Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: James

A friend of mine coined a term in college: Freshman Mulligan. For those of you (like me) who are not up on your golf terms, a mulligan is a free do-over. Basically, if you mess up your stroke, you can take it over again and the bad one isn't counted on your score-card.

A freshman mulligan is a relationship in your freshman year of college that is a really terrible idea, but you're a freshman, so you get to date someone else and pretend that the old one never happened.

James is my very messy, complicated, unfortunate, regretful Freshman Mulligan.

The day i moved into my freshman dorm was the day that my parents decided to separate. My first care package from home, in October, contained a letter from my mom. Tucked in between the funny stories from home and the advice about college life were a few lines about her marriage. They were in therapy, but she didn't have much hope for a future.

Obviously, i was not in any condition to get into a serious relationship. So obviously, that was exactly what i did. James was a kid i'd known for two or three years from church events. He was really sweet and gentle, like a teddy bear. I knew that he was safe and loyal and easy, that being with him would be effortless, that i could take shelter in his affection without risking my heart. I liked him, but i knew from the start that this would never be a serious relationship.

There were other issues with our relationship. He was far more conservative than i, and constantly disagreed with me on things like my desire to get a tattoo, or my bellybutton ring. Also, he very much wanted to find a good Christian girl in college, settle down and get married, and be a pastor. I am not cut out to be a traditional pastor's wife, and he wouldn't be anything but a traditional pastor, his facial piercings and Chucks notwithstanding. I was seventeen and hurt and vulnerable and terrified, and didn't want to think about marriage just yet. But even before we started dating, he was thinking about how my first name would sound with his last one. Even before we started dating, he was thinking about the kids we'd have.

We dated for barely four months before i was strong enough to cut it off. He'd known it was coming, but was still bitter and angry and jealous, convinced that i was dating a mutual (flamboyantly gay) friend. He said nasty things behind my back and through text messages, he got very angry whenever he saw me with my gay "boyfriend", and he brooded all over campus for the next three months. And then he started dating a fabulously beautiful blonde athletic genius. They got married two years later.

A friend of mine once asked how James, who was of average intelligence, charm, and looks, had managed to land two of the most attractive girls in our graduating class. I can't speak for his wife, but i can say that while James may have been pretty nondescript and a little annoying, he was nice. And he was safe. And sometimes, that's all you're looking for.

Larissa, You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Post Is About You

While C is out of the office, i have no one to tell my stories to. So i'll have to tell them here.

Yesterday, Wesley came in and awkwardly visited me for a while. Also, he may have taken a picture of me with his phone. We should check his background and see if it's still you or if it's switched to me.

My food stash in my desk is running low. I need to buy more peanut butter m'n'ms and Pringles. Also, i worked out yesterday and now my abs hurt. Boo.

KP has me doing more grading projects for her. We should totally start a grading business for professors and local teachers. We could make bank. We can work up a business plan while you're in Mongolia and then launch it when you get back.

I feel like i had another story to tell you, but maybe i was hallucinating. I need a nap.

I hate it when people call/come into the office and have no idea who they need to talk to.
"Um, I got a letter from someone about something, so . . . can you do that?"
What? No. Read the letter again. See if there is any helpful information in there anywhere. Even one word, like "account" or "schedule" could be enormously helpful. You really don't remember anything? How have you managed to stay alive this long, let alone get into college? Please step away from my desk before i cut you.

Four o'clock. This is what my ex used to call the "power hour". He was dumb. This is also when you usually drift over to my desk to see how i am killing time in the last hour. Usually, i'm reading blogs, Facebook chatting with my boyfriend, or doing homework. Today i would probably complain to you about how my abs hurt and i should never have started working out again. Because they do, and i shouldn't have. Let's be honest: i'm already as hot as anyone could ever be, right? What's the point of working out?

Someone in my office was wearing jeans and Uggs today. I think it's perfectly acceptable for you and i to relax our dress code a little.

I really want to have a tea party one day. Mostly because my dad gave me this hand-me-down tea set and i haven't really had a chance to use it. Let's have a tea party with little elegant cakes and big flowered hats when the weather gets warmer. We can have it on my porch. Because Beer Street is the epitome of class and sophistication.

Okay, it's almost 5:00. Damn, this was a boring day at work. Please come back and be bored with me? Kthanx.

