Ghosts of Boyfriends' Past

I've been having this dream lately where I successively date a few of my ex-boyfriends. Ghosts of boyfriends' past, if you will.

In my dreams time has elapsed since I've dated them. It's present day in my alternate universe. We indeed broke up like we did in real life, but for some reason we are getting back together.

***

My first love is fat. He's severely overweight, just as he was in high school before we had started dating. He may be even heavier. The reason he's so fat is because he's eating his feelings. He's not happy and I'm not happy with him. We know we aren't right for each other, which is a shame.

It really is a shame that we didn't make it. He was a pretty thoughtful boyfriend until he joined a fraternity and started drinking so much in college. He and alcohol were a bad mix, as his father was an alcoholic. It was hard watching the descent into alcoholism watching him transform from someone I loved into someone I didn't.

I didn't start drinking until we broke up, and he told me I had finally become the person he wanted: drunk. Obviously there are lingering issues there. But the beginning—the person he used to be—there was no reason why we couldn't have lasted.

But here he is in my dreams fat and unhappy. Whatever the reason is, we just aren't right for each other. He's not quitting on me though, he's just eating, eating, eating. Containers of icing. Raw cake batter. And it's up to me to pull the plug and let the relationship die.

***

Mark, the reason I started this blog and the person whose existence I forget about the most (seriously, my parents mention him and I'm like who?), is back. I usually call him up after all of these years. Seven years, to be exact. And I call him up after seven years, not knowing a thing about him or where he is in life, and I ask to get back together with him. He sighs. He's reluctant. But he agrees.

Apparently he still has his old job and he's holding a training with the sales staff. Then he's on the road for work. Then he's visiting his parents. He never has time for me. I never see him in my dream: he's always on the other end of the phone line, very similar to our relationship. Finally I wised up to realize that he's not seeing me because he doesn't want to see me. He's back with me, but not the way I wanted him to be. I call him up and break up with him on the phone without ever seeing him.

***

Valdosta looks at his phone. "My favorite bartender is serving tonight," he says as he makes a grab for his coat.

"But you just got here," I protest. He literally just got here. I was cutting vegetables for dinner.

Valdosta shrugs. He'd rather be drinking with his friends.

I'm disappointed. I'm beyond disappointed. This is the first time I've seen him in two weeks and it lasted less than 10 minutes.

I look down at the white laminated counter. "You don't like me anymore, do you." It wasn't a question.

"No," he says quietly. This isn't like the first breakup where he tells me he cherishes me. This is cold. If I had left things alone with him, I could have had nice memories, but I had to drag it out.

It's awkward in the kitchen. Valdosta leaves and I feel empty and ashamed.

***

I begin to slowly wake. I'm cognizant enough to know I'm laying on someone's shoulder—my boyfriend's shoulder—but I'm not cognizant enough to know who that is.

I open my eyes like Christmas morning. It's Abe. I sigh with relief. I like this boyfriend. This is a good boyfriend.

Although, I'm tangled up in him in a curious way. My head is on his shoulder, and my hands are digging into his sides as if I'm trying to grab his ribs. My face is smooshed into his neck. He's snoring, which is really, really loud with my face pressed into him.

I shake him awake. I'm not gentle about it. I wanted the snoring to stop and I wanted to interact with him to prove he was real.

Abraham wakes up. I watch him cautiously. He looks at me and he smiles. He didn't question why I abruptly shook him; he just smiled.

I don't think I was ever so happy to see someone in my life.

Where are they now?

Mark

Light Facebook stalking years ago revealed that he is married. She's not as pretty as me. Talk about wasted tears. At least I got a blog out of it.

Conor

Conor sent me a text back in April late one night. He told me he inherited a lot of money and was now independently wealthy but didn't want to tell anyone. He fished around as to whether I had a boyfriend. When I said I did, he stopped responding. He's had the same girlfriend for about 3 years.

Adam

Facebook had the last laugh.

Jack

Jack contacted me once via LinkedIn. Unfortunately I was in a really horrible place, so I sent him a weird response (i.e. "I'm good! I followed your advice, but I got laid off! And now I have cancer!"). Naturally he never responded. Nor did he follow through on any of my LinkedIn connections for a job. I have since deleted him from LinkedIn.

The Musician

Abraham and I went to go see his band last week. On the way there I was like, "Uh, so you should know that five years ago I went on two dates with one of the band mates."

I couldn't tell if Abraham was jealous or not. I thought he may have been since he told our entire party, including people I've never met, that I went out with the Musician. But on the other hand, the band seemed a little sadder this time. Five years ago the band mates were in their twenties. Now they're in their thirties, still working their day jobs as servers and still playing the same songs at the same venues. Five years later and they are no more popular. Nothing has changed for them except for their receding hair lines.

I don't know if The Musician recognized me or not. I've changed a lot since then.

S

Several months ago S' step-mom phoned me. S was back in jail.

"When was he in jail?" I asked.

Apparently he was sentenced to several months in jail for beating up yet another girlfriend. And he was being ordered back in for violating his probation and appearing in front of the judge drunk.

Christopher

Christopher. I don't know if he sold his email address or joined some marketing strategy, but I started getting those horrible, spammy emails from his address. The ones with a single link to Canadian Viagra.

I reported that his email address was hacked. I still got the emails. I sent him three emails kindly telling him to change his password. I still got the emails. So then I blocked him.

Valentine's Day he sent me a friend request on Facebook. I had deleted him after I dumped him years ago. I accepted and now he stalks from afar. LinkedIn reported a few months ago that he is now living in Illinois, so y'all are on notice.

Valdosta

I never heard from him since the night he dumped me. I've never looked him up. I don't want to know anything because I don't want to be sad. He will have to remain a mystery.

The Hungarian 

The Hungarian tried to have sex with me on our last date. I turned him down cold. I never heard from him again. Funny thing, it took me about 2 months to realize it.

Clemson

No one has seen or heard from him in about a year. I've been tempted to send him a text to make sure he is alive, but it's not my place.

Statham

Statham now lives with the ex-girlfriend, who is no longer an ex. They came out to Abraham's tailgate about a month ago and we were all drinking together. She didn't speak to me, but Statham was his usual friendly self to Abraham and me. Everybody acted like nothing ever happened.

A heartbeat away from being

It's been a month since my breakup with Valdosta and I'm surprised with how much it has actually hurt.

I think it was Banky in Chasing Amy who said that love is best when it dies young, a la Romeo and Juliet. You fall in love, and one person dies at the apex of the relationship. The love never dies. Harsh exchanges were never made. Ultimatums were never given. Feelings were never hurt. You're left with only good memories and because of that, the one who left is idolized. Or maybe idealized. Most likely both.

I feel there are a lot of similarities with Valdosta's and my relationship. It was easy. It was only good times. And then it stopped.

He left before the bad and the ugly could have transpired. Before the faults could be discovered. I'm left alone with only the good. I have nothing to work with as to why I shouldn't like him. As to why the relationship couldn't have lasted (other than the glaring one of that he left).

When I stood up the from the table and walked home, I was cocky in my absolute certainty that Valdosta would regret his decision and come back one day. I give it six weeks, I thought to myself. Let him date others and think of me. A girlfriend told me I would be the one that got away in his life. I agreed! My mother said that this wouldn't be the last that I hear from him. My own past dictates that he will return. They all do. They all say that they didn't realize what a good girlfriend I was and how they missed me and, by the way, they are sorry they treated me badly. Unfortunately for them, this never happens until I'm good and pissed off and don't care anymore.

But because Valdosta was such a great guy, I'm beginning to think he won't come back. He said he gave me and him and us a lot of thought because he didn't want to make the wrong decision in leaving me. And because he was a good guy of respectable character—unlike my sleaze-bag ex-boyfriends—he won't come back. He made the right decision.

I didn't expect it to hurt this much. It was only two months. I had been happy before I met him. I still don't feel back to normal. I don't feel as shiny as I used to. I'm worried that instead of me being Valdosta's one-that-got-away girl, he's going to be my one-that-got-away guy. And that utterly terrifies me.

