Attack of the Lycanthropic Theasaurus

Jeff Pollard
(Just to let you know, this story was written to turn into a workshop English class, just like the one in the story, and we workshopped it, and so to really get it, just imagine you are in a workshop English class and one of your classmates turned this in…and go)


Attack of the Lycanthropic Theasaurus

The first day of sophomore year brought quite a surprise. I walk into my English class, a few minutes late, it’s the first day so I am embarrassed as I find a seat in the small classroom. The teacher walks over and hands me the syllabus and I glance over it as he talks about it. I look around the room, and there she is. Seeing her forces a strong response in me. I try not to stare, glancing between her and the syllabus. She doesn’t once look at me. Bad sign. She had to see my conspicuous entrance, she has to know I am here. Bad News; We have to write stories for the class, and the class reads it, not just the teacher. Maybe I should drop. Or…if I was smart, I could try to get her back. She has to read my story, I could write it for her, make her understand. Yes! This is perfect. I will write the story, and it will show her who I really am, and make her understand what I did. I have two months to do it…I should start now, use that time to perfect it, get it good and ready, make it great…I can get her back.

Two Months Later

Well…my life is like a show on FOX, when good plans turn to crap and I screw myself over…or something like that. I have to turn in my story in about an hour and twenty three minutes…i.e. it is 10:37. I was going to write this exquisite story that would be so deep and prophetic and meaningful that I would instantly win her back. I had two months! Now I have an hour and twenty-three minutes…that’s enough time…I guess I’ll just have to try really hard. I better turn on music…music helps me think gooder…I didn’t just think the word gooder did I? WOW! I hope that isn’t a bad omen or something… Okay…got some music. And….GO…write…that isn’t working. Stupid blank screen. I need some food. Chips. No, candy…no, chips. Maybe if I turn the lights off…yeah…okay…GO…I have an hour and twelve minutes. How do I do this? Let me think this through.


It started with Brooke. I sat next to her in freshman history. We flirted most days, but I never had the courage to do anything. I was thinking about it. I talked to her online every once in a while. I liked her. I think I could have asked her out. That’s where I was. I wanted to ask our Brooke. Smart, funny…HOT. Then all of the sudden, its two in the morning on a Friday, my friends are all out of town, and I am just hanging out in the lobby, watching TV. No one is around, drunks stumble by every once in a while, but that’s about it. Then there she is. She sits next to me. She isn’t drunk. Marcella is her name. I have to admit, she isn’t the prettiest girl, and I wasn’t instantly attracted to her. We talked for a while, and then a while longer. She’s smart. We talk for two hours. Four in the morning now, I had mentioned to her that I had vodka in my room, waiting for a rainy day, and now she says she wants some. It’s four in the morning, and I feel like having some too, so it sounds like a good proposition. We head off to my room, where there is not a person around, suitemates went home, roommate is drunk or passed out at a frat party probably. She sits on my bed, and I sit at my computer just a foot or so away. We pass the bottle back and forth. We keep talking, she’s smart, we get along pretty well. Then she wants to watch a movie, so we look through my vast film library and settle on one. I put the movie in, and she lies down on my bed. I lay down, and not two seconds later, she is on top of me, and we’re making out. It was rather surprising I must say, but not unwanted, of course there was alcohol involved, so that could mean anything. She is smart enough (and probably soberer) to not go any further than that, and she leaves after a few minutes…it is almost five. So now, Marcella and I, it seemed so weird to say at the time, we were dating. It wasn’t till the next day that we chatted online and confirmed that we were indeed dating, I had just assumed. However, I wouldn’t see her again until Wednesday. On Monday, in History, Brooke is more flirtatious than ever, and I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never “dated” before…and I’ve only known Marcella for about a day and a half. So I flirt with Brooke just like every other day. Wednesday I meet up with Marcella again, and we just watch TV in her room with her roommate, I didn’t want more to happen, it was nice. By Friday, I am feeling rather unsure about the whole thing with Marcella. I feel confident about “us” when I am with her, all five hours or whatever it has been, but as soon as we are apart, I just feel weird. Friday, Brooke is just so damn overt about flirting with me, and I can’t stop myself from thinking that she is hotter than Marcella. I know it makes me a jerk, but, what am I supposed to do? Ignore all women cause I have a almost-girlfriend, a maybe, a possibly. Now I just think about going out with Brooke, maybe I should ask her out. But what about Marcella, I don’t have anything against her…just maybe not enough FOR her, so maybe I found somebody better, is that so bad? Maybe I ask Brooke out, maybe she says no and fixes this for me, or maybe it’s a yes and then I break up with Marcella. It won’t be that rough on her, it’s only been a week.

