Back to Life (or something like it)…

A few months ago my favorite aunts gave me a bicycle.  It was back when I was working out every day and I was so excited to add another activity workout regime. It was the middle of June though, and in Texas, that means it’s way too hot to ride a bike if you have another form of transportation available.

As the weeks went on, my workouts slowed and I forgot about my big plans to start riding my bike to work. I put off buying the helmet, basket, and bright orange construction tape that I was once so excited about. I’ve barely had the energy to exercise, much less leave the house after work unless I was headed up to Racetrack to buy more wine. I would have completely forgotten about the bike altogether if my dad hadn’t asked me about it this past weekend.

“Have you been riding your bike now that the weather is beautiful?” he asked, trying to remind me of things that make me happy. He has spent the last few weeks attempting to get me excited about life. Everyone has.

I made up an excuse about being worried that the handle bars weren’t on tight, and how I hadn’t had the funds to purchase a helmet and that I didn’t want to die riding without one. Without wasting a second, he pulled into the nearest Walmart to buy tools. After choosing a wrench thingamajiggy he lead me over to the cycling section, where I picked out a child’s helmet and a lock. I decided to forgo the bright orange vest for the time being, but I did find a set of lights I liked.

When we got home my dad fixed my bike and I feigned an excited voice, telling him I would ride to work on Monday. The truth is, the prospect of actually riding a bike on the streets frightened the hell out of me. It’s true, I’ve been taking spin class for the last three and I know how to lift my butt on and off of the seat like the best of them, but I hadn’t been on a real life bike in  years. In fact, the last time I got on a bike was for a sappy segment of an audition tape I made for The Biggest Loser in 2006. I didn’t ride it for more than a few yards, but I do recall that the second I put my formerly 250-pound-self on a bike, I was certain that I would fall.

Later that afternoon, after my dad left- I decided to give it a try. After all, even if I did crash into a street sign and get run over by drunk motorcycle gang, I wouldn’t be losing much.

I felt awkward before I even started peddling. The helmet I got was a little too small and fit awkwardly on my head. I could feel the strap causing me to have a double chin, but still I kept on.

At first I was wobbly and unsure of myself. I kept one foot down so I could catch myself if I started to fall. I had never ridden a bike that didn’t have a pedal brake, so I took some time testing out the brake on the handlebars. I made my way slowly down the street stopping every few feet to steady myself. At some point before it was time to turn a corner, I realized that I was finally moving. I pedaled faster and faster and slowed only to turn. I felt like a kid as the wind whipped across my face and made me laugh.  It was as easy as everyone said it would be, once I got back on.

And now prepare yourself, because I’m about to hand you a ginormous platter of cheese.

For some time after my bike ride, I sat on my porch in solitude. I thought about the events of the last month and how it has felt like it will never get easier. I thought about all of the wonderful people I have in my life and even the people who I don’t even know in real life that have reached out to me offering support. I pondered all of the tiny events, decisions, and catastrophies that have molded themselves to be the life that I have now.

I don’t know if the clarity came from being sober from alcohol for over 2 weeks or from the pot that I had smoked earlier that afternoon, but all of a sudden it hit me. Riding that bike was a metaphor for what I need to do next in my life.

If life is a mode of transportation, then I’ve spent the last 4 years riding shot-gun, speeding down the highway with a drunk as driver. I haven’t worried about where I was going or how I was going to get there. I haven’t noticed the beauty that I’ve passed along the way… I haven’t even noticed the warning signs. But now I want out.

No no, I’m not being that dramatic. I’m still metaphor-ing here. What I mean is that I want to get moving again, I just need a new form of transportation. I need something that is a little healthier… a little slower perhaps. Something that’s dependable, though it might take a little more work. Something that I am in control of. I might be a little uneasy at first, but once I start moving, I’ll learn to enjoy it.

You might be wondering about my big decision. It took me over two weeks to finally decide what to do, and I doubt I’ll ever be content with my decision. I decided to go with what made the most sense to me in my life right now.

