2008/03/03 23:53 Lately I've had this drive to read books whenever I have a spare half hour with which my roommate hasn't decided to spoil by turning on some tragically hip, freshly-leaked album he got from any one of his hooked up cohorts. I'm startled by this compelling force to do something other than play halo online or watch youtube videos of white trash punching each other in the face. I can't help but find something irrefutably sexy about the feeling of a hard-cover novel clutched tightly in my hand like it would cease to be if I let it fall. Maybe this new novelistic love came from my desire to be more worldly. Or maybe it's because I found myself face to face with one of the most discouraging raised eyebrows I've been confronted with to date.
Lately, I've been in the company of a young woman named Justine. I promise I'll explain more about her later. I'm one of very few men to enter Justine's house as something a little more than a friend. Again, I'll touch on this later, since it's a significantly gray pretense. Over finger food, I sat down and accepted the third degree from Justine's father, a remarkably curious former claims representative with an interest in things even the most scrupulous journalist would leave out of his notes. We got on the subject of reading. I told him, quite honestly, that the only leisure reading I have time for is magazines. I don't read the paper, I rarely read books. My peripherals were kind enough to catch a fleeting disappointed expression on Justine's face just before her dad's right eyebrow smoothly raised mid-forehead like a hydraulic jack. It was like watching a baseball whisk over the plate while I frantically tried to knock it out of the park.
I wish I had a better reason for being so wrapped up in the claims rep's opinion of me. The only valid thing I can say is that it's because I have an unrelenting crush his daughter. In a professional sense (the only sense I can safely think about her without letting my mind wander), Justine is me, one year ahead. She's a magazine journalism major, like myself. She's currently holding the magazine apprenticeship (re: unjustified word for intern) that I'm currently applying for, and has just recently accepted one of the most coveted internships reserved for the strongest magazine majors. There are plenty of other aspects I could amorously list, but that would distract from the point. To summarize Justine: She's practically my dream girl. The problem with dreams is that their reality equivalents typically have a catch. The catch here is that I am a godless soul, and Justine is a Jehovah's Witness.
For those who don't know why this would cause a problem, Witnesses are only allowed to marry other Witnesses. This means that she can't date outside the religion, either. There is a satisfaction and an almost-equally frustrating facet of this. We sat down one night (after she got in trouble for being out with a boy until 1:30am) and discussed what was going on. She told me that she really liked me and that the whole situation is nerve-wracking. Obviously, I let her know I shared those same sentiments. I think we ended that discussion with either a hug or the decision that we're never allowed to be drunk together.
Jesus, it's 12:42 in the morning and i've managed to go on a tangent. I think when I started writing this I meant it to be witty, but I can safely say I missed the boat on that one.
So this is my life now. I love books, chase internships, and lust after Jehovah's Witnesses. I guess I can't say I'll never tell a good story about my life.