Seemed like a plan…however my idiocy combined with my procrastination (big surprise right) meant that I asked out Brooke a full two weeks after the decision, meaning I had been with Marcella for three weeks, the final two of which were spent with me basically not trying. Brooke says yes, outside of History, we figure out a date and time and activity. I figure, one date, make sure, then break up with Marcella. Date goes well with Brooke, and I break up with Marcella over the phone. So it goes pretty well with Brooke for a while, this relationship I am really enthusiastic about, this is better, I think. She is hotter, and maybe smarter…hard to gauge, but we get along. A couple weeks in, we are talking about our histories, all our exes, I only really have one to speak of. I tell her the story, and she asks why I broke up with her, and I, thinking it was a good answer, said because of you…baby. Then I was smacked in the face. Apparently…girls…think it’s bad that I saw something better out there and went for that instead…even if it’s her. I don’t get it at the time. Why would she not be flattered? It takes me a while to figure it out…she knows/thinks, that as soon as I see a better girl, I’m leaving her for the new girl. But…that’s not really how it happened…I mean…I liked Brooke first, I was thinking of asking her out, and then Marcella just kind of happened. Is it my fault that I temporarily fell for Marcella on the way to getting with Brooke?

Spring semester I spend girlfriendless, and I see Marcella all the time, same dorm. She never says anything to me, and I to her. I start to regret breaking up with her. It wasn’t so bad. I mean…Brooke wasn’t really much better…I was just more into that relationship…maybe if I gave Marcella a chance. A real chance, not just a week. I should ask her out, she would do it, I think she is lonely. I think about doing it. One day, right at the end of the spring semester, I about ask her, when I see her on the elevator…but she gives me this vile look. She hates me. The summer makes me lonely, and Marcella slowly goes from that girl that may not be all that attractive, to THE GIRL. All the good things I remember, I screwed it up, so what if she isn’t the hottest girl on campus, so what, now I see the good things so clearly. She was once the object I had and lusted over something else, now she is the object of lust. Fate is cruel.

And then, there she is, in my English class. Marcella. She isn’t attractive in the uber hot girl kind of way, but in the way that once you get to like her, she is attractive. Not too skinny, maybe her hair could be better, its cut way too short, and she vainly attempts to die it strange colors, I wish she left it long and brown. Over the two months of English, I start to find even her evil sneer enticing. Now I just wish I hadn’t left her…why did I do that? Oh ya, Brooke is hotter. We read Marcella’s story…she seems like one of those emo kids, you know, its about death and pain and how nobody likes her, stuff like that. Now I’m not sure if I even like her. I think that I tell myself things to think, and then I think them cause I wanted to think them, not cause I really think that way. Like…one thing I might be telling myself is that I like her because I feel bad…but that isn’t really why I think. Maybe it’s just that I can’t have her, so I want her. Surely you can find all sorts of reasoning, I couldn’t tell you why.

