Well, today marks the 6th month since I started this blog, and I'm the type of girl who celebrates these things, so I wanted to give y'all a great big shout out for reading!
To mark this joyous day, I'll tell you the story of Hughes, a very attractive boy who turned out to be more strange than anything else.
It was last year, early March. I lived up north a few hours, but knew I would be moving to Southern California. Since I don't waste any time, I started perusing Craigslist in this area, to meet some new "friends." (You know, the ol' "new to the area, need some fun people to show me around" line.)
It was late at night, and after confirming my posting, I immediately got an email from Hughes; a year younger than me, who works as a professional photographer, who was really funny and sent a really hot picture. That'll work.
So we started exchanging emails, each one longer and more flirtatious. The more we discussed, the more we had in common it seemed: music taste, places we've traveled, prior relationship experiences, favorite movies, etc. I felt giddier every time I read another email. I lost track of time, and realized at 5:30am that it was probably time to go to bed. We exchanged phone numbers and I went to sleep with a huge smile on my face. I woke up for work not exhausted, but excited.
Throughout that first day, we texted each other constantly. The conversations were originally like, "I can't wait 'til you live down here" or "I'm so excited to move," but became, "there's no way I can wait that long, I'm going to come see you," and my asking, "how soon?"
This lasted two weeks. We talked on the phone every night, exchanged picture after picture, and generally fell for each other virtually. He had told me early on that he'd just broken up with a serious girlfriend (ie three weeks before the first night we talked, and by serious I mean they had been living together for a year) which is an obvious red flag, but he insisted that he'd been over it for months before they broke up, and had definitely moved on. I believed it.
We decided on St. Patrick's Day for his visit, and couldn't have been more excited. As we discussed his upcoming visit, our conversations had this underlying sense of, "that's when we're going to start dating." One night, he even told me to count 6 months from that day, September 17th, and write "6 months since I met Hughes" with a heart on my calendar. And I did. We had high hopes.
On the 16th I did my usual nervous/excited girl activities: got my hair and nails done, went tanning, gave myself a facial, cleaned my room top to bottom, and picked out a few potential outfit combinations. I could hardly sleep. I woke up hours before he'd be there, and spent tediously long getting ready. I wanted everything to be perfect! I'd made the mistake of telling all my friends and co-workers about it too; despite that whole "don't jinx it" philosophy. Ay.
So he pulled into my complex's parking lot in his souped-up yellow convertible (yeah, yeah, I know... another red flag. So sue me). As soon as I heard the rumble of his super-charged engine, my heart jumped out of my chest and I ran to the door. And there he was, 6'5", well-dressed, and almost as cute as I'd previously imagined. I ran downstairs and gave him a big hug, though he seemed kind of shy. Oh well, we are meeting for the first time, and he did just finish a 2-hour car ride in a tiny convertible, which is really just not fitting for his height, I thought.
He came up with me so I could get my purse, and we decided to walk around downtown. Already, all the bars were stuffed with drunk people doused in green beer. He still seemed really quiet. We decided it would be the most effective to go back to my house for a few drinks and then go out to the bars, so we wouldn't be ripped off quite as bad for drinks. On the way back we stopped at my work, and he met my co-workers, who seemed to really enjoy embarrassing me by telling him everything I'd told them about him.
When we reached my apartment, he was still really uncomfortable and quiet, now two hours deep into the visit. He seemed to be a bit better than he had been when he arrived, so I crossed my fingers that a few drinks would loosen him up a little. We went into the kitchen to make some drinks, and I pulled out the different kinds of liquor and juice I had so he could pick what he wanted. He chose, and then said, "oh I just remembered, I brought some pictures of my dog to show you, I left them in my car. I'll be right back."
So I stood there in the kitchen, mixing our drinks. A couple minutes later, I heard a really rumbly engine start, but I assured myself I was just being paranoid and refused to go out to look. But my heart was pounding. I knew I wasn't being crazy when out of my kitchen window, I saw his yellow convertible peel out of the driveway and take off for the freeway. I was in complete shock. For a second I reasoned with myself - maybe he needed to pee and was so uncomfortable around me that he wanted to sneak off somewhere. Or maybe he wanted to be sweet and go get me flowers. After a few seconds I came to my senses and realized that the douchebag had just peeled out of my day.
So I did what any normal person would do; I called him. He didn't pick up. I texted him, "what the hell?" He didn't respond. I called again. He'd turned his phone off. I quickly downed the two drinks I had mixed us and started crying. Not because he was the man of my dreams once I had met him (I mean honestly, I wasn't even sure how we were going to get through the day together), but because I had done something so awful that a guy would drive two hours to see me, and immediately turn around and drive back. And LIE about it! Honestly.
So I layed on my freshly-made bed, in my spotless room, wearing my cute green outfit and perfect makeup and manicured nails, and drank and cried 'til I fell asleep. I woke up hours later to some text messages from friends about going out, and out of them I chose Brent, who came and picked me up and we went out and got even more drunk and cabbed it back to his house after too many Irish Carbombs and some drunken, naked making out and rolling around in bed that invariably led to my playing a little flesh flute as it always did.
Anyway, back to the douche in the yellow convertible. I decided with sound resolve not to try to contact him again, but come March 18th, I awoke to a long-winded text message from him, and something to the effect of, "I am so sorry. I don't know why I did that to you. I realized I'm not over my ex, and I like you SO much and it just didn't feel right to be moving on that fast." (LAME.) So I wrote back something about lying and being an asshole about it, and he apologized again, and kept apologizing through text message for the next few days while I ignored them.
And ever since, every couple of months I'll get a random email or text message from him, that says, "I wish I had never left."
This world is full of fuckin' weirdos.
(Whatever it is that she's holding hands with, that relationship is doomed for so many reasons. There is a fine line between open-minded and desperate, don't you forget it.)
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