Wednesday:

You'd better have some great stories from this trip. All i want is for all of your decisions in life to pan out positively for me, in terms of entertainment and vicarious thrills. Is that too much to ask? Please keep in mind that if you tell me interesting stories, i might blog them. And it will be almost like you're famous. I mean, not really, because i would steal the story and not give you any credit, and anyway i only have like five readers, but it's something, right?

My abs still hurt from working out on Monday. This is Wednesday. This is why i never work out. Except that i did lunges today, but whatever. My legs are fine.

Wesley just brought me a fax and asked where to sign up for a campus tour.

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Ford/Victor

Since neither of these relationships lasted for longer than a month, i'm combining them into one entry.

"Ford" was first. When i was fourteen, my friends and i started inexplicably taking late-night trips to Acme (grocery store). Looking back, i'm sure these trips really only happened half a dozen times, but it seemed like we were there once a week, usually to stock up on chips and soda for a sleepover.

There was one bag boy who was HOT. And i don't mean that we were fourteen and thought he was cute but really he was dorky. I mean he looked like an Abercrombie model. He was clearly older than we were, but no one was sure how much older. He always seemed to be there when we were, and always seemed to be looking at me. I actually didn't notice his attention until one of my friends pointed it out.

"Acme Boy is staring at you!" she whispered piercingly.
"What? No. I'm sure he's looking at all of us," i whispered back.

But the other girls soon confirmed it: Acme Boy had eyes only for me. Many months went by of awkward staring and smiling. When i was there with my mom, he'd check me out. When i was there with my friends, he'd check me out. Finally, one day, i was there with my uncle. As we were in the checkout line, Acme Boy was bagging groceries two lanes away. A few minutes later, he found a reason to move to the very next line. We continued staring and grinning until i was distracted by my uncle. Suddenly, Acme Boy was standing right next to me, and he slipped me a piece of paper, whispering, "Call me." On it was his name and number.

My friends and i were speechless with giggles. (What? We were fourteen. The stereotype is true: teenage girls giggle a lot.) My mom encouraged me to call, which i did the next day.

As it turned out, Ford was seventeen. He had just turned seventeen, and i was two months away from my fifteenth birthday, so it wasn't that significant a gap. As it further turned out, Ford had not realized that i was fourteen. He had thought i was twelve.

We continued chatting (and made out a few times) over the next few weeks, until Ford learned that i didn't want to have sex until i was married. I never heard from him again, though my sisters have since spotted him waiting tables at a sports bar. They say he has put on weight, and they are pretty sure he's gay.

"Victor", oddly enough, was an old friend of Fusco. I met him when my brother started taking Tae Kwon Do in town. Victor was in his class. He looked like a Hollister model, combining skater-boy edge with big blue eyes, dimples, and golden curls. I fell for him instantly and kept crushing on him for an entire year, even during the whole Ford fiasco. But he had a girlfriend.

Eventually, however, they broke up, he noticed me, and we started texting. I was nearly heartbroken when i learned that he was interested in a girl from my youth group, and tried to dissuade him by persuading him of her craziness (which was true, by the way. She was crazy.) The next day, he asked me out. Obviously i should have turned him down, but i was fifteen and he was really cute.

We dated for nearly three months before he broke it off because he was "going through some stuff" and needed to face it alone, like a "lone wolf". It wasn't until a few months after that that i learned he'd been cheating on me with the crazy girl from my youth group. Or maybe he was cheating on her with me. I never found out enough about the timeline to be sure, and i never wanted to. I did find out that he had been basically molesting her for their entire relationship. She was two years younger than we were (thirteen), and way too young and sheltered to be dating an older boy or to be making mature decisions about her sexuality. He'd pressured her into all kinds of things, and i am just selfish enough to still be glad that, for whatever reason, i had managed to escape that part of his character.

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Fusco

This year is the first year in my life that i will be in a relationship for Valentine's Day. In recognition of that fact, i will be spending the weeks leading up to the 14th telling stories of my past relationships. Get ready to mock.

"Fusco" was my very first boyfriend. He moved into my town when i had just turned thirteen. He was pretty much the most amazing boy i'd ever met. Of course, being homeschooled in a small town sort of limited the selection, but i was thirteen and didn't know that.

Fusco had blue eyes and was tall and cute. He was also gangly and awkward looking, but i was thirteen. He was brilliant in all the ways i wasn't (math, computers, science), he was musically gifted (his dad, a professional jazz musician, was the new pianist at our church), and he was edgy and cool (he went to public school and listened to music by bands that were not explicitly Christian). Best of all, we had never seen each other in diapers. We had not spent our whole lives within a ten-mile radius of one another. He was new and exciting.

