Last week my life was starting to feel like a total teen movie. Well, it would be a pretty boring movie if it were always smooth sailing, right? If everything came easily and there were no obstacles and I always got the boy (by the way, I almost never get the boy) and lived happily ever after, people would hate it and walk out of the theater! Of course, I want everyone to love my movie, so I suppose this bummer has a positive angle.
I had a really nice week hanging out with Crush Boy. He slept over Wednesday night, then the next morning I did my homework—painting color swatches—while he made a birthday card for his band mate. We sprawled out on my floor with paint and markers and worked quietly, playing each other songs and having crafty time. For me, crafty time after sexy time is almost the dreamiest combination available, so I had a pretty sweet day.
The next night, I had a couple of buddies visiting from out of town and crashing in my room. I wanted to show them what my version of Oakland was all about, so we drank whiskey around the space heater after a rainy afternoon stroll, went on a late-night tour of neighborhood bars, and finished the evening at a chicken-and-waffles spot that’s open till 4 AM. Around 1 AM, as I was drunkenly and I’m sure very daintily devouring my chicken and waffle, Crush Boy texted me that he was on his way over. I hadn’t planned to see him that night because with my friends sharing my room, we wouldn’t be able to hook up. The fact that he wanted to see me anyway was endearing enough. The fact that he wanted to see me anyway right after I’d inhaled a giant plate of grease and maple syrup AND that he ended up waiting at my place for us for an hour while my friends and I tried to find a bus home—well that was so endearing that I nearly puked everywhere. Cute → puke! It’s a normal reaction.
While I was thinking (drunkenly) about how sweet Crush Boy was for coming over, I totally forgot that this was the last night I was going to see him until 2012. The next morning he left for Europe for an eight-week tour with his band. And I spent my last night with him drunk on whiskey and fat from an epic fourth meal. Whoops.
I woke up Monday morning knowing he was on a plane to Paris, and missing him a little. I liked having him around, distracting me from my normal frenzied schedule of class, jobs, homework, being broke, and pitiful attempts to feed myself (candy for dinner!!). Now I have to get back to reality some, but I’m going to take it slow. He left me his band’s last record on a tape. I guess I’ll just have to go buy a tape deck to keep me company for the next eight weeks.
At least I can leave you with a bit of good news: my friends and I got the apartment we applied for last week! It’s not as satisfying a distraction as waking up next to your crush, but it’s something nice to fill the void of a crushless December. ♦