So, that brings us up to the present. Now…I have to tell that story in a way that makes me look good, and show her what I was going through, why I chose to do what I did, and why it wasn’t wrong. And then I get her back. I have to take artistic license though, not that I am an artist, and I only have about an hour left anyway. But I need to change things. And maybe…I need to have my character change for the better, that’s always in the movies, the main character pisses off the girl, then he changes for the better, realizes the err of his ways, and corrects it, and then he gets the girl…and they “do it”. No wait…those are usually like PG-13, ok so, they basically tell you that they “do it,” but in vague ways. Such as when the guy and girl have that deep moment near the end of the movie, and then you see them making out on a bed, and it cuts away…next scene is in slow-motion and they are holding hands, walking down the stairs, and their steps are in-sync. That means that they were “doin it.” I’m no expert, but slow-mo-in-sync-post-making-out walking is movie code for “doin’ it.” That’s how they get sex into movies without showing it or overdoing it. I need to do that in my story. I could just have sex scenes…they would think it is provocative, pushing the envelope, I would probably get an A. Just curse and have sex scenes, that’ll get me an A. Like I told my friend Chase, he had to do some stupid project about art as a revolution or something stupid. I told him to do a ten-minute black and white silent film of a girl crying, and Bogarting a cigarette, that is an instant A… Or maybe I could make it about lesbians or something…that would be cool. But…kind of off topic…like ALL THE WAY off topic. Okay…theme…the theme is that…I get her to like me again…no that’s the goal. The theme is that I have changed. Yeah that’s good. I wonder if anyone in the class will understand what I am trying to do. Hopefully they will just read it as a story, but Marcella will instantly recognize that it’s about us, and then she will change her mind. OH! Great idea, I should use really really ummm…complex…or uh…sophisticated words… I’ll just use the Theasaurus religiously…did I just say the word Theasaurus? Sounds like Lazarus. What’s Lazarus? Isn’t that like from Batman or something…or maybe it was Stargate…moving on. I need a refill, fridge run…ok…hmmm…where was I…I need new music. No…No…there we go. Oh…We saw this band together, it was like the only real date we went on. I got a t-shirt at that concert. I should wear that t-shirt the day of my workshop, another thing to nudge her along thinking about us. Maybe I should use song lyrics…like…I find meaning in them, and they help me change…I mean the main character. What should I name him? How about…something like my name…so like…James…Jam…James…Jamison… Jamie…isn’t that a chick name? Jamesis…weird name…oh I know…internet, find one of those baby-name websites, find one that has some deep meaning or something… something random I don’t care. So…to summarize…cause it makes me feel productive whilst I waste time. Change, Sex, Make Me Look Cool, Song Lyrics, uhhh… oh yeah and unleash the Theasaurus, they won’t know what hit em, with the ‘amiable’s and ‘ominous’s and ‘macabre’s, they’ll be looking stuff up left and right, make me sound smart hahahaha……..hahahaha. My didactic plans are going swimmingly. Hmmm fifty two minutes…I have written ?(looks at screen hopefully)…nothing. Okay…gotta start…need something cool to start with…like really descriptive…Lycanthrope…I had the word stuck in my head…totally random…I think it means werewolf or something… maybe I should use it in the story …or like…no that’s…that’s a terrible idea. Title…title…title…eh, I’ll figure that out later. I could work better if it wasn’t F-in Monday.





James Williams
Proffesor Voelkel
November 19th, 2007
Katarina, Katarina

It was a vibrant Friday in September. The walk to History was exceptionally elegant. An added bonus to the fine day was the fine girl I would find beside me in class. Her name is Courtney. Her flowing blonde hair was nothing short of spectacular, especially when she would turn her head quickly. That alluring, warm smile would compel you to smile back. That was the highlight of my Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Fridays’, sitting with Courtney, and flirting with her as lightheartedly as possible. She is a definite prospect. There are two other prospects. One is in the dorm, I played ping-pong and foosball with her, she seems pretty fun-loving. I toyed with the notion of courting her, but had yet to undertake such an endeavor. There was also a girl from my art class. Art girl had quite the artistic mind, and a stunning vernacular that appealed to my intellectuality immensely. However, ceteris paribus, Courtney most assuredly held the highest rung on my ladder o’ women.

(YES, I used that damn latin phrase we had to known in macro-econ…all else equal…something like that…I think I used it right…it works.)

