Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Lasting Impressions
Author's Note: Tissamy & doyleangel are once again the reason I'm updating. If I had champagne, I'd toast to you guys. Hope you like this one!
Rejection stamp.
After getting home from a long shift at the restaurant, I was glad to be alone. Listening to people bitching about how their steak isn’t well-done, how their French fries are too cold, or how it’s taking too long for their chicken parmesan really isn’t the ideal way to spend one’s weekend. After all, I was only the messenger serving the food, not the cook behind the culinary travesties. Still, customers didn’t seem to comprehend the difference, always giving me an earful of complaints.
I hadn’t even been able to enjoy a minute of silence before my phone started ringing.
“Leave me alone,” I groaned.
Selfish as it sounded, I wasn’t in the mood for listening to another person’s voice. But that didn’t prevent me from picking up the phone. After all, it could be something important. The restaurant could have blown up and the owner could have named me the sole proprietor of his will.
“Hello?” I tiredly asked into the phone.
“Chloe? It’s Jack.”
“What’s up?”
“I don’t like him.” Him as in Eric, as in my brother was shifting into overprotective mode.
“Do we really need to talk about this now? I just got off work.”
“Yeah, we really need to talk about this now. He’s bad for you, Chloe.”
“Since when are you the judge of that?”
“Since I saw a shitload of blunts in your ashtray.”
Fuck. I forgot to clean that out.
“So A) you’re smoking weed, B) he’s smoking weed, or C) you’re both smoking weed.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Jack. Like you haven’t toked up before.”
“That’s not the point--”
“Yeah, I think it is. You’re acting all high and mighty, like you’re some kind of saint. But I know it’s bullshit, okay? I know that you’ve smoked. I know that you drink. I know that you sleep around. So who the hell are you to tell me how to live my life, nonetheless date? C’mon, you haven’t even gone to college.”
Low blows, I’m aware. Cut me some slack though. I had years of pent up rage just dying to get out.
“I don’t need a college degree to tell that Eric’s a piece of shit. See, unlike you, I’m looking out for your well being. Chloe, you could do so much better than that douche bag. Can you honestly see yourself in a long-term relationship with him?”
“This coming from Mr. Non-Commitment? Jack, I’m 19! I’m not looking to get married or have kids. I just want to have some fun.”
“Fun as in getting high and whoring around.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.
“Fuck you.”
With that last remark, I put the phone back on the receiver and let out a frustrated groan.
“Long-term relationship.”
Where the fuck does he get off telling me about a long-term relationship?
Contrary to popular belief, not all girls want to get married. In fact, for me, that’s the absolute opposite of what I want to do with my life. The last thing I want is to walk down the aisle, get knocked up, and get tied down.
This’ll make me sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I blame it on Disney movies. They promote the idealist concept that if a girl waits long enough, Prince Charming will sweep her off her feet and they’ll both live happily ever after. When you’re 5 years old, you’re too young and impressionable to understand how ridiculous it is, so you believe it without question.
Princess Jasmine was saved from her monotonous life by a poor boy with a magic carpet and a genie.
Cinderella found true love because her foot was just the right size for a glass shoe.
Snow White was resurrected from the dead because a cute guy on a horse stopped by her funeral and gave in to his necrophilic tendencies.
Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.
It’s taken me years to figure out that fairytales are simply unfinished stories. That ‘happily ever after’ translates to the ‘yadda, yadda, yadda’ someone gives you when they’re too lazy to explain the boring, stupid and or tragic details. For example, “Oh, I dunno how it happened. I mean, I was having fun at Harry’s party. Then yadda, yadda, yadda, Dana’s pregnant and the car is totaled.”
Don’t get me wrong, though. Adults don’t mean to brainwash their kids with idealist crap. In some ways, it’s for the best. What kid would want to go to school knowing that after years and years of studying, he or she is more likely to end up working at McDonalds than to become rich and famous? What teenagers would wanna venture into the dating world if they knew how many people were out to use them for money, sex, or popularity? What adults would want to get hitched if they knew almost half of marriages end in divorce?
As Homer Simpson once said, “The lie is love. Love the lie.”
It goes without saying that I’m as cynical as they come. My friend Stephanie said that true love could hit me in the face with a sledgehammer and I’d be too stubborn to admit it. I guess she’s right, but what are the chances of that happening? For now, I’ll stick with my glass half empty.
Screw looking for Mr. Right. I’ve found Mr. Right Now.
That’s where Eric comes into play. He’s funny, cute, and more likely to marry his bong than me. Neither of us is looking for something life-changing or magical. Just a pleasant person to help pass the time and make life a bit more exciting.
+++++
As you can see, I channel pessimism through my characters.
I apologize for the lack of Gaskarth, but I don't want to rush things.
Rate/Review. It speeds the updates.
;)
Rejection stamp.
After getting home from a long shift at the restaurant, I was glad to be alone. Listening to people bitching about how their steak isn’t well-done, how their French fries are too cold, or how it’s taking too long for their chicken parmesan really isn’t the ideal way to spend one’s weekend. After all, I was only the messenger serving the food, not the cook behind the culinary travesties. Still, customers didn’t seem to comprehend the difference, always giving me an earful of complaints.
I hadn’t even been able to enjoy a minute of silence before my phone started ringing.
“Leave me alone,” I groaned.
Selfish as it sounded, I wasn’t in the mood for listening to another person’s voice. But that didn’t prevent me from picking up the phone. After all, it could be something important. The restaurant could have blown up and the owner could have named me the sole proprietor of his will.
“Hello?” I tiredly asked into the phone.
“Chloe? It’s Jack.”
“What’s up?”
“I don’t like him.” Him as in Eric, as in my brother was shifting into overprotective mode.
“Do we really need to talk about this now? I just got off work.”
“Yeah, we really need to talk about this now. He’s bad for you, Chloe.”
“Since when are you the judge of that?”
“Since I saw a shitload of blunts in your ashtray.”
Fuck. I forgot to clean that out.
“So A) you’re smoking weed, B) he’s smoking weed, or C) you’re both smoking weed.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Jack. Like you haven’t toked up before.”
“That’s not the point--”
“Yeah, I think it is. You’re acting all high and mighty, like you’re some kind of saint. But I know it’s bullshit, okay? I know that you’ve smoked. I know that you drink. I know that you sleep around. So who the hell are you to tell me how to live my life, nonetheless date? C’mon, you haven’t even gone to college.”
Low blows, I’m aware. Cut me some slack though. I had years of pent up rage just dying to get out.
“I don’t need a college degree to tell that Eric’s a piece of shit. See, unlike you, I’m looking out for your well being. Chloe, you could do so much better than that douche bag. Can you honestly see yourself in a long-term relationship with him?”
“This coming from Mr. Non-Commitment? Jack, I’m 19! I’m not looking to get married or have kids. I just want to have some fun.”
“Fun as in getting high and whoring around.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.
“Fuck you.”
With that last remark, I put the phone back on the receiver and let out a frustrated groan.
“Long-term relationship.”
Where the fuck does he get off telling me about a long-term relationship?
Contrary to popular belief, not all girls want to get married. In fact, for me, that’s the absolute opposite of what I want to do with my life. The last thing I want is to walk down the aisle, get knocked up, and get tied down.
This’ll make me sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I blame it on Disney movies. They promote the idealist concept that if a girl waits long enough, Prince Charming will sweep her off her feet and they’ll both live happily ever after. When you’re 5 years old, you’re too young and impressionable to understand how ridiculous it is, so you believe it without question.
Princess Jasmine was saved from her monotonous life by a poor boy with a magic carpet and a genie.
Cinderella found true love because her foot was just the right size for a glass shoe.
Snow White was resurrected from the dead because a cute guy on a horse stopped by her funeral and gave in to his necrophilic tendencies.
Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.
It’s taken me years to figure out that fairytales are simply unfinished stories. That ‘happily ever after’ translates to the ‘yadda, yadda, yadda’ someone gives you when they’re too lazy to explain the boring, stupid and or tragic details. For example, “Oh, I dunno how it happened. I mean, I was having fun at Harry’s party. Then yadda, yadda, yadda, Dana’s pregnant and the car is totaled.”
Don’t get me wrong, though. Adults don’t mean to brainwash their kids with idealist crap. In some ways, it’s for the best. What kid would want to go to school knowing that after years and years of studying, he or she is more likely to end up working at McDonalds than to become rich and famous? What teenagers would wanna venture into the dating world if they knew how many people were out to use them for money, sex, or popularity? What adults would want to get hitched if they knew almost half of marriages end in divorce?
As Homer Simpson once said, “The lie is love. Love the lie.”
It goes without saying that I’m as cynical as they come. My friend Stephanie said that true love could hit me in the face with a sledgehammer and I’d be too stubborn to admit it. I guess she’s right, but what are the chances of that happening? For now, I’ll stick with my glass half empty.
Screw looking for Mr. Right. I’ve found Mr. Right Now.
That’s where Eric comes into play. He’s funny, cute, and more likely to marry his bong than me. Neither of us is looking for something life-changing or magical. Just a pleasant person to help pass the time and make life a bit more exciting.
+++++
As you can see, I channel pessimism through my characters.
I apologize for the lack of Gaskarth, but I don't want to rush things.
Rate/Review. It speeds the updates.
;)
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