Friday, December 12, 2008


When I was a first-year in undergrad, I met this boy named Oscar. I had a huge crush on him, but was afraid to say anything because I assumed he'd think that I was just a dumb white girl. He was a little on the fruity side and talked a mile a minute, like Six did on Blossom. It was hilarious to listen to us talking because then I'd start talking faster, and between his spanglish and speed, and my speed and giggling, it must have sounded like we were literally on speed. He was from Hartford, and before that, Puerto Rico. He was geeky and would always hang out with the girls, whereas I would always hang out with the boys. One day he REFUSED to let the other girls on my floor (and it was all girls on that floor, so he was kind of conquering our space) have the tv to watch a Yankees game because he wanted to watch a VH1 Behind the Music that was all about Madonna. I found out later that semester that he liked me too. By then I had decided to hang around with this dirty punk who showered like once a semester and had a huge record collection.

I don't care about the Oscars. But I cared a lot about a Oscar.

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