…He’s always thought she was pretty, albeit a bit of a know-it-all. Now though, beautiful would be the right word to describe her. The way her eyes light up with determination when studying. How her long flowing hair shines in the sunlight. How she can kick your butt eight ways to Sunday.
It’s time he stopped admiring from afar and did something about it.
Dash Baxter was a lot of things. Shy wasn’t one of them. This foreign feeling is unsettling. He’s always been a confident guy. He can get any girl he sets his eyes on. All he has to do is flex and wink. In that order. But, that all flies out the window when it comes to one Jazz Fenton. He knows she’ll never fall for those things. She’s way too smart.
He had a crush on her freshman year. He thought that was a momentary thing. A passing phase. Boy was he wrong. It’s one year later and he still can’t stop thinking about her. He used to date a bunch of girls, if only to get her out of his head. All his past girlfriends were know-it-all-gingers. He didn’t succeed.
He thinks about when he went from crush to L-lo…love. Does he love her? Wait. Hold the phone. Ok. Think about it rationally. He’s hopelessly fallen head-over-heels for Jazmine Fenton. That realization is both liberating and terrifying. His brain stalls. What should he do? What should he say? He debates whether he should call Fenton and ask him for advice…He’d probably get filleted first for thinking about his sister that way.
Him and Fenton buried the hatchet a long time ago. They’re not exactly best friends like he is with Manson and Foley. But they chill from time to time. His phone rings. He looks at the time. It’s 2:21AM. Who in their right mind would be calling him at this time? He answers.
“Dash, calm the fuck down, I can feel your anxiety all the way over here”
“FENTON, WHAT THE FUCK!? How did you-never mind I don’t want to know”
There was a beat of silence. He’s somewhat freaked but can’t really be surprised. The kid is half ghost for crying out loud. There’s rustling and a yawn on the other side.
“You…wanna talk about it?”
He sighs heavily, well there’s no use hiding anymore. The universe has made the decision for him so he’s gonna charge ahead.
“It’s…see…about your sister-”
“Oh shit! Did you finally tell her that you love her? I swear to God Dash if you hurt her I will ghostly wail you to Timbuktu, in pieces”
“Sorry, sorry, continue”
“…Am I really that obvious…?”
“Dude, you’re as subtle as a flying mallet. The only reason she hasn’t caught on is because she’s a Fenton. We’re all dense as fuck”
He groans and sighs, flopping on his back. Damnit, if Fenton noticed, then everybody at school knows by now. Fenton says something but he didn’t catch it.
“Are you gonna tell her?”
“What choice do I have. I’m not the type to sit around and wait. But I’m terrified of what she’ll say. She’s different from all the other girls at school. She’s way smarter for one, but she’s also real nice. And she cares about other people’s happiness. Enough to-”
“Dash, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want to hear you gush about my sister. Honestly you should just go for it. If you really want her to notice you, use something she likes. You really gotta be genuine though, she can smell bullshit from a mile away, trust me.”
“Huh…thanks Fenton I actually feel a lot better”
“No problem, but I will blast you to pieces and then sell your organs in the black market if I hear the words Dash and heartbreak in the same sentence. After, of course, she beats you to a pulp with her bare hands.”
They hang up. He feels a lot better actually. Aside from the very real threats. All of his previous fears are gone. He can think clearly now. Use something she likes to ask her out…he knows what to do. The perfect way to show her he’s genuinely interested in her as a person.
The next day he’s sweating buckets. He’s almost hyperventilating. His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Hell his fucking teeth are chattering. He spots Fenton and makes a bee line for him. But as fate would have it, the doors to the library open right in his face and he falls to the floor in a heap. Damn, hopefully his nose isn’t broken. He hears the culprit spouting apologizes. He looks up.
Standing there, extending a hand to help him up is Jazz Fenton. He short circuits. Autopilot takes over. He mechanically reaches for her hand and gets up. It’s only after ten seconds of her apologizing that he remembers his mission. Centering himself he dives in.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Um, I wanted to ask you something actually…”
She looks at him curiously, those big sparkly eyes, that put gemstones to shame, make his knees wobble all over again. He’s gotta act fast or he’ll turn into an even bigger pile of sweaty teenage hormones.
“Uhh…there’s this new Psychology of the Paranormal thing going on tomorrow at the museum and um I was wondering if you’d go with me? No big deal or anything. Oh this is for you. Um yeah.”
He thrusts a blue rose into her field of vision. Scratching the back of his neck and looking everywhere except directly at her. The silence feels eternal. His face feels like it’s on fire. He knows he’s at least gone three different shades of red. Glancing at her she’s looking a bit pink too. He’s so nervous, he hopes she’ll get it. The blue rose symbolizes immortal love. So he chose it to let her know that his love for her will never change and will remain forever.
She takes the rose. Looks at it for what feels like years. Gives it a sniff and puts it in her hair. His heart leaps into his throat. He’s never been so nervous in his life. He’d rather get run over by the Green Bay Packers twice than feel what he’s feeling right now. She looks him in the eyes and he’s rooted to the spot. He can’t look away. She opens her perfect mouth with her perfect lips.
“Sounds interesting, I’d love to”
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at six”
Heavenly light is cast upon him. The choir of angels sings in the background. Fireworks spell out his name. He has ascended to a higher plain of existence. The pure bliss he’s feeling at the moment is intoxicating. Nothing can ruin this moment for him. He can see Fenton high five-ing Manson and Foley handing them money. They bet on him!? Aww who cares she said yes!
very small brain: liberals are fascists because uhh they force me not to call people slurs
<p>cosmic brain: liberals are fascists because they defend the words of nazis under the guise of free speech and support the bombing third world countries
I just found something that gets me hotter than being called a dumb slut or being talked down to or whatever. Someone just said, “You’re a bright little thing aren’t you,” and I got all squirmy because he was *acknowledging my brains* while *still talking down to me*!!
