In grad school I went on a lot of dates. ALOT. I started making a list once. That list helps me with this blog a bunch, especially since many of these dates were only first dates and I can't remember a damn thing about them.
I went online dating crazy. Crazy I tell you! It was a great way for me to get out of the house, meet someone new, and hopefully do something fun. But there's this strange first date syndrome I fell into and didn't know what to do about.
The first date syndrome: I only really had a couple bad dates: there was the one who pissed me off, and the infamous one who went to the bathroom and never came back . I went out with a lot of nice interesting people. But because I met them online, I didn't know if there would be any chemistry, and usually there wasn't. So there would be no second date. And that was because neither one of us would call the other. It's not like we didn't have a good time or good conversation, there was just no, you know, spark. I enjoyed it for what it was and just moved on.
So I went on a lot of first dates.
I don't regret this, but sometimes wonder if I should I have given these guys another chance? If I ever did get a call for a second date, I usually took it, unless it was a for a very good reason. And even if I didn't have that feeling, I would usually give them another chance. If they liked me enough to ask me out again, I'd usually give it a go. But if there's no spark, there's no spark.
But after a first or second date, if they didn't want to see me again, and I felt no dying urge to get on the phone and ask them out, that was it. Onto the next one!
But the one I think about when I recall this slew of first dates only, is this guy named Lindsay. I remember him as being cute and nice. He had a girl's name, lived with his two brothers, drove this awesome 1970s woody truck with the really cool side paneling and took me bar hopping in a city that I was somewhat new to.
We met at a favorite place of mine, with local history, lots of cool old pictures on the walls and a fun staff. Then he took me to a new hipster bar on the east side where the neighborhood was being gentrified. And then we finished off the evening across the street from governmental buildings where there was a 24 hour session going on. There was a huge tv monitor set up in the bar so that when government officials came in to grab a drink, they wouldn't miss anything. It was hysterical.
Whenever think about Lindsay, I wonder if we should have at least become friends. But so it goes.
If there's no spark, there's just no spark.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
The one who had been dancing all night
It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged about steamy romance, and this one’s gonna be a little longer than normal. But here goes…
I was on a choir trip in college that toured through England, France, Belgium and Holland for about two weeks. We got to sing in amazing spaces like Chartres Cathedral in France. It was a fantastic time and an incredibly amazing opportunity. One of the perks of traveling through Europe is, of course, the European men that you might come in contact with. And since the group I was traveling with was compromised of women only, any attention and/or distraction we could get from the opposite sex was welcomed.
In my experience, I’ve found that traveling with large groups of people can be rather exhausting. Nerves and patience become rather sensitive because you just can’t get away from someone if they’re bothering you and attitudes can get ugly. At least my attitude can get ugly.
Traveling with a group of all women is different from traveling with a group that includes men. When you’re traveling with men, at least there is the possibility of flirting, or watching the boy you like flirt with someone else (stay tuned for, "the one who my friends thought was an unattractive douche") or be witness whatever scandal that might occur from male and female hormones interacting with each other.
Other possible tensions arise simply from specific personalities clashing with one another, whether or not they are based on romantic or sexual circumstances, and not getting a break. Of course some of these possible situations do not provide a positive and healthy environment, sometimes quite the opposite, but they at least do make for a lively one. Traveling alone is great, but it can get boring.
Traveling with a large group of only women takes away the sexual tensions (unless there are at least two lesbians or bi-curious ladies along) and just leaves the silly, stupid and annoying drama that occurs when women spend too much time together.
I’ve never considered myself a girly-girl and tend to stay away from women who seem to fall into this category. I’ve found that I tend to make friends with edgy, dorky, intelligent women who don’t get overly excited by all things makeup, shoes, hair product and clothes.
So a small group of women (mostly altos, interestingly enough) found ourselves to be the gals who sat in the back of the bus. Ironically when I was on a bus tour with men, I was among the same category of women, but we sat in the front of the bus. What’s up with that?
I mention the dynamics of traveling with all women because you need to understand why it is so amusing for me to compare my experience to some of those I overheard from these more frivolous girly-girls. Let’s call them Sopranos. And yes, I am generalizing. These were nice girls, very sweet, but I had no real interest in becoming lifelong friends with them or swapping makeout stories on the way to Brussels, like:
“Oh, we met this good looking Frenchman last night who bought us all drinks and promised to meet up with us in the next town.”
or
“Did you kiss him? I can’t believe you KISSED him!”
or
“That gorgeous Italian really wanted my email but I wouldn’t give it to him! I mean what’s the point?”
Jeeeeeeeez, how BORING. WHO CARES?? Maybe I was just jealous, it’s certainly possible.
So us Altos would hang in the back of the bus feeling like the high school outcasts that just couldn’t be bothered with these silly Sopranos. And, like, the front of the bus is for teacher’s pets or something.
