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Chapter XI: the Pantsstealer.


This one is possibly one of the bigger mysteries of my past relations.

I had decided I was done with girls, yet again. I could find none like me, and I simply thought, why bother? This was during the summer, near the end of the school year. Me, being a raging thespian, was a part of planning a night of drama in the big city theatre for the high schools that had went to the Sears festival (at which we were heinously hosed). The night of the festival came, and I was doing my part on stage and off, helping out crews and actors alike in detestable fashion deserving of drama people. So, going about my ways, bitchy as always, I happened upon a girl who seemed to show some strange like of me. How could this be so? Odd. Someone giving me the looks instead of the other way around. Of course, she never quite approached me in any manner as to formally let her thoughts of feelings be known. That's a road that none would dare take with me, it would seem. But, during the rehearsals we spoke some, and during the break between we spoke some, and during the night we spoke some. And I could feel myself letting go of my severe distaste for females, and picking up a much more minor one (it never really disappears). So, eventually, we kind of hooked up. Now, I say ‘kind of' because in my mind we did... in hers we did not, it would appear. But oh well. I'm actually not quite sure what happened between me and this one. I've basically voiced all my complaints about this one before on here, about her lying, about her indecisiveness and avoidance, about her pants stealing (FUCK!). So, this is my outlet to see if I can find anything positive. I guess this is a lot different from the earlier episode with the transitional girlfriend because I had never written anything about her before that. In this case I have and fear repeating myself too much (because I know how I hate it when my dad repeats himself OVER AND OVER...). So what else to say? Well, I wouldn't have bothered at all with this girl except that she was going to be attending St Claire, right here in Windsor, so we'd be in the same town at post secondary. Hmn... well lets see... what made me laugh? Her version of our meeting night always did. You see, I wasn't alone in thinking this girl was attractive. That particular night a Racist-Bearded friend of mine also found her attractive. Well, she was one hard-bodied bitch (with a paunch. Look, I have a paunch. A paunch, I say and it's healthy. It's healthy, see? It's healthy that I have a paunch and I have a panuch...). And just the way she told her story of giving him her number for me always made me smirk. You see, apparently I told him to get her number for me, I don't recall so I guess I must have been busy bitching someone out or something of the sort. So, he went to talk to her. At this he asked for her number... but I'm not particularly sure he was really asking for me. Not too sure at all. So, in a haste, she says "Sure... is your friend single?" which is the funny part to me. She just totally gave him hope and shut him down in the same sentence if he actually was after her number himself. He says to her, "Um, uh, yeah... uh, yeah... this is FOR him..." Oh man, that's funny. Hmn, and there was another time that she didn't actually do anything, but she was there and it was hilarious. We were driving to nearby Hamilton, myself, her, TMOI and Special K. K was telling a story of what he was doing that night. It went something like this:
"I was writing my (now dead) girlfriend a poem. She loves that stuff. And when we get back home, I'm going to finish writing it. Then tomorrow I'm going to take her to the park and GIVE IT TO HER! And she's gonna cry!"

I can't begin to tell you how hard we all laughed at that.

He obviously didn't mean to stress "give it to her!' so much, and adding ‘and she's gonna cry'... oh man, that was pure genius in misinterpretation. But onto her again, I think possibly one of the funniest and most pathetic little factoids came about post-humously. She always had claimed that she had been raised French, and then moved and had to learn English. I guess that seemed kind of cool. One day she had a ‘slip' while we were driving. She then said how sometimes she still gets right and left confused in English, so she'd use the French words, gauche and droit. Well, she used them wrong. Yeah, I was about to turn, and not knowing the area I asked her which way. Well, she told me gauche. So I put my left blinker on. She starts saying, "No no, gauche! Gauche... go right!" "But," I said, "isn't gauche left? I mean, I only took one year of French in high school, but isn't it left?" "No!" Um, okay. I was sure it was left. But the whole scenario left my mind after that night, up until a week ago when it repeated on me like a wickedly joyful heartburn. It had bothered me a lot that night, and to think of it again, it still did. So, I went online to find a French-English dictionary. But I didn't have to. I asked someone on icq about it, and she confirmed it. Gauche? LEFT. It's LEFT, Pantsstealer.
Hooo boy.
Hmn. Well, there it is. The good (or at least the humour) in the fakegirl, pantsstealer, or Paris girl. Which ever you want to call her. Oh, except for the fact that she was going to school to be a cop, and she thought that watching COPS on tv was actually some kind of good preparatory training. But she never really came off as dumb. Strange, eh? Yup. And she was a mystery. K especially doesn't understand what exactly happened with us. The first night he met her, she was sitting on my lap, and all over me. Yup, I agreed. And other times, she just seemed infatuated. So I don't know. When it was starting to seem that she wanted more out of me (little did I know she was just ignoring me in hopes I'd go away (yeah right)) I wrote her something sweet and pretty, as I can do from time to time. And I stuck it in her smokes, I actually managed to get it into a new, wrapped pack. That's something too, she smoked. Not something any female other has done, other than Harveysgirl. But I never heard a word about it except when it fell out of her purse once. Unbelievable.
So now we're both in Windsor (unless she was lying about that too). I don't know where she is, she doesn't know where I am. Neither of us care either. Her and her horsies can lick a dick. Yes, I would have to say that I share the most animosity for this past relation, because she is most recent, yes... and because she took my damned pants. I lend her my pants because she's not dressed right to go to the Campsite... and I never get them back. After I would go to her house to see her for 20 minutes if I got the chance, taking the 20 minutes to drive there and 20 minutes back anyhow. After I went to all her little horse riding practices and was civil to the red-neck retard that runs it, for her of course. After I take her to her prom, and she dances approximately a foot away from me during With or Without You. Even after I sit with her for long teary nights during the attempted suicide and resulting hospitalization of her ex... through it all... through every situation... she knew...

She knew she was going to keep those fucking pants. My favourite pants in the whole world. There'll never be another pair like em. There. I think I'm done with her for now. Beat it.

Finally, the Epilogue.

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