Since we’re speaking in metaphors, I took the road that had the fewer uncertainties, except that it is certain to be paved (at least partially) with regret.

I don’t think I’ll be talking about this much, because right now it hurts to even think about. It’s always going to be there though. Thank you all for all of your kind words. In the next few days I hope to be back to blogging about the lesser assholes of my life.

Posted in My Current State | 13 Comments

Zombie Shirt Boy: The Courtship

The moment I saw that I had mentioned the word “love” to a boy who I had known for less than 24 hours, my heart started racing. I didn’t even know the boys name… he was listed as “Zombie Shirt Boy” in my phone, for Christ-sakes.

I immediately erased the history of texts with “Zombie Shirt Boy,” and spent the next few hours sitting in shame at the remembrance of my actions. That evening I went home and wrote a letter to Z.S.B on my blog, apologizing for prematurely using the “L” word. I didn’t figure I’d hear from him again, and the possibility of him coming across my blog didn’t even cross my mind. Even if he did happen to stumble across it, I figured that he would see the entry that was written only a few a days before about me shitting my pants, and that would be the end of it.  I Within a few days I had nearly forgotten the incident had even occurred.

About a week later I got a surprise text from Z.S.B. asking me when he could take me out to dinner. I sent him a calculated witty reply, letting him know that I would oblige, as long as he agreed to answer to the name Z.S.B. We spent the next few days trying to outwit each other via text, and we eventually agreed to meet at a restaurant half-way between our two suburbs.

The first date went well. I had been a little worried about what we would talk about and how comfortable it would be, and it turned out I didn’t have to worry about a thing, Z.S.B. talked enough for the both of us. He talked about his experience in the drum line, which he was absolutely obsessed with. He told me of all the bartending jobs he had been fired from. He told me about his sister and his high school friends and how he wore his socks inside out so that the little line wouldn’t rub against his toes.

I wouldn’t have usually found his conversation particularly interesting, but he had a way of finding himself so fascinating that I somehow followed suite. I found myself laughing every time he laughed. Whenever I did squeeze a few words in, he listened accordingly before quickly finding a way to turn the conversation back to his own life. I didn’t  mind. For once, it was nice not to have the pressure of keeping a conversation going lying on my shoulders. It was easy.

After a few drinks, he walked me out to my car where we proceeded to make out for 45 minutes, Junior High style. Finally, sweaty and out of breath- I told him that I needed to leave for the 12th time, and actually did.

A few days later, he invited me to meet up with his family for drinks to celebrate his birthday. We hadn’t actually spoken to each other since our first date, but we had kept a steady stream of texts going; so even though I thought it was a tad bit early to meet the fam.- I went with it.

I got along great with his family. I thought it was a little odd that they all claimed to have  heard so much about me, but I thought they may have just been being polite. He wasn’t shy at all about making it clear that we were a couple. He openly put his arm around me and held my hand. At one point in the night, his sister asked where I had gotten my John Lennon necklace, and before I could answer Z.S.B., explained that I had gotten it the week before at the State Fair. It only took a moment for it to sink in that I had never told him where I had gotten the necklace, but that I had in fact- written about it in the same blog entry that I wrote him a letter.

I’m sure my eyes grew as wide as pancakes and I rushed to the restroom in embarrassment.

He quickly followed and admitted that he had found my blog before I even got the chance to mention it. He said that he was intrigued, and not to worry that I had written about shitting my pants, because he had shit his pants the same night we met. It somehow did make me feel better.

Before we parted ways, we spent another hour and a half fogging up his car windows.

The third date though, was when the magic really started to happen.

He invited me to meet with his friends at an exclusive hotel where his friend bar-tended. We spent a few hours sitting around a hot tub ordering every exotic drink on the menu. Z.S.B.’s friends were nice, and although they were mostly girls, I thought that we could really be friends. About half-way through the night, Z.S.B. and the other boy in the group got up to order drinks, leaving me alone with his 2 “best girl friends.”

“Soooo… You and BDB seem to be getting along great.”

