highly filtered because strippedscrew (for once) is embarrassed
I have a big, fat crush on a lesser-lesser-lesser-known celebrity. I have a crush on a boy who did kung-fu in a bad horror sequel, on a boy who's made a guest appearance on Saved By the Bell. I have a crush on a boy who lives an hour away, but whose absence I can ease by watching his bad, bad movies in the comfort of my home. You better believe my Netflix cue is full. Ladies and Gentlemen, if the internet wasn't so damn scary and if I didn't still have a shred of my sense of privacy left, I'd be posting his headshots all over the damn place. That's how girlishly giddy I am. But I'm not going to do that. Yet.
He was one of those random Friendster boys. I get odd messages once every couple of weeks or so, local men trying to say something impressive, wondering if I'd like to take a walk or go for coffee. I'm by no means a snob, but I mostly ignore them. And the subject line in his message was "Hello," the kind of mushy, meaningless subject line I hate. But as I read the message, he wrote about having marked my page long ago but not writing until finally deciding "it's just time to come out of the shadows and say the most frightening word in the English language...Hello."
Swoon. Okay. Let's be honest. My quick reply was somewhat motivated by his bearing a strong resemblance to freakin' JORDAN CATALANO.
So I met him last Friday for a non-date. I wasn't sure I was dating at the moment. Misha was in Minnesota. (Another story entirely.) So we agreed to a look in the eye and a head-poke. Nothing more.
It was different than my other many, many dates this past year. My heart is in a new place. I was open to him. I wasn't putting up my sturdy, flirty barrier. I've had a habit during this poly-experiment of going on dates with this attitude that I am looking for friendly sex and that is all, everything else being far too complicated. But I want to know this man's fear and the color of his childhood pajamas. I want to know all of it.
He was in an open marriage for eleven years and that relationship dissolved last year. He's got all kinds of mixed feelings about open relationships, as do I. We're both still hopeful, but tentative, frightened.
He's invited me to his town this weekend. I'm not yet free to reply. Too much mess on the Misha front. Mish and I have decided we'll go our own ways in September when our lease is up. For the time being, however, we are still best friends and lovers and we don't have a protocol for the current situation.
But god, I want to go. I want to walk down his street and have a beer at his pub and see what kind of books are on his shelves and smell his sheets and kiss his hips and make a brand new start for me. I've felt electric since Friday just thinking of him.
And you'll all have to help me find the perfect pseudonym for this 80s hunk turned dashing, dapper man; I won't be able to stand another pronouns-only entry. Ideas?
He was one of those random Friendster boys. I get odd messages once every couple of weeks or so, local men trying to say something impressive, wondering if I'd like to take a walk or go for coffee. I'm by no means a snob, but I mostly ignore them. And the subject line in his message was "Hello," the kind of mushy, meaningless subject line I hate. But as I read the message, he wrote about having marked my page long ago but not writing until finally deciding "it's just time to come out of the shadows and say the most frightening word in the English language...Hello."
Swoon. Okay. Let's be honest. My quick reply was somewhat motivated by his bearing a strong resemblance to freakin' JORDAN CATALANO.
So I met him last Friday for a non-date. I wasn't sure I was dating at the moment. Misha was in Minnesota. (Another story entirely.) So we agreed to a look in the eye and a head-poke. Nothing more.
It was different than my other many, many dates this past year. My heart is in a new place. I was open to him. I wasn't putting up my sturdy, flirty barrier. I've had a habit during this poly-experiment of going on dates with this attitude that I am looking for friendly sex and that is all, everything else being far too complicated. But I want to know this man's fear and the color of his childhood pajamas. I want to know all of it.
He was in an open marriage for eleven years and that relationship dissolved last year. He's got all kinds of mixed feelings about open relationships, as do I. We're both still hopeful, but tentative, frightened.
He's invited me to his town this weekend. I'm not yet free to reply. Too much mess on the Misha front. Mish and I have decided we'll go our own ways in September when our lease is up. For the time being, however, we are still best friends and lovers and we don't have a protocol for the current situation.
But god, I want to go. I want to walk down his street and have a beer at his pub and see what kind of books are on his shelves and smell his sheets and kiss his hips and make a brand new start for me. I've felt electric since Friday just thinking of him.
And you'll all have to help me find the perfect pseudonym for this 80s hunk turned dashing, dapper man; I won't be able to stand another pronouns-only entry. Ideas?