Uunff when my liberal brain and traitorous cunt are both getting stroked…
I have a friend who recently announced that she is transgender. Now in her early 20s, for several years she was out as a lesbian, but set her sights on straight women who were unattainable and eventually broke her heart. (She is a beautiful girl, and even though physical attraction is not the most important thing in life, I think it is worth noting, because this is a person who has decided to become a man and deny herself the feminine beauty to which she was born.) She developed really strong crushes, most of the time did not even approach them and let them know what her feelings were, and spent her time alone, pining over these young women. The only reason I know this about her is because I noticed her sadness and basically called her out, saying “I think I know what is going on here. Are you okay?”. The reason that this was so obvious to me is because I have been there myself. The first time I ever experienced love as a teenager, it was for a girl I was very close friends with. She was beautiful, and I was entranced by her physical appearance, but also by her personality. Any time I would call her on the phone, my heart would beat out of my chest, and when I would see her, I would actually get weak in the knees. I would find excuses to talk to her, and became friends with her by mirroring her personality to a very large extent. At my young age, it didn’t matter whether or not I was being true to myself, because I just wanted to be near her. As an adult, I can honestly say that if transition had been available at that time, I might have pressured my parents to allow me to do so. However, after seeing what my trans friends have go through, and how much of a distraction focusing on physical appearance can be, I am deeply thankful that that was not an available choice for me. Not transitioning enabled me to focus on who I wanted to be on the inside, and to develop into a successful human being, gender aside. (You can read more about my personal feelings involving feeling “male” in my post titled, “Praying for a penis”.)
Over the past year or so, my friend has become completely obsessed with trying to pass. She binges on YouTube videos, signs up for FTM dating sites (although she has not transitioned), and abruptly abandoned the clothes that she used to wear in exchange for exclusively “men’s” clothes. I’ve seen her spend countless hours looking at herself in the mirror, imagining her body as male, trying to figure out the best way to pass.
There are many reasons that these choices strike a chord with me: One, who gets to decide what “men’s” clothes are, and why is it so important for her to choose them? Can’t they just be clothes? Why does “being a male” mean that she can no longer wear the clothes that she herself used to love? Another thing that seems sad to me is that when she goes out in public, instead of just enjoying her life and the reason that she has decided to go out, her reason for leaving the house is to see if she can pass. She has developed a very affected gait, swaggering around the way that she thinks that men walk. Sometimes, she forgets to do it, and for a second I see the person she was for the first 2 1/2 decades of her life, and it is a thing of beauty. The fact that she thinks she needs to do this at all just to be accepted by society is, however, heartbreaking. I have referred to what I feel is a very conservative climate, pressuring NGC women to transition, rather than being who they are, and when I see her deliberately changing who she is and becoming a stereotype, it is very sad. Why can’t she just walk however she walks and not feel compelled to imitate men? Why won’t society let her?
I will admit that when a lot of my friends told me that they were trans, my first reaction was unconditional support. I felt like any choice that they wanted to make regarding their bodies was theirs to make, and my liberal brain screamed something like “fight the power”. I told my trans friends how much I supported them, how beautiful they were, and how I couldn’t wait to see what they would look like with their new bodies. But then I started thinking about it. REALLY thinking about it. I questioned the duplicity of a society that appears to be so accepting of homosexuality and transitioners, but is actually sending the message that if you feel inside your brain that you are the opposite sex, you must therefore change your body to match. I think it is because most people, however accepting, do not want to deal with the fluidity of sexuality. They want to look at a person and know things about them by their appearance, rather than accepting that we do not come from cookie cutters, and have many different brains and personalities, regardless of body image.
That being said, the purpose of this post is not to criticize trans people, but to examine why physical appearance has become so important. This current obsession with pronouns and physical appearance leaves little room for inner growth and reflection. And suppose a person does transition and successfully “pass”? Does that change their moral compass, core values, or personality? Will “passing” make them better partners? It seems that while many people could be growing inside, this physical distraction might be preventing them from developing as humans. While focusing on “passing”, are they missing life?
I still feel like a male a lot of the time, but avoiding the trans trap has allowed me to focus on who I want to be as a person. Instead of bowing down to society’s pressure to present in a way that makes it easy for THEM, I chose ME and focused on how to be the person I want to be on the inside. When I see how little time “passing” leaves for self-reflection, I wonder if putting this pressure of physically presenting on hold would actually be a relief to my trans friends. My hope is that they would become free from worrying about whether or not their bodies “match” their brains. My body matches my brain perfectly. Because it’s MINE. What people think is no longer important.
Please feel free to respond to this post, and ask questions, as well as to answer any of the questions I posed in this post.
“those asylum seekers come here illegally why can’t they enter the country like everyone else”
yeah why can’t they enter the country like that rich established family from america who could afford passports and suitcases. why can’t they get themselves to the fucking airport in their capital city (lazy cunts) buy a plane ticket and go through the processes of moving into a new country, just trying to forget that you are being chased, persecuted, and tortured on a daily basis, why don’t these ‘illegals’ sit around waiting weeks for a passport i mean these places can’t be THAT BAD that mums would be willing to jump on leaky boats with their babies to escape i mean they are just being dramatic and they just want to change the australian way of life they just want to come over here and change me thats the only reason they are coming to INVADE and force their religion on me #the logic of redneck #liberal brain #asylum seekers