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The Past Brought, the Present Brings, and the Future HoldsWednesday, May 4, 2016 07:51:45

Mood: Content
Listening to: Take it Off by Kesha
Location: My apartment in NY

Boys are dumb. Take my word for it. Boys are really, really freaking stupid. They're difficult to understand, they make you want to tear your hair out of your head, and they don't know what the meaning of "considerate" is. This is a problem, because I like nice guys.

Herein lays my dilemma. Of the handful of guys I've dated, all of them "nice guys," most were either unaware that they were gay or severely borderline. I don't know whether to laugh or burst into tears.

I'm a modest girl, though I seem to be prime flirting material, as boys from all over will offer to buy me drinks, pay for my meals, give me rides home, yadda, yadda, yadda. But once we finally get into a "relationship," they turn all cryptic and I don't know if, "Wanna hang out?" means, "Wanna go out and have sex afterwards?" or, "Wanna go chill with my boys and watch the game this weekend?" I really wish I could speak Dude, Guyenese, Boyish, or whatever the heck the language guys use is called, because I don't wanna shave for nothing.

Guys don't understand that we girls only have about a 24-hour window post-shaving to do what we wanna do before things start to get prickly. On top of that, it's nice to know what sort of things we'll be doing on dates so we know what to wear. Guys say, "Wanna hang out?" and we think, "What do I wear? How should I do my hair or makeup? Should I do my nails? Should I shave?"

For the most part, I don't wanna shave myself into pre-pubescence to go watch the Yankees versus Red Sox at his best friend's house. If there's no reason for me to, I won't; this being the main reason I wish guys would speak goddamned English.

I know there are some of you, probably most of you out there, who agree with me and can totally see where I'm coming from. We've all been through it at one point in life, and I'm sure that you can empathize and really see that maybe you've been in the same position before. We've all had the "way too nice" boyfriend, the "I change around my friends" boyfriend, the "ridiculously camp" boyfriend, and the "I'll buy you nice things so you don't break up with me even though I'm a wimpy geek who probably couldn't win in a street fight with a five-year-old girl" boyfriend.

Sad, but true.

I grew up in an orphanage for… special children, so naturally my first exploits were with people I lived with. My first boyfriend was a boy named Maldwyn, but everybody called him Mace. We were young (I was ten and a half, he was eleven) and curious, but nothing went past the first kiss that I kind of regret now that I'm older. He was nice, sweet, and caring, but a month into the strange "relationship" we had I realized that he made goo-goo eyes at Jiovanni (a.k.a. Jason) every time he entered the room.

No, I'm not judgmental or discriminative because Mace was so obviously gay—I just wish I could've figured it out sooner.

(Speaking of Mace and Jason, they're now in their early twenties, living together, and still "just friends." I'll have to stop by and continue my attempts from long ago of finally getting them the hell together.)

My second boyfriend (may he rest in peace) was also nice, though he (may he rest in peace) was terribly anti-social and kind of an ass when he (may he rest in peace) didn't want to do something. I tried dating him when I was thirteen, but after a week with Matt (may he rest in peace), I couldn't handle his lazy ass anymore and dumped him off on Mello (may he rest in peace). We were still friends, up until a couple years ago when he (may he rest in peace) and Mello (may he rest in peace) sacrificed their lives to catch Kira (may he burn in hell).

I miss them (may they rest in peace), but I've gotten over it and keep them (may they rest in peace) in my heart.

Ironically, my third boyfriend was one of the meanest, coldest, snippiest sons of a bitch that I've ever met. But he was sweet, loving, and affectionate when it was just us. His name was Corbin Wheatley (alias Cody) and he was one half of the double trouble team of twins at the orphanage. We had a mutual breakup over something I'd rather not discuss, and we've remained friends to this day.

Though I regret it, I caught his brother Addison (or Austin) on the rebound. My relationship with him was probably the longest so far, but that was because he reminded me of Cody and Austin had a crush on my best friend Elena and more or less wanted to use me to get closer to her.

(Congrats to Ellie, by the way, because she and Austin have finally gotten engaged. I'm just glad to see her happy and I'm proud to be the maid of honor.)

After my perpetually permanent failure with the male gender, I dabbled a bit in same sex relationships, my first and only being with my roommate, Elizabeth MacDonald (Izzy-bear, as I called her). We were all of fifteen or sixteen when it started, but there were no confessions—it was just something we wanted to try. Whenever I was around her, I felt my chest swell with excitement and I thought it was love; turns out it was just the closest form of friendship. I think our attempts at dating each other helped to strengthen our already tight bond.

As most do, I left the orphanage at the supple age of eighteen, collecting my belongings, my inheritance, and saying one last goodbye to all my friends before heading out into the real world to live out my life. I moved to New York from England, rented myself an apartment, and managed to get a job at the local Macy's giving directions around the store. One day, a completely coincidental run-in led to me finding out that Mace and Jason were living just up the street from me in a shared apartment. While Mace was off looking for clothes, I chatted with Jason and nonchalantly asked him if he and Mace had gotten together yet.

His response was a bright red blush and a stuttered out, "We're just friends!" though I could hear the hopeful undertones.

(Gah, that only makes me want to visit them sooner. I'll have to drop in after I'm done writing.)

I'm almost twenty-four now, and I haven't been with a guy in any way for about three years as of right now. I say that I'm waiting for Mr. Right, but I think I'm just content with having my friends around to keep me somewhat sane in this insanity-inducing world. I finally started my career as a professional artist, and I've painted portraits for all different celebrities and important people, like movie stars, singers, politicians, and the occasional family portrait for the normal folks.