Living Underwater

I'm glad to be back at work and resuming some normalcy today. I spent the last few days feeling like I was living underwater: everything I did was slower and took more effort. Everything is met with resistance.

Friday night my friends drug me out to happy hour. I showed up in what I wore to work: blue jeans, a red hoodie, a puffy face and my hair pulled back by a headband. There's a guy in our group that we don't see much because he's constantly working out of town. He was Helen's boyfriend for five years until they split last year and Helen dropped off the face of the earth, never to be heard from again. We got him in the "divorce."

"I haven't seen you since Friendsgiving," I said.

"Yeah I heard you went and got a boyfriend," he said.

"Ah, well, he wasn't my boyfriend and he dumped me last night. It's a shame too because we were all talking about how you two would have gotten along together."

"What? You think I'm mentally retarded?" he asked, playfully offended.

"No?"

"You think there's something wrong with me?"

"No?"

"Then why would you think I would get along with this guy that dumped you?"

Ah, he was implying that Valdosta was dumb for getting rid of me. I laughed. I have really, really great friends.

Saturday was Katie's Around the World party. Everyone brings a shot, and a station and activity is set up in every room. The group then visits each room of the house, taking the shot and performing the activity, like a game of Twister. I had been looking forward to the party, but now I was dreading it. If I drink, I'll get tipsy. If I get drunk, then I'll cry. Drinking = tears, therefore I didn't want to drink.

I walked in the house late. Those who weren't at happy hour immediately noticed I looked devastated and asked why. I pulled Katie in the room and made her tell them. If I say the words, then I'll cry. Katie gave a nice, perfunctory summary and everyone surrounded me and hugged me. Then they grabbed the strawberries filled with amaretto and shoved four of those in my mouth. And then a jello shot was thrust in my hands, and then a chocolate pudding shot. I immediately hit up the hydration station and grabbed a bottle of water.

I sat down on the couch next to Government Mule. He pressed up against me in a quick hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "At least you're doing better; you're no longer dating guys that shit in your car."

Unfortunately the three people surrounding us had never heard that story. I've known these people for five years and they had no idea what happened to me. And who can pass up a good, yes-I-dated-a-guy-that-shat-in-my-car story? And so I found myself freshly dumped and retelling the incident. Head, meet oven.

"Are you okay?" asked Helen's ex-boyfriend.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was years ago and I put myself through a year of therapy and I'm in a different place now. It won't happen again. What I want to emphasize is that it wasn't like things were good one day and then he punched me in the face the next. It was a downhill slope where you forgive one thing, and then something worse happens and you forgive that thing, and then something even worse happens but you've already forgiven the first two things... and then you're getting beat up and you're not even sure how you got there in the first place. By that time your self-esteem is so low that it's hard to get out, and your family knows and some of your friends know, and nobody does anything..."

"I remember Helen told me that he beat you up. I told her I was going to drive into town to kick his ass, but she told me you guys had already broken up by then. If that ever happens again, call me. I'm not above killing somebody."

"Thanks, but it won't. I'm fine now." Just what I want to be talking about right now. The bad ones tried to kill me and the good ones don't want me. Head inside oven, and big breath!

Sunday, I stared at my running shoes. Although I had been telling myself that I was going to attempt the 5k again, the reason I actually laced them up and began training again was because of Valdosta. And now that reason is no longer there.

Mel showed up on my doorstep and patiently waited. I put my shoes on and we went running. There were a couple of moments on the treadmill where I wanted to give up and burst into tears, but I didn't. In my funk I managed 50 minutes of cardio, my longest time ever.

Last night, I had my nightmares again. One about my ex-stepfather and one about Valdosta. The one about my ex-stepfather was so horrifying that I can't believe my mind was capable of conjuring it up. Once again, I was trying to convince my mom that what he did was wrong and my mom was trying to convince me to not tell anyone. For Valdosta, it was just me getting rejected in new, public ways.

I got up this morning, the same way I would have gotten up any Monday morning. Only this Monday morning, I woke up with the knowledge that he would never call again. Apparently this is a big difference.

It's been a long time since I've been dumped: I ended things with Christopher, S, and Jack. The last time I got dumped was by Adam in October of 2006. So I guess it's my turn. I'll be okay. This was a little breakup, not a BIG BREAKUP; I'll be back to normal soon enough. But for now, I'm still living underwater.

Aftermath

I hit "Publish" on the last post and immediately threw up.

Only I was sitting at my desk at work. I was already the girl that got dumped; I did not want to be the girl that got dumped and threw up into her recycle bin.

I got up and started racing for the front door: tall, heavy mahogany doors that require effort to open even when your hands aren't clasped to your mouth. I made it into the hallway, but the bathroom was too far away and involved yet another door.

I threw up in the hallway. And then I had to tell my office manager that I threw up in the hallway so he could call building maintenance to clean my throw up in the hallway. Ugh.

I've never had that reaction to a breakup before. I'm normally a crier. Scratch that. Normally I'm a wailer. Big, shuddering sobs that have me gasping for breath and on the verge of passing out. For Valdosta, I cried lightly on the phone to a few select people for about an hour. Then I took an ibuprofen to ward off the crying headache, put a cold pack over my eyes to help with the eyelid swelling and went to bed without the aid of alcohol or sleep meds. I slept soundly through most of the night, bar one episode of waking up completely drenched in my own sweat. The next morning I put another cold pack on my eyes for an hour before I went to work. That was that. I did good.

On last season's finale of Grey's Anatomy, there was a scene where Miranda's tending to a shot Dr. Percy and she looks around and above her. "Where is that water coming from?" she asks, confused.

"Doctor Bailey, you're crying," answered Mandy Moore.

I remember thinking that was the most preposterous idea, that someone could cry and not know it. Only I was laying in bed with the ice pack over my eyes, listening to Good Morning America on TV when water slid down my face.

"What the—" I said as I removed the ice pack and checked for leaks. Nope. Turned out to just be my face. The medical term is called ocular hyperosmilarity: too much fluid in the eyes.

I had prided myself on not crying too much, on immediately telling my friends I was going to be okay and I was only sad in that moment, but then I got sick when I had to confront what had happened. And now all of my coworkers are asking why it's wet in the hallway and I'm slumped at my desk thinking, You best be glad I hadn't eaten in 24 hours and that's only green tea in the hallway.

***

Of course because Valdosta was a gentle and kind person, he ended things gently and kindly. Knowing what I know, that he couldn't give me any more than what he already had, it was the right decision. I'm glad I know now and not later on down the line, and I'm thrilled that I meant enough to get an in-person dumping. I've never gotten that kind of closure before.

All of a sudden I felt like I was in a teachable moment. I wanted to prevent one more girl from getting dumped via text or fade away. Before I went to bed the night I got dumped, I sent Valdosta one final text:

Thanks for being honest with me and telling me in person. I have nothing but respect for you.

You're a great girl, Sarah. I'm really glad I met you.

Before I could think any further: delete, delete, delete. I cleaned out my entire text messaging inbox and outbox. I deleted his name out of my address book. I went through my call log and deleted every instance of his missed calls or received calls. Oddly enough, there were no instances that I called him. I logged on my e-mail account and deleted the folder that contained his e-mails. I hovered over the folder that contained our pictures, but had too much heart to delete those just yet.

Dammit.

I got dumped!

I was standing at the sink hand washing my red wine glasses when Valdosta called.

"Hey, where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the restaurant."

Odd. The restaurant is on the first floor of my apartment building. I just assumed he would come up to my door.

I put on my coat and headed downstairs. As I walked out of my apartment building and into the restaurant, I saw that his car was parked not in the parking garage for the apartment building, but in the restaurant parking out front.

I saw Valdosta seated at a table. He had already purchased two beers for us. I sat down. We clinked bottles and talked about our weeks. He went on again about what a rough week he's had with his mother getting remarried.

"You look visibly stressed," I said. And he did. He was squinting and blinking hard. If I didn't know him better, I'd think he had a facial tic.

"I got really drunk with the guys last night. I'm running on a lack of sleep," he said.

