Current mood:	worried
Current music:	"how" lisa loeb

you try coming up with witty subjects all the time!
November 13, 2004 – sometimes paranoia is just perceptive

Georgie Porgie is out to get me.

This is no longer paranoia on my part. This is street smarts...okay, school smarts. This is survival of the most cunning or something and he’s trying to make me the laughing stock of the school.

George Rossovitch wants to ruin my life.

Though I haven’t quite figured out why yet. Did I wrong him in a past life? Did I make eye contact? (like the animals at the zoo that they tell you never to stare down to keep them from charging...)

“I saw you at the museum the other night. With your friend.”

I don’t know if I was more thrown off by the fact that he was speaking to me or that he saw me at the art museum. With Jeremiah, Loser King, wearing a dress. And, though I’ve never heard George say anything above the decibel of a whisper in the past, he like...shouted this information throughout the classroom. It reverberated off walls and knowing my luck, probably got transmitted via the intercom system.

The worst part: I got the clutch from Megan Thatcher, a cheesy Ohmigod-isn’t-that-so-sweet gesture because she thinks I’ve got a boyfriend now. Little Linnie Abbot finally got a guy. Except I didn’t and wouldn’t want that particular breed of boy even if we were the last of the human race and the future depended on us.

Kenny winked at me, two other girls whispered to one another, and all I could do was sink into my chair and try to fight off the humiliation boiling beneath the surface. I knew I was overreacting. No one in my class knew that Jeremiah was quite possibly the missing link.

I glared at George and whispered, “What were you doing there?” Everyone was watching the two of us, which made me want to scream. Like it’s anyone’s business...which, of course, it is because this is high school and what else do we have to do?

“I work at the art museum on the weekends,” he said with a shrug.

He shrugged. Shrugged. He opened up this humiliating can of worms and then has the gall to shrug? I was going to poke his eyes out with our microscope. Maybe throw it at his head!

“Interesting,” I replied. Except it wasn’t. Or maybe it would’ve been if I wasn’t, ya know, plotting his very torturous death.

“Your boyfriend’s friends seem like quite a handful,” he replied. He grinned and added lowly, "High on life, I guess."

Who talks like that? Quite a handful? What is he? My grandfather? And suddenly he's concerned with privacy? I mean, at this point, as everyone in class had leaned in closer to us to hear what he was saying, so why didn’t he shout from the rafters that by “quite a handful” what he actually meant was “dorky by even my standards...and that’s saying a lot.”

Luckily, the teacher came into the classroom and began our lecture. Or maybe it was unlucky. Kenny kept winking at me as though the idea that some other guy had touched me meant that I wasn’t the asexual being he always acted like I was in the past.

Gross. I was better off being asexual than witnessing drool form around the corners of his mouth that was directed at me.

Oh, I just might swoon.

I tried to keep my eyes on my notepad, but I could feel George’s eyes on me every now and again. I refused to look, afraid of what would happen next, afraid I’d have my soul sucked out and end up a peapod person.

He didn't say anything else. He might've muttered, "pass the slide" at one point, but I waved him off.

After class, George smiled at me and said, “See you later.”

Totally out to get me. See you later is his code for "I'll find you in the bathroom and dissect you for fun, Lynn Abbot."

Or ya know, just goodbye.

But I think I'm onto something with this theory of mine. I think Georgie Porgie wants to destroy me. Must ponder this further and share scary new development with the best friends.

Fearfully yours!

Tah!