One of my favorite memories from this trip was at a bar in Holland where one of the specials of the night was an “Orgasm.” I, new to this whole drinking thing (you know, being under-aged and all), asked the bartender “what is an orgasm?” which I realized was the wrong wording for the question because he grabbed my wrist and said “Come, I show you!” HA! Silly Dutchman. So cute!
But I’ve not gotten to the crux of the story, the one who had been dancing all night. So here goes:
On our last night in London, my friend and I found our way into a dingy club that we had gotten a flier for, advertising cheap drinks and cheap admission for ladies. There was hardly anyone there that night and in typical clubbing fashion, the music was terrible. But we had paid to get in, and we really didn’t want to wander around looking for something else considering we didn’t exactly know where we were anyway. So we got our drink and dance on and ended up having a darn-tootin’ good time.
I met this little Irishman named Sean. He was your typical light haired bloke, keen on showing a cute American bird a good time (sorry, but my British vocab was dying to be used just there). He bought me I-have-no-idea-how-many Mike’s Hard Lemonades (don’t make fun! That drink was new to me at that point! Didn’t matter what country I was in!) My friend met a guy too, a cute curly haired English one.
I don’t know how it happened, but Sean invited us ALL back to his house and he and the English guy didn’t even know each other, or so it seemed. I figured that since I was with my friend, it would be fine. We were meant to catch a plane to Amsterdam in the morning, but we would be able to take a cab back to the hotel from Sean’s house and we would totally be fine.
Sean rented a room above the Irish pub he worked at and we all piled onto his bed, turned off the lights and put a movie on, I think it was, umm…I think, maybe… you know what? I have no freakin’ idea what the movie was, cause it took no time for us to get, uh, distracted...
My friend and the English bloke left Sean’s room and I assume found a couch in the hallway, leaving us alone to get up to our own debauchery. At this point I was still very new to all of this, you know, intimacy with men thing, especially the taking clothes off bit. I was VERY new to this oral sex thing, I had never done either form of it and asked Sean if he would. Well, he did, and honestly it was pretty horrible. And in typical first time fashion, I didn’t really know what or how to tell him to do it any better. But since he at least made an effort, I figured I would offer to return the favor.
He said, “No, thanks.”
Seriously?
Even now, years later, I’m still amazed by this. I mean, and I’m going to put this bluntly, WHO SAYS ‘NO’ to a blow job??? Who!!??
His reason?
“I’ve been dancing all night and you just don’t wanna go down there.”
How freaking decent is that?
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
It’s not like I wasn’t fumbling around down there anyway. Even though I had little to compare it to, I was already aware of Sean’s size and the fact that it did kinda curve to the right. So it’s not like he was ashamed of it or something. He was just concerned about his “swamp crouch” and how gross it might be to really get down there.
Incredible.
Anyway, in the morning he puts the three of us in a cab, gives me his address (not email) and cash for the cab. (Why do I meet the decent ones in other countries??)
My friend and I get back to the hotel, pack our stuff and get on the bus in just enough time. No problem.
We get on the bus and I’m looking at all these girls, beaming with what I thought at the time to be the best secret in the whole world. You know that morning-after-hookup-glow? I love it. I love feeling scandalous. It’s invigorating.
I just sat there smiling as the Sopranos told the newest round of foreign men stories.
It was a long time before I got to engage in the afore mentioned sex act but was incredibly excited to have made out with a cute boy with a hot accent in another country. I think you’ve learned that is something I take pride in.
I think I might have sent Sean a postcard just for shits and giggles, but never heard back. Didn’t expect to.
But one thing I can credit Sean for is jump-starting my fascination with Irish boys. They seem to like me, I don’t know why.
Eat your heart out Sopranos!
I was on a choir trip in college that toured through England, France, Belgium and Holland for about two weeks. We got to sing in amazing spaces like Chartres Cathedral in France. It was a fantastic time and an incredibly amazing opportunity. One of the perks of traveling through Europe is, of course, the European men that you might come in contact with. And since the group I was traveling with was compromised of women only, any attention and/or distraction we could get from the opposite sex was welcomed.
In my experience, I’ve found that traveling with large groups of people can be rather exhausting. Nerves and patience become rather sensitive because you just can’t get away from someone if they’re bothering you and attitudes can get ugly. At least my attitude can get ugly.
Traveling with a group of all women is different from traveling with a group that includes men. When you’re traveling with men, at least there is the possibility of flirting, or watching the boy you like flirt with someone else (stay tuned for, "the one who my friends thought was an unattractive douche") or be witness whatever scandal that might occur from male and female hormones interacting with each other.
