Chapter 1

Well, tonight I started to make dinner.  I know, it's not cool.  It's not a thing a manly man should do.  But there isn't a woman in the household!  And, well, I was the one appointed to cook foods.  There's a legit reason behind that.  Marshall and Jeff...suck at making food.  Really.  Badly.  No one wants to have their food.  Let's just say, one time Marshall unvoluntarily invited some 'specialists' over.  Not. Pretty.

It's not that I'm a great cook exactly, or that I even like to do it, but my food is actually edible.  I'm not the best cook ever, but my food isn't bad.  Tonight, I'm cooking hot dogs.  Easy and delish.

Marshall and Jeff have this thing of sitting by the island, watching me cook and talking.  Their conversations there can be quite random, as our convos always are.  But just then, they were talking about sports.  Probably because they know I'm not into them.  Sure I'll watch with them, but only for the sake of being with my friends and having something to do.  Like I've said, I need some spark in my life.  Something new.

They're always arguing about the best player on our team, the Plumbob Strikers.  I really don't know if they really agree with what they say in these arguments or if they're just doing it for fun.

Marshall is always the one to start this 'friendly debate'. "Dude!  No, no no! James Martin is clearly the best quarterback!  Remember him last Sunday when he tackled Martin Plugold?  Yeah, that guy needed some new teeth by the time he was done."

"Um, no.  Clearly Paul Manwer is the best quarterback.  He is the one that knocked that dude Nathan Trone last month!  That guy is a bus!"

"Yeah, so?  But James Martin is always tacklin' a bunch of dudes during each game-like well.  To the point where they need to go to the hospital!"

"But it's quality not quantity.  Giving guys sprained ankles and losing teeth-that's not that bad.  But Nathan Trone!  If he has his way, the guys he tackles will need to be in a coma for the next year!"

"But-."

As you can see, when they argue about their sports, it's like they're comparing trees to trains.  Totally unrelated-yet they seem to be.  Don't understand my humor?  You'll get there.

Well, I interupted them.  They always shut up once they get their grub.

Through a big bite of hot dog, Marshall starts to mock me. "Alex, who do you think is the best quarterback?James Martin-or, the guy that puts guys in comas on a monthly basis- Paul Manwer?"

I often end up being the person that sees it how they both should. "Yeah-it's like comparing a cat to a dog.  Really, dogs are big and fluffy-but they can also be very small.  And cats-cats are cuddly and small-but can get so fat.  But they're all prissy and stuff-"

Jeff interupted me as he often does when I start to rant, "Alex!  What are you saying?  I don't get you?"

And that's my problem.  No one gets me-not even Marshall and Jeff *sigh*.

"Just that they're both good for their own reasons.  You can't compare them."

"Now that's our language!"

"Mmm, Alex!  You are such a great cook.  I love your hot dogs.  Much better than that goopy carbonara you tried to make yesturday.  That was just so pukey.  Actually, you're lucky I didn't puke.  Cause I would make you pick it up."

"Thank you Jeff!" 

He never truly appreciates my cooking.  And when he does, it's when I just put some hot dogs in the microwave and then added the toppings.  Figures.  Maybe I should just make all of my meals simple then?  Too bad I don't make it just for them.  Cause then I'd be disapointed.

Marshall starts to talk in between a big bite of hot dog.  They're both slobs.

"Alex, Marshall and I have been talking.  We'd like to go to the club tonight.  It's been a while."

We go to the club now and then.  Usually I just prefer to pull all nighters and play video games on the weekends, but sometimes they pull me to a club.  It's not that I don't like to dance, it's that we always pick up girls together.  And no, it's not like that-they're not players or anything.  When they don't have girlfriends anymore, they just want some new, honest girlfriends.  And going to clubs is the best way to get them.

Marshall puts on a smug look, "it's okay Alex.  A girl there will like you.  That is, since you're with us.  What kind of a girl doesn't like us?  I mean- Jeff and I?"

They're always making fun of me since I'm not as good with girls as they are.  But they're not being mean exactly.  It's not like I'm a girl, and my friends will try to give me hearts to hearts about this stuff.  No, I skip practicing the baseball game.  Instead, I go to the field and watch my friends play.  Without a minute to think, I'm up to bat.

I took another bite of my hot dog, savoring every bite.  It's not that I'm awkward with girls or I don't like them or something.  It's quite complicated.  Gee, I sound like a chick.

It's not like I could back down.  This is Marshall and Jeff I'm talking about.

When we got to the club, I tried to put that expression on my face that says 'I'm a good looking, confident guy that girls will like'.  Yes, I'm pitiful. 