History on Wednesday found me bored and confused, with no Courtney to speak to or look at, what a waste of a class period. The absence of my pseudo-girlfriend only serves to reinforce my yearn for her very presence. And hence, Friday’s class found me quite thankful to discover her cute little body gracing the chair next to mine whence I walked into ye olde classroom.

(What the hell, am I writing shakespear now? Motherffffshhhh…bah…no time…must keep going)

“T’is a fine day outside, wouldn’t you agree Miss Courtney?” I inquired of the lady beside me.
“Tis indeed,” Courtney replied sardonically, making fun of the way I talk…stupid Shakespear speak. I really do say Tis…and fairly often…I know, I’m weird.
“Got any plans for this weekend?” I ask the fine lady.
“Ya, I’m going home this weekend,” she replied, but her tone…I get the idea that she would have wanted to do something with me this weekend had she not made plans already. Good sign. I could ask about next weekend, just be forward about it…but no…I have to be stupid.
“I got nothing…to do that is, I think everyone is going home, stupid labor day,” I mumble angrily.
“What do you have against labor day, don’t you appreciate what your mother did for you?” Courtney asks of me. Now…I may not be the brightest…umm…bright thing in the shiny box, but I do know that labor day isn’t about the giving birth kind of labor…she is like…Jessica Simpson dumb, but you know what, when you look like that, I look her over, yeah…you don’t need to be all that bright to get by. Believe me, I know…
“Umm…nothing, just…everybody is going home,” I respond, the kid on the other side of her is laughing at her absolute intellectual indigence. At least, I assumed that is what he was laughing at.
(The THEASAURUS STRIKES AGAIN…HAHAHAHA)
The professor comes in and it gets all quiet on the classroom front.
(what is that thing Professor Voelkel said, something about killing your babies…infanticide I guess?)
Mass note taking commences and I fight off the invisible sleep monster that keeps jerking me around, by looking over at Courtney, she distracts me enough to stop that evil monkey that keeps yanking my head back at my most tranquil moments. I just stop paying attention to Mr. Boring at the front of the room, and look at Courtney, she keeps looking back at me, smiling. I know I could ask her out. I should. I’ll do it after this class. Just got to stay awake……I lift my head off the desk, a pool of drool draws my asleep-at-school silhouette on my notes, next to a doodle of a poodle. The class is gone, just two kids talking to professor…actually…I can’t even remember the professor’s name. I gather up my gross wet notes and head out the door. Nary a Courtney is found outside, and thus I walk back to the dormitory where I shall retire to my study. By which, I mean, watch TV or something.

(Rhyming is good right?Oh!…great idea…or…well…time is a factor…go for it, why the hell not…ummm…five minutes left to finish)

In my time wasting efforts on this dismally laid out Friday, I read on the internet about something called Ladder Theory. Tisn’t a scientific theory, but one made by some guy that has a website, and that’s credibility enough for me. It says that men have one ladder for women. THE ladder. Any woman they meet either goes on the ladder, or in the abyss below the ladder. These are the women that that man would go out with, or whatever activity that social group would substitute dating with.(i.e. “doin it”) Men have one ladder. Women have two ladders. They have the REAL ladder and the Friend ladder. They categorize men into ones they would “date” and ones that are “friends”. The problem is that often times guys don’t know if they are on the real or friend ladder, and it usually takes asking the girl out to find out which ladder you are clinging to, at which juncture you will most assuredly be shot down like goose in Top Gun. This is a problem I have with a girl named Desiree. I met her at a meeting for some religious student group thing, I wasn’t there for the religiousity, if you know what I mean.
(I can make up words right? That’s just as good as having a thorough THEASAURUS)
Well, Desiree, flirting with me, seemed to be going well, so I ask her out…she tells me she is kinda…sorta seeing/hanging out with someone. That is still a shoot down. But you know what is wrong with that shootdown…I do…she did not specify which ladder I was on…for all I know I am on the real ladder but happen to be below some guy who beat me to her, or perhaps even above him. So do I just wait a while see if that guy “pans out” and if not, jump on the Desiree band wagon? Of course, if I am on the friend ladder, if “they” don’t work out, and then I ask her again, I’ll just be like goose, only worse, like getting sucked into the turbine intake or something.

