Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (32 page)

Art of the Essay Description #2: Walter Wittenauer, aka “Corny,” aka Ultrasweet Boyfriend

When he is asleep, he looks like a Norse god.

OK, I don’t know anything about Norse gods, so perhaps I should choose another comparison.

He looks like someone who should be cloned for his cheekbones alone.

His skin looks like the color of this really yummy bread they sell at the co-op that’s called, like, Boulder Valley Wheat, but it’s a light wheat, a Scandinavian wheat. Or perhaps it’s called potato, not wheat. Anyway. Light golden like sunlight on a, um—

You know, forget it.

What I can say for sure is that he snores like a freight train.

He snores like a train loaded with freight in the dark of night, going around a curve. In the French countryside. The train drowns out the birds that are chirping in the French trees but every once in a while you can hear one.

A dog barks.

If a dog barks in the French countryside and nobody hears it, does it still bark?

10/5

Further hated words: “We should all have dinner together.”

This was Wittenauer’s idea of a good time last night. He called it Supper Club. His plan involved me, him, Kelli, and Grant.

I’d rather be stuck with pins and put on the campus activity bulletin board.

“Let’s just go for coffee,” I said.

“Why?”

“Kelli doesn’t eat much. She’s tiny.”

Wittenauer laughed. “Thin, athletic people eat, too, Courtney!”

What was he saying? That I’m not thin and athletic? I think I’m insulted. Doesn’t he realize I walk or bike everywhere? I haven’t been in this good shape since, well, forever.

He explained about his Sunday night supper co-op back at CFC and how it’s not necessarily about eating, but more a way to get everyone talking.

I said, “Yeah, but you can’t form a co-op because you don’t even live here,” and he said, “No, not yet,” and I was so busy trying to convince him not to have this dinner thing that I didn’t even have time to react to that. Writing it now, I’m wondering: What was that all about? Is he planning to move here?

How cool.

But how weird.

More cool than weird. We could get our own place! No more DeathKitty!

But who am I kidding? One, I couldn’t afford that, and two, my mom would never let me live with a guy, not yet.

So then what? Wittenauer would move in here with the 3 of us? No, never. Wittenauer would move in next door with Grant? No, never.

Anyway. Back to real life. I distracted him from the whole supper club idea by pointing out we should spend our last night together, just by ourselves. Dodged that bullet and had fun while dodging. It was, as they say, a win-win situation, and normally I hate that expression but not last night.

Le sigh.

Wittenauer left this morning. There is his bio textbook that he forgot, right there on my desk. I will have to get out of bed soon and take it somewhere to ship overnight because he really needs it.

Anyway. It’s evidence.

I cannot get out of bed. Lying here under comforter, not willing to move on with life. Skipping all my classes today. Or at least the first two. And if I skip two, why not go ahead and skip all three? It’s not like anyone will notice me. Besides, I can work on my descriptive powers at home. I have a lot of reading to catch up on, anyway.

Or, I could call Wittenauer.

Or, since I started the semester 3 weeks late, I probably should get my butt out of bed and get to class.

10/6

Ha! This will show petty Art of Essay teacher. Today, I, Courtney V. D. Smith, possessor of bad descriptive whatevers and weak argumentative skills, got a job at a student zine.

Moi!

I got the job while procrastinating writing papers yesterday. See, I can be productive while also being a sloth.

But get this—I even have my own column!

There was an ad on a student discussion site for this new online journal, and I mean, who knows about journals more than I do? So I proposed the idea to the managing editor and she got back to me today and said it’s a go.

My proposal: a column called “Holding Court.” It will appear every Friday. Sort of like a student blog, but whatever—it counts for my resume. I will be published!

Which is cool, because I always wanted to be an attorney and am now considering going into environmental law. Will use my powers to bring down environmental villains. At least, that’s what I promised in my proposal—a look into local companies and where they can improve on lessening their impact on the environment.

Where do I begin, though? The list is long. The resources are few.

Plus, the new
Project Runway
is on.

How green are fashion designers? Couldn’t they be greener? What about TV? Shouldn’t TV be more environmentally friendly?

Man. I wish I hadn’t just thought that. I’m going to have to stop watching.

