YOLO

I never understood how to talk to people. I mean, people in general. There are some sort of people that I can talk to and everything’s cool and dandy. But there are the other kind of people, the one that loves getting drunk every weekend, that are proud of not reading. The kind that think that Swag was created by Bieber. Susan was one of those.

Once upon a time, when I was single and desperate (a couple of tales of that time are written here, quite more to come yet), I got hold of a guitar at a friend’s house and tried to learn the basic. This gave me an urge of actually buying one, of going to classes and try to learn about songs and stuff (well, my intentions were pretty broad, I know). And, we all know, girls dig the musician.

"Heeeey, sexy ladieees... change, please, I haven't eaten in weeks"

I found a teacher living two blocks from my house, and he made an offer I couldn’t refuse: a 20% discount on an old guitar he had lying around, if I took his classes for a year. Sounded actually fair, so I said what the fuck, let’s do it. At first it was hard, since my fingers are used to type shit and play videogames, but they hate the idea of a guitar. They despise it. They really fucking hate it. My fingers feel like they are tortured, like they are trying to get a confession out of them. After one hour of playing, I felt that they were in Guantanamo Bay, and some asshole CIA official was trying to get them reveal the location of some shitty terrorist hidden in Fuckingstan or someplace like that. They really hurt.

Eventually, I got better. Not Jimi Hendrix level, of course. More like Jim Kendricks, the guy who plays at the subway station every Sunday night and only knows two songs (and one of them is Wonderwall). But I started to get my money worth, and the teacher was really cool and funny. Everything was getting better. Right up to the time he came and said:

Teacher: Hey, dude, next class I’m getting some more students

Ghondar: …allright, cool. What for?

T: The idea is that you can play with others and start to learn some confidence in your style.

G: Cool, sounds great. Who are they?

T: Well, most of them are small children that are just starting. But there is one girl who might be great for you.

Now, the guy was talking about musical styles, but I was thinking something else. I suddenly started to visualize her in my head. Redhead, tall, thin, huge breasts and a great ass. Glasses, a couple of smalls tattoos (but nothing big or intimidating), maybe a piercing on her lip. A little too shy for her own good, but searching for true love and a nice guy who can take care of her, who can keep her safe from all the evilness that the world has. A guy who she can experiment and enjoy the intricate road of open sexuality.

And in slow-mo, obviously.

You know, normal stuff.

The day came (like your mom last night!) and we met. I’m going to be honest, she was pretty. And had a tattoo, true. But the rest? Well, both her ass and her breasts had an I.O.U. signed by God, and only under the correct lighting her hair could possibly be described as a really dark shade of red. All right, she was a brunette. Fuck your technicalities. But had a beautiful smile, and long fingers. And in my mind, that was more than enough to have a crush. Just a normal, regular crush. If I had to put it on a scale from 1 to 10, it would be a 6: Not soul changing, but not completely easy to ignore.

The teacher told us to play together one song (I can’t even remember the name of it) and we started learning the basic, while he was trying to keep calm the little shits that were with us. This gave us a window of chance, and we started joking around. We found that we had a lot of things in common, right up she said something like this:

Susan: Nah, I have an older boyfriend

G: *trying to keep calm and steady* Really? For how long?

S: For three weeks.

G: Oh, so it’s recent then.

S: Yeah, but YOLO.

G:… what?

S: You know, YOLO. You only live once.

G: Oh, I thought it was Ye Old Lovely Ostrich.

S: What?

G: …sorry… So, how old is he?

S: Oh, he’s 45. People look us funny since, well, I’m 15, but you know, YOLO! LOL.

G: Wait. So you are telling me he’s 30 years older than you?

S: Yup. Any problem with that?

G: No, nothing. I just find it weird that when he was watching the fall of the Berlin Wall, you didn’t even exist in your father’s balls.

S: Not following you.

G: The guy saw entire countries rise and fall. He watched live on television how the USSR went from being one single big fucker to hundred little small fuckers. And even then, he watched, again, live, how those small fuckers ended up dividing into even smaller fuckers, which names that are completely really hard to pronounce unless you cut your tongue in two.

S: So? YOLO!

G: …forget I said anything.

I really want Don Pardo to read this.

And that was it. The girl that I liked was dating someone older than her. So old, in fact, that he saw around 6 big wars (and five of them involved the US in some form) in his lifetime. And let’s not mention the fact that he was, well, kind of a pedophile. Well, not “kind”, he was an outright kiddie fucker.

She left the class a couple of months later, and we lost contact, like always. I found her on facebook the other day, and saw that she got pregnant a couple of months after I met her, and the guy obviously disappeared like Batman at night.

Oh, and she has a YOLO tattoo on her neck.

I never thought people could love an ostrich that much.