(YES!!! I can just see it now, someone in the class will bring that up as a great visual… a goose going through a jet engine, being chopped to pieces and exploding out the back of the jet in a cloud of feathers and fire and blood…but…its Anthony Edwards…so is it the guy or a goose…eh they’ll figure it out)

I guess I didn’t need all that complicated Ladder Theory to explain just that…I guess I have to use it later in the story, well I shall try. Anyway, after reading about ladder theory, I waste even more time, and soon enough it’s about two in the morning. I head down to the basement lobby where there can often be found some people watching TV. But in practice, finding people turned out to be a dismal venture. Everyone is gone, and it’s two in the morning. I could do laundry. Then there she is. This girl. She sits down on the couch adjacent to my fully occupied couch, i.e. I am taking up way too much space.
(i.e. or is it e.g. goddamnmotherfffffshhhh…wait i.e. explains and e.g. just gives an example…ummm I uh…used it properly?....clock…ouch…no time to fix, must write…its 1:00, already an hour late…)

She says her name is Katarina. “Katarina,” she said.
“James,” I replied, putting out my right hand toward her, of course I was laying on a couch and she was sitting way over there, so we did a cool little air-hand-shake.
“Not Katrina, don’t call me Katrina, I hate that,” Katrina…Katarina gripes.
“Oh like the hurricane?” I ask.
“Yes, I get called Katrina all the time, it makes me mad.”
“You know why they name hurricanes after women?” I ask, telling a joke that I most definitely didn’t come up with myself.
“Well, they name half of them after women, and half after men.” Katarina says simply.
“Ummm…well uh…assuming that you didn’t know that, do you know why?” I ask
“No,” Katarina laughs a little bit, at my unfortunate joke telling experience.
“Because when they arrive they are wet and wild and when the leave they take your house and half your stuff,” I deliver the punch-line oh-so-eloquently. We get to chatting about all manner of things. Hmmm…interesting. We start talking about the bad television shows. She likes some of them, but generally we agree on what is terrible. Then it’s on to movies. I give my favorites, she gives hers, and they are fairly similar. Then we’re on to books, politics, religion, background, family, and then of course, sex. And it’s four in the morning now. She’s pretty smart. She thinks I am smart. Probably cause I say tis and twasnt and shant and things of that sort. Although I don’t find Katarina terribly attractive,
(wait…terribly attractive?...is that good or bad?…ummm…I uh…mofshhh)
, she has the personality. I guess I am not as shallow as the next guy, technically, I would say I am deeper…I think. But, for some reason that abstract concept that looks don’t matter is hard to put into practice. That’s not to say she is ugly, far from it, but she isn’t Ashley Simpson, but on the bright side, she isn’t Ashley Simpson.
(that’s like a triple entendre or something…if I wasn’t already over the deadline, I would stop to congratulate myself…and reward myself with some ice cream or something…mmm…ice cream)
She is also much more experienced than I am, but that isn’t to say that she is a slut, far from it, we actually discuss the importance of meaning and spirituality in sex, it has to have meaning. See, I really ain’t that shallow.
(That isn’t to say that I say “that isn’t to say” too much…ok get moving 1:36)
“Like my roommate…he is a WHORE,” I say. I put up one open hand, and then the other hand has only two outstretched digits.
“Seven?” Katarina asks, unsurely.
“That’s how many girls he has slept with this semester…se7en,” I explain.
“It’s like the third week of school!” Katarina says.
“I know, and he has a girlfriend…I think…well…I think she thinks so and he doesn’t.”
“So what does that really mean?” Katarina asks.
“You got me,” I say, dumbfounded.
“Oh I got you huh?” She says rather suggestively.
“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding my head dramatically.
“Did you say you have alcohol in your room?” Katarina asks, I had mentioned it earlier.
“Yes I did indeed.” I reply oh so cleverly.
“I think we should go drink some,” Katarina says. We walk to the elevator and wait for far too long, and I get to look at her standing up finally. She is wearing a sweat shirt so it’s not too easy to tell very much, but I do know that she isn’t huge, and she isn’t tiny, she is my height, and she has her hair cut pretty short and it appears to have been dyed to death. (stay on topic…ok…remember…push the envelope, sex +cursing =A, anything to make the class uncomfortable…that’s art)

