Mister Dude--part 1

When I was a freshman in high school, I fell "in love".
No, I didn't have any cheesy relationship with a immature 15 year old boy or anything, no. I didn't have a 'real' relationship at all. No, I had "Mister Dude".

The more I write that, the more I hate myself for coming up with something so ridiculously stupid, but oh well, that's what all the journals say.


A little background before the meat of the story:I changed schools halfway to mid terms the first semester of freshman year; I orginally started in a teeny private school, Heritage, where I had attended middle school. In a mess of catty girls and lack of confidantes I made the switch to real school, big bad public school. My entering freshman class shot from 14 to 500, it was more or less terrifying. Because of this massive life event, I was pretty much pissed at the world. I hated school, I hated my so-called friends, I hated life, I hated myself, my looks, the whole shabang. I would hate you, if I would've met you in this crucial time, hypothetically.I didn't like anything, I wouldn't like anything; I've later decided my problems with change stem from this little bit of my grandmother I have in me that makes me a little bit of a control freak. By control freak I mean, I control myself, it's the least I can do; I dont' want to control others or be IN control, but I want at least to have my own self under lock and key. I don't drink because of this, I have no desire, the idea of not being able to remember the night before is absolutely mortifying to me. This hatred spanned on most areas of my life. Except for one thing that I didn't hate about school : a senior boy I'd never talk to EVER, who I affectionately referred to as Mr. Dude.

I don't remember the actual day, I didn't write in my journal until after it had begun, I wish I had a thought process written down of when I first saw him, it would make this beginning much more epic, but alas, I don't. I can probably imagine it wasn't too epic. It never has been, he's never done anything great really, except for exist and be pretty, which has totally been enough for me; nothing fancy just attractive. I've looked at the journal entry where I first mentioned him many many times, it's nothing like entries mentioning him would later become, all I said was "Have I said anything about 'That Dude' [early incarnation of "Mr. Dude"] yet? Oh well, he's this guys I see in the tunnel [hallway that connected the two main halls, upstairs and downstairs, in my high school] and he's very very cute." Yeah, I wrote pretty boring back then, but it was a really big deal. Looking back on it at least, the first time I mentioned the boy/man I'd have a severe 'celebrity-esque' crush on for years, I'm not even kidding, years. I think it qualifies as a pretty pretty big deal entry, in the grand scheme of journal entries I've had.


That whole year I enjoyed the part of day (and by part I mean, like, two seconds --literally) that I'd get to walk past him. He was so smooth, and cool, everything about him. He had the best hair, the hair was the killer thing about him. This nice thick mop top that had these great flippy bangs that hung just over his eyes (and later I'd realize, huge dark eyebrows), it was a nice (dare I admit boring) light brown color and had the perfect shape and flip to it all the time. I'll freely admit, I more fell in love with the hair more than anything.


I didn't want to date him, I didn't even really want to talk to him, to tell you the truth. I mean, if that had ever (for some strange reason) happened, I probably wouldn't've complained, but that's not what I wanted. He was unattainable and I knew it, I wasn't heartbroken by it, I just accepted it and went along. I was out of his league, I was no where near his league actually, I mean in all honesty I wasn't even IN a league and he was in an elite one (that probably could feature semi-hipster twenty-somethings who were intellects and nature buffs, it was that kind of elite.) I was totally cool with that. I didn't want to meet him, I just wanted to look at him. It made me smile, sometimes on the outside, but mostly on the inside. If I was hating people too much (like, say, this kid named Andrew in my math class--freshman year, he was also in my computer class, two english classes, health, and pop culture classes over the course of my high school career, I never grew out of hating him though) or I had failed a science quiz, and was feeling just lame I would walk past him and my day would get miraculously okay for a few minutes. I don't think he could even imagine how much I enjoyed his presence; not because I was "in love with him" in some cheesy fourteen year old girl way, but in a comforting way, that even in the mess of things I despised for a few minutes I could look at something I didn't for a little while.


Now, no one but me and my notebook knew about this for a long time, I just didn't tell anyone, ever. I was embarassed, I guess, and I don't like people to know that I have shame(ful?)less crushes on people that I don't know. Because that's just weird, whether or not lots of people have crushes like that, it's weird and kind of creepy if you think about it. I didn't want to be one of those people (even if it's normal.) I just would write weird, semi-creepy entries about it. About how cute he was on whatever day, or how I sat across from him at a pep rally and could see him pretty well. It kept my mind off life, off my depression, off my awkwardness. And he was everything that wasn't bad in school, he was the cutest boy ever. Well, pretty much.It got to a point though, where I had to tell someone. The only problem was, I didn't have any someones at school, none. In fact I only had really two friends at the time. Jane and Brenna, who always HAD and always WILL be my someones, they're good and steady and strong friends like that. So the time came, and I told them. They knew about Mr. Dude, they'd never seen him, seeing they went to another high school and all, but they at least knew. I liked that, now I felt stupid, but people knew and they understood. It was a happy little secret, that I wanted to stay a secret, but I liked that I could talk about it. I dont' know, a girl thing I guess.


Nothing monumental happened in those months, I didn't meet him, we didn't become buddies or lovers or haters or anything. He (I'm hoping) didn't know I loved him (or seeing him) and I got along just fine when school started up again, and he wasn't there (being that he graduated.) I saw him once after the school year was done, I remember it well. We were driving home from the dentist, my mom and I, and we pulled up next to a jeep that was full of teenage boys with flippy hair. He was one of them. And that was that.I didn't really think about him much, there was always a special place in my heart, and the funny stories that could come out of my strange jounral entries about him still amuse me. I'd still think of him every so often and about how cute and all he was. No matter what I'll always have a little place in my heart for him and that hair. Passing in the tunnel, or sneaking peaks at him talking to (eventually my favorite teacher of my high school career) Mr. Poiry after school when I was at my trusty locker #322 in the Soc. Hall, (I had that locker for FOUR years, another one of my control things, I'm figuring) these memories made me always smile. But really, I didn't focus too much on the idea of him for the next three-ish years.

[to be continued next time...whenever I finish this vignette.]

Screw you and your stupid girlfriend.

I tried really really hard to be nice.
And, when you try extra hard to be nice, obviously that means you deserve to be treated like crap in return.
I'm not trying to be pathetic and sad.
But I really really really wanted to cry in my coffee tonight.


I hope she does hate you, asshole, because you didn't answer her phone call.
You deserve it.
Tonight sucked, I should've just gone home.

When a boy can't sit withing 5 feet of you, or have a conversation with you unless there are two or three other people around.
A boy who just 2 months ago could lay on the floor right next to you and listen to records for hours on end acts like he hates you.
It freaking sucks. Your. Ass.

Screw It all.
She was my friend first.
He was my friend first.
Screw the both of you.
I wish we would've just stayed where we were.
It was comfortable. I felt like we were friends.
I hate that I lost two friends in one swoop.


I hate that it's funny/fun to ditch me.




Shut up. Okay-please-thankyou.