On Being a Shithead

Talking to my Mom, of course. Talking about life, expectations, how I mostly have only had my brain my whole life. She mentions that I'm clever and I say that I know how much more clever I could be. Her response had us laugh crying for fifteen minutes.

Mom - Well, you're not MENSA Shart.

Me - Wait, did you just say shart?

Mom - I don't know. Did I?

Me - You said shart. That could not have been more perfect.

We're both crying. 

Me - I need this on a shirt.

She's still crying.

Me - We could start our own club: The Sharts. (I start singing the melody to the Jet Song from West Side Story)

This is peak Mom conversation. 

First Fiction

My very first date with Preston was at the theatre to see "Pulp Fiction." He had been lobbying for this date in major ways. He made a sign that read "Will Work for Heidi" and stood on my road waiting for me to pass him on my way to work. 

I stayed home sick and never saw him.

Then he called and we arranged the date. I picked the movie. Because, of course.

Then, we're there. And THAT scene starts. He leans over and quietly asks "do you want to leave?" He's soooooo uncomfortable. Because, of course. I tell him "Oh no. I want to see this."

It's still going. He asks again. I pat his arm. "I'm fine." He's not fine.

The movie ends. I loved it. He's a wreck. Thinks he broke any chance with me.

He never had a chance. I was still in love with someone else. Because, of course.

https://letterboxd.com/journal/crushed-worst-movie-dates-valentines-day/