So I Fell Asleep In A Few Bible Classes

“The magic of first love is our ignorance that it will never end.”

You know I thought boys had cooties til I was about 17, right?  Up until that point, I viewed them only as despicable creatures sent to this earth as God’s punishment to Eve. It’s possible I fell asleep in a few Bible classes.  I also thought that babies came from swallowing watermelon seeds. I know it might be a bit too precautionary, but I still always buy seedless.

Growing up, all of my other girlfriends were much more advanced in the relationship  department.  They had “boyfriends” [or whatever the appropriate term would be for the guy that you’re not allowed to be in a closed-door room with but cheer for at football games].  They knew all the definitions of the “bases.”  They had someone to send them flowers on carnation day.

Puh-lease.

carnation-flowerLike I really wanted a cruddy, half-dead carnation anyway. Lame.  If the school would have hosted lasagna day, it might have been worth the inevitable hassle of claiming one of those smelly boys.  However, twas not my fate.

Then one day… wait a minute.

Hold the phone.

I met a smelly boy that changed everything.

My best friend set us up. I believe her exact words were: “There are two guys at my school that would be perfect for you.”  They both had brown hair and blue eyes according to the very detailed description of important details that was provided for me.  So I opted for the one who was “more funny.”  Of course, she had accidentally started dating the other one before I had a chance to meet either of them, so I guess I didn’t really have a choice.

BLUNT FACT: If ever given an option between two of anything, Blunt will always choose funny. Especially if the other options have anything to do with condiments, seafood, clowns, the Southwest, animals that bark, animals that shed, or Neil Diamond. But really, on a scale of 1–> infinity, how sick are we of the Neil Diamond references?

And on a scale of 1–> not a chance, what do you think is the possibility of me stopping?

So we met and instantly fell into premature love with reckless abandon. We ended up dating for 4 years. He was the sort of guy who would drive an hour to bring me a cough drop.  Or flowers on a Tuesday.

My Senior year, I was home sick and there was a snowstorm.  He was broke, as is the fate of every unemployed high school boy who grossly underestimates the cost of having a girlfriend.  He drove to my house and handed me a bouquet of sticks.  He said he’d picked them outside of school and he hoped that 1) he wouldn’t get another in-school suspension and 2) it would cheer me up.

I’m not one for sentimental crap, but to this day that is still my most favorite gift. I kept them in the back window of my car until I got in my car accident and they were lost among the wreckage.

That breakup was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through.  He was my first boyfriend, I was his first girlfriend.  I was crazy about him and he cherished me. We were best friends.  The breakup strung out for two torturous years because neither of us could fully let go. I could say that I had my reasons for leaving him, but the truth is – I was too young and immature to appreciate him.  We were so young that I never thought he would grow up. It was a classic case of bad timing.

I’ve never stopped thinking about him.  We had stayed in touch until before I left for London.  I had previously refused his attempts to get back together, but while I was in London, I truly missed him. I tried contacting him after I returned, thinking that maybe we had both come to the point where we could make it work.  I then discovered he had gotten married two weeks before I came back.

Three years went by.  He had moved. I had heard bits and pieces of how he was doing, but his wife forbade him from speaking to me.  I desperately hoped that he was happy.

Then, one day, I was answering calls at the bank and I heard his voice on the other line.

It was good to hear his voice.

So, what about your first love?

Paris Can Bite Me

I want you all to know that it’s so deliriously late right now that I don’t even have any midnight oil left, I’m running on fumes.  Or smoke.  Or whatever would be left after you’ve burnt a crap ton of oil.  Coldplay is my only companion at such an hour, so consider yourselves a priority.  And I’m about to mesmerize you with an amazing story much like the late night infomercial I’m currently watching that has rendered me speechless with it’s magical powers of persuasion.

But, wait, don’t you always burn the midnight oil, therefore, this blog right now really isn’t much of a sacrifice?

What is this CSI?

So. Paris guy.  I’ve briefly mentioned him a couple times, and many of you have asked for further detail.   Well, I’m going to give it to you so you can stop your begging already… you’re more pathetic than my Italian grandma on Thanksgiving.

grandma

grandma:  Look at all this food.  Oh goodness sakes, what am I gonna do with all of this FOOD?  Will someone eat something, please?  Britteny,  can I dish you up some more potatoes, doll?

me:  I can’t breathe.

grandma:  [sounding as if she might burst into the ugly cry] Well, what did I make all this food for then? I don’t have anywhere to put it.  I thought I told you kids to bring your appetites.  Doesn’t anything taste good?  Oh, now it’s going to go to waste.  We can’t waste food, God won’t appreciate that.

me:  It tastes great. Exactly like every Thanksgiving for the past 26 years of my life when we’ve had this conversation.

grandma:  This is terrible. And so is my food. [welling up]

So Paris Guy and I dated a little over a year. He would also be the ex that inspired the blog “Teenage Acne and an Italian Boyfriend” in case you’re wondering.  I discovered he had proposed to his previous fiance in DisneylandWha?

ex: You haven’t ever been to Disneyland?  I can’t BELIEVE that!  I’m taking you there soon.

me: No you’re not.  I am not going to Disneyland.

ex:  But it’s so much fun.

me: How would that be fun for me?  I throw up on rides and Mickey Mouse creeps me out and I hate fairy tales.

Anyway, things were getting rough.  I needed to breathe.  I did what any sensible girl would do in my situation:  I ran away to London.  Of all the great lengths I’ve gone to in my life, I’d have to award myself 5 stars for pulling off this shennanigan.  But then, he came to take me to Paris on Valentine’s Day and my roommate accidentally told me he wanted to propose.  Great.

paris1

I had specifically warned him that I was not ready for marriage.  I wanted to be done with school first.  When we arrived in Paris, I came down with influenza almost instantaneously after setting foot on French soil (my stomach was either rejecting the vast amount of grease I was about to consume, or the impending proposal, or just the French in general).  As we toured the city, in pouring down hail, I could barely hold my head up.  He then took me to see a show at the Moulin Rouge, which ended with him leaving his wallet in the cab and us wandering around the red light district for several hours with no money or way to get home.  The romance was so thick in the air, that I nearly said yes.

cinderellas_castleHe left me with the ring, I don’t know why. Then he went off the deep end and tried to sabotage all my friendships back home… some of the not as close friends actually fell for it.  After I got back, he coerced me into couple’s therapy, but I eventually tried returning the ring, but it got stolen out of my glovebox when I let one of my friends borrow my car.

And I lived happily ever after without him.