Dating: DON’T DO IT

The Alanis Morissette song Head Over Feet has been the anthem for every crush I’ve had since 1996. It all started in 7th grade with this adorable boy named Ken with looong pretty eyelashes who I inadvertently caused to be called Mascara Boy for months.  Then, in what could only be described as a miracle by my 12 year old heart, he asked me to be his girlfriend.

I quickly learned every word to the song, and although I’m sure at the time I didn’t even know what “friends with benefits” meant and I’d hardly spoken to him much less been “treated like a princess” I was sure that Alanis and I felt EXACTLY the same way. She was totally singing to me. We were bosom buddies. The song was perfect.

But…Ken and I “dated” for 3 months and never spoke.  So I just mumbled through that verse about being a “good listener” and being my “best friend”  - it didn’t really apply.  I kind of fudged that verse about “holding the door for me,” since we never came within 10 feet of each other either.  The “your love is thick and it swallowed me whole” was confusing and made me think of love as a bog monster or something else sticky that might kill you.  In the end it was really only the chorus that I could belt out with absolute certainty that I had found someone wonderful.

The point is that the song never really worked with any of my relationships.  I’ve spent years fudging through verses and relationships while pretending that the song fit perfectly with the wonderful fairytale relationships and crushes in my head.  But it didn’t.  One day (while I was dating The Square Peg) as I listened to Alanis sing the same song for the thousandth time “I’ve never felt this healthy before. I’ve never wanted something rational. I am aware now.” it clicked. I guess you could say I became aware. I wasn’t in a healthy or rational relationship.  I was with a nitwit who was never going to treat me like a princess, be patient, unconditional, OR brave.  But it was then that I began hoping that one day I might find someone who would.

Even after my epiphany I continued to try and hammer messy shaped men into the neatly shaped space I had for them in my life.  Let me tell you - it doesn’t work.

Last night I was in my bedroom cleaning when Head Over Feet came on, and I started singing along.  I think I was already in the second verse before it dawned on me that I hadn’t needed to fudge a single word.  I ran to my computer and googled the lyrics.  Every part fits.  From bravery and patience to treating me like a princess LT fits. I may even need to add a new verse about surprising me with flowers and hiding presents in my car.

Now what am I going to do with my hammer?

Every Tuesday at work we have a team call at noon. This is also when the UPS man makes his afternoon deliveries. I generally enjoy team calls and the UPS man, even when they collide. Since my cube is closest to the door I’m usually the one clamoring for the mute button while juggling the phone, signing for the package, and mouthing small talk like thanks, no a UPS uniform doesn’t make you a “man in uniform” and have a nice day.

This Tuesday things when terribly awry.

First of all, he totally snuck up on me. I’m usually lounging with my feet up on my desk while scribbling notes from the call so I see him right away, but not on Tuesday. On Tuesday I was looking at pictures of my newly engaged friend on facebook and silently cursing her perfect life.

Secondly, he has learned my name, so instead of saying “Ma’am I have a package” he said “Hey Ramona, you’re going to have to try these on…”

And I’m only half paying attention and thinking, hmm…?

Then a teeeeny tiny faint lightblub in the back of my head flickered on as the color drained from my face. I smacked the mute button.

I spun around and feigned ignorance. “What?” I said. “Is it for me!?” I asked puzzledly as signed for it.

“Yeah, it’s from Fredericks.” he said as he did that creepy creepy face that says “I am making a creepy face and I KNOW it!”

You are familiar with this face. Those real slime balls at bars do it right before they ask if they can buy you a drink, and you keep walking because all you heard was a horse fart.

I did my best “I have NO idea what you’re talking about” face in response and turned around like I had serious business to attend to on facebook.

He left, and I gagged.

You see I live in the ghetto (only for 4 more days!) so I have all of my packages delivered to work so they won’t get stolen. Even when I order underwear from…Fredericks of Hollywood.

It turns out they don’t have private mailing labels like Victoria’s Secret does…

This is the story of I Love You.

You wouldn’t think that the story of I Love You would be a traumatic one, but it was. The Square Peg and I spent the better (worse?) part of 7 years torturing/dating each other, and that’s the executive summary on that topic.

We had been dating for about 4 months [in this particular “on” period of time in our very off and on relationship] when I began to get that sort of sick/happy feeling every time I saw him or thought about him. My mother probably told me I’d eaten some bad shellfish, but I knew it was far worse. I was falling in love again.

It was an evening on a weekend. We had just gotten back to my apartment from dinner, and I could tell he was in a particularly mushy mood himself. I was getting myself a glass of water in the kitchen when he walked up to me, put his arms around me, started to say something, and stopped himself. I was kind of confused, and then I had a lightbulb moment (!) He was going to say I love you!

I pretended I didn’t know what was going on and hugged him back. Then we headed off to watch TV. We were laying in my bed watching something that I wasn’t very interested in, so I wasn’t really watching. I mean, when you have that sick/happy feeling it’s kind of hard to focus on anything for very long anyway. An hour or so of tv cuddling time elapsed, when suddenly during a commercial break the tv was muted, and the Square Peg rolled over to focused all his attention on me.

My little beating heart was doing all the beating it could handle when he paused dramatically and said “I need to tell you something.”

I blinked, watching him with wide eyes.

He looked at me, took a breath in, and said

“I don’t like your shirt.”