Guys. I wonder about that word. He lives with his roommate, whom I know well. He should just say his roommate's name. His other guy friends are either not city dwellers or are coupled up. He doesn't see them often. It's the third time I've heard him use the word "guys."

We moved on to my week, and we ordered food.

"So do you want to watch a movie after this?" I asked, making conversation.

Valdosta put down his slice of pizza and picked up his beer. He took a long drink. That is the exact moment I knew.

"Well that depends," he said.

"Depends?" I asked strangely.

"We didn't talk for a few days," he began. I nodded. I remember. He sent me a text message Friday night saying that he didn't want to get out of bed that morning because I was in it. I assumed I would hear from him on Tuesday when he got back in town, but I didn't.

"I spent those days thinking about you, and thinking about me, and thinking about us. I couldn't get that conversation from Athens out of my mind.

"I did a lot of thinking, because I don't want to make a mistake and let a great girl like you go, but your feelings for me are deeper than mine are for you. Things are not going to progress further than where they are now. I wanted them to, but we've been dating 2 months and it would have happened by now."

He said a lot of other things. A lot of filler words. He was nervous. He was genuinely upset. "What do you think?" he asked.

I shrugged. What do you say to that? "It sounds like you already made up your mind."

He looked down and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah."

I kept my poise. I never cried. I smiled the whole time actually. When he looked down in his lap and said he wasn't doing a very good job at this, I ended up consoling him and telling him he was doing a fine job.

"You've always been honest with me, even at times when it would have been easier not to. I really appreciate that," I said.

"You're such a great girl." He repeated that statement about 20 times last night. "I'm glad I met you. You're just such a great girl and you have really awesome friends.We've had some great times together. I'd like to continue to know you. Argh, you said you were having a really great week this week; I'm sorry I ruined that for you."

And this is the exact moment where I knew I'd be okay: I thought to myself, Don't think so much of yourself that you have the ability to single-handedly ruin my week in one fell swoop. The good things that happened still happened.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I've done some really horrible things in my past and I've gotten into relationships because it was the easy thing to do. I don't want to do that to you. You're a really great girl and you don't deserve that. There's someone out there for you."

I cut him off. "I'm a big girl. You don't have to feed me full of bullshit," I said. I mean seriously, don't sit there and talk down to me, telling me Mr. Right is out there and waiting.

"I'm sorry, it's just you're sitting here and looking at me and not saying anything. I'm not doing a very good job at this," he repeated. "I still want to know you."

He never used the words "breakup" or "stop dating" or "friends." I'm especially grateful for the last one.

Neither of us touched our dinners. We boxed them up, separately, and walked outside.

"You want to split of bottle of wine and get drunk?" I asked. I had accepted it. It just happened too fast and now it's over.

We took a few steps towards my apartment, but then he stopped. "I better not. We should just let things marinate. I'd love to get drunk with you another time."

I put my hands in my pockets. He approached me for a hug. He squeezed tightly and held on. I don't know why he would squeeze someone he just dumped so hard. I found myself uncomfortable and patting his shoulder.

I turned around, headed back towards my apartment, and never looked back.

Operation: Cat String

Yesterday as I was walking out of my office building, I felt the urge to call Valdosta. I know he had an intense weekend and was going through some things, and the normal me would have typed out a text to see how he was doing. But Operation: Treat Him Mean and Keep Him Keen had been employed. I'm playing aloof.

"Where is Valdosta?" Schmoozer asked Saturday night.

I wiped up the last of the hummus with a pita chip and ate it. "Back home. His mom is getting remarried this weekend." I took a swig of beer, "He won't commit, you know."

"I figured as much when you said you went on a date this afternoon. What are you going to do about it?"

"Operation: Treat Him Mean and Keep Him Keen."

"Ah," he laughed. "The old Cat String Theory."

Schmoozer's buddies looked away from the football game on TV and turned their attentions to our conversation. "Cat String Theory?" one of them asked.

"You know how you dangle a string in front of a kitten and it plays with it for a short bit before getting bored?" The room nodded. "What do you do to get the kitten playing with the string again? You just pull it a a little bit away." He made a tugging motion.

Ah! The Cat String Theory! I like it!

"I like you, Sarah," Schmoozer has told me on multiple occasions, "You date like a guy."

So now it's Wednesday and Operation: Cat String is in full swing. I huffed in the parking lot. This is when it counts, I told myself. He may have not noticed the first couple of days, but the longer without contact, the more he'll start to notice. This is the crucial time point. You cannot cave now.

I got in my car and began my commute home. Only I was so distracted with Operation: Cat String that I didn't take the back roads like I normally do, and instead I merged onto the highway. And because it was rush hour, I came to a complete stop.

I looked at the clock. It was 5:58 p.m. If Valdosta were to call, he'd call at 6 p.m. The couple of times where I had wondered whether he was going to call, he always called at 6. It's when he's off the highway and almost home from work.

Just then, and I swear this is true, my phone rang. "Sweet Child O Mine" played. It was Valdosta's ring.

I debated whether or not to answer the phone, but I picked it up, "Who's this?"

He laughed. "Hey babe."

He said he's had a tough week. His mother got remarried. Work called him in to work over the weekend to make up for our snow days last week and he lost his hockey game.

"How's your week going?" he asked.

I thought about it. "You know, it's going really great. I finished that painting you said you wanted, and I think it turned out really well. That hat I ordered off the Internet arrived and it's the perfect amount of awesomeness and ridiculousness. So are the thigh-high tube socks I bought over the weekend. I got some special recognition at work today and I'm kicking ass at my running program." I've been a little off with Operation: Cat String, but really it's been a pretty awesome week.

"That's great, baby," he said. "I'm glad one of us is having a good week. I was calling to see if you wanted to go out to dinner tomorrow night."

I paused. This is new. Usually when we go out to eat, it's lunch the next day after we've partied together. When we get together during the week, it's usually take out and movies. This was a dinner date.

"Ennnnnnnnhhh," I said, thinking aloud. The thing is, I already accepted a date invite for coffee at 6. "I can," I said slowly, "If we do it later in the evening."

"Okay," he said quickly.

"It'd have to be at like 8."

"That's fine."

I smiled. That move wasn't a part of Operation: Cat String. That was just plain, old life.

A rose by any other name

I smell of Valdosta.

He has a sweet smell, sweeter than mine. I remember the first time I noticed it, I was in my closet folding clothes and I picked up my gray alma mater t-shirt I had worn to sleep in at his place. I couldn't place the scent originally. Later that day, I pulled my coat out of my front closet and put it on. As I zipped it up, the same sweet scent wafted around me and it hit me that it was him.

I spent last night at his place. We ordered Chinese, drank a bottle of wine and watched that Spartacus show on Starz. I watched the main actor, looking for tell-tale signs of lymphoma, which is the reason he's leaving the show. Valdosta leaned towards me, "That's what I'm going to look like by my 30th birthday."

I chuckled. "I'll look better." I've been quietly going to the gym. Nothing motivates me more than a little competition. Unfortunately, the competition is entirely one-sided. Valdosta's New Year's resolution was to get into shape and I knew I had to follow.

"I can tell, " he said. "You look good." He patted my knee, "Time for bed, baby."

While the city was snowed in, Val utilized his time to decorate his bedroom. His diploma now hung on the wall. So did a gold-framed mirror and an M.C. Escher print. I had left a hair clip on his bedside table a week and a half earlier, and I saw it in its same place. I know him now, and I know when I'm not there, he sleeps with a body pillow. I untangled his sheets and saw the pillow inside the bed. I remade the bed and shivered as I crawled in.

He crawled in behind me and wrapped his arms around me. "I missed this," he whispered. "Cuddling with you." He brushed my hair off my neck and kissed the nape up to the tips of my ears. He squeezed me tight.

"I'm used to sleeping with you now," I whispered back. It's true. I miss his shoulder when I'm sleeping alone. "Are you used to sleeping with me yet?"

"I'm getting there," he said.

He's getting there.

And now I'm sitting at my desk at work and I smell of him. This morning I went home and changed clothes, but I didn't shower, so his smell must be in my hair. I like that I smell of him.

This is why I wrote at the very beginning that I'm toast.