Other possible tensions arise simply from specific personalities clashing with one another, whether or not they are based on romantic or sexual circumstances, and not getting a break. Of course some of these possible situations do not provide a positive and healthy environment, sometimes quite the opposite, but they at least do make for a lively one. Traveling alone is great, but it can get boring.
Traveling with a large group of only women takes away the sexual tensions (unless there are at least two lesbians or bi-curious ladies along) and just leaves the silly, stupid and annoying drama that occurs when women spend too much time together.
I’ve never considered myself a girly-girl and tend to stay away from women who seem to fall into this category. I’ve found that I tend to make friends with edgy, dorky, intelligent women who don’t get overly excited by all things makeup, shoes, hair product and clothes.
So a small group of women (mostly altos, interestingly enough) found ourselves to be the gals who sat in the back of the bus. Ironically when I was on a bus tour with men, I was among the same category of women, but we sat in the front of the bus. What’s up with that?
I mention the dynamics of traveling with all women because you need to understand why it is so amusing for me to compare my experience to some of those I overheard from these more frivolous girly-girls. Let’s call them Sopranos. And yes, I am generalizing. These were nice girls, very sweet, but I had no real interest in becoming lifelong friends with them or swapping makeout stories on the way to Brussels, like:
“Oh, we met this good looking Frenchman last night who bought us all drinks and promised to meet up with us in the next town.”
or
“Did you kiss him? I can’t believe you KISSED him!”
or
“That gorgeous Italian really wanted my email but I wouldn’t give it to him! I mean what’s the point?”
Jeeeeeeeez, how BORING. WHO CARES?? Maybe I was just jealous, it’s certainly possible.
So us Altos would hang in the back of the bus feeling like the high school outcasts that just couldn’t be bothered with these silly Sopranos. And, like, the front of the bus is for teacher’s pets or something.
One of my favorite memories from this trip was at a bar in Holland where one of the specials of the night was an “Orgasm.” I, new to this whole drinking thing (you know, being under-aged and all), asked the bartender “what is an orgasm?” which I realized was the wrong wording for the question because he grabbed my wrist and said “Come, I show you!” HA! Silly Dutchman. So cute!
But I’ve not gotten to the crux of the story, the one who had been dancing all night. So here goes:
On our last night in London, my friend and I found our way into a dingy club that we had gotten a flier for, advertising cheap drinks and cheap admission for ladies. There was hardly anyone there that night and in typical clubbing fashion, the music was terrible. But we had paid to get in, and we really didn’t want to wander around looking for something else considering we didn’t exactly know where we were anyway. So we got our drink and dance on and ended up having a darn-tootin’ good time.
I met this little Irishman named Sean. He was your typical light haired bloke, keen on showing a cute American bird a good time (sorry, but my British vocab was dying to be used just there). He bought me I-have-no-idea-how-many Mike’s Hard Lemonades (don’t make fun! That drink was new to me at that point! Didn’t matter what country I was in!) My friend met a guy too, a cute curly haired English one.
I don’t know how it happened, but Sean invited us ALL back to his house and he and the English guy didn’t even know each other, or so it seemed. I figured that since I was with my friend, it would be fine. We were meant to catch a plane to Amsterdam in the morning, but we would be able to take a cab back to the hotel from Sean’s house and we would totally be fine.
Sean rented a room above the Irish pub he worked at and we all piled onto his bed, turned off the lights and put a movie on, I think it was, umm…I think, maybe… you know what? I have no freakin’ idea what the movie was, cause it took no time for us to get, uh, distracted...
My friend and the English bloke left Sean’s room and I assume found a couch in the hallway, leaving us alone to get up to our own debauchery. At this point I was still very new to all of this, you know, intimacy with men thing, especially the taking clothes off bit. I was VERY new to this oral sex thing, I had never done either form of it and asked Sean if he would. Well, he did, and honestly it was pretty horrible. And in typical first time fashion, I didn’t really know what or how to tell him to do it any better. But since he at least made an effort, I figured I would offer to return the favor.
He said, “No, thanks.”
Seriously?
Even now, years later, I’m still amazed by this. I mean, and I’m going to put this bluntly, WHO SAYS ‘NO’ to a blow job??? Who!!??
His reason?
“I’ve been dancing all night and you just don’t wanna go down there.”
How freaking decent is that?
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
It’s not like I wasn’t fumbling around down there anyway. Even though I had little to compare it to, I was already aware of Sean’s size and the fact that it did kinda curve to the right. So it’s not like he was ashamed of it or something. He was just concerned about his “swamp crouch” and how gross it might be to really get down there.
Incredible.
Anyway, in the morning he puts the three of us in a cab, gives me his address (not email) and cash for the cab. (Why do I meet the decent ones in other countries??)
My friend and I get back to the hotel, pack our stuff and get on the bus in just enough time. No problem.
