July 27, 2002
Jill's Plan for Ultimate Deviousness
Last night at Mike's I began to plot my revenge.
It involves the mall.
So next Thursday Mike is planning on dragging, er, I mean, taking me to a club to dance. I both cringe about and anticipate this venture. It would be an experience, surely, but it is questionable as to whether or not I would enjoy myself.
Part One of Jill's Plan for Ultimate Deviousness: buckle, finally, under the non-existent peer pressure and have two beers before we depart, if only to loosen up just this once. I need help. Alcohol is imperative.
Part Two of Jill's Plan for Ultimate Deviousness: go shopping, and buy something black and sparkly to cover my inadequate chest. Also indulge in short skirt. Considering my dancing skills, elegantly skanky clothes are absolutely necessary. I have to at least look hot before I make a complete fool of myself.
Part Three of Jill's Plan for Ultimate Deviousness: Try desperately to not look like a complete fool. Listen to Beyonce Knowles' 'Work it Out' more than should be humanly bearable, and practice. I have hips. I should learn to use them.
That is the summarized plan. Simple, sweet, but destined for failure. My optimism all but fails me when it comes to my abilities to make myself alluring in the least.
Cross your fingers for me, kids?
I call this my plot for revenge when truly all of my hurt has left me, and there is not much in the first place to revenge upon. I suppose I would just like to show him that I can be sexy, too.
This would be a whole lot easier if that weren't a total lie.
I'm cute. I'll give myself that. But I rarely encroach upon that territory which turns the male head at the slightest shake of the hips. I just don't have it in me. I am clad always atrociously and I wear no make-up. I laugh only when I think something is funny and take full advantage of my extensive vocabulary.
At any rate. He and I are probably going to go shopping on Monday. I wasn't originally intending on taking him with me, but he also needs to buy attire and claims that he has not style whatsoever and must shop with a girl in order to buy clothing.
I thought that was really cute.
I also thought it was cute that when I got in his truck last night the sweet sounds of 'El Scorcho' met my ears, and that we went back to his house and sat on his bed and took pictures of eachother. I was actually really surprised at how adorable the ones I took of him appeared in the viewfinder... let us hope that when I develop them they retain that quality.
He took pictures of me with his digital camera, my hair hanging wildly in my face. He loves my hair.
That's so cool.
I think a mention is also warranted of his strange driving habits. Mike usually drives about seventy, everywhere. I used to be really freaked out by speeding, but with him I hardly notice. It's only when I look at the speedometer that I think, O, shit, we're going seventy.
At any rate. I tell no lie when I say that driving me home last night at roughly four am, he is driving at about forty miles per hour. Then thirty miles per hour. I point this out, and he just grins, claiming, "I don't want to get you home too early."
There are little things that he does that make me squirm with delight; strange, because they are things that I would do for someone I cared for. Things I didn't realize boys had a penchant for doing.
Maybe just this boy. Er, man, as he so often informs me with a baring of his teeth.
He's not perfect. He's brutally honest, and he dissects me with the slightest batting of his eyelashes. I would rather have him be truthful, I suppose, and piss me off a little, than to lie to save my sanity. By far I prefer this.
But I'm still getting my revenge.
astera at 11:37 a.m.