I have no idea with what Mr.X’s fascination towards SFX’s shoe laces is, but if he is compensating for his very own “foot” size, then ha, ha, ha, oh so Shrek can do it but I can’t. Anyway, that was my joke of the day.
Now I want to go down memory lane. For many, you may just know me from this year, or you are just learning about me through these blogs (btw, I am not a slut, just a teenager with a messed life choice, there is a difference). Anywho, there was so much that happened to me three years ago that all lead up to all these bottled up hormones. I grew mentally, emotionally, but unfortunately not physically (there I admit it). Now there was one ambiguous case that I encountered in grade 9 that confirmed my messed up life, and he is Mr.Hotstuff. But before I can talk about Mr. Hotstuff, my fellow readers, let’s take a step back to the summer before high school began. There is me hi, Scarlet, yeah hi there, all excited with that new wardrobe, oh you got a cute cardigan well, honey I hate to break it to you, but you ain’t going to a public high school for much longer. You see in 8th grade, I was made by my eighth grade teacher who hyped my mother up with all these fantasies of my future to the point where she made me take the IB test. Yeah, yeah, I got accepted, but it didn’t mean I wanted to go, because the one thing that the IB school didn’t have was my boyfriend (ex now, and no he is irrelevant to my life now so he doesn’t get a name). I knew that if I went to a different high school, I would risk losing him, because let’s be honest at our age, long distance relationships are equivalent to walking on thin ice, it’s fucking impossible, and if you say otherwise then kudos to you. So with a lot of convincing (I honestly don’t know how the fuck I managed to convince my mother who can see straight through my eyes, but really she’s going through my glasses to my eyes). Okay so here I am, getting all ready for my life as freshman in high school. That was it, that was about the only time I felt excited to go to high school. From there everything was downhill, like skiing down a slope, but then you realize you can’t ski so you’re sort of doing a somersault. I was doing well in all my courses (90 and above…don’t judge) except for one course, science. Now I love science but I know that teacher was satan, out to get me because three weeks into the semester and I’m getting a 35% in their course. WTF, I DID WRITE ABOUT THE NITROGEN CYCLE WHY DID YOU GIVE ME A ZERO????? My parents thought it was sign, or some woodoo magic telling me that I should go to the IB school, so that week, they got me an oversized (it’s still too big) uniform, and a letter saying that I can attend the IB school of agony (it was agony to see that uniform). I fuckin wore my own clothes for 10 fuckin years, how can you just give me a uniform. But in reality that was not my “major” problem, the real problem was that I was going to be separated from my guy (great job Scarlet, you really got your priorities in order). The only person I told before I left was him, and he promised to call and meet up as often as possible, but my brain was telling me, “you fuckin believe that Scarlet.” But noooooo, I told my brain to shut up, and took my fate like a man (see how I didn’t say destiny).
Eventually my suspicions became the reality that I dreaded, like I dread doing a 36 page math experiment. My guy and I started talking less and less, and every time we talked, we fought. We fought to the point where he made a point about being with another girl, to be exact, a close friend of mine. So here I am trying to catch up weeks of work I missed and I hear this. You fuckin got to be kidding me. Now this is where Mr.Hotstuff came into the picture. I met Mr.Hotstuff a few days after I came to academic prison, I remember it like it was yesterday. We were in geography. It was the day of the Terry Fox run, and knowing me and athletics being like water and oil, we don’t dance around the same circles, I decided to donate some money and stayed in class to make friends with whoever felt similarly about running. While attempting to remember names, I saw Mr.Hotstuff running into class with a metal brace on his left arm (later I learned that it was sport injury…ohh lala a jock, no it was brown baseball, a sport I played out of being made into a man by my dad at the age of 8. And btw is it just me or does the uniform make you want to crave marshmallows?). He came running in and slammed the brace right into the corner of my desk, as he failed to explain to our teacher why he was late. I undoubtedly made the bitchy comment, “Do they just let anyone into IB,” when he walked right up to me and tried to play the “let’s get to know about the new girl game, middle school edition,” by going through my iPod (yes I had an iPod because my phone was a Blackberry, and I’m a strawberry), and looking through my bag in a failed attempt to find out anything about me (real mature Mr.Hotstuff). From that moment on Mr.Hotstuff was always messing around with me during class, whether it may be taking my pen, or mocking me, there was always a playful hate between us.
One day, my guy, and I were arguing…again when I suddenly blurted out stupidly, “I have a boyfriend!!!” Smooth move knucklehead. He asked me who, which to be honest was a very valid question at the time when I suddenly thought about Mr.Hotstuff, and before my brain could tell my mouth to shut the fuck up, and my legs to walk away with the very little dignity I had left, I said his name and all hell broke loose. Like an untamed wildfire, the news broke loose at both my new school and my old school as word spread that I was allegedly dating Mr.Hotstuff. Mr.Hotstuff was pissed at me and I don’t blame him. I did break up with my guy because turns out, he was lying to piss me off so we decided it was better that we didn’t see each other anymore, and I did straighten things out with Mr.Hotstuff, but I just never told him who my guy was…sorry Mr.Hotstuff! :p Now that is the origin behind Mr.Hotstuff, and how I associate myself with him.
Now why hotstuff, eh? Well every civies day we have at school, the man dresses like he’s coming out of a modelling catalog (dude tone it down, you’re blinding me!!!!). Why is Mr.Hotstuff important to my blog about Mr.X, well it’s all Mr.Hotstuff’s fault for giving me hope that I might have a chance with Mr.X. One day before our first semester exams (Prior to that was when I started liking Mr.X), Mr. Hotstuff came up to my cubicle study area in the library and told me that Mr.X has a crush on me. Mind you, I didn’t know about Mr.X’s “other” side back then, but I also knew that Mr.Hotstuff was messing with me, so I played it off like a little joke. But mind you, I hoped that at least 0.000000001% of that lie was true. Oh come, don’t we all wish to believe that a playful compliment from any guy has an ounce of truth behind it? Can I get an Amen girls??!!! Were you actually trolling me Mr.Hotstuff? I don’t know, but Mr. Hotstuff, I always wondered are all the people from your school artistically inclined, or can I just not draw a symmetrical circle for shit. But you are the reason, my compassion for Mr.X is so strong, so I hope you know that, and for god sake, I hope you know who you are Mr. Hotstuff.
***This is the first part of my four-part blog (I know I said 2 parts before), stay tuned throughout the weekend for the other three parts of my flashback story leading up to the origin story of Mr.X.