Puke and Rally

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Dream On

I have nightmares pretty frequently. They still circle around my years spent with S.

For instance, a couple of weeks ago I dreamt that I was living in low-income government housing because I was still with S and he had driven us to the poor house. He was dealing drugs out of the apartment and Rivers Cuomo (that's right, the singer from Weezer) broke in and stole all of my stuff. Every last item. Including my dog. He had sold my clothes to the thrift store, but I was scrambling to raise enough money to bribe Rivers to ransom my dog back to me.

Last night I was in Valdosta's bed having another nightmare. It was the first one I've had while he's been physically present. We were in the classic spoon position: his front against my back. I was using the arm he slipped under my neck as my pillow. Our forearms were indistinguishably tangled across my heart; I couldn't tell where he stopped and I began.

The dream I was having was unclear. S was in it. So was Valdosta peripherally. The problem I was having was that I was frightened. I had woken up to some degree. I opened my eyes and saw the mess of hands in front of me. I knew it was a dream. I was aware that Valdosta was sleeping softly behind me. But every time I closed my eyes, I could feel them roll into the back of my head and feel myself being sucked back into this dream where I was so frightened.

The cycle would repeat: open my eyes and adjust them to Valdosta's dark bedroom, close them and feel scared. However, the longer time elapsed, the more terrified I became, even if I was awake. My heart pounded incessantly to the point that it ached in my chest from beating so hard. I began thrashing and kicking. I told myself that Valdosta was behind me and everything was okay, but I couldn't shake the intense fear I felt.

Being awake but reacting from my dream was such a loss of control for me that the fear began to form the beginnings of an anxiety attack. My heart pounded so hard and so fast that I was legitimately concerned that it was going to stop beating out of exhaustion.

Lying in bed, I tried to think of how to slow my heart down. Valdosta hugging me from behind obviously wasn't working. My heart needed to be compressed; it needed pressure on top of it.

I punched Valdosta in the arm. "You need to roll over," I said much more harshly than I intended. Soundlessly, he obeyed. I formed the reverse-spoon and molded myself against his back. I smooshed my face into his shoulder blade, and then because I didn't want to be a big inconvenience, I wrapped my arms around his arms instead of draping them across his stomach. I squeezed, felt relief in my chest and fell asleep.

Valdosta eventually shifted. I woke up again, my heart no longer in pain. Where I had grabbed a hold of him was a wall of sweat from such intense contact. It extended from the nape of his neck down to the backs of his knees. I was damp from it. Well, you kind of brought that upon yourself, I thought. Valdosta rolled onto his back and I took my position on his shoulder.

At 6:30 a.m., his alarm went off. I woke up feeling relieved that both the night and the dream were over.

"I did not sleep well last night," Valdosta said. "I was hot."

"That one's on me," I admitted pitifully. "I had a bad dream."

Valdosta rolled towards me and we lay face to face. Then he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to his chest. He squeezed tightly. Any residual fear I felt evaporated. My heart was compressed.

"Huh," I said. "All I had to do was tell you."

New Year's Eve

"You know what they say, the way you spend New Year's Eve

is the way you'll spend the rest of the year."

-- Hailey Nichol, The O.C.

I chose not to spend New Years with Valdosta. Or rather, I chose to spend it with my friends. Valdosta could tag along or he could not: those were the only options in my book. He accepted a party invite to his best friend's girlfriend's apartment.

New Years was intimate this year. It was just Harvey, her husband, me, Schmoozer and Swayze. For the first time the guys outnumbered the girls.

Before the boys arrived, I talked with Harvey and her husband about Valdosta. I shared that we still haven't had the DTR yet. Harvey's husband was very adamant that if he was sleeping with someone, he wouldn't want her to be sleeping with other people. I smirked and said that's why he's married and all the other boys are not. Either way, neither Valdosta nor I are sleeping with other people; we're still in the awkward limbo of dating and relationships. I don't want to say anything, mainly because I already did too early and I don't want to look desperate.

A couple of weeks ago, Government Mule was quick to advise to not pressure him to commit. At his Christmas party, Schmoozer had given me some great advice. He had said that girls tend to take the reigns and plan all of these activities for the couple to do together. He shrugged. "What do they need me for then? It makes me feel useless."

Valdosta does a great job of taking the lead. I don't call him ever. When I leave him in the mornings, he always makes a list of the upcoming week and our pending activities and days that we're both free. So I'll see you Thursday, he'll say. For a movie at my place? Instead of trying to control things, I'm letting Valdosta have the lead. It's not really something I've done before, but I'm confident that when he's ready, he'll say something.

"Relationships tend to work out when they're easy," Harvey said in a rare moment of seriousness. "Dating my husband was the easiest thing I've ever done."

I sighed with relief. For now, it is easy. But it's also easy for married people to give advice. Neither of these people have dated anyone outside of college.

Then Harvey's husband scolded me for my New Year's plans. "It's okay to not spend every moment with us," he said. "Eventually you guys are going to have to compromise on how to spend your time."

"No I won't," I said. "All of Valdosta's friends are coupled up, so I automatically win because I have the fun friends."

"Maybe he's looking for someone to do the coupled-up stuff with."

I scrunched up my nose. Just then Schmoozer and Swayze walked in the door. The conversation was over. We drank wine, played beer pong and watched Ron White.

Harvey poured the champagne and we counted down. "2010 was the best year of my life!" I cheered.

Harvey's husband was taken aback. "Very cool. I've never heard anyone say that ever." I guess the possibility of the new year overshadows the accomplishments of the previous year.

The new year rang in, kisses were exchanged and the champagne was drunk. I typed out a mass text message to my friends that couldn't be there. Because it read, Happy New Years! I love you! I did not send it to Valdosta. My phone vibrated from my back pocket.

"Hey, baby! Happy New Years!" said Valdosta from his party. I stepped into Harvey's foyer to hear him better. "Everyone here is kissing and it made me think of you, so I'm calling to give you a phone smooch!"

Harvey ran into the foyer. "Happy New Years, Valdosta! Baahhhh!" she screamed into my phone. "Bahhhhhhhhh!"

"Okay, I'm ready for my phone smooch!" I giggled.

"Oh, you're going to make me actually do it?" he asked.

"Yup."

"Just for you." He made kissing noises into the phone. "I'll give you a better one when I see you." He asked me to come to his party to meet his friends and he sent me the address. I guess Harvey's husband was right.

I left Harvey's house in suburbia and headed back into the city. Valdosta's party was in Midtown. Amazingly enough, I found free parking on 3rd street and walked four blocks to the skyrise. Valdosta was waiting for me outside under the building's awning.

"Valdosta!" I cried as soon as I saw him.

It was 1:45 a.m. and the streets were lit like daylight, but it seemed like we were the only people in Midtown. The ball drops in Downtown. He opened his arms and gave me my New Year's kiss. I love the look on his face every time I meet him; it's a mixture between surprise and excitement. The only other one who greets me like that is my dog.

He took my hand and led me into the building. The party was thinning out by then, but I got to meet the main players in Valdosta's life, the ones he had told me about. His friends consist of a few guys he's known for eons. To my relief, they seemed normal.

We stayed for a glass of champagne and said our goodbyes. I took Valdosta back to my place.

He groaned while he slipped into my bed, "Your bed is almost as comfortable as mine. What are your New Year's resolutions, baby?" he murmured.

"I don't have any," I said honestly. "I think my birthday list is enough."

He scooped me up and brushed back my hair, planting kisses on the nape of my neck. "I'm going to get in shape," he whispered. "I want to be in the best shape of my life for my 30th birthday this year. I'm so glad I got to see you tonight, baby."

"You are?"

"Yeah."

"Me too," I answered.

"Let's watch movies tomorrow."

Christmas Miracles

Text message received Friday, December 24th at 10:05 p.m.:

Miss me? I kinda miss you.

I heard my phone chime. I was sitting in the kitchen of my childhood home with a couple of canvases in front of me. Last minute Christmas presents. I put my paint brush down and wiped my bangs from my eyes.

It's from Valdosta.

