So I used to write stories all the time, from when I was younger and I used to write little short stories about my brother and my friend's to make them laugh, to stories for comics that I had in mind, to stories that I would hope would turn into something bigger and more collective.
I've written in numerous journals and notebooks to help me get over things in my life and better understand my life since early school years, kept livejournals, and most recently this blog.
I've always enjoyed writing as a release and a way to look back on my life, and found I am much more intelligent in my writing than when I am just spouting off my mouth.
I got a bug today to start writing, more seriously, about a topic that has consumed a large portion of my mind and life throughout my 23 years of existence.
So as of today I'm going to start a new feature on my blog, I don't know exactly what to call it now, but I'll write two pages worth of Jemibook life-love-lessons, past stories, etc. due every Wednesday here on my little blog.
Here is the first week's entry:
" Let's just start off by saying, a story similar to this has been written probably a thousand times, so what's the use of reading another version, I have no clue. Maybe this is just 'your' type of story, time and time again you'll read the same genre of stories over and over again, probably the same way that you'll fall into the same mistakes or 'relationships' again and again until one day things just 'click' maybe you turn a certain age, or you meet that special 'someone' or the heavens align in a cosmic alignment that just makes you have one of those eureka moments and you just stop. But for today you haven't had any of those epiphany's so you are back for another round, and I am all but happy to appease you with my own personal take on love, lust, sex, and the 'relationship'.
The neighborhood boy, he was my best friend and I didn't have a crush on him until everyone just assumed we did, I couldn't have been more than 6 from what my memory recalls, but he was the first. It was one of those cliche friendships where we would play WWF wrestling games on his nintendo and hide-and-seek with his big sister, and push each other down as a form of flirtation. I mostly recall the teasing of others being our only form of our true attraction to one other because before we were even old enough to learn multiplication his family moved away. In my later years I would contemplate on myspacing or googling him to see if he remembered me [actually I contemplated this with almost any person I had a connection with that didn't turn into something and we separated for some reason], the thought would wander in the back of mind, maybe he would have been 'the one'.
Oh did I forget to mention that little bit of 'hocus pocus' that I believe in, 'the one'. Yup that's me, looking around each corner, finding the best people in the most unobvious place and wondering if they are 'the one'. Some ridiculous concept that Disney, or something equally as wholesome came up with to make us believe that there is one other person out there in the world to 'complete' us. Oh man, how the thought of meeting this 'one' person out there in my life has truly made me mess, that's not to say that just thing made me a mess, but a whole lot of parental weirdness, and books checked out from the library have contributed to the author whom writes these solid lines of literary blasphemy you will read.
When he left and I entered the 3rd grade I would meet my first real 'crush' by elementary standards of course. His name was Josh, all I remember about him really is that he had brown hair and wasn't too overbearing and pretty cute by my 3rd grade specifications of 'cute', I think JTT was around when I was holding up those standards of 'cute'. Anyways, I decided I would try to woe this specific individual by not talking to him, pfft of course not, that would require words which I didn't know how to use around him, I would write to him. I used my finest cloud stationery and wrote him a one page letter/note that asked him if he would go to the movies 'with my daughter'. That's write I wrote a letter to a boy I crushed on that said my dad requested he go on a date to the movies with me. What a cop out, and dare I say it loser-ish. I laugh at my younger extremely shy self now and wonder what made me ponder up such a strange thing, and I have no answers for it. I did somehow manage to give this note packaged in a large mailing envelope with 'to josh' written in the center in my best handwriting and said something along the lines of "my father asked me to give this to you". He read it in front of me and then dropped it on the ground purposefully. I also somehow managed to tell him he had to answer so I could tell my father, and he just said 'no'. My little 3rd grade heart was broken. I still pursued his heart with my mind fantasies but never spoke to him of my love for him ever again. He left our school next year, so i didn't get to find out what kind of 'teenager' he would have turned into. But in my mind I believe that he was going to be one of those preppy basketball bro-down type of guys, but then he would go to some ivory-league school and meet some fantastically beautiful 'Charlotte from Sex and the City' type character and be some super breed human who breeded either incredibly intelligent lovely brown-haired brown-eyed children, or incredible spoiled "my Super Sweet 16", Coach bag carrying, diamond encrusted cellphone, children.
Mother always told me to marry a 'nice-rich-guy'. Mother also has problems connecting with people on an emotionally intimate level, that I've partly inherited. Father on the other hand always told me to be with someone who would take care of me and treat me right, and not hit me, or he would 'kill them'. My cousin once told me that you have to be attracted to someone to date them. That last bit of information coming at a time in my highschool life where I think I just wanted to date someone, so I would date someone and then find out that I didn't really find them appealing, and would try to stay in it because I was once told by the token older neighborhood girl whom I looked up to that once you get to a certain age that 'looks don't matter'. All of these rules to follow, all of these so called 'pearls of wisdom' who the hell am I supposed to believe? It's in my nature to rebel against conventionality, it didn't seem to work for my parents, or a lot of my friend's divorced parents so why should we follow their models? I would go for the shy, quiet, nerd boys only because I felt like they wouldn't talk about us with their friend's, mainly how bad a kisser I was.
I was deathly afraid of being a bad kisser, and it's not that I tried to save my first kiss for some magical moment I wanted to get it over as quickly as possible, I wanted to become a professional kisser and out-shine everyone, and never be called a bad kisser. I had my first real kiss when I was 16. I don't remember it at all, just remembered that I got to do a lot after it first happened and I fucking loved it. I got lucky that year, that I got to lock lips with someone who I could practice my kissing skills with. I was unlucky in some other years of my life, but it was the practicing I did in my former teenage days that made me the kind of world-class kisser I am now. Yes I did just toot my own horn, you get to do things like that when you've kissed some bad kissers like I have, and when you can make an incredibly sexy man or woman your own sex toy with lips and skills like mine. Also I am here to prove that bigger isn't better, lips that is, not vagina lips, either you pervert, I'm talking about red-painted lipstick wearing lips. I don't sport the big ole, seductive looking, Scarlett Johannson lips, but that doesn't mean mine aren't as juicy and supple as the aforementioned star. It's all about technique and practice my friend. I'm not going to divulge all my secret kissing techniques out here in this forum, it's not intended to tell this story, that bit of information just needed to be present to explain some other things to happen down the line."
Feel free to comment, on my strange stories, give me ideas for other future entries, or blast me, all is welcome!
Till next time,
Jem
