I like his smile. It makes my igloo of a heart melt. It's so symmetrical and pretty... his smile, not my igloo-heart, that shit's pretty mangled by now--my heart. Actually, I don't think I ever saw him not smiling... well, at least never with a scowl... I think? I don't know... it's been a while... a long long while... like, a "while" that makes me think "why the fuck... are you still talking about this dude's smile, retard?"
I don't know... but DUDE! He had dimples. Has? I don't know about those tense shifts... it's not like he's dead... or as if dimples disappear... then again, I probably say it because in my memory, he has dimples... and maybe in real life they're not as pronounced as they appear in my mind.
You know what I DON'T remember? His voice. It's like... I'm watching a silent film the entire time he pops into my head. I don't think I'd be able to pick it out in a crowd, his voice... you know, how some people's voices make your erector pili go crazy the second you hear it? Eretor pili... now there' a word I never thought I'd be using ever again. Erector pili. Mmm... histology, why weren't more classes like you?
I liked his skin, too... on him, of course. None of this crazy "Silence of the Lambs" type bullshit (oh man, or one of my friend's short stories, not calling it bullshit, just saying whenever I mention skin I freak out a little... because I'll always remember her story about making "skin cookies." The thought made me laugh... but each time I think too in-depth about skin, I think of baking human skin in an over, in the shape of stars--why stars? I don't know-- and then offering others a "skin cookie." It's a trip. Each time you see me shudder at the sight of a Proactiv commercial, know THAT crossed my mind). No, no, I mean... I remember it being pretty flawless... and pretty. He was a very pretty dude... even if I hate referring to men as "pretty," it's quite emasculating, right? But I mean... sometimes you find guys that strike you as... very pretty... like a well-lit crystal-glass display at Macy's.... you just have to stop and stare... probably while initially holding your breath. Can I touch it?!
And he was tall... I think? I think I had to tilt my head up a bit to talk to him... I think? Oh man... they make supplements for faulty memories, right? I need to get on that... the supplements, that is. But yeah, I can't tell you how tall he was, I just remember it was like... Goldie Locks... like when she finds Baby Bear's stuff. Just right, dude. No need to change a fucking thing, man... about his height or anything, man.
And when he'd talk, he'd always put his hands in his pockets... all endearing and shit... doing that shoulder shrug thing... all cute... and distracting.
I have this really vivid memory of bumping into him after this wretched Biochemistry exam. I recall what I was wearing... because I remember feeling like an idiot-- red tank with black over-shirt (because I've always dressed like a damn Mexican Mormon), and my most loathed pair of pants EVER because they were so light in color. I don't even know why the fuck I purchased those hideous pants. But guess where they are now, these pants? In my closet in Mexico, where I leave my clothes to die... preferably by getting ingested by huge, gross rats that break into the house. Fuck those pants, man. Anyway, I was walking out of the building, fighting back tears because I knew I fucked up on the test... then boom, right in front of me, there he was. My exasperation over my inability to recall the four codons for valine (or whatever other stupid amino acid it might have been) vanished as soon as I recognized who the dude removing his earphones to start talking really was. !@#$%^&! STUPID STUPID STUPID STUUuuu... Hhhhhhi... It made my day. It always did. It always does? Yeah. It still does.
Why don't I feel like that with other dudes? Why can't I think that highly about other dudes?
I'm going to be a fucking nun, aren't I?
Shit.
Someone had some late night patron shots with her mother...
I'm sure I'll have a great morning.
I don't know... but DUDE! He had dimples. Has? I don't know about those tense shifts... it's not like he's dead... or as if dimples disappear... then again, I probably say it because in my memory, he has dimples... and maybe in real life they're not as pronounced as they appear in my mind.
You know what I DON'T remember? His voice. It's like... I'm watching a silent film the entire time he pops into my head. I don't think I'd be able to pick it out in a crowd, his voice... you know, how some people's voices make your erector pili go crazy the second you hear it? Eretor pili... now there' a word I never thought I'd be using ever again. Erector pili. Mmm... histology, why weren't more classes like you?
I liked his skin, too... on him, of course. None of this crazy "Silence of the Lambs" type bullshit (oh man, or one of my friend's short stories, not calling it bullshit, just saying whenever I mention skin I freak out a little... because I'll always remember her story about making "skin cookies." The thought made me laugh... but each time I think too in-depth about skin, I think of baking human skin in an over, in the shape of stars--why stars? I don't know-- and then offering others a "skin cookie." It's a trip. Each time you see me shudder at the sight of a Proactiv commercial, know THAT crossed my mind). No, no, I mean... I remember it being pretty flawless... and pretty. He was a very pretty dude... even if I hate referring to men as "pretty," it's quite emasculating, right? But I mean... sometimes you find guys that strike you as... very pretty... like a well-lit crystal-glass display at Macy's.... you just have to stop and stare... probably while initially holding your breath. Can I touch it?!
And he was tall... I think? I think I had to tilt my head up a bit to talk to him... I think? Oh man... they make supplements for faulty memories, right? I need to get on that... the supplements, that is. But yeah, I can't tell you how tall he was, I just remember it was like... Goldie Locks... like when she finds Baby Bear's stuff. Just right, dude. No need to change a fucking thing, man... about his height or anything, man.
And when he'd talk, he'd always put his hands in his pockets... all endearing and shit... doing that shoulder shrug thing... all cute... and distracting.
I have this really vivid memory of bumping into him after this wretched Biochemistry exam. I recall what I was wearing... because I remember feeling like an idiot-- red tank with black over-shirt (because I've always dressed like a damn Mexican Mormon), and my most loathed pair of pants EVER because they were so light in color. I don't even know why the fuck I purchased those hideous pants. But guess where they are now, these pants? In my closet in Mexico, where I leave my clothes to die... preferably by getting ingested by huge, gross rats that break into the house. Fuck those pants, man. Anyway, I was walking out of the building, fighting back tears because I knew I fucked up on the test... then boom, right in front of me, there he was. My exasperation over my inability to recall the four codons for valine (or whatever other stupid amino acid it might have been) vanished as soon as I recognized who the dude removing his earphones to start talking really was. !@#$%^&! STUPID STUPID STUPID STUUuuu... Hhhhhhi... It made my day. It always did. It always does? Yeah. It still does.
Why don't I feel like that with other dudes? Why can't I think that highly about other dudes?
I'm going to be a fucking nun, aren't I?
Shit.
Someone had some late night patron shots with her mother...
I'm sure I'll have a great morning.
1 comment:
I'm sorry about the skin cookies. That is why I do not write anymore (at least not that way.) But.. I am confident there is at least one more male on this planet who will make you feel that way, or at least come close.
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