I had a little crush on him even while I had a boyfriend.
-Relax. Not a real crush. Just a gee whiz, isn't he cute crush.-
I couldn't help it.
He was so my flavor: tall, lanky, kinda shy, a little awkward, cute in a totally understated he has no idea how gorgeous those baby blues really are sort of way.
He lived in the same building as my boyfriend.
On the same floor, five doors down, actually.
Like some sitcom from the Friday night line up.
For the next year and a half he became my elevator friend.
That was the only time I ever really saw him, on my way to and from my bf's place.
But eventually my boyfriend became my ex boyfriend.
And one night, while planning a ladies night in January, I decided to have it at the restaurant he worked at.
I wore my green lace Nicole Miller dress that fell over my hips like I was poured into it.
How could he resist me?
He charmed me and my friends the entire night and I left my number adorably on the receipt.
But I never heard from him.
Which of course meant he was either gay or never actually got my number.
It didn't matter.
By then I was dating a third of Portland anyway and trying to ignore the two timing under age pixie slut my ex was currently sort of casually dating.
God I hated her.
And one summer day, passing by the door of my ex's neighbor I thought, you know what?
What the hell. I'm just gonna go for it.
And I left a note on his door.
A sort of hey there, remember me, the elevator girl with the yoga mat you saw the other day.
Yeah, I've sort of had a crush on you for awhile now and my best friend lives down the hall from you (we used to date but we're just friends now) and I thought if you were single and interested I'd love to meet up sometime. Let me know.
I've been that way my entire life.
Asking boys out in third grade, asking out the hot barista I had a crush on, the cutie in my sociology class, the hottie waiter that conveniently lived doors down from my ex boyfriend.
No shame, no patience.
I want what I want when I want it.
Are you in?
And miracle of miracles, he was.
The next day he texted me that he got my note and was flattered (awe, schucks) and yes he'd love to grab a drink sometime.
So we set up plans for next week and I had my date.
Except I didn't have my date.
Because the night before our never to occur rendezvous he bailed.
Yeah I actually have kinda been seeing someone and now's not really a good time for me. Sorry.
Then why'd he text me in the first place?
I mean, I get maybe wanting to be nice and respond to the note I left but why not tell me you're seeing someone?
It just got my hopes up only to make me feel rejected when it all could have been avoided in the first place.
Lame sauce.
So I never texted back and deleted his number and that was that.
I was more annoyed than anything and I had the rest of Portland to date anyway so whatevs.
Months later, I get this text.
Some number I don't recognize, Hey if you're ever around the building and you wanna stop by for a glass or a pint or a bowl, or whatever, feel free, I've been working from home and am usually around.
I'm sorry.....WHAT??
I knew it had to be someone who didn't really know me, because if you know me then you know I don't smoke -I do guys, not drugs.-
But I had no idea who could be inviting me over for anytime alcohol and pot so I asked who it was.
And it was him.
Chinatown/Elevator was what he wrote.
Which was kinda poetic.
He really was the guy from the elevator in old chinatown.
I'd passed him the night before actually.
I was leaving and he was returning home.
Which totally stroked my ego because I figured he musta seen me, thought I was looking good and thought, that's someone I want in my apartment drunk and high.
Ohmygod. Hetotallywantstobone.
I was thrilled.
I'd been pining for this guy (albeit moderate pining) for the past year and a half and it was finally gonna happen??
And what timing!
This girl was ready for her rebound.
And I'd have the icing on the cake possibility of rubbing my ex's face in it?
Oh no. No no no no no, it was too good.
Crush procured. Much needed rebound commencing.
All was right with the world.
We made plans to meet up in a few nights and I was gonna meet at his place for some wine.
Et cetera.
Everyone I told the story to agreed waiter guy sounded like he totally wanted to hook up.
I was a little nervous and a little excited
-I'm not gonna tell you how long it'd been but let's just say Mama could use a little lovin-
And I had absolutely no idea what to expect.
And what happened was definitely not what I was expecting.
He talked at me for hours.
Not with me.
AT ME.
He'd seemed shy the handfuls of times we'd interacted but no, he wouldn't shut up.
I learned everything from his distate for his writing class at pcc, to his childhood tales of woe from his abusive and alcoholic father, to his unresolved feelings for his ex girlfriend who went back to her husband, to the erotic short stories he hoped to soon get published.
And I still had no idea what the hell I was doing there.
He didn't sit next to me, he sat on the couch opposite me.
He sat on the floor by the patio door, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.
He paced in front of the coffee table and rifled through the over crowded book shelf handing me copy after copy of tattered coverless books.
Are we gonna make out or what? I thought to myself.
Is he ever gonna shut up long enough for something to happen or am I just here like some free therapist?
Everything about this guy screamed rebound.
He was a tortured artist, guitar playing poetry writing nihilist.
Who hated everything about everyone but still was sensitive enough to want to cry about it.
He had holes in both his socks like he didn't care enough to be bothered to change them.
His twin bed sat nudged between one of his couches and the wall a table should have gone.
He said his friend sometimes stayed with him so he let him have the room.
Okay, I thought, so if anything happens it will be on the twin in the living room.
I feel like I'm in college.
He's older than me, but I feel like I'm back at PSU.
This is perfect.
I could never actually date this guy.
And he's totally going to quote EE Cummings as we make passionate love and it's the best rebound EVER.
And then it happens.
Come here, he motions for me to lay with him on the couch.
This is it, I think.
This is when he's finally gonna make his big move.
But he doesn't.
He just lays there.
He HOLDS me.
Like we're preteens on some Disney Channel show.
We S-N-U-G-G-L-E.
That's it.
He kisses me on the cheek and gives me a great big bear hug as he walks me to my car and that was it.
What a fucking clit tease.
Nights later, feeling amorous, I flirted a little text his way to which he pompously said he really didn't think THAT was a good idea and he really couldn't get into it right now.
He. Texted Me. And Invited Me. To drink. And smoke a bowl.
But he really didn't think it was a good idea for anything to HAPPEN between us.
What a Mo.
And I deleted his number once again and that was that.
I wonder who I'll be in your blog, he'd mused when I'd been over.
The Clit Tease Guy, Asshole.
What a proud day for your bony ass.
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