She seemed sincere, though I wasn’t sure who this “BDB” was that she was referring to.

She must have seen the confusion on my face because she quickly followed up her comment with, “Oh, you don’t know about his nickname yet? We all call him BDB.”

“What does it stand for?” I asked innocently.

A sly smile crossed her face and she told me that I would find out soon enough.

A little while later Z.S.B., or “BDB” as his friends so fondly called him, decided that it was time to go and watch some television. He presented me with a giant suite that had a shower in the middle of the room. It had 3 flat screen T.V.s and a bed with a canopy with one of those curtains that closed around it…

Posted in Loves of the Past, Zombie Shirt Boy | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Zombie Shirt Boy: Part 1

When: Fall, 2009.

I met him almost exactly a year ago.

I had spent the majority of August and September mourning my break-up from “the one,” and I was finally at the stage when I was ready to date someone else. Or at the very least, fall in love.

I went up to my college town to celebrate homecoming weekend with old friends. We arrived at the stadium early, and spent the morning chugging Miller Lights, eating brisket, and scanning the crowd for the familiar faces of our college crushes- who now (to our delight) donned thinning hair and beer bellies.

At some point in the afternoon, I saw him.

It would have actually been difficult not to see him, since he was the only person in the entire parking lot wearing a highlighter orange shirt in a sea of green, but still… there he was.

He arrived at our tent and seemed to know most of my local friends. I quickly learned that he was a bartender at a bar that one of my best friends owned. I moved a little closer to get a better look.

His face was cute, not striking by any means, but he had a friendly smile. He didn’t have any of the characteristics that I usually find attractive. His hair was meh. His body was meh. His teeth were ehhhhhh. But his shirt was what really caught my attention, and not merely because of it’s color.

It read: “In the event of a zombie uprising, remember to sever it’s head.”

I should probably take a moment to explain that I have a slight obsession with zombies. I know, I know, they’re all the rage right now (no pun intended,) but I’ve was literally raised on zombies. The first movie I remember owning on VHS was “Night of the Living Dead,” and I spent nearly every night of my childhood playing “Zombies at my Neighbors” on NES. So basically, I was smitten the moment I saw his shirt.

I made my way even closer, and casually told him I liked his t-shirt. We quickly got into a conversation about Zombieland, which had recently been released, and I learned that he too, was a zombie aficionado.

We made small talk for about thirty minutes about our favorite movies and the people that we knew in common, and it was fun. He had to leave to tend bar, but I let him know that I was friends with his boss and that we would definitely see him later.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon recounting the conversation to my friends, and trying to speed them along so that we could make an appearance at the bar.

We didn’t end up making it there until it was late, and by that point I was quite snozzled.

The bar was crowded but “Zombie Shirt Boy” made a point to to come and talk to me at several points throughout the night. When it was time to leave we exchanged numbers and he gave me a tight hug.

He called me around three AM, and we had talked for about an hour about nothing that I could remember for the life of me. It wasn’t until the morning when I checked my text messages over a few slices of pizza, that I realized that the phone call wasn’t the end of our communication.

Much to my horror, I saw that the last outgoing text was to Zombie Shirt Boy at 5:26 AM.

It read, “I jusst wanted to tell u thaks for a funntalk and I am already in LOVE with you!!!!”

To be continued…

Posted in Loves of the Past, Zombie Shirt Boy | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Facebook is the Devil.

I had every intention of writing a “past loves” essay today, but instead I got bitch-slapped by my ex-friend, Facebook.

The last few days I’ve been in a mood that could only be described as “jolly.” I’ve been working on projects, organizing my life, and walking around singing Hall and Oates songs. Oh, I had the occasional  “why the fuck hasn’t he called me?” moment of insanity; but all in all, I was doing ok.

That is until last night.

I logged onto Facebook for a late night “stalking of the exes” session but hadn’t really planned on looking at “the ex’s” page, mostly because I knew that he rarely logs on and  that his latest post would be the pictures of us together that were uploaded only months ago.