Valdosta had kept his word that he would call me and bug me while he was out of town. He had left me the sweetest message wishing me luck at my dodgeball games and what to do if/when I get injured again. In the voicemail he had uninhibitedly laughed at a couple of his own jokes. I had been re-listening to the voicemail periodically just to hear that laugh. He says that I have the greatest laugh, but his isn't bad either.

Smugly I called out to my mom in the other room, "Valdosta misses me!"

"Aww, that's nice," she said sincerely.

I typed back, Kinda? LOL. I miss you.

Valdosta was four hours away in the southern part of the state with his family. His plans were to then drive North to visit more family. He decided to make a pit stop in the city on Christmas night to see me.

Swoon.

This is what dating should be. It should be like this.

"He misses me so much he's going to come back and see me tomorrow," I hollered from the kitchen.

"Wow," she said. Even my mom isn't used to that kind of behavior.

After the I miss yous had been exchanged, Valdosta sent me several well wishings for Christmas. He's coming home to see me. On Christmas day. It's a damn Christmas miracle.

***

I stomped my wellies and stepped inside Valdosta's apartment. It's snowing outside as heavily as I have ever seen. This is a big deal. Valdosta greeted me with the same silly grin that he gave me that one day at brunch. The I'm-having-thoughts grin.

I put my bag down. Valdosta went into the kitchen to mix us some Christmas whiskey sours. I took a seat on a bar stool. "Now I want to hear all about you missing me. Don't leave out any details please," I chirped.

He laughed and brought me my drink. He started talking; I didn't think he would actually answer.

"It was my first night there. I was lying in bed and wanting to cuddle and you weren't there." Valdosta's silly grin made another appearance. He took a sip of his own drink. "Did you miss me?"

Still seated on the bar stool I opened my knees, allowing him to step closer to me. I pressed my thighs against his hips.

"It could be a Thursday and I could have just seen you on a Tuesday; you don't have to leave the city for me to miss you."

A smile very slowly spread across his face. Whiskey sour kisses were exchanged.

Valdosta looked out his window. Snow was still falling. "Can you believe it?" he said. "It's the first white Christmas the city has had since 1882." It's been 130 years. Another Christmas miracle.

I took a long sip of my drink. "It's the only white Christmas in your lifetime, and you'll always remember it was spent with me," I said.

He kissed me again. The power of suggestion is strong. And now he'll always remember it that way. "Let's get back to missing me," I teased. "Was it you missed me kinda? Or you kinda missed me all the way?"

"I kinda missed you all the way."

Skating By

On the way to the ice skating rink, Valdosta brought up GM.

"I was cool with everything, but I did not appreciate him calling me Pledge."

I looked ahead at the highway and scratched the back of his head.

"He really was being a dick, wasn't he?" I asked.

"Yeah."

We were both thoughtful for a moment. "Has there ever been anything between you two?" he asked.

"There hasn't. There really hasn't. We were close friends this summer and he was my plus one to a lot of things, but it never left the friends zone." I then explained my theory about Jenna and GM and that seemed to placate him.

Val brushed the whole thing off. "I'm cool with it. It was no big deal."

We arrived. He grabbed his hockey skates out of the back of his car. "When was the last time you went ice skating?"

"Uh, 3 years ago?" With S. I expected that to not be a bad answer. We live in the South; we don't ice skate.

Val sputtered. Clearly this was a bad answer. "Are you going to be okay?"

He walked up to the skate rental and just casually asked for skates for me. He tried to get me hockey skates, but I refused. And then the guy just hands me a pair of skates. I looked at Val.

"I spend a lot of money here. They let me skate for free."

"I didn't know you came with perks."

Fresh ice scares me. It's too slick. I stepped out on it and just coasted the first quarter lap while I tried to remember my bearings. Valdosta took this time to show off as he flitted around me in bursts of hockey stops and near misses.

"Can you skate backwards on one foot?" I called out to him. "You know, whoosh whoosh whoosh?"

He spun around and faced me and did the backwards one-skate thing.

"No! You have to go 'Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!'" I called out.

He grinned. "Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

With every lap I remembered my childhood at the skating rink. That was the one thing my father would do with me, he would take me ice skating.

Valdosta buzzed by me. "You're pretty good. You're a lot better than the girls on our hockey team."

"I can skate backwards if you hold my hand," I said.

"Then I'll just have to hold your hand." I spun around and he reached out both arms to me. I started digging big C's with my skates. I can do the same things as him, I'm just a lot slower.

He pulled his camera out and took some pictures of me skating. "I wish someone could take a picture of both of us," he said.

I got more comfortable and we chased each other around the rink, darting around the children and the high school sweethearts. We were by far the oldest people skating. At one point, Valdosta stopped dead in front of me. He had been faking me out the whole night, but as I got closer to him, he didn't move. Instead, he lowered his shoulder.

Oh, this is going to happen, I thought.

He braced himself. I trusted him. I crashed into him and he grabbed me and we spun in a quick, tight circle. We did not fall.

As we got off the ice, several parents watching their children stopped Valdosta to tell him how much they enjoyed watching him skate. "I know! He does look good!" I winked at the mothers.

We headed upstairs to the bar that overlooks the adjacent hockey rink and Val ordered us a couple of Molsons. "This is the only place where they taste good," he explained.

We talked about all the childhood mischief we've caused. He lit up at a few of my stories. I'd forgotten that I even have good stories. He brought up his last relationship, was quick to mention that it lasted a couple of years, and why they broke up. He brought up the marriage thing again, but this time it didn't seem to be in such a negative light. There was a lot of overt flirting and a lot of hypothetical future plans made: we nailed down a week for him to come play dodgeball with me, his hockey schedule that's starting back up in a couple of weeks, joining me on one of my group of friends' weekends away, my beach house.

"You come with perks too," he said.

He's heading out of town to be with his family for Christmas, but he told me when he's coming back. "The earliest chance I'm going to get to see you is next Wednesday," he offered. "And I'm going to call and bug you in between."

I think because I was so sure in wanting Valdosta and being at peace it, I'm further ahead of him. I feel about him as if we've known each other longer than three weeks. But I think he's catching up.

The Relationship Gun

I pulled out the gun too soon.

Early last week, after we were done dancing to Mumford & Sons, Valdosta and I were lying in bed having some pillow talk all cuddled up together.

"Are you still e-mailing other girls?" I asked.

Valdosta paused. "Kinda," he admitted. "What about you?"

"Yeah."

"It's still pretty early on with us."

"I know." I don't think I hid my disappointment very well. It's just that I've dated. I've dated more than anyone I know. I did some math a couple of years ago and I estimated that I've probably dated around 100 people. That's how much I've dated. And I just can't remember the last time I met someone and instantly felt this excited. Normally I go out of the gate trying to talk myself into dating the other person (see: Memphis). But with Valdosta, there is no decision to be made; I know what I want.

Unfortunately Valdosta doesn't know me like this. He doesn't know what a big deal this is for me. And I don't really feel like starting a conversation with him that goes, "So I've been around the block..."

I agree with him. Intellectually I agree that it is too soon to stop dating other people. But emotionally I know what I've found in Valdosta and, dammit, I don't want to share. And to be a total hypocrite, I'm okay with dating other people because I know he's top priority. I just don't want someone else to be his number one.

I guess the silence lasted a little long. Valdosta rolled over and scooped me up in his arms. "Just so you know," he said. "You're the coolest."

I'm hoping that's guy speak for saying that I am top priority as well.

So now I've gone and pulled out the gun. You can't ignore the gun.

After everyone left my party, Valdosta and I sat drunkenly on my couch. My apartment was littered in beer bottles and cups of hunch punch. My coffee table was pushed against the wall. Glow bracelets and boa feathers were scattered on the floor. I couldn't be bothered with any of it.

Valdosta picked up a picture of me from 9 years ago when I was probably 20 pounds lighter. "Who is this you're with?"

"My brother. Incidentally, that picture was taken 2 days after the dentist glued my tooth back on from when I lost it playing hockey. My mom was so pissed. I was hot then," I slurred. I gestured at the side table. "Did you see the rest of my pictures?"