I was the most awkward of my group of friends (we were all homeschooled, so that title was hotly contested). As the boring one, i had already resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood. I did not get nearly as much attention as my cute and peppy friends, and was sure that boys would never notice me.

But Fusco was different. And by that i mean that i had big boobs.

Me, right around the time i started high school.

We dated for seven months. After about three, Fusco declared his intention to propose to me on my eighteenth birthday. He had it all planned out. We'd be on my back deck, and it would be snowing, and he would go down on one knee. I was not impressed, but pretended to be, because i liked having a boyfriend.

However, there were problems. I was starting to develop a crush on my grandmother's exchange student, and everyone (including my dad, who was usually oblivious to all human social interactions) was convinced that he had a crush on me. Plus, Fusco was constantly flirting with "Renee", one of my best friends. When i would talk to him about it, he would reassure me that they were just friends and that there was nothing going on. Then he would go to Renee and talk to her about our conversation and ask how he should reassure me further.

Finally, in October, i was starting to feel like i needed to break up with him. But his birthday was in October, so i postponed it. Then in November, his parents started talking about divorce. December was Christmas, but i couldn't wait any longer. I ended the relationship.

Fusco was crushed. He wanted badly to win me back, but i insisted that we take some time to work on our friendship. After a few weeks had passed, Fusco and i had a serious talk. He told me that he still loved me, and still wanted to marry me one day, but that he didn't think i was ready for a relationship. Also, he really liked Renee, and had decided to date her while he was waiting for me.

Obviously, i was swept off my feet, and when i turned eighteen Fusco proposed and we lived happily ever after.

Sike! Renee broke Fusco's heart, and then they both dated other people for a while. Fusco and i lost touch, Renee and i stopped speaking (high school drama), and we all moved on with our lives. Renee went to rehab, got out, got pregnant, got engaged, broke up with the guy, and named her son Kratos Wolf (yes, for real).

Nearly eight years after all of this began, Renee and Fusco are back together. Love is weird.

Reason #5 Why I Should Live With My Boyfriend

My roommate just described our apartment as a concentration camp. "Because we just keep adding more and more people all the time."
I replied, "Yes. You're right. That's exactly what a concentration camp is: a place where people just keep getting added."
She just laughed.

Overheard in the Office 8

"I tell my boyfriend all the time, 'If there's a zombie apocalypse, and you think it's funny to pretend you're a zombie, I will kill you. No hesitation.' I think I'd last a long time in a zombie apocalypse. I think about it all the time. Like, if I'm in class, I look at the person next to me and think, 'What if they suddenly turned into a zombie?' I'm so prepared."

Shut Up.

So i was reading one of the blogs i follow (can't remember which one), and there was a picture of teeny tiny baby turtles next to a strawberry, to show scale. Those turtles were even smaller than the one pictured below, and were so cute that i did a Google image search for baby turtles, because i was in need of something to brighten my day. And because i was at work, so what else would i be doing? And all of that was a really long preamble to the happiest turtle in the world:

Now, if my dad ever reads this, i'm sure he will tell me (again) that i am anthropomorphisizing; that i have no way of telling, based solely on this photo, how the turtle feels; that it may have been photoshopped, anyway.

And i will tell him (again) that just because his mouth is naturally shaped like that doesn't mean he's not happy.

Look at him. He's munching away on a strawberry three times the size of his head, and he is just so damn happy. When was the last time that anything made you that happy? Let alone something as basic as fresh fruit?

In the current fervor over the 99% and the Occupy Movement, we've all gotten our perspectives a little bent. Even most of the 99% in this country have it a thousand times better than most of the rest of the world. Middle-class Americans who don't happen to be billionaires have been dealt a shabby hand. But they are better off than middle-class people of many other nationalities. Even the legitimately poor and needy in this country (of whom there are certainly many) have access to supports and programs unavailable to the poor in many other parts of the world.

Stop whining about your lack of swimming pools and private jets and thank God that you even know that those things exist. Stop bitching about the price of bottled water and drink the tap water that most of the world can't trust not to kill them. Eat a damn strawberry and think about this turtle and know that, while things could certainly be better, they could just as easily be worse. You are lucky to be part of the 99% in this country. Don't ever forget that.