We get on the bus and I’m looking at all these girls, beaming with what I thought at the time to be the best secret in the whole world. You know that morning-after-hookup-glow? I love it. I love feeling scandalous. It’s invigorating.
I just sat there smiling as the Sopranos told the newest round of foreign men stories.
It was a long time before I got to engage in the afore mentioned sex act but was incredibly excited to have made out with a cute boy with a hot accent in another country. I think you’ve learned that is something I take pride in.
I think I might have sent Sean a postcard just for shits and giggles, but never heard back. Didn’t expect to.
But one thing I can credit Sean for is jump-starting my fascination with Irish boys. They seem to like me, I don’t know why.
Eat your heart out Sopranos!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The one who said “This isn’t a date” on our first date
Two new blog entries cause I've been slacking lately...
Jon said that he really liked what I had written on my Friendster profile. I think I might have answered the “who I want to meet” section with something brilliant like, “someone who knows who they are even if they don’t know what they want to do with themselves.” This is perfectly acceptable for someone right out of college. You know, when you know what you like to do and that you want to do something really meaningful with your life, but have no idea what that is yet.
Jon had recently lost about 50 pounds and even though I’ve never done that (I wouldn’t look like me anymore) I have an idea of what havoc that brings into your head. I’d imagine it’s similar for men and women, but still quite different. I think it’s something you never really get used to, I know my dad still has the ghost of a fat little kid sitting on his shoulder most of the time.
Anyway, I was pretty new to this online dating thing, but Jon had done some online dating before. I know this because he told me, right after I show up to dinner. He’s sitting there at the table with a friend, a girl as a matter of fact, he was sitting at the table with a girl, a girl that was down right cute!
Awesome.
It was a little awkward, of course, not knowing what the hell was going on. There’s nothing better than sitting at a table with two people that know each other really well that spend a good amount of time talking amongst themselves about people and things you don’t know anything about.
A few minutes into dinner, she says something about us being on a “date.” And Jon says flat out “this isn’t a date, dates come with too much pressure.”
Ooooohhhhhh, I see now.
He’s a pussy. Got it.
So we’re on a non-date. I know sometimes this blog gets compared to Sex in the City but this “non-date” thing is right out of an episode where Carrie meets a cute boy in glasses sitting on a fountain in Central Park.
So anyway, Jon must have thought I wasn’t worth kicking to the curb, though, because we ended up going to back to his house without the cute friend to pick up his old crippled car. Two or three years out of college, Jon lived with his parents, which unfortunately is all too normal. He had a pretty cool part time job with digital radio, but got paid crap. I think this all explains why he connected with the “not knowing what to do with yourself” statement.
I honestly can’t remember what else we did on our first “non-date.” I feel like we may have gone to see a show at the indie club down the street. But it really doesn’t matter because we never went on a non-date again. Although we kept in touch over email and sometimes ran into each other at shows.
Turns out we live in the same city again and I’ve seen him out a couple times. And when he does see me he always seems to have someone better to talk to and hang out with, and he’s still single! Ha! We’ve talked about meeting up again at a club we both like, but something else always comes up.
Last time I saw Jon he was on a blind date. We were both in line for an invitation only party (I know, swanky right?) and my friend and I were able to get in, but he couldn't, even though he was supposedly on the list too. He called me later to apologize for being so stand-offish with me which I certainly appreciated.
I’ve come to realize that he’s kind of a social climber with probably bruised self-esteem. He definitely has his sweet moments.
But, like I said, he’s also a pussy.
Jon said that he really liked what I had written on my Friendster profile. I think I might have answered the “who I want to meet” section with something brilliant like, “someone who knows who they are even if they don’t know what they want to do with themselves.” This is perfectly acceptable for someone right out of college. You know, when you know what you like to do and that you want to do something really meaningful with your life, but have no idea what that is yet.
Jon had recently lost about 50 pounds and even though I’ve never done that (I wouldn’t look like me anymore) I have an idea of what havoc that brings into your head. I’d imagine it’s similar for men and women, but still quite different. I think it’s something you never really get used to, I know my dad still has the ghost of a fat little kid sitting on his shoulder most of the time.
Anyway, I was pretty new to this online dating thing, but Jon had done some online dating before. I know this because he told me, right after I show up to dinner. He’s sitting there at the table with a friend, a girl as a matter of fact, he was sitting at the table with a girl, a girl that was down right cute!
Awesome.
It was a little awkward, of course, not knowing what the hell was going on. There’s nothing better than sitting at a table with two people that know each other really well that spend a good amount of time talking amongst themselves about people and things you don’t know anything about.
A few minutes into dinner, she says something about us being on a “date.” And Jon says flat out “this isn’t a date, dates come with too much pressure.”
Ooooohhhhhh, I see now.
He’s a pussy. Got it.