We arrive at my suite, and find neither suitemates nor roommate. “Oh that’s quite a movie collection,” Katarina says, as I sit down at my desk, she stands over my shoulder admiring my excellent movies. Her hands fall onto my shoulders lovingly and she applies a quick little massage.
“I’ll get the juice,” I say, referring to the vodka. I get up and go to the fridge, and when I return, Katarina is sitting on my bed cross legged, holding a pillow in her arms. I sit back at the desk, which is right next to my bed. I take a swig of pure inebriating bliss. (that’s a little much) Then I hand the bottle over to Katarina. She takes a sip, passes it back, and the conversation continues, with incessant passing. Then the door to my room bursts open, and behind it stands the monster that is my drunken roommate, who stumbles in. Recalling that he has some frat obligation at like eight in the morning, I ask him, “Hey Peter, don’t you have to be back there like first thing in the morning?”
“Haha, oh yeah, that’s right,” he says, dramatically pointing at me, as if I have just provided an amazingly visionary insight. Then his cell phone comes out of his pocket and he is drunk dialing.
“Bad idea,” I say quickly, getting me a laugh from the audience.
“Yeah, I know its five, my roommate just told me, im going back to the party,” Peter says, leaving just as dramatically as he arrived. It was about this time, when Katarina passed the bottle back to me, that I noticed that I was quite drunk, and she appeared to be holding her alcohol rather well. Then, the proverbial light-bulb starting trying to light up but was depressed by all the alcohol, but I believe she was not drinking very much, and I was doing rather the contrary.
“I want to watch a movie,” Katatrina…..ummm….says. I agree, but what movie? She again goes through my movies, and decides upon my absolute favorite.
“I’ve never seen it all the way through,” Katarina says.
“Fight Club? Okay, but…you better watch it, cause that’s one of my myriad of pet peeves, people that are…bad watchers of fine movies.”
“I promise,” Katarina says. She gets comfortable on my bed, getting under some covers as I get the movie ready. I walk the foot and a half to my bed and climb aboard, not really knowing what to expect. I guess, movie watching. But then, Katarina was on top of me and that most definitely was her tongue in my mouth. Hmmm…interesting. My hands lay across my chest daintily, and I try to kiss her, not really knowing what in the hell I am doing. I start to realize that I have body parts outside of those engaged in the kissing process, such as feet which I promptly use to rub against her feet, and my hands, which I now wrap around her. Well, arms really, I can’t wrap my hands around her, she isn’t Lara Flynn Boyle. After a while of this kissing, she pulls back, and though it is dark I can see her smiling. My brain, working at optimum efficiency, generates an amazingly romantic reply to her advance.
“You aren’t watching the movie,” I whisper. “Don’t abuse Fight Club,” I scorn her…. “Or…I’ll have to abuse you,” I say, instantly regretting it, but chuckling anyway. “Okay what I meant to say was…I uh…you…you could definitely kick my ass, especially right now, but probably whenever you felt like it.” She kisses me. “You are mad with power,” I say. We roll around in my bed a little bit, hands not wandering too close to any erogenous areas. Although it feels like a long time, the increased heart rate and awareness and excitement make it seem like time is flying by, but it really only lasts a few minutes. Katarina decides, correctly, that we have done quite enough for what doesn’t even amount to a first date. She informs me of her impending departure.
“Oh, don’t go…but you’re right, you should go…but don’t go,” I protest and agree concurrently. I Might as well let her know what my internal conflict is.
(then it isn’t an INTERNAL conflict you idiot…BAH its 2:21!)
Katarina is out the door, and I am left drunk and alone to wish I still had the warm body to sleep beside.
(Damn…what happened to SEX = A…I guess I can just infer some sex later on…or is it imply. Wait…senior English class…the writer implies and the author infers…ummm…the writer implies, and the READER infers…I think that’s right. Good to know…note to self THEASAURUS is hungry for more.)