Incedentally, “the ex’s” first name is as the same”the one’s” last name, so when I typed in “the one’s name, “the ex’s”name popped up.

Confusing, I know.

I decided to click on it, just to see if he had de-friended me, only to find that he has taken a recent interest in The Book.  In the last week had had become friends with several new people, all of them girls.

He also had 2 new posts on his wall.

The first was some cheesy quote from a very pretty brunette.  I know nothing about her except that she is from Arlington, works as an eye-lash extension artist, listens to indie-rap, likes movies such as Home Alone and Half Baked, has 3 dogs and 2 humongous boobs.


The second was a post from another girl who’s profile picture was of her dog.

“I had so much fun this weekend, sorry I had to leave early. It was good to finally meet “big boob brunette” and I hope I get to hang out with y’all again soon!!!”



Who the fuck is this girl how has he known her long enough to be being referred to as a y’all ??

Why is fuck is he going out and having fun when we wanted to bad to spend some time alone, not drinking???

How the fuck are her boobs so perky???

I sat there staring at my computer for a approximately 30 seconds before I rushed into the kitchen faster than you can say “ketchup” and made myself a vodka soda, chugged it, and then had another.

I tried to calm myself down by rationalizing that she could be a long lost cousin or someone he paid to hang out with him, but that word kept flashing in my head.


Y’all is a word used to group people together, a word of familiarity…. a word used when referring to a couple.

Posted in My Current State, The Ex | Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments

“The One”: An Introduction

Since I’ve already mentioned “the one” several times, I figure it’s time I delve into that part of my past with a little more detail, though it’s not going to be an easy task.

When: The last 9 years of my life

I knew of “the one” long before I actually knew him. It seemed everyone did.

He was tall and thin with long brown hair, played bass in a popular band on campus, and could be seen on practically any given night at the most popular under-age drinking facility in town. He was always surrounded by a crowd of people who each waited their turn to have a bit of his attention. When he was up on stage, you would hear his nickname being whispered by 18 year old girls, who thought he was just “dreamy.”

Looking back, this is all sorts of funny to me. Don’t get me wrong, “the one” is a handsome dude, but knowing him the way I know him now, I’m still unsure how he was able to uphold the “it” boy image for so long.

Like many of the other girls, I had a huge gigantic crush “the one,” but never thought that it would come to fruition.  Other than a quick “good show, man” in passing, I didn’t say a word to him for the longest time.

Then one day, God and Buddha and Oprah all joined forces to make things happen.  My  best friend at the time serendipitously moved next door to his best friend.

It took a few weeks, but soon we were hanging out with “the one” and his friends daily. We would spend every week-night in a circle around a bong, each with our books out in front of us in a meager attempt to study. We went out often, but most of our time was spent in “the boys” apartment making up word games and trying to beat our previous record at “empty beer can pyramid.”

I became fast friends with “the one,” and although my feelings for him grew stronger as I got to know him, it became clear that he wasn’t really the “boyfriend” type. He hooked up with girls, but rarely let his feelings get involved. More than that though, he was impossibly immature.

He was always the doer of the group. He was the one would decide to do a woohoo in the middle of the night, which was our term for stealing a 30 pack of Milwaukee Beast from the local grocery store at 3 in the morning. He was the one who would take the dare to drink the bong water. He was the one known for lighting his armpit hair on fire in the middle of an unsuspecting crowd. He rarely showered, and he also ate like a pig.

Not only was he able to ingest more pounds of food than a 6’2″ 140 lb man-boy should have been able to, but he also ate with his mouth open so that you could see every piece of food slowly becoming saturated and turn to mush. He claimed that he had a condition that left him unable to breathe out of his nose when his mouth was in use.

Regardless of all of this, I still liked the guy… but I knew better. I could tell even then, that he was capable of breaking my heart. Instead,  I began to focus most of my crushiness on his best friend, whom I shall refer to from this point on as “The Best Friend,” or TBF.

At the end of my sophomore year, circumstances (that I won’t go into now) involving a porn video tape, a forced hand-job, and a yeast infection mistaken for a V.D. caused me to cut off contact with TBF.

