The Drawing of Three

Another word vomit post, but in re-reading all the posts prior, and in assigning the byline I did to this blog, it occurs to me that now might be the time to share the messups I've made in this dating game.

What? I'm not perfect? HOW CAN THIS BE

There are three notable instances, the first of which revolved around my first crush of ever.

The first was the first boy I noticed as a *boy.* Reaaaaallly noticed. It was the defining moment in which all the girls I knew who hoarded Tiger Beat posters of JTT finally registered in a big "Oooooooohhhhhh."

All this time I thought it was for hairstyle tips...

He was a few years older than I, and worked with me at one of the many weird little odd-jobs I had growing up. Essentially, T was Jason Lee with less of a long face, and I adored the sarcasm he heaped upon me when he bothered to note my existence. This was not the me of weightlifting and retrobilly and not being a total introvert weirdo, either- I can't imagine anything endearing he might have felt for a girl-kid with 2" long hair, soft in the middle and gooey-eyed like a Lisa Frank dolphin. I was fat. Acne was my forever friend. I knew SOMANY of the words from reading everything I could get my grubby little paws on, but actually saying them to PEOPLE? Not so much.

Not pictured: crippling social AIDS.

Kids, I made every mistake in the book, many of which were really bad, because I wasn't all dewy in the glow of youth- I was 20. I think there is a certain amount of forgiveness given to kids in their early teens (see post about C- even though he tried to knock over a drugstore for condoms and then drug me into it, you still have a bit of the ol' shrug and "kids will be kids" about it.) This slack is not so easily extended to those of us who were interested in frogs and Animaniacs well into mid-teens, which, fair enough- God knows I was an utter sperglord, and social skills are one of those steep learning curves that you fall down plenty before learning to clamber up. I never got any hands-up, and I figure the me of today owes people of then for not allowing me to continue on being said sperglord.

Stalling tangent thus concluded, did I mention T was an artist? An amazing one. Guys, like, you don't even KNOW. Did he know? Better tell him! Tell him a dozen times in one shift.

You see, I too had nurtured a nascent drawing ability, and tried desperately to wedge it into every protracted conversation I could corner him into. Which were as many as I could possibly fit, every shift, every day I worked. I would find reasons to bother him in his part of the store, reasons that then seemed ironclad in aloofness, but in retrospect were as subtle as wearing a sandwich board that read "Do you like me? Check Yes or Yes." I drew the dumbest, worst things. With the word "love" on them, like some attempt at sublimating my feelings into his brain. He would accept them with the bemusement of a guy who has found himself trapped in one of those 127 Hour scenarios, trying to make nice with the wild boar that shuffled up and is insisting on being his own personal Pumba.

But alas, writing 'love' on things didn't work. Neither did bringing up the same tired conversational topics every single shift, entirely limited to

A) Work is the sucks, eh eh? A little commiseration, look at how well we match up, eh eh?
B) OMG you are teh best arteest- over and over, over the same 3 pictures he had shown me very early on, before he realized his mistake.
C) Uh so you know my sister right? RIGHT? I am one of those younger kids whose older sister was, is, and forever shall be, one of the more famed peoples in my hometown, and even though it made me ache with anger that he knew her, and when he spoke of her I got jealous that he remembered things about her... hey! It was still him talking to me, and that was enough.

Well, more like him not running full tilt away as I talked at him... count it.

So, so far you're reading along, thinking yeah, I was a stage 5 clinger, and yeah, this guy was being the absolute most by not insisting on a in-store restraining order, but...

Oh Lord this next part is painful.

When he one day, for no reason I've ever been able to deduce, decided to invite me back to his mancave/rented house he shared with another bachelor bro... I nearly squealed. For about a second. Then I actually squealed, loud. Trepidation flitted across his face, but whatever inner resolve he had about the matter held, and lo did I venture into the home of the dude I adored.

When I got off one good joke about his pad's decor (because as such an astounding artist, to have a pizza delivery advert be the only thing hung on the wall is pretty lulzy) and he actually graced me with a chuckle, well. I was in heaven. And I liked heaven a whole bunch, so I continued to allude to my hilarious observational wit at least four more times, long after he stopped politely smiling at it. He proffered up a movie to watch, The Big Lebowski.

I heretofore admit that this is ranked as one of my top five favorite movies of all time just because of the association with him. Once an aspie, forevermore.

We were to watch it, but perhaps dealing with my manic wackiness was too much, and it quickly (but as always, politely) became an offer to let me watch it back at my place and report to him as to what I thought. Entrusted with such a treasure- a DVD he owned, and had put in my hands! - I did the only thing I could!

I hugged him. Oh, I hugged him after a shift working in a butcher shop. For hours. With no 'freshening up.'

And

Oh God

And I exhaled, and when I did I said the three words. Those three words.

Sure, I knocked A down there for saying those words at the month mark... well how do you like not even dating the guy? How's that timeframe work for you?

He stiffened, from the hug or if he heard what I said, I'll never know. I was politely escorted out, about 20 minutes after my arrival. Of course I drew some dumbass picture and shoved it in the DVD case before I returned it, and of course he was nice about that. I left the butcher biz shortly thereafter to pursue a career in the AF, and boded my time at a now defunct electronic goods store in the meantime... but I never forgot him. And when I went to basic training, I wrote him. He wrote back, perfunctory, pleasant, even included a drawing. Probably shouldn't have responded with 4 more letters, all of which went unanswered.

... you know what? At least The Big Lebowski is actually a good movie in its own right. That makes it okay, right?