Katarina and I would see each other only briefly a few times during the next week, but it led to Friday night. It just so happened that we both had tickets to go see a band that was a favorite of both of ours, and by coincidence or fate or manifest destiny, we get to attend the aforementioned concert together. There is something to be said about standing in an overly crowded space of energized people, holding hands and singing along with your favorite rock band whilst you try your damndest to not have a drunken girl crowd-surfingly wipe out ass first into your face. It’s quite the relationship bonding experience. We both got t-shirts afterwards, and they were to symbolize our first real date.


“I really liked that sentence, I’m not sure if it makes sense grammatically, and I don’t think surfingly is a word, but I just got a good image from that.”
I am sitting, arms crossed over my chest, legs outstretched, trying my damndest not to have any look on my face whatsoever, but I keep laughing at random stuff. I have the t-shirt on, and I keep looking over at Marcella, for a reaction, and I don’t know what it is so far.
“I thought it was interesting the way you think the story might just lead to sex, and then it doesn’t, like he was trying to make us uncomfortable, and then it doesn’t do what we expect…I kinda liked that, how he plays on our expectations.”
“I hated it, I was just cringing, and trying not to imagine James naked…”
What the hell is that supposed to mean, just because I wrote it, you aren’t supposed to assume I am the main character…although I am, but hey. I wonder if they notice that I am wearing the band’s t-shirt right now…I glance over and see Marcella has a strange smirk on her face. It must be working…I am winner her back.


I find myself sitting beside Courtney in history again, admiring her glorious assets. And then I realize, I have a girlfriend…I shant be looking at Courtney! But then, there it is. The doubt, whenever I am not around Katarina, I am doubting my attachment to her, and Courtney seems better. I am sorry, but I guess Man is an animal, she is just so good looking, and she likes me. Flirting even more, what am I supposed to do, ignore her cause I have been with Katarina for a week? Following a class period of intensely playful flirting, I ask out Courtney and she agrees to my advances. I cover my tracks with Katarina and find myself out to dinner with Courtney. We are dating now. What happened to me, I couldn’t get any, but now I am a smoooooth pimp with the ladies. I guess I am just such a genus that ladies can’t resist me. Women are like zombies, they lust after brains. Men are like…painters, they look for beauty in the world…such as a nice big rack…of lamb…tits. (OMG I am making myself laugh WAY too much…I need to move on quickly…its F-ING 2:47 A.M...is taco bell still open?)
So I broke it off with Katarina, and then went with Courtney. I heard her talking to her friend on the phone the other day…and I just didn’t understand it. Let’s listen in.
“I have to do laundry though,” Courtney said.
…
“Cause those are my lucky jeans.”
…
“Cause I got lucky while I was wearing them.”
So…she got lucky…with me, i.e. P-I-M-P (YEAH, imply it all over the place). But then I got to thinking. And here is my great quote (which I am stealing from my friend, but they won’t know the difference) “Hot girls don’t get lucky…they just say yes.”

So, Courtney and I were going well for a few weeks, and of course, idiot factor, I asked about the exes, which wasn’t a good idea, but was nothing compared to my ex story.
“And it was ok, but I really wanted to be with someone else,” I said, smirking at Courtney.
“Wait…you left her for someone else?”
“Yeah…you,” I said. SMACK. And she is out the door. That was a pretty quick ending, wow. Now I realize that women hate the idea that you might leave if something better walked by, probably because they are insecure because they are the weaker sex and all.
(yes…taco bell IS still open)
So there I was, Katarina-less, Courtney-less, and lonely again. It took a long time. Katarina, the girl I had, the one that was in my pocket, all I had to do was be good to her, was gone, lost forever. Courtney, the object of lust, was now gone forever, and I had found out that she really wasn’t better than Katarina. They are different, not better or worse. And now, the object of lust is Katarina. I believe that I had something deeper there, and I threw it away for a prettier face, and nicer body, and that leaves me here with nobody. Katarina wouldn’t take me back, and I can’t say that I hold it against her. I still hold a place for her in my heart. To quote a favorite band of ours, I did find solace in the music we once shared.
“I know you best,
better than one might think.
I know you better than I know myself.
It's time for you
to make a sacrifice.
It's time to die a
little.
Give it up.