Art of the Essay Description #3: DeathKitty

A black cat of approximately 15 pounds

Approximately 3 years of age

Eyes that can vary in size from round saucers to thin slits

Eyelashes that are so pretty, they make death seem glamorous

Black whiskers the size of a petite broom, the kind you use to whisk up the sweepings into the dustpan

Personally responsible for culling the bird population

Especially fond of sparrows

Enjoys leaving carcasses on comforters

Attitude that life is not worth living unless you are pouncing on something

The unviolent life is not worth living

Leave no stone or dog bone unturned

Live free or die

Etc.

10/8

Environmental Activism took a strange turn today.

Dr. Bigelow went on a rant with about five minutes left of class, about how our generation (Gen B for Bankrupt) knows nothing about sacrificing for the greater good. He insisted we all plan something big and have the guts to carry it through. Then, he insisted he wasn’t officially sponsoring anything illegal or dangerous and if any of us spoke to the authorities, he would find out who told and fail those students.

After class we all kind of looked around the classroom at each other, like: What are we supposed to do?

Would he fail us all if we didn’t come up with something good? Would we all get kicked out of school if we did?

This is a little intense, even for me.

Talked to Wittenauer about it and he said I should be able to think of something, thanks to experience as a campus Badical. True. I’ve protested before, I can protest again. Maybe not involve the board of trustees this time, though.

I went to Shop & Shop after class, on bike, and saw Grant there. Told him I was kicking around ideas for my blog and thinking about writing my column. “I could expose Guy at the Smoothie Stop,” I said.

“Um . . . what?”

“He’s an environmental nightmare, and I work for him. So what do I do? Quit, or bring him to justice? Well, not that I have the power to do that . . . but what if we listed businesses around town that were not environmentally friendly?”

“Sounds great,” Grant said, and returned to work.

I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even listening to me at all.

However, it’s the first time so far I’ve managed to see Grant at Shop & Shop AND leave store with actual groceries. Yes! Score!

Running tally: Maturity: 1

Immaturity: 97

10/9

Homecoming at Cornwall Falls. Giant parties. Big game. Wittenauer is out cheering. Mary Jo, everyone having fun, hanging out with alums, parents, etc. Meanwhile, I went to work. How much does that suck?

As I stood there making order after order, it hit me that (a) this is not where I want to end up in life, and (b) I should probably let Gerry know he’s been hacked.

T or D item Coconut Fantasy Dream (my fave) = here, called Dreaming of Coconuts

T or D item Hot Fudge Fudgorama = here, Fudgorama Diorama

Sunrise Strawberry Supreme = Sunset Strawberry Supreme

Banana Splitsville = Banana Splitsville = Blatant Rip-off

I mean, this makes it really, really easy for me to work here . . . because I know all the recipes by heart . . . but I feel like I’m cheating on Gerry somehow.

Wait, that came out wrong. Not
cheating
on him, just cheating on Truth or Dairy.

Do I sabotage my own job by cluing in Gerry to what’s going on here? Or do I assume that most smoothie and ice cream places offer the same items and just move on?

“You kind of borrowed a couple of ideas, didn’t you? From Truth or Dairy?” I asked Guy very casually during a very casual moment. I smiled. Casual-like.

“What?” He acted like that was an insulting, way off-base question. “I came up with all the concepts myself. It took months,” he said.

Guy is not very bright.

Anyway, so much for the so-called late-night study crowd, seeing as how I was working on a Friday night. More like late-night drinking crowd, from the nearby bars and fraternities. People staggering in for smoothies and energy drinks, trying to sober up. Or maybe just trying to get the energy to stay out later. Or at least to have the energy to be happy drunks.

10/10

Last weekend Wittenauer was here.

This weekend, it’s Bryan.

He came by the Smoothie Stop to pick me up from work at midnight last night. He’s sleeping on the floor beside my bed, and Oscar is practically sleeping on top of him.

I can see DeathKitty’s eyes glowing in the light from my book light. She’s sitting over by the stairs. She won’t let any of us move without knowing about it.

Bizarre cat. With violent tendencies.

I’m not normally this close to Bryan so this is weird, but maybe our relationship is changing as we get older. He’s been begging me for the chance to get away. “Please, Courtney. I
really
don’t want to be around Mom and Doofus right now. Plus, I miss Oscar.”

How could I argue with that?

Still. Bryan’s been spending
way
too much time making Shawna laugh. Insisted on all of us going up to Poudre Canyon for a hike—Dara came, but she would only hang out by the car and wait for us to get back. Then Shawna insisted on all of us biking around town afterward.

Dara rode her one-speed cruiser and got left behind on the first little hill. I think she actually just was planning to ride to the coffee shop anyway. Couldn’t wait to get rid of us.