Hahaha don't read this it's super boring

A. Well, I dumped A. He was super nice, super chill... and had no goals or motivation other than to politely ignore my many 'serious talks' about how my schedule does not permit him to be all up on me all the time.

To wit: HOW TO BE A TENNANERS

1. Wake up at 4am. Curse the world.

2. Be at gym NLT 0420 to lift heavy things (more on that in a minute.)

3. Be done lifting heavy things by 0545 so as to shower and not gross out my coworkers.

4. Be on road to work NLT 0615 because Beale AFB is smack-dab in the middle of Nowheresville, man, and unless you want to live in the strata around a military base (and you do not, it's like when you leave a greasy plate in the sink water and the muck sort of comes loose to form a protective, nasty ring around the dish) you are looking at a sweet 20-30 minute commute. Curse the traffic.

5. Work your balls off until 1530. Resist urge to laugh when people complain about 0600 showtimes being "sooooo earrrlllyy."

6. Return home at 1620ish (oh, traffic.)

7. Eat everything in sight... oh haha whoops, no waifu to make the food, so this should actually read MAKE ALL THE FOOD... then eat it. Curse your pile of laundry that isn't getting done until Sunday and you both know it.

8. 1800 sees you staring at the mountain of art you owe people. Curse hands for inability to draw straight lines.

9. 1900 oh lol, time now to pack up clothes for the next day, take out your grimy wet towel, use it to let your shower toiletries air-dry, get new towel, set out gym clothes, make breakfast to be eaten at work furtively at your desk the following day.

10. 2000 answer texts and emails. 

11. 2100 ignore continuing calls, texts and emails that all begin with "I know it's past your bedtime but..."

12. Curse self for not passing out- lay in bed until 2200 when sleep finally overtakes you.

Weekend routine: laundry, food shopping, cleaning, dishes, and all the other little stuff that piles up over the week. Stay up too late and mess up your sleep schedule, but have the satisfaction of knowing you *can* stay up because no one can tell you not to, you grown up.

So if I don't take an extra bathroom break or whatever, that leaves me a good chunk of Saturday to actually be social. I explained this to A, made charts and maps that should have finally made it clear... and he would nod, rephrase what I said to show he heard me and agreed... and then promptly invite himself over every chance he could, to sit on my couch and do nothing.

Now, do not get me wrong- there were nice times, and some of those were just kicking back and watching Netflix / video gaming and not doing much. But over the weeks, there appeared a rift- one of us would get up, decide what was for dinner, make it, clean the dishes, etc. And the other would sit on the couch. Laundry would appear in my hamper, laundry that was not made for 133 lb girls. It would get washed and folded with the rest. And the other would sit on the couch. ETC.

I could get into a million little nitpicky things about him (he had begun to put on weight since he discovered alcohol and every carb ever, and so he employed his 'before-basic' diet plan of loading his plate up with the food I made- food I bought, prepared, planned out to have leftovers of, etc.- eating half of it, and throwing the rest away... deliberately) but what's the point? I'm certain he could counter with a list of things *I* was WRONG-O about

starts with a "b" and ends with "cuntweasel calm your tits once in a while" 

and the back and forth would be cathartic, but utterly pointless. Suffice it to say, the weirdest bit was his stops at my parents' house over the holiday- his parents' home being north of mine, he stopped by on the way up, then decided to stay the night. He did so again on the way down, only this time, he sprang the surprise that he actually had a couple more days of vacay left, and was planning to just graft himself to me and my family for the duration.

Which, a month into dating? Uncool, man. My parents have only met one other dude I've dated, and you know? It's weird. I told him that we had plans to go see my gramps the day following his arrival, so he would have to leave.

Then he tells me he loves me. 

I tell him thank you, but he still has to leave. 

The next day sees my parents and I, awkwardly piled into my car in the driveway, and A sitting in his car, doing the same... waiting us out to make sure we're actually leaving. We ended up pulling out and driving off after a few minutes of stalemate, while he still squatted placidly in our driveway. Effin' weird homeskillets.

The nodding and rephrasing, bee tee dubs, was not just for 'serious WTF are you doing kid talks'; turned out the kid was so nice, he had no opinions about ANYTHING. Politics, religion, plans for the future, diet, exercise, clothes and style, what movies suck (Notebook, for example) and which ones rule (um duh Expendables and Die Hard,) all went the same way:

Me: "I think Thing A is awesome, because it is blue and not green."

Him: *nodding slowly* "It isn't green, it's blue. That is a thing that makes Thing A awesome."

If I wanted to date myself, I would have spent a lot more time waxing, is what I'm saying. When I dumped him, I mentioned this, and suggested he needed to find some of his *own* hobbies and interests and ways to feel about them. His response was "I should find interests and hobbies of my own... I don't really know who I am, but I think maybe that's something we can work on together."

I told him I wasn't interested in telling him who to be, he agreed, dumping finished, but not before he updated his FB with a picture of him in 1950s swag and posted a status about how "I'm going to stay primal on my deployment." 

So that's over, and so is not smoking because I am a weak-willed humanoid and you may all commence to mock my pitiful resolve. Well, the remainder of the resolve I don't use up to do IF (Intermittent fasting / carb cycling is my new thang, and holy smokes, it actually works) and 5/3/1, both of which are google-able terms if any of you feel froggy enough to learn about them. Or just comment and I'll try to poop out an acceptable answer.

OFF TO EAT ALL THE THINGS / LAUNDRY HO