Talking. You talk to people all the time. Maybe I want to talk to someone".
"You are a train wreck. Seriously, you should not be allowed out of the house".
"I know".
"Let's go" And then we got in the car and suddenly everything was back to normal.
"Poor Pretty Boy" he said when pulling into the driveway, "He has no idea what I saved him from"
"No, he doesn't. He owes you".
And I let the unspoken "No, I owe you" hang in the air and haunt me for years.
The scene where I'm caring for my friends four year old twins while watching Big A play ball, and letting them amuse themselves by climbing in and out of the moon-roof. Don't judge me; there isn't anything in the owner's manual that indicates this could be a problem.
"Jenn, why is this seat here"? Asks L, sweetly, of the passenger seat.
Me: "What do you mean"?
L: "Who sits here"?
Me: "People. People sit there".
L: "Who"?
Me: "Well, you're sitting there".
L: "If I'm not sitting here, who sits here"?
Me: "Sometimes, I go to lunch with people, and they sit there".
L: "But nobody else sits here, right"?
Me: "Have you been taking classes regarding emotional abuse from my Grandma"?
L: "Who is your Grandma? Does she sit here"?
Me: "Never mind."
Moments pass.
L: "So, who is going to sit here"?
Me: "Maybe I will, L. Maybe someday, someone else will be driving, and I'll be sitting there."
L: "Who else would drive"?
Me: "Someone. Maybe. Someone".
L: "Oh, my mom".
Me: "Yes, most likely, your mom".
Because that is the realistic ending. Her mom and I, 80 years old, kicking back margarita's, yelling at the kids to get off our damn lawn.
The bidding is open. Any buyers?
Him: "Call it."
Me: "I guess you shouldn't go around hacking people, expecting them to call it and then getting pissed when they don't".
Him: "Game over"
Me: "You're quitting"?
Him: "Yep, I'm fucking quitting. You win".
Then that night at the bar, he caught me looking at him while he was sliding his arm around someone, so I picked out the person that I knew would most bother him and made nice for the rest of the night. Let him watch me for a while.
"What the hell are you doing" he asked as he came up behind me an hour later.
"Talking. You talk to people all the time. Maybe I want to talk to someone".
"You are a train wreck. Seriously, you should not be allowed out of the house".
"I know".
"Let's go" And then we got in the car and suddenly everything was back to normal.
"Poor Pretty Boy" he said when pulling into the driveway, "He has no idea what I saved him from"
"No, he doesn't. He owes you".
And I let the unspoken "No, I owe you" hang in the air and haunt me for years.
The scene where I'm caring for my friends four year old twins while watching Big A play ball, and letting them amuse themselves by climbing in and out of the moon-roof. Don't judge me; there isn't anything in the owner's manual that indicates this could be a problem.
"Jenn, why is this seat here"? Asks L, sweetly, of the passenger seat.
Me: "What do you mean"?
L: "Who sits here"?
Me: "People. People sit there".
L: "Who"?
Me: "Well, you're sitting there".
L: "If I'm not sitting here, who sits here"?
Me: "Sometimes, I go to lunch with people, and they sit there".
L: "But nobody else sits here, right"?
Me: "Have you been taking classes regarding emotional abuse from my Grandma"?
L: "Who is your Grandma? Does she sit here"?
Me: "Never mind."
Moments pass.
L: "So, who is going to sit here"?
Me: "Maybe I will, L. Maybe someday, someone else will be driving, and I'll be sitting there."
L: "Who else would drive"?
Me: "Someone. Maybe. Someone".
L: "Oh, my mom".
Me: "Yes, most likely, your mom".
Because that is the realistic ending. Her mom and I, 80 years old, kicking back margarita's, yelling at the kids to get off our damn lawn.
The bidding is open. Any buyers?
6 comments:
The footballer & stats boy plot is my favorite one. ~B
I found this part cinematic:
"I hate you, Jennifer"
"I hate me, too".
Click.
Love that.
As an official agent-person-wanna-be I would proffer millions for all plots.
Productions with authenticity to not just the truth in life, but the ACKNOWLEDGEMENT of such truths would be lucrative, and not to mention great for our media based society.
That said, the contract would explalin (not in the small print area, but more in the first paragraph) that the last plot, more specifically the last three paragraphs will NEVER be uttered in my presence or the presence of anyone involved in the production of the feature, (big-screen or made for TV) including but not limited to: cast members, producers, directors, sound-crew guys, runners, costume designers, and... um.... gosh it is right on the tip of my tongue oh yeah, SCREENWRITER
(i.e. you)
You are amazing. Get used to it.
OMG JENN!!!!!! This blog gave me SO much anxiety!!!!! I can't even comment on this blog without pissing you off!!!!!!!
I laughed so hard when I read this. This is so L. You can actually see her mind working over her next question. And, yes, I think she takes emotional abuse classes from ALL of our grandmas. I almost asked you if I could drive the Pacifica last night when we went to the grocery store....lol
i liked the stats boy piece too...and of course, it makes me want to know more about that ending.
this is killer.
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