Then, Shawna went to work, and Bryan insisted on visiting Grant next door. No amount of arguing and complaining from me could stop him. I was still telling him that maybe we should call first when he was out the door, stopping Grant and Kelli in their tracks.

Then, just like old times, it was the four of us sitting around: Me. Bryan. Grant. Oscar.

And Kelli.

Whoops, I guess that makes five of us.

“Come on, Bryan,” I said after a little while, under my breath. “Let’s go. We’re like the third, fourth, and fifth wheels here.”

“What?” He gave me a clueless look.

“Hey, who’s up for badminton?” asked Kelli. She was so nice. So incredibly nice.

So then it was me and Bryan against her and Grant. Nothing like a Saturday night with your brother. Playing badminton, which is not fun even in the best of circumstances, against your ex and his new GF. And your dog trying to chase down every single badminton bird thingy and chew it to bits.

Well, at least that made the game a short one.

10/11

Nightmare of epic proportions. Talked to Shawna tonight while we were studying in living room. We were talking about me and Wittenauer when all of a sudden she said, “Your brother is, like, so cute.”

I shook my head. “Not really.” Despite the fact we didn’t look all that different, I had to protest.

“He is, he is.” Shawna sighed. “And the sad fact is that I’ll never meet anyone like him.”

“Probably not. You should just forget him and others like him.”

She frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s too young for you! Because he’s my brother!” I nearly yelled.

“I didn’t say I wanted to go out with him. Someone
like
him. God. What do you take me for, a cradle robber?” she asked.

It was then I had to explain to her what happened with Bryan and Beth.

“Well, yeah,” Shawna said. “Beth was always kind of a little too, um, friendly. With guys.”

I wanted to defend her, but that wasn’t too far from the truth. Even though Beth is in Italy and has settled down a lot, she can’t escape her HS reputation.

That kind of sucks.

Does that mean everyone will remember me as a bad class vice president who let the president steal all the money in the treasury? And gave a very poor, very embarrassing speech to get elected? And slept on the roof of a school to raise money but was not even touched by the infamous player Tom “the Tom” Delaney?

There’s so much to live
down
.

No wonder it’s a good thing to go away for college. Far, far away.

Anyway, Shawna and I plotted a strategy for her to find someone more appropriate to lust after. She claims that she never meets anyone, but I don’t get it. She says guys don’t approach her because they assume she already has a boyfriend. On account of being kind of beautiful.

Which she is, but still.

Working graveyard shifts at a copy shop is not helping her. She only meets strange, stressed grad students. We made a list of every guy she knows and is slightly interested in. I was shocked when she wrote down “Matt from next door.”

“Oh yeah, he’s really nice,” I chimed in.

“Grant from next door,” she wrote next.

“But he’s, um, seeing someone,” I pointed out. Not to mention that he’s my ex and that would be horribly awkward.

“I know,” she said. “But it probably won’t last forever.”

Dara walked in the door just as I was saying, “No, you’re right, I guess.”

“Right about what?” asked Dara.

“That Grant and Kelli are, like, on borrowed time,” Shawna told her. She talked about her ex, who decided he didn’t want to be tied down to just one person. “And I was like, later. Have a good life. Why would I want to waste my time with someone like that? You either want to go out and be serious or you don’t. But then I think he’s kind of right, you know? That we’re too young to be settling down with one person. I mean, like, look at Tobie, who’s living with Bradley, and all they do now is fight about the dishes, and then there’s you, who’s tied down to Wittenauer and he’s a hundred miles away,” Shawna went on.

“I’m not tired down,” I said. “And it’s a thousand miles.”

“Tied down,” Dara corrected me.

“Whatever. I’m not.”

“Sure you are,” said Dara. “You’re not agreeing to see other people, are you?”

“No.”

“Then you’re tied down,” she said.

“But what’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“Nothing! If that’s what you like. I just don’t, I’m more of a spontaneous free-spirit-type person when it comes to going out,” said Dara.

“In other words, lonely,” said Shawna.

“No, actually, no. I’m not. And what’s more lonely? Being alone, or missing the person you’re tied down to?” she asked.

Ooh. Check. Mate.

I was going to call Wittenauer and ask if he felt like he was too . . . tied down, or up, or whatever. But that seemed like something only a tied-down person would do.

What a horrible expression. Picture bound wrists.

Of course, some people like that sort of thing.