the big bitch.

This city is filled to the brim with strapping young gentlemen. I could take my pick from a vast array of breeds-- the fratties, the library inhabitants, my dearie co-opers, the displaced from CA (always wearing abundant amounts of clothing), the pre-meds, the pre-laws, the pre-don't-know-what-I'm-going-to-post-graduationers. I could probably even rob the cradle of some froshies. And, if they were drunk enough, or if I were drunk enough, I could probably nab any combination of them on any given weekend evening.

Seriously-- the places you unexpectedly meet babes. It's like grocery shopping. My 367 class in the Natty Sci building was like plucking ripe apples from their branches. Sit in the back of the auditorium and you can scope them out before they even see you, you can track their seating habits. After you have a general sense of their movements you switch to the front so you can peep back and get a decent look at their front. It's a win-win situation.....and who is it that still harasses me because there was some young gentleman I found attractive in that class?
"But LG, how could you possibly think he is cute?!"
"Well, because he kinda looks like me, dontcha think?"

Honestly, in a short two months this plethora of testosterone will be deleted from my life. Poof. Gone. Hasta luago. Au revoir. Um. When, again in my life, will I be surrounded with such a fine assortment of males? This thought is mildly frightening. No more of these pretentious when I raise my hand in class to answer a question I-say-the-same-thing-over-again-3x gentlemen. Those with an average high school GPA of 3.75. When will I ever be surrounded by so many attempted-over-achievers again?

This is all leading up to the big bitch. Just as some people have mastered beer-pong I am in the process of refining my passive aggressive behavior, I am taking the indirect route of complaining in hopes that it will lead to a decreasement in my annoyance. My disclaimer is that I realize there are two sides to this situation (thanks for instilling that quality in me, mum) but it's my blog, it's my life, and therefore I'm only looking at my side under these circumstances. If you have a problem with that you can take it up with my pasty white paranoid American ass.

I can take this. Yes, that's right. I can take it. Look at me go. See me go? I've been doing it. So patiently. So diligently. I've been such a lady about turning down opportunities. The advances of adorable French froshie have been somewhat painfully difficult to avoid. He's.so.damn.little.and.naive.and.cute. Really. Last year, in a heartbeat, I would have invited him to a Owen party. And then I probably would have snogged him. (and then maybe he would have hated me but at least I would have gotten to snog him) Or I would have invited Poli Sci Babe over for a movie and we probably would have cuddled. And good god I could certainly use a good cuddle or snog or a combination of other things. Could it be? I could I possibly be sexually frustrated? (is this what that feels like? ...nahhh it couldn't be.)

Excuses!

It's not that I even really mind. I rant about boys but I still have horses to ride. My irritation spawns from false hopes. Like, I would rather just not know; see, as much as I would like to know it's better that I don't know. SO DON'T FUCKING TELL ME. Please. Really, please. It's more the irritation from this that makes me upset with you. (yeah, yeah even if it's not in your control... but I'm not looking at the otherside so hah! I win.)

AVH-- I want you to tell me. Where is this going anyways? Excuses till 2008? Till I hit grad school, law school, dressage school? Excuses till you go back to the RSA? Is it waiting until the next time I see you? Waiting until someone better comes along? How long am I waiting to figure out what the hell is going on? So what- I'm not being stopped from what I'm going to do but I still wonder about how you fit into all of this. I need something tangible.


Ok I'm finished ranting (for now).