The T-word

It's a bit after midnight and I can hear barely a thing. A huge ass party, with beautiful members of the opposite sex around me and I can't hear anything but fuzzy music. You may be thinking that I'm that lost in the jumpy green eyes that are staring back at me, but it's not true. I hate to bust your bubble, and quite frankly, I hate that fact that I'm not being a big man and lying about what's going on here.

My 'brothers' would be freaking out, no question about that one. They'd be standing around me harping because I'm staring out into space still nursing the mug of beer they handed me upon my entrance. Yes, it's true...upon entrance to any major party here at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities, where beer is supplied, mugs of beer are awaiting your sweaty, rugged palms. My mom seems to believe that one. Yeah, and pigs are flying out the window as we speak.

So, anyway, the reason I'm only 'sipping' my beverage is the one and only Amy. That blonde headed craze got me all in a tiffy and she doesn't even know it. Well, she must know it because she called and well, I was quiet. And then she stopped by, talking with my roommate, and well again, I was quiet. I said 'hi' and 'bye.' But, really, how easy is it when you find out that the girl your crunching on is a full-blown teenybopper of a college student?

Yes, that's right, I used the T-word, which she hates and pointed out to me the moment I stared at the poster of her beloved few that are tick-tacked to her dorm room. "I am not a teenybopper. I can't believe you're making me use the T-word." The tone was flat, straight, no bull shitting, whatever you wanna call it. But, she was offended and stood there just staring at me, hands on hips. Wanting to laugh, I try my damnedest to hold it in. She's really serious about this whole 'T-word' thing. I never knew that was an offensive word.

I glanced around the room, taking in the decor of her roommate. Regular girl stuff like the Anne-whatever-her-last-name-is who has all those pictures of the babies in weird places. Like the middles of flowers, being other animals like a butterfly, and in people's enlarged hands. Okay, so I've looked at the few pictures on other girls' wall. That's what happens when I spend time on Amy's floor. Most of the girls there are into that crap. I, for one, am not. But I had to appreciate the sports posters that featured our mighty Gophers' athletic teams. Those two girls at least had taste in school spirit.

With a huff, she turned from me giving off a slight chuckle, and then I heard a few clangs at her desk. Nothing loud, just enough for me to glance around and see her scrambling to hide TOY-ACTION FIGURES?! WHAT IS THAT?! And then my voice repeated my thoughts, "What was that?"

"Um, nothing," she mumbled then came back over to me after she had deposited the TOYS into her desk.

God, I felt humiliated for some odd reason. "Please don't tell me those were 'their' toys."

And yeah, I heard the their' sound like I said a tainted word, just as she had when she responded, "Um, no."

"This is like admitting to liking Barry Manilow or Michael Bolton."

Why was I stuck there? Oh, yeah, Amy. She looked at me with those soft blue eyes and began with her eager sense of humor, "Michael Bolton is a no-talent ass-clown."

I had to laugh. I had no choice. She is just whacked out in some aspects to which I wonder where she comes from and then I just laugh and realize that the girl makes me smile...another thing the 'brothers' would harp on me for. Thinking about a girl.

So, as I was saying (ages ago) I'm not paying any attention to the sweet honey that is flirting with me. Yes, girls, we know when you flirt. We just play dumb to get you to do it more...which I am normally all for. But tonight, it's just weird--and especially now that, DAMNIT. Amy just walked in that door. Well, I'll be damned. She told me she didn't party much outside of her dorm room and well, I guess that makes me a firm believer in what I always told her. Wisconsin people are not to be trusted!

As she walks across the room, I just can't see anything else. Those stupid guys are stuck in my head like a horrible song that you hear first thing in the morning. Which, for me usually--unfortunately--turns out to be one of theirs. And by 'Them,' I mean the objects of Amy's affection.

I have to shake my head. How could she seem so normal, so cool...yet be that T-word, as she put it. It's just not right. I mean, my ten-year-old sister is in love with those guys, but she's just clouded. Amy is a grown (well in physical aspects and her age--not counting mental) woman and should be more interested in grounded artists. Like Aerosmith, Creed, Stone Temple Pilots. Anything else!

Oh, damn, she's coming this way. I turn just slightly away from the petite brunette who is STILL jittering away, burning off my ear with her incessant ramblings. If Amy sees me talking to this girl, she won't take me serious. Yes, I know I was just contradicting myself, as I seem to not be able to take Amy serious despite her down-fallings. But, people, it's unnecessary for her to have that poster.

She's now just to my other side, away from Cassi, or Bambi, or something else that ends in an i. I can see it, that slight glare that she's trying to hide as I look over to her. Sliding a hand over my dusty blonde hair, I try my best smile, "Hey."

"Hey," she repeats and I just wish she would loosen up. I mean, I didn't ask Staci, Sammi, Summer, or what's-her-face to talk to me. She just came up and started. I just didn't have the heart to tell her to leave me alone.

When all else fails, go to something regular, "You made it."

"Yeah, I told you I would," she returned in an awkward voice. Now, not only I, but she also knew that I was lame.

And then there it came, again. I try to block it. I really do, but I just can't help the mental pictures that are flashing before my very eyes. Then the chuckles come. I'd almost say giggles, but really, I am a man. Men do not giggle.

The confusion on her face is all too noticeable and still the picture remains. I try to get rid of it for her sake, so I could have a decent conversation with her. But, it just doesn't work. Those guys. All five of them are there, now. Before it was just that short, lil' runt with the blonde hair, that she argued had the same hair I did. Please! As if...shit, when did I become that girl from Clueless?

The tall one with the dark hair, the other tall one with obviously bleached blonde hair. Again, when did I begin to notice these types of things? And then that lil' one who looks like an Italian woman and the weird one. Yes, I classify him as everyone else does: weird. Those ink-spots all over his body that don't seem to mean a single damned thing other than that he likes to be 'colorful.'

I see a hand waving before him eyes and I shake from my thoughts to see her standing there, still. That I am amazed about and glance around before settling my gaze back to her. "Huh?"

"Where were you off to? Candyland," she snickers and it is then that I remember that girl's name. Candy. Yeah, she made a deal to say Y! No i, it's a Y.

I hate when she gets that little attitude in her voice. It's actually not that bad, but I guess I'm a bit sensitive about people crabbing at me when I can't help that I constantly see five 'no-talent ass-clowns,' as she called it. I spat in return "No, just to the back streets."

One quick movement and her hand lands squarely on my cheek. Damn, now that's embarrassing.