"I'd been looking at them all night." He picked up the one taken 2 summers ago at the beach with my step-family. "You look really good in that one."

"Pshaw, I look fat in that one."

And somehow we transitioned to talking about family. Well I guess I can deduce how that happened. I talked about mine, probably revealing that I have more daddy issues than what is healthy. He talked about his.

His parents are divorced. It's fairly recent. He wasn't living at home when it happened and he was fairly shocked at the development.

"Oh," I said. "So you got to have a whole lifetime with your family."

He sighed. "Sometimes I think they stayed together for me and my sister. It wasn't good. They both made mistakes."

I sucked in my breath, "That was always my dream."

"What?"

"For my parents to stay together for my brother and me."

He continued to talk. He put his head in his hands and told me the entire scenario of his family. There's a lot of pain there.

"I just don't think I can get married until I figure this all out. I need to sit down and talk with my parents about what happened just so I can understand it. I don't want to make the same mistakes my father made."

All of a sudden, I felt the gun in the room. The relationship gun.

I had always been honest with Valdosta. I told him the very first time that I met him that I was looking for a boyfriend. At the return question, he'd just sort of shrug with an I don't know. I had brought it up that night in his bed and he basically said Go with God and date other people. And now he's talking about marriage and how he's not ready.

And now this part of the conversation is fuzzy, but this is what I think had happened:

Me: "What are your intentions?"

Him: [Shrug] "I don't have any intentions."

Me: Something something

Him: "What are your intentions?"

Me: "I want a boyfriend."

Him: "Why?"

Me: Maybe something about wasting my 20's. "'Cause it's time."

Him: "It should be because it's right for you, not because of your age."

Me: "That's what I meant! It's time for me." Maybe something about being in a good place in my life. Maybe something about having my best year ever.

And end scene because I don't remember what happened after that. We made it to bed and things were good.

We wake up the next morning and promptly chug two Gatorades. I count the bruises on my arms and can't recall how I got them. Hmm. My knees appear to be bruised as well. There's two glow sticks in the bed.

Ice skating is not a possibility. He suggests we go out to breakfast instead. I pick this trendy place up the street.

My blood sugar is so low that I'm shaking at the table. I would punch someone in the face for a mouthful of starch. Valdosta is all grins.

"I was thinking maybe you should come over and have another movie night at my place," he says. He's smiling funny, like he's nervous or up to something.

"Yeah, sure."

"I get to pick the movie this time. What kind of movies do you like?"

"I'll watch anything." FOOD. NOW.

"I'll pick out something I think you'll enjoy."

"Cool."

"I had a really good time last night. You're a good listener. I can't believe I opened up to you like I did."

"Yeah, well I'm sure I rambled on about some things too."

He chuckled. Apparently I did.

The food arrived. My stomach is empty and I wish I could just take the food through an intravenous infusion to get it in my body instead of having to go through the hassle of tasting and chewing. I don't feel well enough to eat, but I know I need to.

He asks me what he should get his mom for Christmas. My brain is so dead that I can't even think of anything beyond, "Cracker Barrel has a nice Christmas selection."

"I'm leaving town on Wednesday, so we need to get together before then."

It takes me two solid seconds to realize that it's Sunday. And then I have to count. "That leaves tomorrow."

"And Tuesday."

"We'll go ice skating. Tomorrow after work?"

I grunted. Omigod, I can't believe I have to work tomorrow. I cannot think.

The outside of the restaurant is lined with bird cages. They are filled the giant parrots. One of them said "hello" as we pass. I stop.

"Hello," I say.

"Hello," says the parrot.

"Hello."

"Hello!"

Valdosta grabs my hand. "We should go to the zoo sometime."

"I like the zoo." But what I would really LOVE is to know what the hell changed from last night and this morning.

All I know is if he is spending all of his time with me, he's not going to have any time to date anyone else.

Government Mule vs. Valdosta

After 8 years of working and going to college part time, Swayze finally got his degree. We're all very proud of our last man standing. In honor of his accomplishment, and for our love of theme parties, I threw a party Saturday night.

I called it an Eskimo party and held it on the roof of my building. To be honest, it was the best party I've ever thrown. I made 4 gallons of hunch punch, ordered a ton of pizza, bought enough beer for flip cup, served vodka out of shot glasses made entirely of ice, wrapped up a bunch of whammy white-elephant gifts and plugged in the Wii.

I also invited Valdosta.

I had seen my group of friends the previous night at Government Mule's house where we'd gotten together to play Rock Band. I told them all that he was coming and that I really liked this one, and please let's all be on good behavior. That meant no comments about how much or how many people I date, no comments about the sex story about The Hungarian that I told, and no razzing Valdosta like they had done with Memphis.

"I don't want to make a single mistake with this one," I explained. They conceded. And then they spent the next hour thinking up a nickname for him because we already have a person in our group with the same name as Valdosta.

The party gods blessed my party by having the first four people arrive at exactly the same minute. God bless punctual friends. Valdosta helped me mix the hunch punch and met everyone. He immediately asked everyone if these were the people I play dodgeball with. I think he's intrigued and plans on coming to a game in the next couple of weeks.

"I don't think I could just sit there and watch you get roughed up," he said.

"Oh, you won't be sitting. You'll be playing," I informed him. "I'm going to need you to bring your game face." Being a hockey player, Valdosta is built pretty solidly and would make a good ringer. Maybe then we'll stop getting our asses kicked and I can go to a game and not leave limping.

We headed up to the roof with The Femme Fatale, a sled dog who fit perfectly into my Eskimo party theme. I handed out glow bracelets to help with the lighting. Valdosta chose an orange one in honor of UT, and Government Mule grabbed it out of his hand and threw it over the roof. Harvey's husband grabbed two and stuck them in his wool hat as antennae. We played several rounds of flip cup. My team lost. Schmoozer was on the opposing team and he wasn't kidding when he told me that first day I met him that he was a flip cup champion.

With every glass of hunch punch, Valdosta's nickname kept getting shortened by my friends. Eventually it was shortened down to a single sound. Not even a syllable. He was a good sport about it. He was, until, Government Mule started calling him Pledge.

I know my friends are close knit. I know we don't let in outsiders easily. Schmoozer went through some teasing because he was being let in as a friend. That shouldn't be the same with Valdosta though. Valdosta was coming in as my love interest. That should be a free pass. And it was with everyone but GM.

At one point Valdosta went to stand on my balcony. As he shut the door behind him, GM locked the door.

There was a point in time when Government Mule and I were really close. And there are times presently when we still flirt back and forth. But the friendship line has clearly been drawn: Jenna has developed feelings for him. I'm half-convinced that they are already seeing each other and just won't admit it to the rest of us. Bottom line is, I don't understand why Government Mule would have any investment in teasing Valdosta.

The hunch punch worked. It did the same number on me that it did in Jacksonville. I tried to take a bow and lost my sense of balance and toppled over in my living room. I'm covered in bruises that I don't even know how I earned.

Everyone left; Valdosta stayed behind. He told me several times what a good time he had and how he was glad he came. We had a bit of a drunken heart to heart on the couch (to be written about later). Then we climbed into my bed where I told him I had missed him, which now that I'm sober, I'm horrified that I said that.

"I like having you in my bed," I slurred.

"I like you having me in your bed," he mumbled back. "Let's go ice skating tomorrow."

"Okay."

Mumford & Sons

"And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.

And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears."

--Mumford & Sons, "After the Storm"

The first time I recognized Mumford & Sons, I was sitting in the passenger seat in Memphis' pickup truck. It was raining and he was lazily driving back to his apartment Uptown.

"Wait. Who is this?" I asked, staring at his radio.

"Mumford & Sons. I think this song is called 'Little Lion Man.'"

"Turn it up. I like it."

***

The second time I heard the band, I was lying naked atop The Hungarian's bed. As soon as I realized things would never go anywhere with him, I accepted his advances and slept with him. I had yet to meet Valdosta and I still wanted to get my jollies while the opportunity was there.

For awhile I would show up at The Hungarian's doorstep, strip off of my clothes and walk naked up the stairs to his bedroom. I never felt so empowered as I did while he followed me up the stairs.

