SFNU

Occasionally the impulse to put words to emotion is thwarted by the fact that the emotion itself is so overpowering, so strong, so incredibly THERE that the words you wish to use either do not accurately describe the emotion you're feeling, or they simply refuse to line up to be fired away.

A good example of this is the well known tendency of fourteen year olds with their first crush to only be able to discuss cheeses and frogs while around the object of their affection. Which is sad, really, there you are, all of fourteen, in walks the most beautiful girl you have ever seen, blond hair shining in the slanting sunlight, skin as fresh as the dew on roses, desire fills your brain, your blood-cells become heart-shaped and fluttery, your heart drops into your stomach, which isn't that bad, because your stomach is in your throat, and your brain is doing loopings in azure skies over a tropical island.
And you pluck up the courage to talk to her, you walk up to her, you move up close, she looks into your eyes, and the words in your brain are somewhat along the lines of "Hello, I just wanted to say you are very pretty, I would like to know if you would go out with me sometime?"
But you actually say: "Hi, I have bread, do you like frogs? I have frogs... Ok bye..." and then you are likely to punch her or steal her books or whatever. The emotion is there, but the words don't match and so you can't say them. Simple, everybody's been there.

Off course, the words in your brain are NOT “Hello…-…sometime?” These words are merely what you deem most prudent and wise to spout at that specific point in time, given the restraints of modernity, fashion and common sense. After all “Tussen droom en daad staan wetten in de weg, en praktische bezwaren” (Transl: Between fantasy and reality laws intervene, and practical constraints)
The words that are actually, really, deeply in your head would most likely run along the lines of…(and here I launch in to something I have been wanting to say to someone for a long, long time but never have and never will, obviously, as most people would simply understand or think anyway, guess what, you are right)
“You, to me, are more than life itself, more than the world I exist in, more than the fantasies in which I do not. You are what I wake up for in the morning, dream of at night and think about when the sun burns all other thoughts out of my mind. Should you not be in this world, for me it has no reason, no honest explanation of what should be the simplest of equations. You are what I long for, yearn for during the absence of you. You are what I hate, I love, I loathe. You simply are my everything, my life, my boat, my meal, my bed. Be my knight and damsel, but be my dragon too, be the castle I protect, the army that lays siege, the washerwoman and the stain. Belong to me but never be my possession, ask me to be yours but hold no sway over my heart.”
This is what you cannot say because it will sound corny and stupid, but you think it, and someday you will wish to have said it anyway. And then you will.


This weekend, regretfully, I did not fall into a teenage crush. Quite, quite, the opposite actually. But still, no words to really describe it. I am going to try though, that I am.

My housemate invited me to go along to the local pool-hall with a former co-worker of hers, and I went. Somewhat against my better judgement, I admit. I had been planning on spending the evening in with a movie and some solitude, but I went out. Bad plan? Yes.
It started very, very quickly to go downhill form the moment I met the Co-worker. I am going to call her Slippers.
Slippers? Why Slippers? Because the first thing she wanted to do is swing by her house to put on her “dressy” flip-flops. (The dutch name for flip-flops is “slippers”, thus, slippers)

DRESSY flip-flops? What? WHAT? What the freaking screaming puppyrodgering disastrous dope-addled obscenity flinging FUCK is a dressy flip-flop? Flip-flops are, at best, a beach-apparel type thing. When I see a flip-flop wearer I am immediately trying to see if I can spot the roll of toilet-paper because these shoes are MEANT for walking to the communal toilets on a campsite.
Now, I know they are fashionable. I know people are wearing these things EVERYWHERE now. But really, does anybody actually think these things will ever be dressy? Will there ever be a black-tie event where people will be considering whether black-tie also means you should wear your patent leather flip-flops?
There will probably be, the world is fucked up enough to allow it…

But yes, she wanted to put on her dressy thongs (Australian for flip-flops). And why? Not to look nice or anything, but because, in her own words, “if she was going to step into glass it wouldn’t reach her foot”
What? What? Once more please? If you are scared of stepping in glass don’t wear footwear that leaves YOUR ENTIRE FOOT UNCOVERED!

Or, you know, don’t step into glass, that usually helps me. When I see shards of glass on the floor, I avoid them until I have a duster and pail or a damp towel or, best option, an employee of the establishment I am in to clean up the glass. Then, when I am satisfied the glass is all gone from that particular place, I will STILL NOT STAND THERE unless it really, really cannot be avoided.
And I will be wearing good, nice shoes, not flip-flops.

No worries, I can survive clothing stupidity. Sometimes… But I tried to do so this time. (failed, as you see the blog here before you that should show my coping with this situation has left me with some residual anger)

And then commenced a sextette of poolgames of such an atrociously low quality and standard that an entire pantheon of Gods of Pool has sprung into existence, been angered, smote the unbelievers, and submitted to regretful void once more in the space of two hours at most. Oh my god did she suck at this game.

Now, as in most things, in playing pool I consider myself average to fair. I might not be the bestest player in the world, and I to having a good deal of luck a good deal of the time, but occasionally I can pull of a shot that would invest some awe and wonderment in most onlookers. This, I think, is typical for most people.

Most people, but not this girl. This girl who has clearly “learned” to play pool as a seductive measure and never progressed beyond that point. Everything about here screamed “I need someone to lean over me and grab this stick for me so I can make a shot”
Which is all nice and well, but while playing with a girl and a man of questionable heterosexuality it might not be the best course of action, it might just, you know, really really really piss them off…
So, after a few games of giving helpful advise which was then absolutely ignored (try hitting the red one with the white one….) we gave up an cycled home.

But not before she managed to innocently and unknowingly put the last barbed sting in my already torn and beaten mental flesh… She discussed a pair of pants she bought which where “neutral coloured, and made of a shiny…fabric”
Honestly, my knuckles wrapped around the steering bar of my bike where so white I feared I would split my skin and eject bone-shards from my hands.

Neutral coloured… does…not….exist. Simply. Doesn’t. It can be grey, or khaki, or black, or blue, fair enough, but neutral coloured is nothing. NOTHING. It amounts to answering “plaid” when someone asks you your favourite colour.
I was so upset I could not get thing into words... my anger, should I have been able to force it past my vocal cords would have forced her to take her own life, but it resisted. All that came out was a meaningless string of letters and sounds. "the....s...ug...di...fn...th...tk..."
I am convinced that I was very, very close to discovering a new word there, a combination of letters never seen before that would nonetheless put all my emotions of hate, anger, rage and loathing into perspective en relevant coherence. I would merely have to mutter the word, "SFNU" and her brain would independently of the rest of her understand wha tit had done and self-implode.

Regretfully and painfully, I did not find the combination. But I will keep trying..