Johnny Crowder, FL
In short, Johnny is your new best friend. As a professional writer, speaker, musician, comedian, listener, reader, and pizza connoisseur, he is understandably far too concerned with composing hit singles, piecing together B-list jokes, and wafting melted mozzarella to smile in a profile photo. If you’re searching high and low for an amiable soul to sprinkle palatable humor, personality, and conversational inclusivity atop the crests of your project, you can sponsor this rust-haired Labrador retriever mix.
As a Story Terrace writer, Johnny interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know him better by reading his autobiographical anecdote below.
Smells Like Teen Anxiety
So, there I was, standing in the very same freshman biology classroom as Amanda, the most beautiful (and coincidentally, the tallest) girl I had ever seen with my own two eyes. Through the equally smudged and scratched prescription lenses of my Randy Jackson Signature peepers, I had visual confirmation that the freckles on her face hadn’t migrated since I saw her last.
It was time to pop the big question. Little did she know, underneath my faux silver chain link necklace and System of a Down tee, I was wielding a homemade tank top that read, in script that only a shaky, undisciplined magic marker could produce, “Homecoming, Miss Amanda?”
I un-aptly stumbled my way to the head of the classroom, where she was turning in the homework from the night before, and removed my decoy shirt in what I, at the time, must have considered a casual manner. Although every single pair of ocular vessels in the entire universe seemed to be acutely aware of my advance, this beautiful Amazonian princess was blissfully oblivious. Lucky me.
Slinking back to my seat, I squirmed in my chair for the next hour and a half, wishing the attention of my peers would soon shift from my embarrassing garb to the aimless tirades of our teacher, Ms. Leto. To my palpable dismay, no such card was in the deck on this fateful morning.
Later on, at lunch, I launched my second and final assault. After I made a beeline to her strategic position in the lunch line, doing my best to avoid the agape mouths and cringing gaze of her friends and mine alike, I spouted my most direct appeal to date: “Hey… Did you see my shirt? I was trying to ask you to homecoming.”
Her face glowed instantly, as if my determination set off the motion-sensor floodlight just beneath her skin. “Oh, of course I will go with you! I can’t believe I didn’t see that before.”
I gave her a quick celebratory hug, leaving room enough for two separate Holy Spirits just in case, before sauntering back to my table a hero among men.
Even though she backed out a week later, I still consider this as one of the defining moments of my love life.
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