So we’re on a non-date. I know sometimes this blog gets compared to Sex in the City but this “non-date” thing is right out of an episode where Carrie meets a cute boy in glasses sitting on a fountain in Central Park.
So anyway, Jon must have thought I wasn’t worth kicking to the curb, though, because we ended up going to back to his house without the cute friend to pick up his old crippled car. Two or three years out of college, Jon lived with his parents, which unfortunately is all too normal. He had a pretty cool part time job with digital radio, but got paid crap. I think this all explains why he connected with the “not knowing what to do with yourself” statement.
I honestly can’t remember what else we did on our first “non-date.” I feel like we may have gone to see a show at the indie club down the street. But it really doesn’t matter because we never went on a non-date again. Although we kept in touch over email and sometimes ran into each other at shows.
Turns out we live in the same city again and I’ve seen him out a couple times. And when he does see me he always seems to have someone better to talk to and hang out with, and he’s still single! Ha! We’ve talked about meeting up again at a club we both like, but something else always comes up.
Last time I saw Jon he was on a blind date. We were both in line for an invitation only party (I know, swanky right?) and my friend and I were able to get in, but he couldn't, even though he was supposedly on the list too. He called me later to apologize for being so stand-offish with me which I certainly appreciated.
I’ve come to realize that he’s kind of a social climber with probably bruised self-esteem. He definitely has his sweet moments.
But, like I said, he’s also a pussy.
The one who had great hair
Ben had a gorgeous head of curly brown hair. It was so cute. It would change lengths, but would always stay long enough to enjoy the curl. He was a grad student when I was an undergrad. I met him at a party after I had been drinking and flat out told him that we had to be friends. I didn’t know he had a long-distance relationship with his college girlfriend.
Okay, you know what? I hate that shit. HATE IT. My heart always sinks a little bit when someone mentions their “girlfriend,” strangely, even when I’m not attracted to them.
So Ben and I became great friends. He was bizarre and eccentric in a way only a grad student can be.
For example, he told me that when he gets really into working on a project, he likes to have a cigarette in his mouth. Ben wouldn’t smoke the cigarette, it would just hang from his lower lip. And I guess it was always the same damn cigarette. I don’t know, maybe it was an attitude thing. The cigarette probably just made him feel like a badass. It is an interesting visual image don’t you think? Like something out of a movie about Jackson Pollack…
Oh, he always wore the same striped scarf too. Even when it wasn’t that cold. I mean, why couldn’t the girlfriend buy him another one? It was weird. I saw a photo of him a year or two after we parted ways and he was wearing it. And he still had the same girlfriend.
Ben also loooooved Marilyn Manson. Alot. I would tease him about it. My best friend in high school loved Manson, and she was twisted and disturbed. So I chose to ignore that interest of Ben's.
Anyway, back to the girlfriend, she pissed me off, have I mentioned that? And I only met her once. When Ben and I would hang out, his stupid girlfriend would call him on the cell, and he would freaking talk to her! No, “hey I’m out with a friend, can I call you when I get home?” And never would he just let it ring, oh no, never. I don’t remember specifically saying anything to him, but I feel like I did tell him at some point how rude he was when he did that.
Later in our friendship, he started calling me around 12am or later, and I would just let it ring or pick it up and ask him if he was drunk. Once I asked him to stop calling me because it made me feel uncomfortable, like he was booty calling me or something. He got all defensive and hung up. I ran into him in the record store a few days later and everything was cool. What a friendship!
Once when he was over hanging out he said to me, “you know how we talk about who we’d like to make out with and how it just takes guts to just do it? Well I’d like to make out with you sometime.”
Well I must have been in shock, because we certainly did not make out that night and he went on home. But I did think I might have kissed him goodbye on the lips on his way out like the stupid way I kissed the one who was painfully shy, and he didn’t do a damn thing.
But Ben did explain to me that over a year before, when my housemates and I had a party and I met The one who got high off NyQuil, Ben had just found out that his girlfriend had kissed a friend of theirs. He was depressed and pissed off and he came over to my party to kiss me in retaliation.
And I was preoccupied with stupid NyQuil man.
If I had known that Ben was on a mission, I would have gladly fulfilled the mission. But how was I supposed to know? I was distracted by a cute new boy! One without a girlfriend (and now we know why). Although I was probably missing a few obvious signs, like how he would try to make me jealous by telling me about hanging out with other girls and mentioning that I had been “couch hopping” all night at our party. But what is a gal to do when it’s her party and there’s several cute boys around? Well if she had known that one that she already had a crush on was a sure thing, then it might have turned out a little differently.