Jeff tends to be the one of us with the most confidence with this sort of things.  Easy for him, he talks to the girls like they're some sort of rare precious rock.

"Come on guys!  Let's scope the room.  There's just gotta be a group of three smokin' hot girls around here!"

He moved his arms in a strange way.  Jeff always uses a lot of body languages when he's excited.  In other words, he doesn't have an ounce of nerves.  Unlike me.  I was a wreck.

Marshall sees me touching my face, "Alex!  You're fine!  Really."

"Oh, thanks Marshall!"

My friends are just so supportive.

I was touching my face because I wanted to make sure I looked good.  Well, I'm glad I didn't cut myself when I shaved before I came here.  That's a good sign.

And then, we eyed our group of girls.  They were all dancing, and just looking gorgeous.

"Oooo!  There we are, boys!  I'll take the brunette in the black dress."

As always, Jeff is the first to go.  As always.

He strutted over them like he had no business to do. 

"Hey there beautiful.  I'm Jeff.  And you must be that girl I met in my dreams last night.  Nice to meet you."

She giggled.

"Hi, Jeff!  I'm Trista.  It's so nice to meet you."

She gave him absolute googly eyes.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She nodded.

Now you know why he didn't act nervous.  This guy could flirt in his sleep.

Then it was Marshall's turn.

"I'm going for the blonde one...!"

He seems to be especially turned on by blondes for some reason.  Me?  Doesn't matter to me.  It's just hair.

"And don't back down when it's your turn.  Really Alex.  You'll be fine.  Just chill for once."

"Hey babe.  I'm Marshall. And who might you be?  Paris Hilton?"

For some reason, Marshall thinks it's a 'compliment' to tell a girl she looks like Paris Hilton.  It works on all the girls he goes for, since they're all blonde.  But I think it's disgusting.

But even still, the girls always eat it up, "nice to meet you!"

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Of course you can!"

The only way my friends can think of continuing the conversation after flirting with them is buying a drink for them. I prefer not to go that route, since I'm not much of a drinker.  Sure I'll drink sometimes, but never alone, and I've never been drunk.  But Marshall and Jeff have-no way do I want to go there.

So it was my turn.  She was really beautiful.  Now, she was just dancing alone, and yet she didn't seem to mind.

"Hey..Um...I'm Alex."

Wait a go me.  I'm just as smooth as Jeff and Marshall.  Great, she hates me now.  Just great.

She just stood there like she was waiting for me to say something else.  Heck, she looked nervous for me.  Nice girl.

"Erm-I like your hair.  It looks silky."

I almost started to touch her perfectly glossy hair, but I stopped myself.  I'm disgusting.

"Hi Alex, I'm Marina.  Nice to meet you."

She looked happy enough to meet me.  But that's just because she's trying to act nice.  Well, aren't I lucky she's not a mean girl?

"It's okay, Alex.  You don't have to be nervous."

Easy for her to say. She's gorgeous, and I'm just this weird misunderstood guy, even by my friends.  Guys probably like her easy enough.

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink or something?"

I managed to ignore her slightly rude comment.  What, do guys always buy her drinks?  Or did she just expect that cause that's what my friends did?

"Oh-um...here's the thing.  I don't drink..."

"That's totally fine!  Actually-it's really actractive that you don't drink."

There was an uncomfortable pause.  I could feel my cheeks burning.  Marshall, Jeff, why'd you do this to me?  Usually I just chicken out and play shuffleboard with the sad, single people.

"Wanna dance?"

So, we danced for a while and I wasn't hyperventilating!  I know, I know.  I'm really charismatic and stuff, right?  You would be right.  But not with girls.  It's like this.  If they take the initiative, I'm fine.  Or if I'm in a situation that makes it easy to talk.  Like if she's sitting next to me or we group up (like when I was in school).  But just walking up to a girl and pretty much implying that I like her-that's tough.

She was starting to give me the eyes.  The eyes that the girls that Jeff and Marshall were with gave them immediatly.  She started to lean in to kiss me.

But oh my gosh, it got to be too much for me.  I'm not used to this kind of pressure-or being so vulnerable with a girl.  The guys should be the ones that are in charge, right?  Well, I certainly wasn't at the moment.  And get this: I've never been kissed.  I know, it's sad.  It really is.  Marshall and Jeff have done it SO many times.  Not that they've told me, but I'm not dummy.

And it's not like it's because I'm bad looking, or I'm a total creep.  Girls have liked me before.  Plenty of them.  But I just don't let myself get too close to them...mostly because they don't seem to dive down into my soul and read it.  I want a girl that gets me, so sue me.  Someone has to get me.

So, like a totally lame person, I lost my balence, and freaking fainted!  I am such a chick.

I blacked out.