Narcissus Strikes

Since talking about how "teachers get the summer's off" will only thwart my calm, I've decided to tell you about the many happenings of mine instead of cursing and turning into a vitriol filled banshee.

So, recently, as in, 24 hours ago, I signed up at roommates.com. Currently, I am living with a friend/coworker, but her place is eons away from anything and everything else. Friends are 35 minutes to an hour away, grocery store/bookstore/Target.... similarly. Its very pretty and very isolating. So, I thought, hell, I'll wander. See if anything good pops up.

On the site, I placed a picture (called by a friend to be JC Penney's catalogue worthy) of my sister, grandmother and myself. I also placed picture of my overwhelmingly handsome cat, and low-quality snapshot of myself in my new glasses (the ones that make me look like I should be saying something like "Gimme two more seconds! I can hack into the mainframe!"). All three, lacking of bosoms, lacking of pouty lips or any type of sexiness of any kind.

Not a day passes, when I receive this e-mail.
" Hi there! YOU look fairly normal :) Let me know if you'd be interested in renting from me. Also I have another ad on mysapce for rental."

I look at the person's page and see he is 34. A musician. And clearly wayyy too fond of his own appearance. Is that a glamor shot? Good god. I go back to my profile. I see that it clearly says I am 25, do NOT want to live with men, am a teacher... and not much else. Okay. So, I'm safe.

I decide to let him down softly. Because, although its clear that he thinks he's hotter than fresh horse dung... he hasn't done anything to offend.
"You know, I AM fairly normal... as much as a middle school science teacher can be, anyhow. Unfortunately, your place's location doesn't suit me, and I'm not the type of girl who moves in with strange musicians.
Your house looks beautiful though. Good luck on your quest."

And then, I get two emails. In rapid succession... What, I think, is this guy waiting by his computer?
"mmmm.. just saw your other pic. LOVE the glasses...and lips! Holy lips!
Anyway, since you're not moving in...call me! Or text me...seriously. I would love to chat or maybe even see your lips in person ?
Rodney
*** *** ****
waiting

cmon pretty head....let's see what ya got"

Followed by:
" hmmm come to think of it I love the hair too. Stop it already"

Oh god. Really? Seriously? Two minutes and you're already talking about my lips? C'mon pretty head? Let's see what you've got? More than YOU can handle!!! You...are a douche-bag. Bona fide. And I am disgusted.

But once again, just to torture myself mostly, I decide to be nice. This guy doesn't know where I live, doesn't know anything, clearly. He probably thinks I'm some little, impressionable chicky who will be flattered by his attentions. So...
"Wow. You're ... a terrible flirt. Sorry, but pretty boys with compliments dripping from their lips don't impress me. Good bye."

And now I see that this... was a challenge. I should have stuck with my instincts. Because what I got next, made me do several things.... One, involves unbridled laughter. The other involves uncontrollable vomiting. Here, in it's unedited glory, is Rodney's masterpiece.

Once upon a time in the land of non-originality, a pretty boy was searching for a roommate on the internet. "Wow" he thought unimaginatively, "girls are good."

He pondered.

Even though he had no idea what ponder meant. Then he had an idea. "I will do something, maybe!" he shouted to himself aloud quietly. And he nearly did, but forgot what it was going to be...so he took a nap and had a sandwich when he awoke. In his mind he pronounced it 'samwich" like every other ignorant modern day pretty boy in the land of clones.

Then it happened.

With a click of the mouse he landed on a page so different, so engaging, so pure and titillatingly elegant, his entire world changed (if only for a moment).

Suddenly there was color where grey had been, song where there was silence, and the "d" pronounced in sandwich. He was struck. Awe-struck if you will...and even if you won't. His eyes soaked in the beauty...the lips...the hair...the funky glasses and the golden cat (not so exciting but still fun to look at) and his simple, unimaginative self stood up and made a pledge.

"I will know this woman. I will speak to her and picture her lips moving when she speaks my name. I will stand close enough to her to smell her skin, yet far enough from her so that I don't step on her toe. I will do all these things because in my simple visual world, she has turned on a light (energy conserving flourescent) in a place that has only known darkness. Plus she's hot."

He finished the last bite of his sandwich and did a set of curls with a nearby dumbell and proudly looked at his reflection and thought, "I love things."

He waited by his phone, for surely a man of such character and command of prose would deserved a call or at the very least a text from this ruby lipped earth angel.

So he waited....

Okay. Where to begin?
1. "Girls are good"... at WHAT? What does that MEAN? "He shouted to himself aloud quietly." Is that supposed to be deep and artistic? And forgive me... but are you trying to rhyme? In every paragraph? Is that where this drivel is coming from? Hold the phones. Did you just write "Plus, she's hot."? I... have no words. No words for that. Other than maybe... I am feeling my lunch starting to defy gravity.
2. Hello, Narcissus. You love things, eh? Like.... your own biceps? Do you look at women with as much lust as you look at YOURSELF? I have a few things you could do with that dumbbell.... And ruby lipped earth angel? Ha! Are you using magnetic poetry?
3. Command of prose. Right. You talk about sammiches and how you don't know the definition of "ponder." Also, you are RHYMING. That makes it some sort of poetry/prose chimera. And lastly....I will show you command of language! *shaking of fist*
4. Wait. Did refer to my lips again? You did. Okay. Now, you're going down.... but....
5. As much as I want to smack your ass back down to earth, you are going to have to keep waiting. Because you don't want to.

So now, now it's a game. I know that whatever I do from this point will just egg him on. I'm not an idiot. But it's also clear that this guy has to be taken down a few notches. A few...dozen notches. And, you know, I'm pretty good at that sort of thing. I've been wanting to get back into writing, and I've been especially wanting to back into poetry. So, I will simultaneously fulfill both aspects--cut a few of his trees down while polishing my skills.

I present, my rebuttal: (which, for the record, I haven't sent yet... I want to make him wait a while... because I am pure, concentrated evil.)

Twilight blossoming,
nomadically wandering
through created spaces
searching for my own abode
in places shady
not good enough for this little lady
preposterous prices
girls with vices and
people hiding thoughts filled by
malady

Then, hilarious
(possibly nefarious)
meanderings from pretty boys
who probably please most
lasses by
swooning, crooning and showing
off muscles, but this time,
criticized
supersized by dumbbell action
hoping for friction but I’ve got
traction

Perhaps it’s pessimistic
but seemingly narcissistic
mirror-gazing boys
who think they’re impressive enough
to hit on this Rolls Royce
(attempting rosy prose and
making internal wagers)
still won’t be able to savor
this wordsmith’s “beauty”
chronic spontaneity or
much of her behavior

Time for truth-telling
get your soothsayer
this girl’s genuine, fierce and
not sanguine, proposing that
you’re just a player
say your arms are flexing but
vexing me, this ego of
monstrosity has made
optic cord damage from
rolling eyes beneath lids
call me titillating and
I’ll think you an annelid
giving already reasons
to be wary
complimenting lips and not
my vocabulary


Aaaaand bow. Take THAT, you goon.
I will keep you all posted.....