Heartbreaker

When I was 22, I kissed a guy on a dare.

It's not that I needed any impetus to kiss someone. It's just that on this occassion, my friend -the dare giver- knew something I didn't. Oh, and we were really drunk.

(Sidenote: the friend in question happened to be this guy's ex girlfriend.)

What she knew that I didn't was that said dare target had a crush on me. I almost typed "huge crush", but I have a hard time thinking someone would have any crush on me, let alone a huge one.

Had I known that this was the case, I never would have done it. It wasn't that he was unattractive or creepy. In fact, he was pretty darn cute. It was just that knowing he liked me would have put a type of pressure on me that I hated. At the time, I wasn't real into living up to someone's perceived expectations. It was for the best that I thought that he thought he was getting a random smooch from a random drunk chick.

I did know him casually. We worked at the same bar, ran in the same circle of friends and went to the same parties. Aside from my bartending job, I also worked at the gas station/liquor store down the street from his house. I saw him around a lot, but never really gave thought to being more than his friend. Again, this was not a result of his appearance or demeanor. It had just never occured to me. Maybe it was because he was a little bit older than me. Maybe it was that ever so slight grumpy old hipster vibe he gave off (while endearing, did put me off a little). Who knows?

So, I kissed him.

He was understandibly taken aback. It was a nice kiss, the kind that makes you want to do more than kiss. In my head, I silently thanked my friend for giving me the dare.

I ended up hanging out talking to this guy for a few hours. Turned out, we had a lot in common (our love of bourbon for one). I still didn't know that he had a crush on me at this point. I just thought we had stumbled onto some dumb luck.

For the next 3 months, we were obnoxiously joined at the hip. Impressive if you consider we both had more than one job (in addition to our job of pouring Jim Beam down our throats). It was summertime. He had a motorcylce. It was fucking fantastic.

It didn't take me long to realize that this really nice, attractive guy called when he said he was going to call, didn't look at other girls, treated me with respect, and seemed to genuinely like me--a lot.

It was weird. I wasn't used to this. In the past, if someone stuck around for more than a month, it was usually because they had nowhere else to sleep. Lovely, eh?

In my youthful stupor I mistook a good man for a man that must have something wrong with him. He was too good to be true, so I did what any young college co-ed with painfully low self esteem would do--I pre-emptively broke up with him. I figured it was coming sooner than later. Better to be the dumper than get my heart run over and drug down the street...again.

A week later, I got this letter. It was sealed with a promotional sitcker for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion-Orange:

I hope things are less stressful for you this way. I am glad to see convenience is a big factor in how you evaluate a relationship. Lucky for me you decided I wasn't worth the time or effort before I fell in love with you. I'll remember to set my sights lower in the future.

P.S. Get your bike before someone steals it.

Two months after that we got back together.

We've been married for almost 9 years.

Harpy Bird Day

Today is my 33rd birthday.

By the age of 33:
Hemmingway had written A Farewell to Arms.
F. Scott Fitzgerald had written The Great Gatsby.
Liz Phair had completed Exile in Guyville
The Rolling Stones had about 4,ooo concerts under their belt 33 years after forming
and Jesus...well he died for our sins, giving us the chance for eternal life.

These are some hard acts to follow.

I haven't written anything more than some bad poetry and a whole lot of bitching on the internet. I was in a band that played one song at one show, never to be seen again.
And I'm not about to try to hang on some cross. I'll leave that to the guys on Jackass.

My little brother called and left a voicemail this morning, wishing me a Happy Birthday...from Paris...where he is staying for free. He was on his way back from Tunisia and it seems the plane had a little trouble over France. Not only was his plane ticket free (business trip), but his hotel was as well (on the airline). He said he was calling me from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

I still live in the same town I went to (and subsequently dropped out of) college in. I think I'll call him on his birthday from the top of Watterson Towers. Take that, overachieving sibling!

Some people that share my birthday:

Jodie Sweetin of Full House fame is 25 today!
Shawn Wayans of In Living Color fame is 36 today!
Dolly Parton of the plastic surgery hall of fame is 61 today!
Shelley Fabares of Coach fame is 63 today! (Did you know she also sang Johnny Angel?)

And the dearly departed:
Janis Joplin of Jack Daniels fame would have been 64 today!
Tippi Hedren of Alfred Hitchcock fame would have been 76 today! (She is dead, isn't she?)
Edgar Allan Poe, the world's first official Goth, would have been 198 today!

I should clarify that I'm not having some kind of crisis about getting older. It's not so bad being in my 30's. I get treated like an adult most of the time, but I can still get carded for cigarettes if I buy them on campus.

I haven't written a great American novel, put out an incredible album, had sex with David Bowie (yet) or been crucified, but I've gotten quite a bit accomplished in this first third of my life (because I plan on living until 100, you see). I'm married to a comic book store owner (please contain your jealousy), have two beautiful children, two obnoxious dogs and I'm about to buy the house I plan on living in for the rest of my life.
All in all, not too shabby.

Cheers!