National Boyfriend Day Quotes

Nice hammer,” Harlow said from behind me. “Hey,” I said, glancing around casually to see if Winnie was with her. “Nice shiner.” “You should see the other chick,” she muttered. “Can we talk?” Setting down my hammer, I followed her away from the other guys. Harlow seemed tense and I worried something was wrong with Winnie. “This is awkward and I feel weird coming here like this,” she said, pushing her blonde hair behind her ears. “Are you dating anyone?” My breath caught. A fear rose up in my chest at the thought of Harlow wanting to date me. What would that mean for me and Winnie? The look in Harlow’s eyes calmed my terror. I might as well have been a brick wall based on the lack of attraction she showed. “No.” “Some girl was hugging you outside a restaurant. Wasn’t that a date?” Frowning, I scratched at my jaw where I forgot to shave that morning. “That was a girl from high school. She might have been into me, but we went out as friends. I’m not dating anyone.” “Winnie saw you with that girl and she got really upset. I know she’s not ready to have a boyfriend, but she wants you. Do you want her?” Playing it cool might be the stud move, but I didn’t want to be a player. I wanted Winnie. Besides, for the second time in twenty four hours, someone close to Winnie wanted to play matchmaker. “Yes.” Harlow nodded. “She’s messed up. You know that, right?” “I know she’s fragile, yeah.” “Winnie has a lot of phobias. Not stupid shit for attention, but real chronic problems that won’t go away because you’re hot. She’s been in therapy for years and gotten stronger, but she’ll never be okay.” “I understand.” Harlow bit her lip then nodded again. “Do you want to take her out to dinner tomorrow?” “Yes.” Harlow smiled. “You better be chattier than that on the date or else no one will say anything. Winnie likely won’t say anything all night, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to. She just takes a long time to warm up to people.” I wasn’t sure what Harlow saw on my face, but she grinned. “She really wants to warm up to you, Dylan. Don’t fuck it up, okay?” “I’ll do my best.” When Harlow narrowed her eyes, I was pretty sure she might hit me. “I appreciate the way you tried to save us that day. You showed balls and I respect that. With that said, you better be taking this seriously, understand?” Leaning closer, I stared right into those suspicious eyes. “No one makes me feel like Winnie. If she needs to take it slow, we’ll go slow. If she wants to rush into it, we’ll rush. If she needs me to stand on my fucking head and sing the National Anthem, I’ll do it. So yes, I’m taking this very seriously,” I said, running a hand where short dark stubble took the place of my mohawk. “I told Winnie I would wait and I meant it. What you think is me being passive is just patience.” “Okay,” Harlow said softly. “You know when I came to Ellsberg, I was pretty messed up. My family was dead and I was in this new place with strangers. Winnie took care of me. She became my sister and best friend. I love her like she’s blood. Nothing personal, but if you hurt her, I’ll have to kill you.” “Fair enough,” I said, grinning. “Smile all you want, buddy, but I’ve got moves.” Harlow faked a punch, but I didn’t flinch. My mind was already focused on tomorrow. I hadn’t talked to Winnie since the day Nick’s dad showed up. I hadn’t seen her close up in weeks. I needed to be close to her even if she couldn’t do more than hide behind her hair all night.

Remember when I said I was a bit scattered? It wasn’t just when it came to jobs. I had a slew of strange ex-boyfriends, too. There was George, who liked to wear my underwear . . . everyday. Not just to prance around in—he wore them under his Levi’s at work. As a construction worker. That didn’t go over well with his co-workers once they found out. He works at Jamba Juice now. I don’t think anyone cares about what kind of underwear he wears at Jamba Juice. Then there was Curtis. He had an irrational fear of El Caminos. Yes, the car. He just hated them so much that he became really fearful of seeing one. He’d say, “I don’t understand, is it a car or a truck?” The confusion would bring him to tears. When we were walking on the street together, I had to lead him like a blind person because he didn’t want to open his eyes and spot an El Camino. If he did, it would completely ruin his day. He would cry out, “There’s another one. Why, God?” And then he would have to blink seven times and say four Hail Marys facing in a southerly direction. I don’t know what happened to Curtis. He’s probably in his house playing video games and collecting disability. After Curtis came Randall, who will never be forgotten. He was an expert sign spinner. You know those people who stand on the corner spinning signs? Randall had made a career of it. He was proud and protective of his title as best spinner in LA. I met him when he was spinning signs for Jesus Christ Bail Bonds on Fifth Street. He was skillfully flipping a giant arrow that said, “Let God Free You!” and his enthusiasm struck me. I smiled at him from the turn lane. He set the sign down, waved me over, and asked for my phone number. We started dating immediately. He called himself an Arrow Advertising executive when people would ask what he did for a living. He could spin, kick, and toss that sign like it weighed nothing. But when he’d put his bright-red Beats by Dre headphones on, he could break, krump, jerk, turf, float, pop, lock, crip-walk, and b-boy around that six-foot arrow like nobody’s business. He was the best around and I really liked him, but he dumped me for Alicia, who worked at Liberty Tax in the same strip mall. She would stand on the opposite corner, wearing a Statue of Liberty outfit, and dance to the National Anthem. They were destined for each other. After Randall was Paul. Ugh, Paul. That, I will admit, was completely my fault.

. You start school as a baby aged five and leave aged seventeen going on sixty. Then you start again in the wide, wide world as a green and innocent beginner, behaving like a child, with new boyfriends and hair in bunches and immature thoughts about how the world should be run (‘Let’s share everything! Let’s stay up all night and not pay taxes! Let’s go round the world like gypsies and never settle down in boring jobs!’) and slowly the world turns and suddenly you are struggling with forms to fill in and bills to pay. Your own children grow, and eat like wolves; and life seems like hard work with none of the rewards you thought would come your way simply by being a grown-up. Then comes the time to retire, and back you go again, holding hands on the beach and laughing as you eat apples with your dentures firmly attached by glue to your gums; sometimes television shows geared for the very young are more appealing than the alien humour and scary news programmes that make up the menu in the listings. Then, as Shakespeare noted, we are back to being big babies again, balding and in need of care and changing and feeding, and one day, so soon that you may be able to see the beginning of your life at the same time, the end comes, and That’s All There Was. There has to be a way of looking at it to make a story, to make sense of it. How we longed to be like the film stars of those days! We dipped our nylon petticoats in sugar-water and dried them on radiators to make them stiff so our skirts would stick out like Brigitte Bardot’s pink gingham dress. Bardot! But her baby-ish pout and bed-time hair said Young Creature, not svelte siren of forty. Even then, women were beginning to try to look young, rather than mature. True, Sophie Loren looked utterly femme fatale but she was not our icon, nor was Marilyn Monroe with her curves and thick lipstick. It was Bardot then and still is now, fifty years later. And just as my school days were drawing to a close, the Beatles arrived with Love Me Do (Oh! How thrilling! I do love you, mop-top charmers from Liverpool even though I have never really been anywhere in Britain except school and the south. I love you, and I love the thought of London, waiting huge and wicked like a distant stalker with sweets). The pantheon of Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers, Little Richard, Cliff and even Elvis had to be reshuffled so that the new world order of pop music could accommodate the