Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Cobwebs On My Zipper
Dear me, I'm sorry this took so long but I was in Cali over Christmas and it's weird writing about hips and hearts when there's your four year old niece dying for attention. It didn't work.....I wrote the beginning of this in the 16 hour long cadillac so kerblah.
Pete
Cold air whistled through the invisible cracks where the door detached from the car and crept over the warmth of my crown like the angel of Death. I breathed in the stale, noxious air essentially named 'new car smell' with a strange pleasure-in-pain feeling in my stomach.
Directly in front of me sat my favorite drummer, flailing his arms and managing to keep half a finger on the steering wheel while spouting and sputtering 100% Dolphin-safe Andy. The echoing of my own awkward musings blocked his words out.
The only thing that kept my mind from wandering over a dismal, green pasture was Melissa's voice taking hold of my train of thought and re-routing it into reality.
"You seem quiet, Pete.
Andy flailed like a fish on a boat some more as he pointed out,
"Aw, he's always in his own little Peter world."
Twisting her torso and stretching the seat belt as well as the confines of my heart, she observed me with brown eyes too good for the makeup that surrounded them,
"Can you take me there?"
Through black bangs and untold lies, my brown eyes begged her to take me from that very world by any means necessary. Weakly, I smiled only to have her return the only favor I'd ever ask for. Roughly, I bit my lip and the words I'd wanted to say escaped in small, pathetic whispers. Yet, she remained deaf to the sound of my heart pounding on my tongue. The words were immediately captured by the night guards on my tongue and forced down the stomach acid they'd originated from.
Returning to the limitless possibilities of the night blackness, my ears were lucky enough to get an early Christmas present.
From the front seat, Melissa's sweet voice sounded through the car as if a room full of her worst enemies were watching with discouraging glares. I leaned forward and felt the want to press my ear to her lips so I could hear every single little thing she'd ever say. Even from so many leagues away, I could hear her voice sing the pop song. She danced a little bit with the same sheep-like bravery.
"Every time we touch, I get this feeling. Every time we kiss, I swear I can fly."
The lump in my throat retreated like a little-known general in a war against Russia.
Opposite her sat Andy with both hands on the steering wheel and all teeth off the jeering wheel. I could just picture his face wrinkling like a pug,
"Why must you torture me, Mel?"
Squelched, she pouted,
"I actually like that song."
"Oh, sure. You like that song now but in three weeks you'll be shutting it off the radio everytime with that pouty face you're making right now."
She surrendered deeper and mumbled,
"That's what you say, Andrew."
"Trust me, sis, that's how you are and I know."
As if I had a camera in the floor of the car, I could almost picture Andy's foot applying more pressure to the brake. In a wide arc, the car turned perfectly and slid like a .07 lead stick into the parking space.
From the striped view of the back window, I stared at the neon bar bathed in trendy reputations and dead smoke. I could almost feel the intoxication before I'd left the car and the image of so many celebrities getting caught doing immoral things in bars plagued me.
We stepped lightly through the parking lot and my ugly eyes couldn't help be observe the hips crashing around in the cars like a sonic boom. The people in the cars were girls who kissed the bottles better than they kissed and the boys were boys who couldn't care less anyway.
The bar itself might as well have bought the whole stock of strobe lights from the Sam's Club down the street or at least that's what my oncoming seizure told me. A cheap pair of sunglasses did their best to shelter the DJ from the mass of lights as he sat behind the box of an upraised stage. As if he were a god, he sat up there and spun music I wasn't even cool enough to dance to. Even though I wasn't, a massive crowd didn't have my intense issues and were quite likely to be dancing well into the night.
Feeling like a rock, I pivoted around and came eye to eye with a bald stereotypical biker who stood behind the bar with an unflattering dishtowel over his tattooed shoulder. He nodded to me before speaking with a voice that slightly resembled driving over gravel,
"Hey, buddy."
I cocked an eyebrow and did my best to smirk,
"Hey."
"Nice tats."
The abbreviation raked on my soul like a cheese grater and left me smirking distastefully,
"Thanks."
"You know, guys like you and me are a dying breed."
