Experiences with the male gender.

There are a handful of relevant things I could write about at the moment. This Christmas day, for instance, was one of the more traumatizing events of my young life. I could write about it, but in discussing it at any length I feel obligated to justify myself. I am conflicted, but I am not wrong.

Instead I'm going to write about boys, because I am a teenage girl and this is what teenage girls write about.

A boy named Kelvin decided to visit with me during lunch one day in eighth grade. He was in my seventh grade English class, styled his dark hair with gel and had a particular fondness for cats. My recollection of our conversation is blurry, but time has left me with the impression that he a) told me I needed more friends and b) needed to be romantically involved to be whole. I also recall him patting himself on the stomach and noting the fact that I could afford to "lose a few pounds." My response concerned my "imaginary friends" and how awesome they were.

I have always been clever.

A few days later Kelvin found me at my locker (which, for those interested, featured posters of Hilary Duff) between classes. "Hey," he said, "I thought we'd gone over this. Black makes you look fat."

For the next few days he followed me from class to class, insults at the ready, and I would shout at him to leave me alone as I stalked off.

Then, as I tucked into my spaghetti at lunch later that week, he appeared again. This time he had backup; a few friends stood in his wake. I turned in my seat to face him.

"Would you go out with me?" he said, sitting down next to me.

Half a beat was skipped. "No."

He appeared not to hear me, smiling creepily. "Hey," he said, rubbing his leg against mine. "You know, I'm a professional slut."

"Wait," a girl in his entourage said finally, "you said no?!"

"Yes," I said carefully, "I said no."

Kelvin was up in a flash. He rubbed his face with one hand, mumbling something like "Oh, I was kidding anyway."

I never heard from him again.

I have had only two long-term crushes in my lifetime. The first was named Cameron, two years previously. I fully embarrassed myself with that one, even going on to sneak pictures of him with my micro-digital camera and nickname him "Camcorder." It lasted all through sixth grade. He was a jerk.

I guess I have kind of a thing for jerks.

The second boy to win my attentions was named Zephaniah, one year and one move following my encounter with Kelvin. He and another boy, Sidney, befriended me in my ninth grade American History class. We sat together and, after months of prodding, they convinced me to join their church youth group.

I am both embarrassed and pleased to say that I have footage of this boy for you. I also have blog posts regarding him hidden away in my very first blog, but there is no way I'm going off to find those.

Just no.

Zephaniah was roguishly attractive. I still get a little flustered thinking about him. However, as was intended to be my point, he was a male chauvinist. He was also self-centered and considered himself to be the source of biblical knowledge.

He also looked like Jesus.

Jesus.

He flirted with me at length during American History, though it was obvious nothing would come of it, and eventually went on to date another girl in the youth group. At that point he joked that he should "probably stop flirting" with me.

He didn't stop. Not that I minded.

As I often say: I have the best taste in men.