Will and I went walking last night. We passed a couple sitting underneath the bridge. They were about our age and the boy look familiar. Probably someone from school. A battery-radio sat in between the two. It was playing some saucy-romantic song that only plays in the movies when the man leans down to kiss his big-lip, big-boobed lover. Will and I pretended not to notice them and kept walking. Both couples felt awkward. Once we passed the bridge, Will and I burst in to laughter. Music? Really? Come on.

People my age thrive the romance. In fact, I have also thrived the romance! On November 24th, 2007 at 1:04 a.m., I wrote in my journal the romantic fantasies I would love to have myself. Here is one:

I walk outside. It’s early in the morning and raining. I’m in my pajamas, hair drenched, and mascara smearing. I walk down the street by the flowers, and it’s him (whoever the hell “him” is). The one I hate. the one who ruined everything. The one I love. I stand there frozen as he walks up to me. Now, he’s only inches away. I punch him in the stomach. I punch him again. Harder. “I hate you. I hate you,” I say, as he stares at me with wet eyes. He leans in and whispers, “I’m sorry.” I cry more, then look up at him. Then. We kiss.

I’m laughing right now. Oh, the humiliation. Fourteen was such a dramatic age.

Any way, people love romance, like in the movies. Music in the background, rain outside, and the unlimited supply of glossy lips. People are so hormonal.

Curtis came over the day before Valentines. He wanted advice about the present he should give the girl he liked. I told him (with confidence) exactly what he should give her. “But how do you know she’ll like that, Anne?” Curtis asked.

“Because I am a girl and I know that this is what she wants.”

I have faced the facts that I am not easy to be romantic with, and it’s my own. darn. fault.
1. I’m not touchy.
2. I’m a feminist.
3. I don’t like showing affection in public.
4. I can’t stand feeling like I need someone else other than myself to survive.
4. I’m moody.

I still wonder if that boy with the radio got a kiss last night. Poor romantic-wannabe. I hope he did.


  1. Well, the whole romantic “music” under the bridge thing is pretty manipulative when you think about it. I think you and Will having a good snarky laugh about it is appropriate. Even romantic.

  2. Haha. The “music couple” was probably the same goofy couple that stares into eachother’s eyes as they dance at stake dances. How funny would that be if it really was them!? HA! Well, I’m glad you and Will are having fun. Have you seen the pics of Tadja and Justin? Yeah, I’m thinkin’ she is pretty happy right now.

  3. Music? Hahaha. That’s hillarious. I love your stories Anne, because you have stories to write. I always wanted to have your life, so that I could look back and laugh, so that I could write about it, have stories to tell. I will once in college. Right? Love you Anne!

  4. hahahahahahah that is sooooo funny!!! and ridiculously cheesy it is so great!

  5. Agreed, Megan. Stake dances are pretty bad. You can see hormones drooling out of their faces.

    Saw the pictures of Tadja. Giggle giggle.

    Camille, you DO have stories. Write.

  6. A sappy, hopeless, pathetic romantic. ‘Tis me:)
    You’re hilarious.

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