So going back to the time Ben tells me that he wants to make out with me…
He calls me on a Sunday and I’m on my way to a rehearsal for a show that’s opening in two weeks. He says “I want you to come over and hang out.” I had never been to his house. EVER. I explain to him that I can’t during the times that he’s asking about, and he’s all weird and blah blah blah…
So I stop by on the way over anyway, which was probably a bad idea, and certainly a waste of time. His roommate is there and there’s a weirdness and I leave for rehearsal. He never asks me to come over again. I wonder if he was pissed off at his stupid girlfriend again.
As a side note, there was an offer of a threesome with him and the girlfriend at some point. And I remember not saying ‘no.’ I had never been in one (and still haven’t) and didn't want to make it out of the question. Which made meeting her even more bizarre, since I’m positive she knew exactly who I was. There were pleasantries, but nothing more than that.
Never got to really kiss Ben, which is too bad, because he was a really passionate person. And I’m sure it would have translated over.
Looking back on this whole roller coaster of a relationship, I realize how toxic it was. And it was a good thing that even though we were emotionally involved, it didn't get physical.
Too bad, I would have loved to have that hair all to myself...
Okay, you know what? I hate that shit. HATE IT. My heart always sinks a little bit when someone mentions their “girlfriend,” strangely, even when I’m not attracted to them.
So Ben and I became great friends. He was bizarre and eccentric in a way only a grad student can be.
For example, he told me that when he gets really into working on a project, he likes to have a cigarette in his mouth. Ben wouldn’t smoke the cigarette, it would just hang from his lower lip. And I guess it was always the same damn cigarette. I don’t know, maybe it was an attitude thing. The cigarette probably just made him feel like a badass. It is an interesting visual image don’t you think? Like something out of a movie about Jackson Pollack…
Oh, he always wore the same striped scarf too. Even when it wasn’t that cold. I mean, why couldn’t the girlfriend buy him another one? It was weird. I saw a photo of him a year or two after we parted ways and he was wearing it. And he still had the same girlfriend.
Ben also loooooved Marilyn Manson. Alot. I would tease him about it. My best friend in high school loved Manson, and she was twisted and disturbed. So I chose to ignore that interest of Ben's.
Anyway, back to the girlfriend, she pissed me off, have I mentioned that? And I only met her once. When Ben and I would hang out, his stupid girlfriend would call him on the cell, and he would freaking talk to her! No, “hey I’m out with a friend, can I call you when I get home?” And never would he just let it ring, oh no, never. I don’t remember specifically saying anything to him, but I feel like I did tell him at some point how rude he was when he did that.
Later in our friendship, he started calling me around 12am or later, and I would just let it ring or pick it up and ask him if he was drunk. Once I asked him to stop calling me because it made me feel uncomfortable, like he was booty calling me or something. He got all defensive and hung up. I ran into him in the record store a few days later and everything was cool. What a friendship!
Once when he was over hanging out he said to me, “you know how we talk about who we’d like to make out with and how it just takes guts to just do it? Well I’d like to make out with you sometime.”
Well I must have been in shock, because we certainly did not make out that night and he went on home. But I did think I might have kissed him goodbye on the lips on his way out like the stupid way I kissed the one who was painfully shy, and he didn’t do a damn thing.
But Ben did explain to me that over a year before, when my housemates and I had a party and I met The one who got high off NyQuil, Ben had just found out that his girlfriend had kissed a friend of theirs. He was depressed and pissed off and he came over to my party to kiss me in retaliation.
And I was preoccupied with stupid NyQuil man.
If I had known that Ben was on a mission, I would have gladly fulfilled the mission. But how was I supposed to know? I was distracted by a cute new boy! One without a girlfriend (and now we know why). Although I was probably missing a few obvious signs, like how he would try to make me jealous by telling me about hanging out with other girls and mentioning that I had been “couch hopping” all night at our party. But what is a gal to do when it’s her party and there’s several cute boys around? Well if she had known that one that she already had a crush on was a sure thing, then it might have turned out a little differently.
So going back to the time Ben tells me that he wants to make out with me…
He calls me on a Sunday and I’m on my way to a rehearsal for a show that’s opening in two weeks. He says “I want you to come over and hang out.” I had never been to his house. EVER. I explain to him that I can’t during the times that he’s asking about, and he’s all weird and blah blah blah…
So I stop by on the way over anyway, which was probably a bad idea, and certainly a waste of time. His roommate is there and there’s a weirdness and I leave for rehearsal. He never asks me to come over again. I wonder if he was pissed off at his stupid girlfriend again.
As a side note, there was an offer of a threesome with him and the girlfriend at some point. And I remember not saying ‘no.’ I had never been in one (and still haven’t) and didn't want to make it out of the question. Which made meeting her even more bizarre, since I’m positive she knew exactly who I was. There were pleasantries, but nothing more than that.
Never got to really kiss Ben, which is too bad, because he was a really passionate person. And I’m sure it would have translated over.
