Disclaimer: I don't own Jimmy Neutron.
May 14, 2006
Dear Diary,
In two weeks, I'll be out of school. There's an end of the year dance coming up soon…and not a soul has asked me. My "ex" still won't even look at me and we've went back to becoming rivals. We've also taken up our fighting over the same things we fought about two years ago in the fifth grade, and I absolutely hate it. I don't want to fight Jimmy…
I miss holding his hand, kissing him, cuddling… More than anything, I miss just being with him. I love him.
Because I'm still grounded, Libby went out and bought me something at the mall. She found this really tight-fitting dress for me that looks absolutely gorgeous…it's black, strapless and short. She has this surefire plan that will get Jimmy and I back together by having us 'accidentally' bump into each other at the dance, but I really don't feel like going at all. I rarely ever wore anything that showed off my curves, but I remembered the time I was trying to impress him on Mars. Libby wouldn't let me forget how many times he checked me out with that space suit and all that makeup I wore. I seriously didn't think that trick would work again, since he hated me now. Not that I blame him for hating me, because I hate my mother and myself.
But no matter how self-conscious I've become over the last few weeks, my best friend won't stand for it. "The only way you're going to be happy is if you're with Jimmy. You need him, and he needs you."
I hate it when she's right—I do need my boyfriend. Libby alone couldn't fill the empty void I was feeling. She filled a large space in my life as my friend…I don't have many girlfriends at all, and if it wasn't for her support during all the trying times I've had at home and with Jimmy, I might have done something I'd regret. However, Jimmy was my other half…my rational half, my romantic half. He was everything: smart, cute, romantic, sweet, gentle…
Maybe I do want to go to that dance after-all. It was just a matter of sneaking past my mother to do it that would be the hard thing…The more I think about wearing my hair down, wearing makeup, and even getting to dress up DEFINITELY makes me want to attempt to go after Jimmy. There's this photographer who goes to every dance and takes the best pictures of some of the school's couples. Even the backgrounds are absolutely gorgeous. Oh, how I'd love it if Jimmy would get his picture taken with me…his arm wrapped around my waist…our faces practically touching each other… I'd be the happiest girl in the world.
I only had one other picture of us from a dance we attended in fifth grade, and a picture of us on an island trip we took later that summer, but those were 2 years old. We needed a more recent picture together. Heck, I'd even buy the most expensive photo package there is—I've got the money. Money didn't even mean anything to me…seeing as how Jimmy's family had so little of it so that he could have his lab… The only other thing that makes him happy other than his friends has to be his never-ending quest towards making the world a better place with his inventions…most of which still, to this day, rarely ever worked.
Since I'm still on the subject of money, there's really no one else that has any great wealth that I would want anything to do with. I want someone who likes me and appreciates me for who I am, and for the most part, Jimmy's been those things and a whole lot more. I still, however, feel like part of him hates me, just because I'm from a family that makes quite a bit more money than Jimmy's. Even after my parents divorced several years ago, my mother's been able to connect with the movers and shakers…she works in the fashion industry at some stupidly high salary. That's why she involves me with so many activities—she has so much money she hasn't a clue what to do with it.
I wish we were a little poorer…I really, seriously do. My mother would appreciate things if she actually had to work for it instead of doing nothing, and I wouldn't have to waste my time trying to prove to her how "great" I can be. I'm almost a teenager—I want to be one. I want to be able to go out with Jimmy and my friends whenever I wanted—have a ten thirty curfew like my other friends… I want to enjoy life.
I'm a prisoner in my own house, especially when I'm grounded. "Cynthia, fix dinner for me—I'm too tired," "Cynthia, why didn't you try out for the academic challenge at school?" "Cynthia, you could have played that song better in the recital,"
Cynthia, Cynthia, Cynthia! That's all it ever is around here!
What really bothers me is that my mother seriously hates how I look. Why, I don't know. I've done everything I could to meet my mother's standards of what an attractive girl should look like. I've practically starved myself to get as skinny as I am now. I wear makeup on occasion, fancy clothes during all of the fancy events my mother forces me to attend… What else do I need to do to make myself look pretty?
She really hates the fact that I'm a blonde, while she's dark brown.
"Blonde hair and green eyes? You might have been smarter than that Neutron boy if you would have been born a brunette. Blondes are always considered to be stereotypes—inferior, lazy, incompetent…" And it goes on and on from there.
One time she went as far as to say I was ugly and that I'd never amount to anything because I didn't work hard enough. I remember running to Jimmy's lab in tears…He protectively wrapped his arms around me and told me I was the prettiest, smartest girl he's ever known…then he gave me a kiss that was deeper than any we had shared in the past few years we had been off and on dating (this took place before we were a couple). He nearly told me those three words I've still yet to hear out of his mouth…that is, until my mother angrily came onto Jimmy's view screen from inside of his house—she saw us cuddling on his couch which made her become even more ballistic. I was grounded for two weeks. I couldn't be mad at Jimmy or his mother for finding out about his lab…well…she didn't exactly figure out where it was, but I remember finding out a few weeks later from Jimmy that if she didn't show my mother where we were, she'd spread some horrible rumor about her to the whole neighborhood.
But I was only a few months shy of my twelfth birthday about a year ago when that happened. He probably still wasn't ready. I can understand that.
The more I think about Jimmy, the more I want him back… I suppose I'll call Libby while my mom's still out shopping—I think I might just be desperate enough to know more about her "plan."