We'd have sex and listen to music. If either of us smoked, we'd be doing that too because it so perfectly fit the scene. So we were lying naked on his bed and The Hungarian would play me music from his iPad on his Apple TV.

He turned on Mumford & Sons. This time it was "The Cave."

I inhaled sharply. "I love this band."

"I know. It's good."

***

On my second date with Valdosta, he had the Mumford & Son's album playing while we were driving through town in his car. I had switched it to "The Cave" when I first kissed him in his car.

Because that ended up being the epic 10-hour date as we drive to dinner, heavy metal karaoke, my apartment, pancakes and his apartment, we heard the entire album. Val turned up the volume to "Timshel." "This is my favorite song," he told me.

***

For Thanksgiving, Government Mule gave me his old 20 GB iPod and filled it with music for me. I had used it for my drive up and down the East Coast. As I travelled North again for my Grandmother's funeral, I was listening to the iPod.

He filled it with the music I love. Really terrible music from the 80's and 90's. I was singing along with Jon Secada, Milli Vanilli, Erasure, you name it. I would just put the iPod on shuffle and squeal with every new song. I don't think Government Mule realizes that his gift made my entire Thanksgiving and weeks after.

I had just finished rocking out to Skid Row when it shuffled again. Mumford & Sons' "The Cave" began to play.

"What? No way!" I said to myself.

I about swerved off of I-95 as I scrolled through the iPod containing 2,500 songs and discovered that Government Mule had put the entire Mumford & Sons album on there weeks ago. I called him.

"I can't believe the album is on here. I just discovered it this week. I looooooooove it!" I cooed at him.

"You are the only person I can share my taste of music with," he answered. "Listen to 'White Blank Page;' that's my favorite."

On the car ride, I could not grasp the role this band has so unexpectedly and so significantly played in my life. Every man had brought it to me within days of each other. I turned up the volume.

***

Valdosta was sitting in front of his lap top as I came out of his bathroom. He turned on the Mumford & Sons album again.

"So I discovered that I already had this album in my iPod. I listened to it for 5 hours straight as I drove through South Carolina and North Carolina."

"Did you think of me?" he asked innocently.

"I did. I couldn't remember which song was your favorite."

"The one with his buddies' last name: 'Timshel,'" he said.

He stood up and grabbed me by the waist and began kissing me. Long, good kisses. The music continued to play. I pulled away.

"I know this song," I said. "It's called 'After the Storm.' It's one of my favorites on the album."

He smiled at me. "It is." He began kissing me again. I began to feel unbalanced so I moved my foot. And that's when I realized it.

We were dancing.

Toast

I am toast.

I like Valdosta. I like Valdosta a lot. He always says and does the perfect things at the perfect time.

Text message received 5:28 p.m.:

I am getting sick :-(

Outgoing call placed 5:39 p.m.

"Hey, baby," Valdosta answered.

"Hey, sicky. You not feeling well?"

"I have a head cold. I've been fighting it all day."

"Do you want me to--"

"Yes, I still want you to come over."

"I was just sick a couple of weeks ago," I said, thinking I may have given him the cold.

"Good. Your immune system is probably built up because of that." I could hear him grinning. No fault placed on me.

"And I have been drinking green tea all afternoon, so I am feeling extra antioxidant-y," I added.

He laughed.

"Okay, well I'm still at work and will be leaving in a half hour to 45 minutes. Then I have to let the dog out."

"That's okay. Take your time. Go home. Freshen up. I'll see you whenever you're ready."

WTF? WHO SAYS THIS? Fictional characters created by women, that's who. Not men who hit you up on a free Internet dating website.

I had Val over to my place earlier in the week. I made him watch my newest favorite movie, (500) Days of Summer.

"Is this a chick flick?" he asked warily.

"No. It tells you at the very beginning that it is not a love story."

I knew he would like it. People who have had broken hearts like this movie. I love it.

Summer: We've been like Sid and Nancy for months now.

Tom: Summer, Sid stabbed Nancy seven times with a kitchen knife. I mean we have some disagreements but I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious.

Summer: No I'm Sid.

Tom: Oh, so I'm Nancy...

[Pancakes arrive]

Summer: Let's just eat and we'll talk about it later. Mmm, that is good, I'm really glad we did this. I love these pancakes... what?

[Tom gets up and walks away from the table]

Summer: Tom, don't go! You're still my best friend!

Valdosta cringed at the best friend line. I looked at him quizzically, "Aren't we friends?"

He put his arm around me and said abruptly, "No, we are not friends." I knew what he meant.

"Oh that's right. You won't let me get away with that," I said, referring to his first e-mail to me: Friends first never works.

During the movie, the Tom has a monologue where he talks about wanting to break down Summer's emotional wall. I squirmed a little. That was a chick flick moment.

"Okay. That's a girlie thing to say. 'I want to someone to tear down the wall that previous boys have built,'" I mimicked.

Valdosta then squirmed. He opened and closed his mouth like he had something to say. Then he leaned his head towards me, "Guys want that too," he eventually spoke.

I waved my hand. "No way. Everyone knows boys don't have feelings," I joked.

Valdosta stiffened. All of a sudden I was Memphis. I had made an inappropriate joke at an inappropriate time. He had given me an in and I threw it away.

The movie had ended. "That was good," he said. "But it's still a chick flick."

We both hemmed and hawed. It was getting late and he was starting a new position at his company in the morning. Neither of us moved.

"Could you set your alarm?" he asked.

He climbed in my bed and groaned. "These are the most comfortable sheets ever."

"Thanks. They're bamboo." I climbed in my side and before my head even hit the pillow, he slipped an arm under my neck. That's what Valdosta does. Everything he does is exactly the way I like it. There is no learning curve with him; the way he kisses me, talks to me and touches me, it's like he's known me for years. Like this isn't our first sleepover.

Normally I gain some sense of night vision in my bedroom, but it was pitch black that night. To kiss him, I had to reach my hand up to find his furry face. It was hot.

So as you can see, with this guy I am toast. I can't remember the last time I met someone and immediately liked him with without reservations or talking myself into it. Without first and foremost tallying a list of all of his faults before I even considered his good points. The last time I just went with it.

I am toast.

I am also sleeping in sex sheets.

Comparisons

On Laughing:

In the early days of The Hungarian, when he had me pinned against his black leather couch with his roaming octopus hands, I would giggle at his advances.

He sat back against the couch and huffed, "You laugh too much."

I thought about this for a minute. "Laughing is a mechanism," I quietly answered.

"For what?"

"Nervousness."

***

Memphis (Date#6) stood beside me as I tried to fit my key in the lock of my front door.

"Live well, love much, laugh often." He read off of my front door mat.

"Yeah," I bought that back in 2003 before I knew it was this huge cliche. And now I'm too cheap to replace it."

"Sure, Whatever," he teased.

I rolled my eyes.

***

Valdosta stood beside me as I tried to fit my key my front door lock.

"Live well, love much, laugh often." He read. He put his toe under the laugh often part. "That you definitely do," he grinned.

And this time it didn't feel like an insult.

On My Lack of Dodgeball Prowess:

"I'm sorry, but I jacked up my hip playing dodgeball this week. I was a half hour late this morning because I couldn't put my pants on and I'm currently sitting on a heating pad. Can we reschedule walking through the art gallery and do something else instead?" I asked Memphis.

"Sure. Pick you up at 7 at your place. Wear some running shoes. We will get a practice 5k in too. Sound like fun?"

The guy can't be serious about anything. So I tried to give him a taste of his own medicine. "Cool. And if I'm not there, it's not because I'm standing you up, so you just wait there as long as you need to."

"Serious? Because I don't play that waiting business."

***

"Are you limping again?" asked Valdosta.

"New week. New game. Now it's my hip instead of my ankle. There was a loud pop followed by stabbing pain. I don't know what that's all about."

"Here, use me as your crutch." He grabbed my side as I hobbled in the Chinese restaurant. "It sounds like you aren't stretching properly before these games."

"No, I don't think I stretched my hip, I remember doing my shoulders and legs though. Wait! Curb! This is the worst part." I gasped as I took a step upwards.