Looking back on this whole roller coaster of a relationship, I realize how toxic it was. And it was a good thing that even though we were emotionally involved, it didn't get physical.
Too bad, I would have loved to have that hair all to myself...
Saturday, December 8, 2007
The one who had his own secret symbol
You know, like Prince, or the-artist-formally-known-as-Prince. Whatever...
Except I gave Will this symbol. And I did it while Prince was still Prince, way before the conflict with his record label even started.
Will was my first real crush, right after the week long crush I had on Mr. Idiot the-one-who-reminded-us-of-Gonzo. He was sweet, thin, and had blonde hair and blue eyes. I know, right? Totally NOT my type. But I was 11, I was still figuring out what my type even was.
I think I came up with the symbol by writing his name over and over again and realizing that I could combine the letters to make two super letters. It came out looking something like "Bb." And rather than writing his name all over my notebooks for everyone to see, I could crush hard by writing the symbol and not look like the scary stalker little girl I actually was.
I did ridiculous things like cutting up photographs with him in them and just keeping the bit that he was in. I think I actually carried a photo of him around with me in my wallet for awhile. Right, I know, SCARY!!
I'm sure Will knew that I had a huge, scary crush on him, since I had a handful of obnoxious friends that probably told him. But he really was a good sport about it and was always nice to me. He was a quiet kid anyway and never really got in anyone's face about anything.
I have this hysterical awesome picture of Will and I "slow dancing" at a classmate's party in sixth grade. I'm wearing tapered jeans, an oversized U2 t-shirt and keds. Oh yeah, I looked hot. I've got my hands on his shoulders, he's got his hands on my waist and there's about three miles between us. It's adorable.
I'm pretty sure it took all the courage in me to ask him to dance. It still takes the same amount of courage to hit on guys that I have crushes on these days, which is why I don't do it often. (I'm trying my best to do it more, and trying to get the nerve up to do it soon actually.)
Will moved to Iowa or Montana or some faraway state like that and no one has heard from him. I don't even think I'd recognize him if I saw him.
I wonder if he realizes that he was lucky enough to have his own kick-ass sign like Prince??
Except I gave Will this symbol. And I did it while Prince was still Prince, way before the conflict with his record label even started.
Will was my first real crush, right after the week long crush I had on Mr. Idiot the-one-who-reminded-us-of-Gonzo. He was sweet, thin, and had blonde hair and blue eyes. I know, right? Totally NOT my type. But I was 11, I was still figuring out what my type even was.
I think I came up with the symbol by writing his name over and over again and realizing that I could combine the letters to make two super letters. It came out looking something like "Bb." And rather than writing his name all over my notebooks for everyone to see, I could crush hard by writing the symbol and not look like the scary stalker little girl I actually was.
I did ridiculous things like cutting up photographs with him in them and just keeping the bit that he was in. I think I actually carried a photo of him around with me in my wallet for awhile. Right, I know, SCARY!!
I'm sure Will knew that I had a huge, scary crush on him, since I had a handful of obnoxious friends that probably told him. But he really was a good sport about it and was always nice to me. He was a quiet kid anyway and never really got in anyone's face about anything.
I have this hysterical awesome picture of Will and I "slow dancing" at a classmate's party in sixth grade. I'm wearing tapered jeans, an oversized U2 t-shirt and keds. Oh yeah, I looked hot. I've got my hands on his shoulders, he's got his hands on my waist and there's about three miles between us. It's adorable.
I'm pretty sure it took all the courage in me to ask him to dance. It still takes the same amount of courage to hit on guys that I have crushes on these days, which is why I don't do it often. (I'm trying my best to do it more, and trying to get the nerve up to do it soon actually.)
Will moved to Iowa or Montana or some faraway state like that and no one has heard from him. I don't even think I'd recognize him if I saw him.
I wonder if he realizes that he was lucky enough to have his own kick-ass sign like Prince??
Monday, December 3, 2007
The one who paid my $250 parking ticket late
Cory was adorable. A bit of a whiny, worrying, emo kid, but adorable. And he was about 9 years older than me.
I was an intern where he worked and was therefore off limits, as far as having a relationship went anyway. This didn't stop him from making comments that were blatant come-ons, but I was still supposedly off the table. He would even tell me this. "Our time will come if it's supposed to come" Cory would say, or something stupid like that. I think he had just gotten out of a serious on-and-off relationship that left him a little wounded. Timing IS everything ain't it.
Cory would come to where I was working and just kinda hang around. He was totally a grown up version of that dorky, four-eyed, over-eager boy in high school that you'd get annoyed with but know he really does mean well.
He made it clear to me that he liked me and that whatever kind of relationship I was up for (as long it wasn't a REAL relationship) would be fine with him: friends, lovers, mortal enemies, whatever.
