A Bad Start: A Guest Post

4/10/2011 The Romantic 0 Comments

First off: I’m an art major.

This generally means that when I’m talking to you, I’m actually objectively observing things about you. It could be the shadows on your face, the shape of your nose, eyebrows, chin or mouth.

If I’m squinting a little, I’m probably trying to figure out exactly what color your skin appears to be in a particular light, or watching how the somewhat less than toned parts of people react to their movements.

I’m a little bit [a lot] of a creeper.

Consequently, my figure drawing class is the best time of my entire week. Nothing can really compare to having 3-hour blocks of time dedicated to the art of creeping.

Mostly, we have girl models, but every so often, the fates smile upon us, and we get males. (And if the variety weren’t exciting enough, realize that the pickings of art major males are slim…or married…or have alarming fashion senses, so boys are exciting no matter the reason)

It was one of these magical days that I first saw him. Spock.

Long, solemn face, a furrowed brow, dark hair in a suspiciously Vulcan cut…The small part of me that’s always wanted to be a Trekkie gave a mental shriek of joy.

We have two models, usually, one on each side. I always situate myself at a certain easel, so that just in case he shows up, I’ll be able to see him no matter which side he’s on.

In our most recent Spock-graced session, we were focusing just on heads and faces.

I drew his face the whole class, secretly glad that just in case he’s a senior and I never get to draw him again, I’ll always have these portraits to commemorate my sad creeper love.

During the breaks he pulls out decent sized, intelligent looking books, and I allow myself 30 second long mental Hallmark movies where he looks up at me, [probably lovingly touching up a drawing of his ridiculously tall and ridiculously skinny, concave-chested self] and decided he should probably fall in love with me and marry me (and date me, too).

Then I stop myself, and recall the two very important reasons I shouldn’t be thinking like this:

First, I don’t even know what his name is – Hence “Spock.”

Second, I don’t know much about relationships, but I’m pretty sure that good ones don’t start off with one person spending three hours staring at the other while he sits very still in a speedo.

-the Trekkie

I've been that creeper before...

Lovely weekend readers!

-the Anti-Austens

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