On top of that, somewhere over the last few months, my group had turned into a bad nightmare of an episode of Beverly Hills 90210- The College Years. Everyone was hooking up with everyone, and everyone was in love with someone else. People’s feelings were starting to get hurt and I needed some space. I spent that summer back home at my parent’s house. I talked to “the one” a few times, but I wasn’t sure that we’d still be close when we got back to school. I had no idea what our future would hold.

Late that summer I got a call from “the one” asking me to meet him in our college town for the weekend. He explained “The best friend” had plans for the weekend, so I wouldn’t have to deal with him- but that we would have a place to stay. He also said that he didn’t want to much, just to hang out- the two of us.  I remember thinking it was completely out of character. We were close, but never before had hung out alone.

I got to the apartment before he did and waited in my car until he showed up. My windows were down and I heard the “Top Gun” theme song blaring before I even got a glimpse of his car. I started laughing as I saw “the one” playing the air guitar in his navy Blazer while wearing a quintessential pair of aviators. A familiar feeling rose in my chest as I got out of the car to meet him.

An actual excerpt from my college journal regarding that particular day… Only the names have been changed:


I kissed him. I kissed him! We made out. I made out with “the one. ” I kissed him! hahaha Well Cori would murder me if she knew. It’s not like they are dating or anything but she acts like she has some sort of claim on him. He’s not a dog

Anyways, I never planned on it and it probably didn’t mean anything to him, but it was nice.

We were both pretty drunk and were both wearing Top Gun aviator glasses. With all the alcohol and him telling me I was soooo beautiful and that I have the best personality and that he’s always had a crush on me, how could I not? I mean… come on. It IS “the one.”

What it is about his charm that gets to me, I have no idea… I know he’s got some major hygiene issues, but I seemed to put those aside when his tongue was in my mouth… That, and he always just acts so happy to see me~ I guess we’ll see what happens!

Talk to ya laterrrrz!


Posted in Loves of the Past, The One | 6 Comments

The Break-Through.

I’m unsure how exactly it happened, but at some point this afternoon, I must have gone into a new phase. A new phase of getting over someone? A new phase of life? I have no idea. But something inside of me shifted.

As you may recall, I was planning on spending a thrilling weekend with my “ex-ex,” or “the one” and his  looney tune of a new girlfriend.

I must have been in a state of pure oblivion (read: vodka stupor) when I agreed on these plans. Granted “the one” and I are still close, “best friends,” in fact; but as much as I tell myself I’m over him- it really urks me to think about him being with another girl that he claims to love, much less sleeping with one. Although I should probably make it clear that in the 8 years I was obsessed with”the one” I never slept with him, and not for lack of trying… but I suppose that’s a story for another day.

I spent the majority of Friday afternoon trying to figure out how the weekend would go, how I would act around “the one,” and more importantly- how he would act around me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

In all the time that I’ve known “the one,” regardless of whether or not we’ve been dating other people – “the one” has always treated me special. Not “special” in the retarded sense, although now that I think about it- he probably always thought of me as this weak little puppy who would do anything for him. That makes me sick.

Anyboohoohoo- I came to the conclusion that I did want to remain friends with “the one.” And since I’ve made it a recent habit  to say exactly what is on my mind regardless of who it may offend, I decided it would probably be best for everyone in the situation if I skipped out on this one. On top of that, I’d been feeling quite homesick lately, and I figured it would be the perfect weekend to go and visit my family… which is something I usually avoid unless presents are involved. Still, packing up my dirty laundry and heading south seemed to be the best option for me.

I spent every weekend for the last few months with “the ex,” and for the first time I found myself with absolutely nothing to do and no one to entertain me.

It was actually quite fabulous.

I went through old picture albums and clothes. I spent some quality time with my Grandparents. I watched about 6 movies… movies that I wanted to watch… and I got some excellent face time with my puppy dog.

