Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Staying Power... of Ham.

So I started writing a book. And now, more than ever, has "The Hindsight Project" seemed so applicable. The truth is that my diary was the real account of how things went down (and then up! and then down. and then further down. and then a little up! and then down down down) with Thomas. 

In hind-hindsight, I was clearly so wrapped up in our relationship that I could only think of it in poetic, beautiful ways, which is why the story I tell in the "book" is slightly skewed from how it came out day-by-day in my blue canvas diary, then my pink striped diary, then the inspirational quote diary, and so on. 

This one is going to take a while to unfold, so please get comfortable for the story of my first real love, and heartbreak. (Sorry, Navid!)

Here's how it goes in my unfiltered words:

Ah, technology. I was so obsessed with this kid, planning out our kids names (Skyler & Shamus) and we had literally still never spoken a word to one another. I would stand in the hallway outside of the locker room after school with Rachel, just waiting for him to walk by on his way out to baseball. 

We'd act like we were meant to be there (which we clearly weren't since we got cut from the softball team after I ran out of tryouts crying because I got hit in the face with a softball.. and she followed me) until he walked by, head down. I'd whisper, "hi" and then run off, red faced and giggling. I'd immediately go home and sign Sparkl05 online so that I was READY when he signed on to have another amazing conversation.

3 1/2 hours = CONNECTION! (In case you didn't get that.)

And so began my dilemma of how to convince him to tell me he liked me, without me telling him first... I'll keep you posted.

Anyway, here's how the beginning of this relationship looks when romanticized:

Okay, I guess the ham part wasn't that romantic. It was more me being awkward and expecting a question about the expiration of ham to convince Conor that he wanted to be my friend again. 

Fortunately, Thomas (who was just as weird as I was) intercepted that comment and thought I was hilarious. I guess I really lucked out that someone thought so, as I was just informed at my birthday breakfast this year that I'm "much funnier at 24."

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Yellow Umbrella

Conor came into my life in gym class. I can still remember his maroon and gold uniform with his socks pulled halfway up his calf. Can you picture it?

Good. Then you know why it took me until we were out of gym class to develop my casual crush on him.

November 3, 2001:
"I like Conor. Okay, so I never really liked him until last week because he's in my gym class - but we had a study hall in gym the whole week so we actually talked and I realized that he had a really great personality. He kind as that whole scrubby look going on, which I like on him."

Unfortunately, I had to put those feelings aside because when I went back to gym, he stayed in study hall due to an injury. (He "broke his ass" according to him, I don't actually know what was wrong.) That study hall just happened to be during the lunch period of my friend Victoria, and their love blossomed as his ass slowly healed. They dated, they broke up, and time went by.

I tried to deny my feelings because I was supposed to be:
(a) a good friend to Victoria and not break the girl code in which every boy you have ever liked, looked at, or thought of in passing, is strictly OFF LIMITS.
(b) the cool, casual, public school friend of cool, casual, public school Conor who liked to listen to Sublime on the mix CDs he would make me - as a friend of course.

Apparently I couldn't stand it any longer and proclaimed my feelings to... my diary.

Then Victoria.

(yes, I had actually written out the speech I had prepared, I still have the word-for-word draft)
(all that worrying for nothing!)

Then (very mysteriously) to Conor.

He stopped talking to me, so I did what any girl would do. I wrote him a note I would never send and doodled angry words about myself at the bottom.

Just to clarify, "getting on" in the 9th grade meant that we had made plans to make out during a movie over spring break. Clearly, his silence following my bold confession ensured that our spring break rendezvous would not take place. 

Luckily (or unluckily) this whole ordeal paved the way for me to meet the boy who I actually started writing a memoir about because I thought it was - without a doubt - the greatest love story of all time. 

Now I'm going to go all How I Met Your Mother and leave you with that yellow umbrella cliffhanger.