WHAT THE HELL!?? YOU DON’T LIKE MY..?? WHAT THE @#&%@!?!?

I was blind sided and appalled. I stumbled over several sentences of words while I tried to organize my head. I didn’t want him to know I thought he was going to say I love you, but I was completely unable to hide my hurt feelings, shock, and confusion.

Clearly upset, he said “But you told me you really wanted me to be honest with you and tell you how I really feel about stuff!” Well bless his dimwitted well-meaning heart. He really was trying to do the right thing. To be honest I didn’t care that he didn’t like my shirt because it was only pajamas, and it had taken him over an hour to work up the nerve to tell me that he didn’t like my shirt! Oh good heavens what could I do? I apologized, thanked him for being honest, and told him I was wearing it anyway. Hah.

About two weeks later while watching tv I started rambling on and on about something or other that happened recently that had really upset me. I kept rambling and rambling and I wouldn’t let him talk until I finished. He kept trying to interrupt. Finally he half shouted “I LOVE YOU!” and I was again, flabbergasted.

After a minute or two of cooing and awwing I started laughing hysterically. Now he was the one that was confused. I asked him if he remembered when he told me that he didn’t like my shirt. He did, and I confessed.

So, there’s this boy. (So many of my stories start this way.)

This boy was in my poetry workshop class 2 years ago. And as far as you are concerned he doesn’t have a name, because his name isn’t important. He wasn’t really cute, he was pretty quiet, I don’t know if he was smart, and I don’t know if he was funny. All I know is that I loved the sound of his voice. I can’t figure out what it was about his voice that was so mesmerizing. It wasn’t one of those deep gravely man voices that you can’t help but notice. It’s was just so smooth and relaxing. About once every class he would volunteer to read, and I just loved it.

One night there was a poetry and fiction reading on campus that we had to go to for class. I noticed dreamy voice boy sitting in the back row so I said hey, dropped my bag in the empty seat next to him, and walked down the aisle to sit down. I can’t really remember what we were talking about when he started speaking in French, but let’s think about this: dreamy voice + French = love. That seems like a pretty obvious equation of the heart doesn’t it? So he said some sort of something to me in French, and asked “Do you know what I said?” Of course I didn’t - I shook my head. Then he smiled and replied “I said that I want to buy you a library.” Ok, either I’m an immense dork, or that’s really cute. He wants to buy me a library? That’s kind of romantic isn’t it? You might think I’m nuts, but I think you would understand if you heard his voice.

Of course immediately after I told one of my close guy friends this story, he said “You should do him.” but you see he had it all wrong. I didn’t want to do him. I just wanted to call him before I went to sleep every night so he would read me a story. Hell, he could have read me the phone book if he wanted, I’d listen.

My life has been consumed by my new job, the lingering effects of The Entertainers disgusting illness, and a little bit of really really overdue me time.

In conclusion, I’m short on the man stories…newly developing ones anyway. Fortunately in the short span of years since I burst onto the dating scene as a flat-chested awkward ass I have accumulated a big fat sack of them for a rainy day, or icy day, whichever the case may be.

Somewhere around my sophomore year of college I met and became completely and totally smitten with The Computer Nerd. Er…except I had a boyfriend at the time. I behaved myself, shook off the crush aaand… held off until I got another year older (and stupider).

By this time The Computer Nerd and I were close friends, we lived on the same floor of the same apartment building, and all of our friends were good friends. He helped me through an icky breakup (from The Square Peg) and the devastating loss of everything on my hard drive (computer nerds are handy in a pinch). We started hanging out constantly. Every Sunday night he would come over and we would watch our shows and snuggle. It was a good time; we went out to eat, watched a movie or two, partied, all your basic college “dateish” things.

This cute stuff was all well and good with me, but after two months of this The Computer Nerd had yet to make ANY moves on me. That is right. Two college kids living a potentially titillating life of sin, and we weren’t even KISSING!? Grow some cojones son, am I right? Finally, by month three I had had ENOUGH.

One night he hung out in my apartment until 4:00 in the morning and then headed back to his apartment. Still no kiss. After he left I ran around shrieking about the complete absurdity of the situation and his lack of kissing me. I bitched to my best friend about it (best friends are still awake at 4am in college when you need them), and she said “Go kiss him.” I got that wild look in my eye that means you better watch out cause a man is getting hunted down and thought, “Of course, why wait for HIM!?”

I grabbed my cell phone and charged out of my apartment. About halfway between his apartment and mine I began to second guess my plan and called my best friend. I danced around in the hall, shouted, and forged ahead. Upon reaching his door I screeched to a halt. How was I going to get inside? There was no way in hell I was knocking and waking up his 3 other roommates. They were my friends too and…aaawkwarddd. I decided to call him. I managed not to throw up when he answered the phone, and all I said was “Let me in.”

He opened the door.

I pounced with deadly accuracy, pushed him against the living room wall, and kissed him. Maaan did I kiss him! And yes, I really did push him against a wall.

Three months later I found his constant yelling unbearable and realized that all we did was fight. I broke up with him and he cried. Boohoo it was sad. Not it wasn’t really for me, but he was a mess. Pansy. I know that sounds cruel but realistically I can only spend so much time telling someone to stop yelling at me before I realize that I don’t CARE if they yell, they are just going to need to find someone else to yell AT.