I remember going over to his place a couple times, he wanted to show off his original Fela Kuti LP set and watch the Ramone's movie Rock'n'Roll High School. He said that I reminded him off the main character Riff who is madly in love with Joey Ramone and brings rock and roll to take over the oppressive school administration. It's so 1979.
So one time while I'm over there, it starts snowing, like hardcore blizzarding. So OF COURSE I can't go home. He invited me to stay, and even though there is talk of him sleeping on the couch, not surprisingly, I ended up in his bed and we had some fun. Nothing serious, or incredibly memorable, but it happened. Although I do remember that he was more attentive than most.
I get up the next morning and my car has been towed. Since it had snowed the night before, The city needed to plow the street that I parked on and gave me a freaking $250 dollar ticket! I tell Cory about it and he offers to pay it since his parents just sent him a generous check. So I give him the ticket and he pays it, supposedly.
A few weeks later I get a letter from the city saying that since they got the payment late, there is a late fee which needs to be paid. And that fee is DOUBLE the original ticket. I'm not about to pay another $250, I'm an intern, I work for free. And I'm definitely not about to ask Cory for another check, I felt weird enough about him paying the first time.
I had to ask Cory if he had indeed paid the ticket late. Did he have a copy of the check so that we could prove it to the city? No. Did he have the receipt? No. I could have gotten pissed at is lack of organization, or at his lack of responsibility if he did pay it late. But like I said, he did pay for it. He didn't have to. I couldn't get mad.
So I take it up with the city. I go to the courthouse, I fill out appeal forms. All I remember about that was that by the time I moved away months later, the matter hadn't really been officially settled. I just never heard about it again.
I saw Cory about three years later and had dinner with him and a friend of mine that he didn't know. He tells me about his new 23 year old girlfriend who he has a long distance relationship with (barf!) and casually brings up in front of my other friend that he and I had had a "tryst" once before. What the hell? I just looked at him and said "do we really need to talk about this here?" and dropped it.
I'm still trying to figure out if $250 was worth all of that.
I was an intern where he worked and was therefore off limits, as far as having a relationship went anyway. This didn't stop him from making comments that were blatant come-ons, but I was still supposedly off the table. He would even tell me this. "Our time will come if it's supposed to come" Cory would say, or something stupid like that. I think he had just gotten out of a serious on-and-off relationship that left him a little wounded. Timing IS everything ain't it.
Cory would come to where I was working and just kinda hang around. He was totally a grown up version of that dorky, four-eyed, over-eager boy in high school that you'd get annoyed with but know he really does mean well.
He made it clear to me that he liked me and that whatever kind of relationship I was up for (as long it wasn't a REAL relationship) would be fine with him: friends, lovers, mortal enemies, whatever.
I remember going over to his place a couple times, he wanted to show off his original Fela Kuti LP set and watch the Ramone's movie Rock'n'Roll High School. He said that I reminded him off the main character Riff who is madly in love with Joey Ramone and brings rock and roll to take over the oppressive school administration. It's so 1979.
So one time while I'm over there, it starts snowing, like hardcore blizzarding. So OF COURSE I can't go home. He invited me to stay, and even though there is talk of him sleeping on the couch, not surprisingly, I ended up in his bed and we had some fun. Nothing serious, or incredibly memorable, but it happened. Although I do remember that he was more attentive than most.
I get up the next morning and my car has been towed. Since it had snowed the night before, The city needed to plow the street that I parked on and gave me a freaking $250 dollar ticket! I tell Cory about it and he offers to pay it since his parents just sent him a generous check. So I give him the ticket and he pays it, supposedly.
A few weeks later I get a letter from the city saying that since they got the payment late, there is a late fee which needs to be paid. And that fee is DOUBLE the original ticket. I'm not about to pay another $250, I'm an intern, I work for free. And I'm definitely not about to ask Cory for another check, I felt weird enough about him paying the first time.
I had to ask Cory if he had indeed paid the ticket late. Did he have a copy of the check so that we could prove it to the city? No. Did he have the receipt? No. I could have gotten pissed at is lack of organization, or at his lack of responsibility if he did pay it late. But like I said, he did pay for it. He didn't have to. I couldn't get mad.
So I take it up with the city. I go to the courthouse, I fill out appeal forms. All I remember about that was that by the time I moved away months later, the matter hadn't really been officially settled. I just never heard about it again.
I saw Cory about three years later and had dinner with him and a friend of mine that he didn't know. He tells me about his new 23 year old girlfriend who he has a long distance relationship with (barf!) and casually brings up in front of my other friend that he and I had had a "tryst" once before. What the hell? I just looked at him and said "do we really need to talk about this here?" and dropped it.
I'm still trying to figure out if $250 was worth all of that.
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