One Man's Story Is Another Man's Shame

This is a story post.

Last August, the twenty fifth, to be exact, I was to leave home for the first time, off to Newfoundland to attend university there. I was nervous, I was fretful, my makeup was running and I was four hours early for my flight time. My mother had to attend a funeral, and I was rather understanding, for I hate being late for anything, at all, so being that early would give me time to adjust and settle and...Read my new Anne Rice novel (Blood and Gold, oy vey, love). I checked my luggage, I hugged my mother goodbye, nodded at my (now soon to be step-father) mother's boyfriend, David, and was off to go through security. I was okay.

I arrive at my gate, still another three and a half hours to go, and settle down, my carry-on on the chair beside me, my sweater to the side and my eyes not being able to settle on the words of my book, but rather people watching. I like doing that, another reason I didn't mind being early. It was about eight in the morning, and a tall fellow with long hair and a very kind smile walked by, giving me a nod. Returning it, I thought to myself 'Well, wasn't that nice' and finally settled into my seat to read.

Half an hour passed, and I'd gotten through maybe four pages, my eyes flying up whenever someone passed, which, as you can well imagine in an airport, happened often. However, one of these glances up was rewarded with the sight of the same tall fellow with long hair, smiling at me again. I smiled back, thinking 'Oh, how lovely, he's back' and thought that would be the end of the affair, but no. The fellow came over to sit diagonally across from me, and crossed his legs, and kept smiling.

Well, that was a delightful surprise.

Saying 'Hi' seemed like the right thing to do at this point, so, naturally, he did, and not I, for I was taken aback (for I get stupid around fellows I find attractive, and this fellow certainly was attractive, and not only by my hideously low physical ones, he was truly attractive, I assure you all, though that is not the point of this tale).

'Hello' I replied, rather intelligently and warmly, if I do say so myself, to which he asked 'How are you?' and I said 'Nervous.' and it really kicked off from there. His name was Marlon (after the actor and not Keith Richard's son, we discussed) and he was a nurse (or in-training to be one), and was in Nova Scotia to take pictures for a wedding. We talked about how I was just heading off to university and was nervous, and then, somehow, we got on the topic of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and how I had never heard the radio version, though I had loved the old BBC series (my dad having shown them to me one weekend, straight through), and suddenly his laptop was out and I had moved across the aisle and was sitting beside him, an earbud in my ear as we listened to the radio series. He pointed out it was 'better than reading Anne Rice' and we snickered together about the '...Behind the door marked 'Beware the Leopard'' line, mainly because I found it rather funny, and he seemed to think it was funny that I was giggling so. It was relaxing, and sadly, soon enough, my flight was being called. He was there for another few hours, his flight to British Columbia not leaving for some time.

I never got his email, I never asked him his last name, and as soon as I was on the plane, still smiling about it all, I was rather upset about that. He was a clever fellow. And I, obviously, still think about him time to time. Mainly recently, for some reason or another. He made me feel so much better for heading off to Newfoundland without any idea of what I was getting into, and he was so very friendly.=. Listening to the Hitchhiker's Guide with him was beyond lovely, gorgeous and spectacular, and I do wish I had had the sense to perhaps keep in contact. He seemed like a nice guy, someone easy to talk to. And it never hurts to have that. I had been worried about making new friends, for, although I am a nice and interesting person, I swear, I can be rather shy or over-whelmed in social situations. What if, once I got to university, I didn't make any new friends? What if no one wanted to talk to me in classes? I was worried, and yet, this fellow made those worries disappear. People were nice in the outside world, they were!

And it wasn't a romantic thing, and it's not that I have a crush on him. I just like people who are good listeners and talkers and clever-fun conversationalists, and he was one.

Sometimes, though, I do think of it as it was; a wonderful experience that won't go any further. He was a passing character in my life. But goodness, he was a nice one.

Hmph.

Lovely...Never Ever Change.

You know what I like?

Warm rain. Just nice, warm rain. A lot of it, pouring down in buckets.
When you can hear the accent of a singer in their music (see: Malcolm Middleton).
Satire. Parody. Clever mockery of things, to a degree.
Wordplay and wit.
Puppies.
House, M.D. and the friendship of Greg House and James Wilson (Though God knows I want it to be more than friendship).
Too many actors to list (Though Hugh Laurie has been a love-of-my-life for some time now).
Watching those actors in interviews or movies or television shows.
Guitar music.
Lakes, with calm, smooth surfaces, clear as glass.
Wandering aimlessly with friends.
People who talk with their hands.
Short hair cuts on girls.
Long hair cuts on boys.
Freckles.
Light and fluffy snow in mid-December.
Christmas specials on television.
Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.
M*A*S*H.
Big boots.
Talking with accents.
References in films, TV or books that I get, but few others don't.
Rock Musicals.
Harmonica music.
Monty Python, A Bit of Fry and Laurie, Jeeves and Wooster and Black Adder (II-IV, III especially).
Playing the piano.
Writing random nonsense, my thoughts, stories, porn for friends, and so on.
Emails from friends that I'm not expecting. Emails from friends that I am expecting.
The word 'cello'.
Making people laugh.
Making myself laugh.
Playing with makeup.
Dress-up.
British slang.
Biopics.
Stories about Serial Killers ( the Hannibal Lector series, the Dexter series, American Psycho).
Inside jokes that I'm a part of.
Hugs.
People asking me things because they know I'm knowledgable on the subject.
Ice cream.
Nicknames.
Silly photoshoots.
Wearing jeans with no socks, and people who do the same.
Talking about nothing/everything.
Drawing with sharp pencils.
Writing with pen.
Acting.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Minor characters' stories being told (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead).
Listing things.

Aha.

When the Scottish Sing

God, I wish I had more romance in my life.

I'm not interested in dating, though. Like, I want a story-book romance, something like Belle and the Beast, but with less singing cutlery. Those forks scared the shit out of me as a kid. Still do.

I want to find the one without having to go through the other guys. Maybe it's laziness. I like to think it's trust issues, though. I don't want to trust anyone enough to hurt me because I've seen friends be hurt again and again and well, forgive me if I'm not falling all over myself to get all up in that action, yo. I just want the guy who is right for me to be the one I give my trust to, and everything to be peachy keen.

Hey, hey, hey, I can hear the thunder of the clouds y'all have prepared to rain on my parade, and it sounds suspiciously like 'suck it up, princess', but damn it, No. I don't want to be hurt, I don't want to risk that, and I flat out hate embarassment. And with the one 'ex' moment I had at a grocery store (the thunder is now sounding like 'ONE ex moment?! Let me tell you, bi-otch, it gets WORSE') I Do NOT want it to happen again. I am open rather soon in the relationships I form, be it romantic or friendships, and I don't like the idea of someone going about who doesn't like me anymore knowing my life story. AndNO, I will not alter myself to be less open, because that is who I am and I rock that role.

And I keep dreaming about being in a relationship with this or that male, to make it all the more difficult for me not to think about this shit. And both my best friends are in relationships and have been for some time now, and it's like life is making me a third wheel no matter what. No blame goes to them (my friends), of course, and I don't actually feel like a third wheel quite often (having been the friend of a couple has weeded that instinct out of me over the years, as well as the fact that one or the other friend have been taken for several years now, steady) but life seems to think I would and will be ashamed of my singleton status and update to taken by the next fellow who seems acceptable.

F.U.C.K.