I woke up early this morning and drove back to Dallas. I rolled down the windows, let the crisp 75 degree wind hit my face and sang loud to music that had nothing to do with love, or heartache, or  was in any way associated with the ex. More specifically I listened to Kid Cudi’s “Pursuit of Happiness” on repeat… which is completely out of character for me. Rap music usually makes me want to punch babies, but today- it made me happy.

On a whim, I decided to stop by my friends house where “the one” and his girlfriend were staying. I let myself in and immediately saw the two of them cuddled up asleep on the couch. For a short moment, I panicked, and felt my breath at a stand still. I decided I had made a mistake, and just as I was turning to leave, “the one” woke up and sleepily said “hello.”

The feeling had passed and I was genuinely happy to see him. I apologized for waking him up and said that I just wanted to say a quick “hi” before they left town. At this point “crazy” briefly woke up and I introduced myself. I told them I’d better be going and I quickly headed out.

All in all, is was slightly uncomfortable, but seeing the two of them together wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be.

When I got home, I did something I rarely do.

I started cleaning.

I did all the dishes, vacuumed, finally unpacked my suitcase full of things that I had been keeping at the ex’s, and folded clean clothes that had been on my floor for over a month.

A month. I realized that as of Friday, it has been a month.

I’ve spent the last month crying, , avoided working out, and spending all of my energy wondering if he was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him.

After I was done cleaning, I lit some incense and candles in my room that didn’t look like my closet just threw up, put on some music… and I sat.

I thought about the mistakes I have made in the past, my goals, my dreams , my future. I thought about me.

Just before I sat down and wrote this, I realized that this weekend was  the first time in a month that wasn’t worried about my phone ringing. I didn’t spend every moment wondering what “the ex” was doing.” I didn’t surround myself with things that made me think of him.

And dude, I feel better. I’m not over it just yet, but things are clearly looking up.

Posted in My Current State, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

An update…and the ex-ex… This should be exciting.

Some days I’m fine, and others I just want to scream.

Last night I signed into Facebook to see his name flash across my screen.


This shouldn’t have been so surprising to me, except for the entire time we were together he only signed in to Facebook once, and that was to accept my friend request… or so he said.

I also know that at least 15 of my friends had requested him, and he said that he hadn’t accepted because he never got on. Now though, two weeks later- he signs on at the exact moment that I did and accepted friends… but he obviously ignored the people we had in common, though I suppose that was a good decision on his behalf.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much. At the time, I thought he was proud of “us.” He sure acted like it around my family and friends. The more I look back though, and really examine our relationship, I’m starting to think that he was hiding a lot more than I thought.

Today he texted me and let me know that he got the package that I so stupidly sent his ass. He didn’t say thank you, but did offer to drop my things off at my work this week. I said I’d rather him not, but maybe he could bring them by my house when my roommate was working at home. He didn’t reply.

Why in the world would he want to ruin my work day?

I just don’t understand.

In other news, the ex before him, “The One“… the one I haven’t talked about yet, but the one that I was hopelessly in love with for 7 years until I met “the ex,” is coming in town this weekend with his new girlfriend. I’ve heard nothing but horrid things about her so far, but I’m trying to keep an open mind. I don’t really care. If I can say one good thing about the ex at this point it’s that he got me over the previous one, the one I thought I would never get over.

I hear his new girlfriend was recently institutionalized, and that she cries nightly, and that she is an absolute horrible person. Honestly, I can’t wait to meet this train wreck. I can’t wait to see what happens.

Posted in Loves of the Past, The Ex, Uncategorized | 5 Comments

Mr. Saturday Night: Part 3… The conclusion!????

When: A few years later…. (Spring of my second Senior year of college)

I hadn’t thought about Mr. Saturday Night much in the last year or so. I had moved on several times over, but every time I did think of him it was fondly. I always thought that if he hadn’t been such a dumbass, we would have made things work.

One day, right before finals, I found myself lost as usual in a classmate’s apartment complex in an attempt to borrow some notes.  I was all hopped up on the adderall and I desperately needed a cigarette, but I couldn’t find a lighter to save my favorite dog’s life. I was crouching down on the poorly lit sidewalk, throwing crumpled notes and homework assignments left and right when I heard a voice.

