The Adult Crush.

That's today's quandary. And yes, it needs to be Capitalized. For in today's global climate of political chaos, preventable diseases and untold human suffering, it is often difficult to establish just where your priorities lie. Obviously, I am a shallow, narcissistic asshat. Or something. But this issue has reared its LA-Gear-wearing, Tiffany-listening, side-pony-tail-sporting, NKOTB-obsessed-head lately, and I thought that I might explore it here for a moment. Remember when it was simple to establish if someone liked you or not? A boy would pull your hair and ask you to marry him in one fell swoop. The girls would gaggle together in a seething mass of giggles and coyly glance at the "stud" with the rats-tail and the kicky Nike Pumps and you'd be "going out" by the end of recess. *sighs*

Oh the me of yester-year.... If I had the chance, would I tell the Me of Then what lies in the imminent future? Would I kill the innocence that lay in the belief that the boy you love at 15 might not be who you would still love at 20-something? That the big bad "D" word might not be such a sucktastic thing? That you might be dating again in your late 20's after having been so far out of the game for so long that not only do you not remember the rules, but you're kind of hazy on the concept as a whole?

Which brings me back {finally} to the original query: the A.C.

What happens when you like a boy and you are sort of beyond the stage where it's kosher to send your bestest friend over with a note asking him
"Do you like me or like like me? Check yes or no.".
And by beyond that stage, I mean that people your age have kids who are actually AT that stage. *sighs* And what happens if this person is not so much in your current social circle, but rather someone who is a throwback to days gone by?

Do you:

(a) Covet him from afar, secretly holding on to hope that he will embody the concept of osmosis and figure it out for himself?

(b) Cyber stalk him on Facebook, Classmates or some other such venue? {more to come on this topic, people}

(c) Try and figure out a way to finagle an accidental-on-purpose meeting in order to test your theory that kismet has you and him k-i-s-s-i-n-g-ing in a tree?

(d) Create a diversion, and pretend that it's all a dream? A sordid, slutty dream. {*ahem, N*}

(e) Act like the grown-up you are not and pick up the telephone like a functioning member of society?

I'm torn between (a) & (b). You?

Boo & Hiss...

Did you know that it was March Break?
Did you?
Because if you did and you thought it would be all snickery not to tell me that "outside" would be virtually infested with sniffling, flu-ridden, sticky-handed, bad-attituded un-accompanied minors, I will hunt you down and play you my epic tape collection {think Colour Me Bad and Dino and commence the crying now}.
Did I mention that those minors gobbled up all the Via Rail tickets to Kitchener? Now, you might say something moronic like, perhaps Andrea, it would have behooved you to look into the ticket thing before today. But then, as I believe I have mentioned, you would be le moron, because when do I ever do anything before the very lastest minute? The answer: never, Alex, never.
I do not work well until the pressure is at a lava-flowing-and-eclipsing-Pompeii-in-a-fireball kind of level.
*sighs*

I have to go....I smell burning.....

Missing: one internal compass......

Oh and btw, if you should find it, please pick it up and put it in your pocket and hand it to me directly, because God only knows that I will not be able to understand your directions. Now, I firmly believe that we all have talents, some more than others {and to be generous, I count simply breathing some days}, but understanding the whole "Directionality" concept is not one of mine. And although I am fond of the giggle, love me my funny, I am so not joking here. Note the distinct lack of jest in my tone. When I say that I am geographically challenged, people, I really mean that I should be confined to the short bus. With a harness.
Last night, I was attempting to give Boy directions to D.'s house so that we can go to London from there. And because she has known me for longer that the requisite minute, she knew that this was a challenge that I was incapable of rising to. As I was perusing the e-mail that she forwarded on, I was struck by just how ignorant I actually am when it comes to having a clue where things are. Now, I lived in KW for years {years, people...}, & except for that unfortunate hermit-esque phase, I went out. Did things. In places, even. And yet, I have NO idea where anything is.
These are actual conversations that I have had in the past week or so. Behold, it is I, Dumbass...

Boy: What road are we on?
Me: Ummm {gives him a condescending look}, this one. *sighs*

Boy: Where is the sushi place that you wanted to go to?
Me: It's on, well, near the road that goes to Square One {bonus points for location}, in a strip mall {high five me!}, near a grocery store with green in the sign {this is going downhill...}
Boy: Green, you say? Any idea what the restaurant is called?
Me: Something Japanese-y?
Boy: *beats head off dashboard in abject horror*

Me: Are you coming down to B-dot?
Boy: You mean up, asshat. {he may or may not have actually used that "term of endearment" but we all know that's what he was thinking}
Me: {all confused and doe-eyed} No, down.
Boy: *sighs* Oh, Andrea. B-dot is up from London. Actually, it is North and slightly ...{I begin to hear show-tunes in my head as a defence mechanism to protect my brain from the impending hemorrhage}
Me: So you are up-down from me?
Boy: {looks around for the shot-gun to put "me" out of his misery}. Oh Andrea

Oh, Andrea, indeed....

To break the proverbial ice....

And so, this quest begins. I'm wicked late to this game, which wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me, as I am capable of bringing the concept of time to it's knees. I have toyed around with the idea of keeping some sort of a written journal since I was about ten, and am going to give this another shot. I was a little prejudiced against the whole "compy" concept thing for a long time but as I am a convenience whore, this appeals to me more and more. So, I guess we shall see.
The following is going to make me sound, ummmm, slightly cynical {in the same way George Bush sounds slightly in need of a helmet and a drool guard} but in truth, the concept of love is not sullied for me. I'm at the point in my life where I believe that love exists but it's a far cry from the roses-and-candy-hearts-i-love-you-no-i-love-you-more kind of shit that naively was once my mantra.

From: N.
To: A. & W. & G & L.
Subject: From the WTF files

"Wishing you ever-lasting love and all the magic it brings"

a co-worker wrote this in a card to another co-worker who's getting married.

From: W
To: N. & A. & G. & L
Subject: From the WTF files

…Yak

From: N.
To: W & A & G. & L.

....i know. i'm feeling fairly queasy myself..

From:A.
To: N. & W. & G. & L.


That's like an "I just vomited a little in my mouth at your over-indulgent Hallmark-happy delusional verbal nonsense" kind of a moment, no? Magic? Not quite the word I would have used.
How about: I wish you patience and tolerance and all the ulcers that marriage will bring.
Or this gem: I wish you deafness and all the peace that it will bring.
Or even: I wish you sarcasm and the ability to wield a knife, and all the pleasure that might bring.
I am such a shining example of positivity today. Am almost glowing with the spirit of unity. *ahem*
Grins.
Andrea xoxox

From: N.
To: A.

I like your best-wishes sentiments better - truer to life than little miss fairy-dust over there...

From: A.
To: N.

I'm just hoping it was written by a single person or a newlywed, otherwise that shit isn't fairy dust... it's crack.

From: N.
To: A.

possibly a crack snorting single person or newlywed...

From: A
To: N

It's not only possible...it's probable.
It is truly a disgrace that we pump unsuspecting wedding happy people up with crack induced advice like this.
How about something helpful like:
You may still love them, but liking them? It comes and goes.
You will sit across the breakfast table from them and wonder: is it possible to gauge their eyes out with a mini-wheat?
And forget about running to them, arms out-stretched in a field of sunflowers to the tune of some cheesy 80's love ballad. After attempting to move furniture in a shared space, it's more like running, screaming, through a parking lot filled with broken glass to the tune of Marilyn Manson.
I certainly would have found that helpful at 18. Magic, my ass.
Love,
Andrea

Me, jaded? Never.....