"Does it hurt when you move up and down or side to side?"

"Side to side. Definitely."

"It sounds like you hurt your [whatever he said] tendon. I'll show you some good stretches for that."

On Grandma's Death:

"Hello, [The Hungarian] calling."

"Hey."

"I was checking up on you to make sure you are okay. When are you leaving?"

"About a half hour ago."

"And how long will the trip take?"

"Almost 7 hours because I had to drop my dog off at my father's house. I'm set to get there at 2:30 a.m."

"I checked the weather and it's snowing up there, so take care, okay? Safe travels."

I got an identical phone call after I returned home from my trip.

***

Valdosta and I were standing on a curb while the Femme Fatale relieved herself in a bush.

"How was your day today?" he asked.

"Miserable," I answered. "I was tired from the trip, hurt from dodgeball and then got some shitty news at work. I almost canceled on you because I had such a bad day."

"No, never cancel," he said. "Just tell me what I can do to help."

***

I winced from climbing in Memphis' enormous truck. My hip was still bugging me. At my request, we were now going to eat sushi instead of walking around marble flooring.

"You don't seem like you're in a good mood," he asked.

"It's been a long, tough week," I sighed.

"Well you should be happy now because you are here with me."

Yes, because you totally trump dead Grandma, I thought.

After a few minutes of silence. "You know, I can just turn around and drop you back home and I can have a good time eating sushi by myself," he teased.

I cringed. "I'm sorry. I'll try and do better. I just have a lot of things of my mind."

"Well I was only halfway joking."

Death Knell

Going out again with Valdosta (Date #7) was nice. We ate Mexican, had one margarita apiece and then headed to heavy metal karaoke. We each sang a song and I was tucked away in bed by midnight.

If only.

I'll always choose a frozen margarita (no salt) over on the rocks. And usually frozen drinks are pretty light on the tequila, so I didn't think twice when ordering a second one. Halfway into it, I realized I was more than a little buzzed. I said as much.

Our plates arrived. I continued with the standard, getting-to-know-you roster of questions. "What are you looking for?" Val dropped his silverware on the floor. "You know, other than your fork." I added.

He shrugged. "I used to be into the whole marriage and kids thing, but I don't know anymore. After you go through so many relationships..." he trailed off.

I asked my new favorite question, "Have you ever had your heart broken?"

He looked up at me. And then he said the most perfect response I have ever heard. "You don't get to be 29 and single without having your heart broken." I briefly thought back to Date #6 and his 25-year-old eager self. It encapsulated everything that was wrong with him: You don't get to be 29 and single without having your heart broken.

I switched topics. "What's your signature drink?"

"Gin and Tonic."

"NO WAY!" I burst. "You can't have that one. That's my signature drink. G&T's or gin and tonnies, depending on how many I have. When do you turn 30? "

"This summer."

"Well I'm turning 30 in the spring, so I'm older. It's my drink."

"But I've been drinking them longer, so it's my drink," he teased

We left the restaurant. I bundled my jacket; it was cold out. As we crossed the street into a little neighborhood where we found free parking, my ankle gave out and I nearly fell to the ground. He caught me. Dodgeball season has begun and I've taken quite a beating. I had rolled that ankle during the game and it was still weak. He took the opportunity to tuck my arm inside his. He chuckled. "I was worried for you when we were crossing the broken stones. I didn't know I had to watch you while we were crossing the flat street."

As we drove to the second location, he played the Mumford & Sons album. I broke Cardinal Dating Rule #2 and I touched his stereo while he drove and switched the song to track 2. "I love this song," I breathed.

We pulled into another little neighborhood for the free parking. "No, let's not get out of the car until the song is over," I pleaded. We nestled in the bucket seats. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the warmth of his heater and maybe it was Mumford & Sons, but as the song swelled into the last chorus, I tipped my index finger against his bearded cheek and kissed him indulgently. I'm normally a traditional girl who anticipates the great firsts: the great first phone calls and the great first kiss, the asking of the great first dates. But I had been running around town lately kissing a whole lot of boys. So really, what was one more?

I wasn't shy in my kissing and did exactly what I felt like doing. Lips teased, tongues mingled, noses rubbed. We did that thing where you just breathe hot air onto each other because you're too busy smiling to kiss. The song ended and I pulled away. I giggled in a fit of awkwardness.

There are two types of singers: those that use the mic stand and those that don't. I am of the latter philosophy. He used the stand.

He's like me: he can hold his own, but he's not a great singer. He's comfortable on stage. About two-thirds the way into his song, he pulled the microphone off the stand. I smiled.

I sang No Doubt's "I'm Just a Girl." Obviously heavy metal karaoke only has a handful of songs sung by female artists. But singing with a live band really is different than singing standard karaoke. For instance, there are no scrolling words. You have to know the song forwards and backwards and know when to jump in and out. And when you're on stage, you can't hear yourself and all of a sudden the band part all sounds the same. This is a long way to say I got lost in the second stanza and had to find some creepy guy wearing a trench coat in the audience who was singing along to get back on track.

Heavy metal karaoke was accompanied with gin and tonics, beer, and then Jaeger shots for the death knell. We both got sloppy. But the good news is that we were both equally drunk, so if one of us was acting like an idiot, the other didn't notice. We danced and grinded and made out to Toadies' "Possum Kingdom" and Guns N Roses' "Sweet Child O Mine."

He ran into some girls he knew. They exchanged hugs. Afterwards he leaned into me, "Don't worry, I've never slept with her."

"How did you know I was thinking that?"

"Because you said you are an overthinker. I know how those are."

"Well, fine." I started pointing to other girls he knew. "Did you sleep with her?"

"No."

"What about her?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"No." He reached out and ran his hand through my hair and kissed me.

We shut the bar down. I thought it was midnight and it was after 2:30 am. We go back to my place because I was insistent that the Femme Fatale had to be walked at that moment. Only I was so drunk that I dropped my building access card and we were locked out in the freezing cold. In the middle of the night. All of a sudden that security I loved wasn't so sexy.

Valdosta got impatient and said we should just go back to his place. I reminded him that I had the Femme Fatale. He said to just bring her along. My coat was inside. And I knew if I left, I'd never see my building access card again and it would cost me $35. I ignored him and started drunk dialing random apartments. That didn't work. And then, thank jesus for living in the city and a block from the region's largest gay club, a gay guy was escorting out his hookup for the evening. He made sure to escort that guy all the way out of the building. In the middle of the night.

I excitedly ran up to him. "Hi! I'm drunk and I live in the building. You can tell I live here because I'm not wearing a coat and I have my dog with me. I mean, what kind of person would steal something without coat pockets?" I rambled.

He let me in the building and then in the elevator. I found my building access card on my front door mat. I dumped off the Femme Fatale, still forgot my coat, and went out for pancakes and sausage because it seemed like a good idea at the time. By the time we made it back to Valdosta's apartment, it was 5 o'clock in the morning.

He's a cuddler. He cradled me like he's known my body for years. He knew the right spot on my thigh to rest his hand. He stroked my hair. Kissed my forehead--

"Um, do you sleep with your closet doors open?" I asked.

"Yes. Does that bother you?"

"Yes."

"You want me to get up and close the doors?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"What are you, afraid of the Boogey Man?"

Some things are just scary in the dark.

The next morning, the room was spinning. Clearly I drank too much. Clearly I broke the rule of mixing liquor colors. I had a coughing fit from shouting and singing the night before. Valdosta got a text message. He laughed and read it to me.

"'Want me to get your girl a cough drop?' It's from my roommate."

After laying in bed for a few more hours, I felt ready enough to get up and go home. However, I did not account for the fact his car is a stick shift. The first time the car lurched into first gear, I groaned and rolled the window down for some cool air on my face.

"I thought you were going to get sick there for a minute," he admitted.

"Yeah, me too," I admitted.

It was the most awful car ride I've ever had in which I did not get sick. After he pulled away, I hovered over the one bush in front of my apartment building in case I was still going to. I crawled into my own bed, wishing for sweet death.

My mom called. "Your grandmother just passed away," she sniffed.