“ahhhhh AHHHHH ahhhhh….” (The sound of angels)

“Hey do you need a light?“, a voice shouted.

I looked around but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from.

“I have a lighter right here if you need one.”

I looked around again and saw a tiny orange flame in the distance.

“Oh my LORD, thank you so much!”

I ran to meet the savior voice whose face I still could not see. He met me halfway, and as cheesy at it sounds, I swear to God the halfway point was directly under a street lamp that gave him a strange aurora around his face.

We both stopped dead in our tracks as we took in each other’s faces. We stood silent for a moment before we both started hugging and talking and asking each other questions.

Within a few days, we had picked up exactly where we had left off a few years back.

We started meeting up every few nights and got good and dirty on his mattress that sat on the floor in the room that he shared with another dude.

How romantic.

I still had feelings for the guy, but mostly, I had emotionally moved on. We still had a lot in common but at that point, it wasn’t enough anymore. He was still immature. He still talked more than I did. And he was still funnier than I was. He was also still going through his “wake and bake stage,” a stage that I was just getting over. As much as I wanted it to, I knew that at this point, it simply wouldn’t work.

I managed to slowly stop answering his late night phone calls, and slowly- I phased him out of my life.

A couple more years later…

I had taken a few months off of improv classes so that I could move to New York and teach dance for the summer. I decided when I returned, that since my previous class had progressed without me, that I would retake a level at my local comedy club so that I could brush up.

I walked into the class, and looked around trying to figure out if I knew anyone.

There he was, Mr. Saturday Night himself. His hair was as big as ever, and before I could even approach him I could hear him tell his peers that he knew me.

We didn’t talk much the first class, but afterwards he waited to talk to me. He told me that he had a serious girlfriend and that he was finally on track with school. I told about my summer in New York and that I was happy to see that he was still interested in comedy. He told me that I had inspired him to finally get involved.

Over the next few months, we became friends. We carpooled together to improv, singing loudly to Meatloaf and Tenacious D. We talked about our perspective relationships, and for the first time, I felt completely comfortable around him.

That summer he moved to Chicago. I took a local writing internship, but I knew that he would find a place for himself at Second City.

We wrote each other emails for a few months, but it wasn’t long before we lost touch.

One day, years later, I found his blog on Myspace and realized how much we still had in common. Even though we hadn’t talked in forever and we were a million miles away- we still had the same favorite movies and love for comedy.

And then few months ago…

I was pretending to be busy at work, with my Facebook page shrunk down to the size of a post it note- when a message popped up.

Well hello Mr. Saturday Night.

The feelings came back. For a few days we talked non-stop, catching up on life and comedy, and our careers. He was working in Chicago and still extremely involved in the comedy scene, and I felt strangely proud of his achievements. I still got a feeling that it was so amazing that someone could share so many of the same passions with me.

We even talked about our relationship and our sex-life. It felt comfortable, but that could have been because we had thousand of miles and a computer screen between us. He invited me to come and visit, said I had a place to stay anytime I wanted.

We still talk every once in a while. I doubt I’ll ever visit him specifically but I have been trying to plan a trip to Chi-town to see my cousin, so perhaps I shall call him.


Lesson Learned?

This is a toughie. While I feel that I shouldn’t have fallen for someone so much like myself, I seem to have done that quite often since, and I’m not sure that’s something I can control. At the same time, I can’t base a relationship on shared passion. I love so many things, and I’m sure I would find it annoying if a prospective partner loved every thing that I loved. Furthermore, I have got to quit being so obsessive. It’s not good for any relationship, and it’s not good for myself.

I can’t be the only one who does this.

Call me crazy, but I feel like there is a chance that I haven’t heard the last of Mr. Saturday Night… I guess only time will tell. It always has before.