An image of me walking down the streets of Chicago with this bald tree-trunk of a man oozed into my brain and my gut almost exploded with giggles. Luckily for me, he'd turned around and was flirting with a 36-24-36 redhead. With long, flowing, red hair, she sashayed her head around and observed the mass of slumped shoulders and dirty shoes that was I. Silently, she rolled her eyes and walked away. That had to be a new record for the fastest rejection ever.
Feeling my self-esteem hit the bottle; I grabbed the glass of ginger ale and muddled around.
From underneath me, the same self-esteem crawled around the floor and settled under the sole of Melissa's foot.
She sat at a large brown table somewhat off to the side and twiddled a straw in between the slight crack of her lips with half-closed eyes and a burlap sack of unspent beauty.
Across from her, I scraped a chair on the wooden floor and quietly laid myself on the cheap chair.
She smiled upon seeing me,
"Not the club type?"
"Only on days Patrick wakes me up."
A small smile grazed her lips and she continued to play with the striped plastic,
"Yeah, I'm not feeling it tonight. You know?"
"Andy sure is."
"Aw, don't mind him, he's just horny."
Without a second thought, her hand flew to her mouth and she looked at me with wide, bright eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Pete. I-I-"
"It's fine. We all know it's true. Look at him."
Synchronized, we both stared at him as he shot bedroom eyes to a brunette diving into a cup of vodka.
Meeting my eyes, she silently agreed.
I stared into the bubbles of my ginger ale tried not to pop the moment like a thin cherry,
"So, how do you like Philadelphia?"
"It's not mind blowing but it's not horrible. It's just...different."
"Different from what, exactly? Chicago?"
"Nah, I was born in Albuquerque and it's just so different from the rest of the country."
"I didn't know that, did you like it there?"
"I wouldn't suggest it to anyone I mildly liked. It's so incredibly boring and irritatingly hot."
"Ha, then you come to Chicago where there'd be billions of things to do if the snow didn't come up to your neck."
"Ha, oh yeah, I've found that out. Were you born in Chicago?"
"Wilmette, this small little no one's-heard-of town near the Windy City."
"Sounds fun, I like small towns better than the commercial skyscrapers and major harbors."
"Why'd you move to Chicago, then?"
"Family."
"Ah, did you...go to school in Albuquerque?"
"Nah, my wonder years happened in the lovely Chicago."
"I hope you liked high school better than I did."
"It was all right...kinda like Philadelphia."
"For four years, I was the kid who sat in the corner and made plans to try and avoid people in the halls once class ended."
"Nice to meet you, I was the most quiet, ugliest cheerleader ever."
"I hardly believe that."
"No, seriously, I was really quiet. It was always really hard for me to just...interact. I'm always popping other peoples' bubbles."
"I meant the ugly part."
More embarrassed than was necessary, she stared down at her hands and I could see the soft flesh slightly redden.
Having come too far without blurting out something stupid, I tried to redeem myself,
"You were a cheerleader?"
"Yup, all through high school. We sucked though. Our high school had the teams that dealt in empathy instead of good plays."
"Ouch, I'll bet you looked real good in the uniform."
That counted as three strikes right there.
Luckily for me, she didn't respond and cocked her head at me,
"I know you said you're not a party guy but...uh, would you like to dance?"
My head shot up and the bangs fell thickly over my face,
"Uhh..."
She'd already grabbed my hand and was leading me over to the dance floor.
It was only then I was able to notice the slow song ringing back in all of our ears.
Softly, I laid my hands on her small waist and laced them with locks to keep them from gravity. Both of her hands fell on my shoulders and we stood about six inches from each other.
My two left feet skimmed the ground like cinder blocks as we danced somewhat formally.
Two ugly, spinach colored eyes watched her as if they'd had an incident with the crazy glue and every once in awhile she'd meet my eyes and smile with beautiful white teeth.
The song faded to silence as her light fingers faded from my shoulders.
Without delay, another more upbeat song replaced it like last week's garbage.
Melissa made a face that could only ever be described as 'a gangster face' and started to dance like I'd seen people do in the hood.
I stood there laughing for a second at this beautiful gang girl and after a minute or so followed suit.
It took her a second to press her back against my chest and dance like I could only imagine she did normally. A wave of heat washed over me as I returned my hands to her waist in an unintentionally suggestive way.
Her left arm reached up with the graceful nature of a ballerina and wrapped around my neck.
Feeling the multimedia intoxication wash over me, I pressed a small kiss on the crook of her neck and she took no time turning around to face me in my arms.
Fear and anxiety hit my brain as she stared up at me and the only way I could possibly quench it was achieved. My lips bent down and pressed to hers on their own accord. I'm sure of their own accord, her lips kissed me back.
A small spasm went through my back and I wasn't sure if she was touching me or not. I voted for not as she continued to tease me with what I couldn't have.
Easily, we pulled back and stared at each other for a minute. She could feel my breath was coming in short pieces,
"Want to get out of here?"
She looked around nervously and bit her lip,
"How's Andy getting home?"
I pointed to him across the room still talking with the same brunette and we strode over. My voice cracked as I approached my friend,
"D-Dude, can we get out of here or do you need a ride?"
He observed me quickly and looked back at the brunette sexily,
"I dunno, how ever will I get back home, Rita? Will I have to sleep here?"
She pulled the hem of his shirt and teasingly nibbled on her bottom lip,
"Hmm, maybe I can fix you up with a ride. Just maybe."
Deciding she was going to give him a ride, I nodded toward Melissa and she led me through the door. She led me through the threshold that could mean so many things.
We sat in the car awkwardly and stared at each other with the nervous smiles of a nerdy boy who was on his first date and the girl who just pities him.
"That was fun."
She said a little embarrassed.
"I had a great time."
"Heh, you know Jess asked me the other day if you were a good kisser."
"And, uh, what did you tell her?"
"That I bet you were."
"Survey says?"
"You're an amazing kisser."
Ten minutes of more awkward conversation led us back to the hotel.
Both of us stood alone in front of the same door smiling and fiddling with our hands. Eventually, I flipped my hair from my face,
"This is silly, would you like to come into the hotel room I don't even own?"
She chuckled sweetly,
"Sure."
Melissa sat on the rim of the mattress with hands on either side of her.
I looked at my feet and tried to say the words without stuttering,
"You know...you're an amazing kisser, as well."
"No, no I'm r-really not."
She turned to me and I leaned in again, hungrily.
"I'd bet you are."
Melissa whispered on my lips,
"Survey says?"
My pathetic, greedy lips crashed into hers with an awkward intensity. Luckily for me she kissed back.
I let my hand glide like a water skier over the smooth skin of her waist and just enjoyed the moment.
Pete
Cold air whistled through the invisible cracks where the door detached from the car and crept over the warmth of my crown like the angel of Death. I breathed in the stale, noxious air essentially named 'new car smell' with a strange pleasure-in-pain feeling in my stomach.
Directly in front of me sat my favorite drummer, flailing his arms and managing to keep half a finger on the steering wheel while spouting and sputtering 100% Dolphin-safe Andy. The echoing of my own awkward musings blocked his words out.
The only thing that kept my mind from wandering over a dismal, green pasture was Melissa's voice taking hold of my train of thought and re-routing it into reality.
"You seem quiet, Pete.
Andy flailed like a fish on a boat some more as he pointed out,
"Aw, he's always in his own little Peter world."
Twisting her torso and stretching the seat belt as well as the confines of my heart, she observed me with brown eyes too good for the makeup that surrounded them,
"Can you take me there?"
Through black bangs and untold lies, my brown eyes begged her to take me from that very world by any means necessary. Weakly, I smiled only to have her return the only favor I'd ever ask for. Roughly, I bit my lip and the words I'd wanted to say escaped in small, pathetic whispers. Yet, she remained deaf to the sound of my heart pounding on my tongue. The words were immediately captured by the night guards on my tongue and forced down the stomach acid they'd originated from.
Returning to the limitless possibilities of the night blackness, my ears were lucky enough to get an early Christmas present.
From the front seat, Melissa's sweet voice sounded through the car as if a room full of her worst enemies were watching with discouraging glares. I leaned forward and felt the want to press my ear to her lips so I could hear every single little thing she'd ever say. Even from so many leagues away, I could hear her voice sing the pop song. She danced a little bit with the same sheep-like bravery.
"Every time we touch, I get this feeling. Every time we kiss, I swear I can fly."
The lump in my throat retreated like a little-known general in a war against Russia.
Opposite her sat Andy with both hands on the steering wheel and all teeth off the jeering wheel. I could just picture his face wrinkling like a pug,
"Why must you torture me, Mel?"
Squelched, she pouted,
"I actually like that song."
"Oh, sure. You like that song now but in three weeks you'll be shutting it off the radio everytime with that pouty face you're making right now."
She surrendered deeper and mumbled,
"That's what you say, Andrew."
"Trust me, sis, that's how you are and I know."
As if I had a camera in the floor of the car, I could almost picture Andy's foot applying more pressure to the brake. In a wide arc, the car turned perfectly and slid like a .07 lead stick into the parking space.
From the striped view of the back window, I stared at the neon bar bathed in trendy reputations and dead smoke. I could almost feel the intoxication before I'd left the car and the image of so many celebrities getting caught doing immoral things in bars plagued me.
We stepped lightly through the parking lot and my ugly eyes couldn't help be observe the hips crashing around in the cars like a sonic boom. The people in the cars were girls who kissed the bottles better than they kissed and the boys were boys who couldn't care less anyway.
The bar itself might as well have bought the whole stock of strobe lights from the Sam's Club down the street or at least that's what my oncoming seizure told me. A cheap pair of sunglasses did their best to shelter the DJ from the mass of lights as he sat behind the box of an upraised stage. As if he were a god, he sat up there and spun music I wasn't even cool enough to dance to. Even though I wasn't, a massive crowd didn't have my intense issues and were quite likely to be dancing well into the night.
Feeling like a rock, I pivoted around and came eye to eye with a bald stereotypical biker who stood behind the bar with an unflattering dishtowel over his tattooed shoulder. He nodded to me before speaking with a voice that slightly resembled driving over gravel,
"Hey, buddy."
I cocked an eyebrow and did my best to smirk,
"Hey."
"Nice tats."
The abbreviation raked on my soul like a cheese grater and left me smirking distastefully,
"Thanks."
"You know, guys like you and me are a dying breed."
An image of me walking down the streets of Chicago with this bald tree-trunk of a man oozed into my brain and my gut almost exploded with giggles. Luckily for me, he'd turned around and was flirting with a 36-24-36 redhead. With long, flowing, red hair, she sashayed her head around and observed the mass of slumped shoulders and dirty shoes that was I. Silently, she rolled her eyes and walked away. That had to be a new record for the fastest rejection ever.
Feeling my self-esteem hit the bottle; I grabbed the glass of ginger ale and muddled around.
From underneath me, the same self-esteem crawled around the floor and settled under the sole of Melissa's foot.
She sat at a large brown table somewhat off to the side and twiddled a straw in between the slight crack of her lips with half-closed eyes and a burlap sack of unspent beauty.
Across from her, I scraped a chair on the wooden floor and quietly laid myself on the cheap chair.
She smiled upon seeing me,
"Not the club type?"
"Only on days Patrick wakes me up."
A small smile grazed her lips and she continued to play with the striped plastic,
"Yeah, I'm not feeling it tonight. You know?"
"Andy sure is."
"Aw, don't mind him, he's just horny."
Without a second thought, her hand flew to her mouth and she looked at me with wide, bright eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Pete. I-I-"
"It's fine. We all know it's true. Look at him."
Synchronized, we both stared at him as he shot bedroom eyes to a brunette diving into a cup of vodka.
Meeting my eyes, she silently agreed.
I stared into the bubbles of my ginger ale tried not to pop the moment like a thin cherry,
"So, how do you like Philadelphia?"
"It's not mind blowing but it's not horrible. It's just...different."
"Different from what, exactly? Chicago?"
"Nah, I was born in Albuquerque and it's just so different from the rest of the country."
"I didn't know that, did you like it there?"
"I wouldn't suggest it to anyone I mildly liked. It's so incredibly boring and irritatingly hot."
"Ha, then you come to Chicago where there'd be billions of things to do if the snow didn't come up to your neck."
"Ha, oh yeah, I've found that out. Were you born in Chicago?"
"Wilmette, this small little no one's-heard-of town near the Windy City."
"Sounds fun, I like small towns better than the commercial skyscrapers and major harbors."
"Why'd you move to Chicago, then?"
"Family."
"Ah, did you...go to school in Albuquerque?"
"Nah, my wonder years happened in the lovely Chicago."
"I hope you liked high school better than I did."
"It was all right...kinda like Philadelphia."
"For four years, I was the kid who sat in the corner and made plans to try and avoid people in the halls once class ended."
"Nice to meet you, I was the most quiet, ugliest cheerleader ever."
"I hardly believe that."
"No, seriously, I was really quiet. It was always really hard for me to just...interact. I'm always popping other peoples' bubbles."
"I meant the ugly part."
More embarrassed than was necessary, she stared down at her hands and I could see the soft flesh slightly redden.
Having come too far without blurting out something stupid, I tried to redeem myself,
"You were a cheerleader?"
"Yup, all through high school. We sucked though. Our high school had the teams that dealt in empathy instead of good plays."
"Ouch, I'll bet you looked real good in the uniform."
That counted as three strikes right there.
Luckily for me, she didn't respond and cocked her head at me,
"I know you said you're not a party guy but...uh, would you like to dance?"
My head shot up and the bangs fell thickly over my face,
"Uhh..."
She'd already grabbed my hand and was leading me over to the dance floor.
It was only then I was able to notice the slow song ringing back in all of our ears.
Softly, I laid my hands on her small waist and laced them with locks to keep them from gravity. Both of her hands fell on my shoulders and we stood about six inches from each other.
My two left feet skimmed the ground like cinder blocks as we danced somewhat formally.
Two ugly, spinach colored eyes watched her as if they'd had an incident with the crazy glue and every once in awhile she'd meet my eyes and smile with beautiful white teeth.
The song faded to silence as her light fingers faded from my shoulders.
Without delay, another more upbeat song replaced it like last week's garbage.
Melissa made a face that could only ever be described as 'a gangster face' and started to dance like I'd seen people do in the hood.
I stood there laughing for a second at this beautiful gang girl and after a minute or so followed suit.
It took her a second to press her back against my chest and dance like I could only imagine she did normally. A wave of heat washed over me as I returned my hands to her waist in an unintentionally suggestive way.
Her left arm reached up with the graceful nature of a ballerina and wrapped around my neck.
Feeling the multimedia intoxication wash over me, I pressed a small kiss on the crook of her neck and she took no time turning around to face me in my arms.
Fear and anxiety hit my brain as she stared up at me and the only way I could possibly quench it was achieved. My lips bent down and pressed to hers on their own accord. I'm sure of their own accord, her lips kissed me back.
A small spasm went through my back and I wasn't sure if she was touching me or not. I voted for not as she continued to tease me with what I couldn't have.
Easily, we pulled back and stared at each other for a minute. She could feel my breath was coming in short pieces,
"Want to get out of here?"
She looked around nervously and bit her lip,
"How's Andy getting home?"
I pointed to him across the room still talking with the same brunette and we strode over. My voice cracked as I approached my friend,
"D-Dude, can we get out of here or do you need a ride?"
He observed me quickly and looked back at the brunette sexily,
"I dunno, how ever will I get back home, Rita? Will I have to sleep here?"
She pulled the hem of his shirt and teasingly nibbled on her bottom lip,
"Hmm, maybe I can fix you up with a ride. Just maybe."
Deciding she was going to give him a ride, I nodded toward Melissa and she led me through the door. She led me through the threshold that could mean so many things.
We sat in the car awkwardly and stared at each other with the nervous smiles of a nerdy boy who was on his first date and the girl who just pities him.
"That was fun."
She said a little embarrassed.
"I had a great time."
"Heh, you know Jess asked me the other day if you were a good kisser."
"And, uh, what did you tell her?"
"That I bet you were."
"Survey says?"
"You're an amazing kisser."
Ten minutes of more awkward conversation led us back to the hotel.
Both of us stood alone in front of the same door smiling and fiddling with our hands. Eventually, I flipped my hair from my face,
"This is silly, would you like to come into the hotel room I don't even own?"
She chuckled sweetly,
"Sure."
Melissa sat on the rim of the mattress with hands on either side of her.
I looked at my feet and tried to say the words without stuttering,
"You know...you're an amazing kisser, as well."
"No, no I'm r-really not."
She turned to me and I leaned in again, hungrily.
"I'd bet you are."
Melissa whispered on my lips,
"Survey says?"
My pathetic, greedy lips crashed into hers with an awkward intensity. Luckily for me she kissed back.
I let my hand glide like a water skier over the smooth skin of her waist and just enjoyed the moment.
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