I hold steadfast in my beliefs that all boys are stupid, though I see now that they're stupid to a point—they just have more trouble expressing their feelings than we girls do, and that's something that we have to be sure to help them with once we're in a relationship that's somewhat steady. Maybe one day I'll find my perfect other half, but until then I'll just keep painting pictures and supporting my friends in the best way I know how: being there for them.

Remember: boys are dumb, but they're dumb to make us look better in hopes that we'll improve upon the male species that God has already laid the template for. We all need somebody to love, that one somebody who really makes us feel as though we can be ourselves, no holds barred.

We'll all find that one person eventually.

Never give up,
Leondrea "Linda" Dubois

. . .

Smiling, Linda shifted the phone to her left ear and used her shoulder to keep it pressed up against her cheek, her now free hands attempting to unlock the door to her apartment. She was truly happy for Ellie, and the woman's enthusiasm about being wed in a week was simply intoxicating, leaving Linda grinning widely as her friend continued gushing about finally getting married. "Ellie, you know I'm nothing but happy for you and I'll always support you in every way. I'm really honored that you want me to play such a pivotal part in your wedding."

She could practically hear Ellie's smile. "Cierto… pero tú eres mi mejor amiga, ¿verdad?"

"Of course I am, and you're my best friend, too," Linda replied, closing the door behind her and undoing her strawberry-blonde hair from its ponytail before launching herself onto the couch. "It's just really nice to know that even after all these years you still think about me. I'll be seeing you soon; my plane leaves tomorrow at about one in the morning East Coast time, so I should be landing at around three in the afternoon your time."

"Muy bien. ¿A qué hora debo recogerlo en el aeropuerto?"

"I'd say around four, four-thirty. To allow for the time to get my luggage and make sure I have everything. Sound good?"

There was the scratching of a pen against paper before, "Si, si. ¡Nos vemos mañana!"

"I look forward to it! Love ya, girl."

"A mi también."

She hung up, setting her phone down on the coffee table before laying back down on the couch and closing her eyes. The noisy streets below, filled with honking, swearing, and yelling, lulled her to sleep for about an hour until a loud crash from across the hall accompanied by, "Shit!" startled her awake. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled herself to her feet and opened the door to find a young man struggling with carrying a box through the door of apartment 306.

Good Samaritan instincts kicking in, she lunged forward and caught the box before it fell a second time, muttering, "Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde," as an extra pair of hands joined hers underneath the box. Looking up, she found herself staring in the deepest, brownest pair of eyes she'd ever seen, framed by short black hair.

He smiled. "Thanks for the help. You're the first person I've seen in the building so far; I'm starting to think it's empty." She blushed, helping him carry the box into the apartment and setting it down on top of a few others. Holding out a hand, he said, "Name's Travis, but my friends call me Trenton. I'm sure you can guess why."

She could, actually—he pronounced 'Trenton' like 'Tre'n,' an obvious allusion to his hometown. "Leondrea," she replied, shaking his hand hesitantly and trying to keep herself from shaking too much. "Most everyone calls me Linda, but I've been called Leon, Drea, Dre, Dre-Dre, Lee, and stuff along those lines."

"Linda," Travis repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. "Nah, doesn't really fit you. Can I call you Angel?"

Good-natured smile, emanating nothing but trust, more than truthful brown eyes… "Yeah," she answered, a grin of her own spreading across her face. "Yeah, you can. Do you want any help unpacking your boxes?"

He laughed, saying, "You'd do that? We just met! You don't have to help if you don't want to."

"I want to."

And that was that. The next three hours were spent unpacking boxes and reorganizing Travis' new apartment, intermingled with joking, laughter, and the one odd time Travis started seducing a lamp in fluent French, which made Linda laugh so hard she snorted, instantly slapping a hand over her mouth and flushing from embarrassment.

"No need to be embarrassed," he assured her, pulling her hand away from her mouth. "I like your laugh."

It was impossible not to smile around him; he just had that… that thing that made it so easy to be comfortable with him. When they'd finally finished unpacking, Travis turned to face her and she swore she saw him turn the slightest shade of pink. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck and bit his bottom lip.

"Um," he started, dropping his hand to fiddle with the hem of his Sex Pistols t-shirt, "would you like to go get some coffee?" The with me hung in the air, but Linda picked up on it—she wasn't a Wammy's kid for nothing—and slowly slid her hand into his open one, entangling their fingers together. "Hm?"

Maybe he was the one for her, or maybe he wasn't, but she didn't want to let this chance go to waste. It might've been the impending joy she absorbed from Ellie but something made her deliriously happy enough to suck in a breath and answer him, self-confidence fully restored from her timid state earlier:

"Yeah. I'd love to."


Author's Note: Enjoy the fluff.

ENJOY IT, DAMN IT.

This might be the only Canon/OC I'll ever write, and it's just because Linda needs love, too. Minor as she is, she still deserves to have somebody to care for and be cared for by. *is such a romantic*

And yes, my head!canon says Linda's French. LOLWUT

TRANSLATION TIEM, MAH BETCHES:

Cierto… pero tú eres mi mejor amiga, ¿verdad?—True… but you're my best friend, right? (Spanish)

Muy bien. ¿A qué hora debo recogerlo en el aeropuerto?—Okay. What time should I pick you up at the airport? (Spanish)

Si, si. ¡Nos vemos mañana!—Yes, yes. See you tomorrow! (Spanish)

A mi también.—Me too. (Spanish)

Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde—Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit (French)