You are a part of me.”




I think it’s working, she is smiling…I’ll make a move after class. I still got it…definitely still got it. She is looking over here…smiling…that’s good news.

“I kind of got the feeling that he might have been trying to…apologize with this, like he wrote it for Katarina, to tell her how he like…left her like that you know?” A girl in the class voices her opinion. She is pretty smart, I didn’t think anyone would pick up on that. “I think she is in the class,” The smart girl thinks but chooses not to say, “I wonder who…maybe…hmmm…maybe her…no…Marcella? She is smiling an awful lot…I wonder if it’s her…smiling that much…it must be working then.”



“Oh my god…what a loser, is he quoting song lyrics?” Marcella thinks to herself. “Wow, I didn’t know he was THAT pathetic. This is all a pathetic attempt to get me back isn’t it. Yeah definitely. He’s wearing the shirt. Hahaha, look at that idiot. Oh man that makes me smile. And what the hell is with his weird contractions and crap, he doesn’t talk like that. He is the worst writer in the class. I can’t believe I thought he was smart, he is a total moron. Hahahahaha. Did he think this would work? I could play with him…like take him back, and then dump him…but no…I’m not an asshole like he is. I’ll just turn him down…I wish I was mean, cause I could have some fun with this.”




I moved on past Katarina, and then there was Kelly. Kelly was the new girl. She was in my art class. I got her stuff, it made sense, but I think no one else got it. I am that smart it would seem. It went almost a whole semester of a little flirting here and there with her, you know little things, like deliberately sitting next to her, and then she would do the same to me, at the start of class. And we have quick little conversations. She was being built up, in my mind she was becoming the new girl. I guess it takes a while. I didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend. But she was cute, and she was really smart, put my art to shame, and I was proud of mine. So she was becoming a prospect, just one of those on the ladder I guess, but on a pretty high rung. Then…all of the sudden, there was Desiree, the girl from the religious student organization. She was decently attractive, and decently smart, etc. Enough to be on the ladder somewhere, and that’s about as far as I thought it would go. Then suddenly, one day, we are just making out, and we’re dating. And I am not one to forget a lesson. Although I really liked Kelly, she had to wait. I had to give it a real go around with Desiree, and if that doesn’t work out, Kelly will hopefully still be out there. You can’t mess with fate and destiny. If it’s one girl all of the sudden, you have to go with it. I told Kelly that I have a girlfriend, but if it weren’t for my GF, I would ask you out. She seemed flattered, but something tells me it would have been a no answer anyway. Perhaps I am on her friend ladder. I have been thinking on deeper and deeper levels, and I realized that I was completely wrong before. Just because you think that you might have a better relationship with someone else, doesn’t mean that you can end your current relationship to pursue that. It’s quite simple. You cannot know which would be better unless you honestly tried both, and the only way to do that, is to stay with the first girl until there is a logical juncture to date other people and find out, or you break up, at which point you go date the other girl, and then you know. So that’s the lesson ladies and gentlemen. From my VAST knowledge of relationships, that is the awesomely philosophical insight into the human psyche that you have been waiting for. Don’t worry, you mustn’t give me the Nobel prize…yet…I’m working on a revised form of ladder theory. It’s called Chutes and Ladder theory, and it will one day supplant Scientology and solve all of your problems.

(Ohh I have an idea…I should like…write about writing it, so that like, they know its about Marcella, but not use her name…so then, the class thinks its about a girl, but they have to figure out which one, and then I can just say that it’s just a story, total denial…or maybe, Marcella will just like jump me once we get outside, she has done it before…hmmm 3:01, only three hours late…eh…it works.)

F See Me After Class