When I was a kid, I had the biggest crush on a guy I called “Senor Hotness.” It was because in my 16 year old opinionation he was hot and spicy. He had hair that was either dyed blood red or icy blue. He was tall, thin, and wiry with several piercings. Senor Hotness got his name because the first time I laid eyes on the most perfect man on the planet I was leaving Spanish class. When he walked by I thought, “Heaven Walks on Earth!”
When you have a teen crush, it means planning a massive future with a stranger you don’t have the guts to talk to. This meant I was marrying Senor Hotness, having his 2.5 children, and putting my future on hold to be the future Mrs. Hotness. What could possibly go wrong?
The man I created in my mind was utterly perfect. He loved history as much as I did, and didn’t think my dreams of being onstage with puppets and creating my own work were stupid. Like the characters in Felicity we would be in New York together making it happen, me with my writing and performing and him with a skill he would later discover.
Sweet, sweet fantasy baby.
I would feed my addiction to this stud muffin by walking past his lunch table just to hear him laugh with his friends. I would walk past his locker to see him socializing with his friends just to hear his voice. There was a shorter way I could have gone to class and the detour always made me just get in the door when the bell rang, but any time with Senor Hotness was worth it.
Then he got a girlfriend. That mutherfucker! He broke my heart. She had jet black hair, a nose ring, pale skin, and a banging perfect little body. They were always holding hands and sucking face by his locker. I prayed for her to be hit by a bus or taken out tragically. Or he would find out she was the tawdry tramp we always knew she was and Senor Hotness would come running into my arms. Then we could begin our love affair.
Each time I saw her, and I will call her Skankola McFee, I looked to see if there was anything wrong with her and painfully measured myself up against my perceived competition. I was blonde and gentlemen prefer blondes, right? Her skin was pale and made her look dead, but flawless. I had bouts with cystic acne. Her nose ring was probably a nuisance when she got a cold but she was cooler than me. And she had the perfect body and I struggled with my weight. I had heard Skankola McFee wasn’t on the advanced track like I was. So at least I was smarter than the tramp. But guys don’t care about that. They want it now and they want it easy and she was entrapping him with her feminine wows.
They say God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Senor Hotness was spending so much time socializing and was consumed by the face sucking going on by his locker that I guess he forgot to get his books because he was failing all of his classes and wasn’t set to graduate on time. And he got fired from his after school job, and this meant his ladyship had to pay for everything. That got real old real quick and she dumped him. And to top it off, I heard from other people that he had been a controlling shithead to her and that she was actually a sweet person. And the worst part was, when I finally talked to Senor Hotness was the biggest dufus ever. I had fallen out of love as quickly as I had fallen in.
After high school I forgot about all of them. I went to college, had actual relationships with losers that I sadly did not make up, and moved towards happy destiny in a life I carved for myself. However, facebook makes us all curious about parts of our past that we unearth at our own risk. So I decided to see what Senor Hotness and his old flame were up to.
His old flame was married with two kids and working as a legal assistant. She looked happy but strange without the jet black hair or nose ring, but I suppose motherhood will make you grow up. I felt bad about hating her with no basis for my hate, and regretted calling her Skankola McFee. We had been kids. We were all stupid. She grew up. The guy in the center of this struggle I had in my mind was no prize anyway. I was glad life seemed to be working out for her.
Then I went to the page of Senor Hotness. He is now living in Texas and is a member of a white separatist group. In one singular facebook post that began with, “White pride worldwide,” he used slurs against lgbtq people, immigrants, and blacks. And he even misspelled them too. What a charmer and a mind. Trump should give him a job. I also want to add that he had gained about 100 pounds and had a ZZ Top beard. Back in the day I could justify this idiot because he was Senor Hotness, but now he was as ugly on the outside as he clearly was within.
He had two kids because as he explained, “I need to keep the white race going.” They were dressed in camo and looked like future school shooters. His wife was nondescript and you could tell she spoke only when spoken to and perhaps had a suggestion box when she needed to express grievances against her husband. Behind them the family had their Confederate flag as their father proclaimed liberals, “LOSERS!”
Well Sir, if you would have taken your books out of your locker you would have known Robert E. Lee had to surrender. And you would also know how to spell. Sigh, all of this could have been mine.
It always blows my mind when a young person cries about a crush or love affair that doesn’t work out. I know it feels like the end of the world, but it isn’t. If there could be a crystal ball to show the future and they could see stuff like this, they would not only embrace it not working out but they would celebrate. Alas, it does get better. But you got to go through it to get through it I suppose.