Posted in Mr. Saturday Night | 4 Comments

Mr. Saturday Night: Part 2

To find out how I met Mr. Saturday night, click here por favor…

For the next week or so, Mr. Saturday Night and I talked every night, and every night I found that we had even more in common. I was beginning to discover that he was basically me, only with much better hair and a penis.

After what felt like eternity, he finally asked me to hang out with him. “Hang out” is the key phrase here, and let’s keep in mind that it is very different from the phrase “go out.”

In college, “hanging out” typically meant that I would meet up with a boy and his frat boy friends, drink copious amounts of alcohol, flirt, and then get a little frisky in his dorm room… which is essentially what Mr. Saturday Night and I did every night for a few weeks -minus the getting frisky part. Oh we cuddled well enough, but nothing more. We would lay in bed at night with our arms awkwardly grasping each other, Mr. Saturday night would talk endlessly about philosophy and music while I imagined that he would shut his mouth for 12 minutes  stick his tongue in mine.

It was frustrating. I mean, I knew that he was going to be my future husband and the words “soul mate” would flash repeatedly in my brain in neon-letters every time I was around him, but for some reason the boy just wouldn’t kiss me.

One night about a month into us hanging out, we finally made progress. We had just left his friend’s house and decided to go back to his dorm room to watch old SCTV DVD’s. Unfortunately his roommate was there, firmly planted in front of the TV playing Vice City or some other nonsense shooting game on the X-Box. Nevertheless, we decided to make ourselves comfortable on his top bunk. We had been sitting there for only a minute or two, making small talk with his roommate, when he finally leaned over and made lip contact. We made out there for hours while his roommate quietly played ex-box below.

For the next few months things progressed quite smashingly on the sexual front, but emotionally? Not so much. I knew that our relationship was based on the things that we had in common, and I began to find, as with every other human being on planet Earth, that there were certain things that we didn’t agree on. For instance, he firmly believed that David Cross was the superior writer over Bob Odenkirk on Mr. Show. I did not agree. I was too afraid to express my real opinions over these things for fear that our connection would be forever shattered, and things got awkward. But still, I loved the dude.

After finals, he told me the devastating news that he had failed the semester and that his parents were forcing him to move back home. On top of that, he had started a fight with a member of another fraternity and had gotten kicked out. He wasn’t happy, and he didn’t really want to talk about it.

Over Christmas break he called me a few times, but neither of us had cell phones yet and the communication quickly faded. I was devastated, but I always thought that one day we would meet up again.

Posted in Loves of the Past, Mr. Saturday Night | 5 Comments

Mr. Saturday Night: Part One

When: Fall, Sophomore year of college

Like many of the flames of my past, I met Mr. Saturday Night at a local drinkery. We had a few mutual friends, and since we were both minors, we were squashed together at the back of a booth where we could easily hide the remnants of the “X”‘s on our hands.

He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but I was immediately attracted to his charm, his confidence, and his curly head of dark hair. I have this thing where as soon as I realize I like someone, I pick out a celebrity that looks vaguely like the crush, and I will simultaneously obsess over the two. This time was no different. Before we even spoke, I calculated that he looked like a younger, thinner, version of Jack Black- and had a similar personality to boot.

The conversation came easy for us, and after a few moments we spoke  as if we were the only people in the room… as if we weren’t surrounded by loud music and stumbling drunks. At first, the conversation stalled over our mutual love for The Beatles. Like myself, his favorite album was Rubber Soul and he maintained that Ringo actually was a good drummer. As the conversation progressed, I found that we had nearly everything in common. He loved Meatloaf,  Kids in the Hall, and The Adventures of Pete and Pete; but most importantly- we shared a dream of one day becoming comedians.

I’d never before met anyone who had even heard of The Second City, much less anyone who wanted to study there. I had decided back in the 5th Grade that one day, I would become an improviser… and until that moment every person that I told about my future looked at me like I was a nut.

Mr. Saturday Night sure didn’t look at me like I was crazy. Instead, he looked at me in the eyes and said “I swear to God, I’m going to marry you one day.”

And just like that, I was in love.

Posted in Mr. Saturday Night, The Loves | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments