First Class Frank: Round Two, Part Two

Time came to leave for my spring break trip. I packed up my stuff and hit the road, or air because I flew. I got to my final destination and was greeted by my aunt. I stayed with her and my uncle for the first few days of my trip while Frank was finishing up his classes up his weekly classes.

It was my first time in this city and had fun being a total tourist with my aunt. She lives about 30 minutes outside the city and it’s an easy ride to surrounding locations. We walked on the beach and had lunch at fabulous places, went to a few museums and walked around some large lush gardens. Then the time came to say goodbye. Frank was on his way to pick me up.

Frank called when he arrived at their house. He came in and met my local family. It was a quick meet and greet as we didn’t want to hit traffic. His school was about 45-50 minutes away and with traffic it would probably take two to three hours. Frank grabbed my stuff and got my door for me (as was normal for him) and I got in. As he got into the car, he sat down and reached behind my seat. He pulled out five beautiful white Calla Lilies (which just happen to be my favorite flower). He smiled and placed them in my lap, and continued to fasten his seat belt and back the car out of the driveway. I looked at him blankly and he explained.

“If I get another chance with you, I’m going to do it right. I messed up my last chance; I’m not going to do it again this time.”

I didn’t really know what to say to this, so I said nothing. It was a fairly quiet ride until my stomach started growling. I was starving and so was Frank. We stopped at a nice restaurant about 20 minutes away from his school. There was a bit of a wait so we walked around the town square for a while. As we walked, he grabbed my hand. He squeezed it and I looked up at him.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he beamed. I had never seen him so happy before.

We walked back to the restaurant and ate dinner. When we got back into his car and there was an oh-so-familiar pause. He smiled again, grabbed my hand and held it tight. He then asked me if it would be ok if he kissed me. I wasn’t really sure what to say. No one had ever asked me before. It was kind of sweet and he had been the perfect gentleman all night. What could I say? So I said yes.

It was one of the sweetest kisses of my life. He was so nervous it was like our first kiss all over again. He couldn’t stop smiling though. He was so happy and that made me happy.

We finally got to his school and I got settled in his room. He had a single room but still had two beds. He set up my things on the other side of the room and told me that he didn’t expect me to share a bed with him. He didn’t want me to feel awkward.  What he didn’t know was that in saying all of this, he made me feel awkward. Well, even though there were two beds, we ended up sharing a bed. We didn’t do anything though… not the first night at least.

First Class Frank: Round Two, Part One

WTF? Really? Him again?

First, a random side story/rant session:

What a beautiful day it was today. So nice in fact that I decided to drive around with my windows down. I was searching the radio for some good tunes at a light when I hear someone yell, “Hey…”

Well I looked over and see a car of young adolescent boys, probably just old enough to be driving. As I look over, one of the young men in the back of the car sticks his head out of the driver’s side window and yells, “I think about you when I masturbate.”  The entire group of lads proceeds to burst into fits of laughter.  Looking back, I should have said something witty like, “Well if you had a better pick up line, then maybe you wouldn’t have to give yourself a hand job.” But I was slightly shocked at this boy’s forward, and strange, confession. So what could I say but, “Thank you…?” I suppose it was, in a way, a compliment.

But now my question is this, what did he expect my response to be? Did he want me to be embarrassed and ashamed? Or did he want me to stop my car, get out and confess my undying love to him? Was that comment supposed to make me swoon? It definitely did not. Why do men say things like this? I just don’t understand. Maybe, if I keep writing and compiling all my strange dating stories, something will become clear…

Now, back to the main story.

Yes, and I totally blame myself for this repeat. Now I know better, but then not so much. It all started when I decided to send care packages to some friends from High School. Everyone could use some cookies and brownies and such. In the post breakup mental state I was in, I began to feel guilty for breaking up with First Class Frank. I started second guessing my decision and stated to realize that I had never really given him a fair shot. I hadn’t gotten over Mr. Granola enough to really put my all into my relationship with Frank.

So with this thought in my head, I went ahead and sent him an apology with some cookies and treats. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while and received a call from him within a few days of sending the care package. After that call we spoke to each other frequently; almost every day. We became pen pals in a way, sending each other cards and notes, and speaking on the phone and emailing.

Spring break was right around the corner and he invited me out to see him. He lived in a warm location with a wonderful beach. I was hesitant to go but figured it would be nice to visit, and there was the added bonus of seeing some family while I was out that way.  So I looked up some cheap air fare and made plans with my family. This would not be the first or last time I’d travel long distances to see Frank.

The Racist: Part Two

I didn’t quite know what to make of the new flirtatious nature of my note buddy. I took it as charming and cute at first but by the second day of him trying to flirt, things got uncomfortable. I didn’t want to avoid my regular seat and I really did like talking to someone. I just hoped he’d pick up on normal social cues. You know, the silent cues that mean “get the heck away from me; I don’t like you like that”? I thought everyone in the world knows those cues, but nope. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Everything started to get worst quickly. My note buddy passed me a note and I opened to find the following message:

“So have you ever dated an Asian guy?”

Now here in this story, I might need to mention that my gangster note buddy was Asian. I didn’t mention it earlier and realized that now, it’s an important part of the story.

            So, how did I respond?

            “No.”

To which he wrote:

            “So, why not? Are you racist?”

Really? My friends and family know that this is not true in the slightest. So, one, the fact that he asked me if I was racist is hilarious and two, realizing that he was still attempting to hit on me makes it that much more funny! At the time however, the situation just got even more awkward.  How on earth was I supposed to respond to this?

            “No.” I wrote once more.

            “Well have you ever dated anyone who wasn’t white?”

            “No.”

            “So you are racist!”

            “No, I’ve just never been asked out by anyone outside of my race. I’ve only dated three people…”

            “So, would you be opposed to dating or going out on at least one date with an Asian? ;)”

             “Well, I have a boyfriend. So, sorry I don’t think it would work.”

             “I don’t believe you.”

            “Ok, you don’t have to. But I do. He goes to another school.”

            “Well, when’s his birthday? What’s his favorite color? When did you meet?...”

This was followed by a series of similar questions. Apparently, I was being quizzed on my fib. Luckily, I passed with flying colors as I just used all of Mr. Granola’s information. Phew.

            I changed seats the next day and never sat next the The Racist again.

The Racist: Part One

I am so excited to finally get to a totally different guy, the racist. When recounting the stories of my love life, the racist is pretty low on the radar. He’s not the most influential story, and actually, there isn’t really any romance involved, although he might have thought so. However, it’s incredibly amusing and for that reason will be told.

I had started classes at the city school and without Mr. Granola, my life seemed miserable. How anyone in any of my classes thought I was normal, I do not know. My eyes were perpetually swollen shut and I refused to talk to anyone. Slowly, I started coming out of my secretive shell but at this big school, which was at least five times larger in terms of student body population, meeting new people was problematic.  

My classes were fine, fairly straightforward and nothing out of the ordinary. I had exempted out of a general Psychology class but figured it would be an easy A and I needed to take it to transfer. I didn’t know if I would transfer anymore but just in case, it was better to take it.

So there I sat, bored out of my mind, in a huge lecture class. I am a creature of habit and sat in the same seat day after day. I soon realized that others did the same thing. One day our teacher was late. I didn’t know the time limit to the “Late Teacher Rule” (if the teacher is over 15 minutes late then you can leave) at this new school and asked the guy sitting next to me.  He was your typical gangster rapper kid. He wore a flat billed baseball hat sideways on his head. It was probably 5 sizes to big as well. His pants and shirt were also on the large and baggy side.   There was some graphic graffiti looking logo and his look wouldn’t be complete without the ridiculously large single cubic zirconium stud in his right ear lobe. He told me that the rule was 15 minutes, and we kept talking after that. It was actually nice to talk to someone. Then a few minutes later, the teacher came in and started class. Class ended and we said our goodbyes.

The following day, the gangster rapper kid sat next to me again. This time he introduced himself properly and we picked up talking were we left off the day before. Once again, it was nice to talk to someone. This day was different though. He wanted to keep talking when the teacher started class. I found this awkward. Yes, it was a huge lecture class and yes I was glad to finally be talking to someone but I really didn’t want to be talking during class. I’m sort of a goodie-goodie like that…

So our conversation switched to good old note passing. And so it continued. Every class, I would talk to my note buddy. He was nice but I was in NO WAY interested in him. I had just gotten my heart trampled on by Mr. Granola and I wasn’t planning on staying at this school. And even if those two factors weren’t there, this guy was not my type. I didn’t think he’d go for a girl like me anyway, so I just didn’t think about it as a possibility.

Well I probably should have thought about the possibilities because the very next day, my note buddy started hitting on me and through a note nonetheless.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part Six

First, before I continue on with my story, I would like to take a second dedicate this post to my cousin. She is one of the people who knows who I am and has supported my crazy blog idea.

Oh my dear girl, life may throw you some curve balls and you might be down sometimes. Just know, everything will get better. There is a man out there who will worship the ground you walk on and will make you happier than you thought was humanly possible. I know everything hurts right now but you have no idea what life has in store for you and you are just about to start your journey. I am so excited for you. Take every opportunity presented to you. Now is your time to make mistakes and live on the wild side. Our older cousin told me this when Mr. Granola and I broke up for the second time (I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet, but keep reading and I will!). She is wise beyond her years and I don’t regret a single part of my life so far. Don’t regret anything in yours. I love you cousin. Stay strong and stay true to yourself!

Ok enough with the mushy stuff and all the wonderful clichés. Back to the story.

So I had mixed feelings on leaving the itty bitty college. But the promise of a shared life with Mr. Granola kept me focused. I also knew that if the drama with the small college stopped (that is my constant complaining) then the drama with Mr. Granola might stop as well. I so wanted to go back to how we were before I started school. Because of these reasons and a few others as well, I decided to go ahead and leave the college. I was to start at the school in the city and would transfer the following fall up to a school near Mr. Granola.

I started to pack my belongings and the day I moved, Mr. Granola was supposed to help. His SUV would come in handy, but just like when I moved in, he suddenly became mysteriously busy. Once again I was angry but bit my tongue. I was leaving drama; I didn’t want to start more.

I moved back home and got all settled in. It was funny to be back home and I was nervous to be at a school where I knew no one. After a brief break, I started classes at the start of the semester. My first day went well until I got home. What waited for me there would completely crush me.

Mr. Granola called that night. He was crying. The boy never cried. He told me he had to break up with me before he left to go back to school. He couldn’t be with me. He told me he didn’t love me and that he never had. I couldn’t understand where this was coming from or what he was talking about. It all seemed completely surreal. Everything we had been through all of a sudden seemed to be a sham.

 I balled hysterically for about a week. I went to most of my classes but missed a good handful too. The classes I did go to, I could barely see the board because my eyes were so badly swollen from crying. And what made everything worst was having to figure out how to possibly choose a school to go to the following year. I couldn’t apply to any other schools, as it was past all of the deadlines. So for right now, I was seemingly stuck at the city school.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part Five

*Side note before we begin: so dreadfully sorry for not fixing some the typos in the stories. I had planned on doing that but I have started an intership this week. No sleep plus work plus more work plus normal life does not equal time to get extra stuff done. I'm struggling to get these post out daily. But I promised myself I would, so I'll try my best!

The tailgating was fun. We hung out with a smaller group of Mr. Granola’s close friends and I was welcomed with open arms. I learned how to play classic drinking and tailgating games, and ate tons of food from little grills that dotted the parking lot.

 It’s at this point, that I have to let you in on a secret. I hate football. I’ve never been able to understand the game and just cheer when other people around me cheer. I’ve always been frustrated by my lack of understanding for the game. I’m a smart girl, I feel like it shouldn’t be hard to understand a game that most people understand, but my brain doesn’t work in the way of sports. So when it was time for the actual game portion of the day, I was completely lost. Mr. Granola didn’t help. He became drunkenly consumed in the game and got upset with me when I didn’t share in the home team spirit.

That night we went to another party and once again, I was hit on by a slew of men that didn’t include my boyfriend. At the end of the night, when we arrived back at the apartment, Mr. Granola actually got into bed with me. When I brought up how upset I was about the entire weekend and how it had gone (which by the way, was not confrontational in the least, because I’m not a super confrontational person) he made it seem as though I was blowing things way out of proportion. When I started to cry at his harsh recap of the weekend the way he saw it, he rolled over and refused to talk to me for the rest of the night. Once again, I felt alone in a place I was supposed to be moving to in less than a year.

The next morning, Mr. Granola was beyond attentive. I am not sure if what I said sunk in, or he was just feeling guilty for making me cry. But everything felt like old times again. This is what I had missed the past couple of days. I was glad it was just in time for the five hour drive home.

The car ride home was great. We discussed what would happen with him leaving early and the conclusion was essentially that we would figure it out. I’d still apply to a few different schools in the area and see what would happen.

Once back at school, I felt the need to play hard to get after how the weekend away went. I stopped calling him every night in hopes that he would call me. He didn’t. I tried to get him to make plans to come visit me and see my campus. He wouldn’t. To make matters worse, my roommate situation had gotten out of control. I needed to get a new room, but nobody wanted a roommate change mid semester. It got so bad that I started to commute from my parent’s house daily. An hour and a half drive at least, with an eight a.m. class was far from ideal but was the only thing I could do to stay sane.

Finally I got a new roommate! From that point on things improved tenfold.  I figured everything in my life would improve as well. For a while I was right, I got accepted into all of the schools I applied to for transfer and I was able to get into a school in the city midyear (which almost never happens) so I wouldn’t have to stay at the small school I grew to hate so much. Mr. Granola had been going through something and things weren’t perfect between us. I just assumed it was the distance taking its toll.

It was far harder leaving the school I hated than I could have imagined. I might have hated the school but my new roommate had become my partner in crime. I had joined a sports team as well and made an incredible group of friends. I would miss them and wasn’t sure if I’d be happy at my temporary school in the city. The last few days on campus were incredible. I think my friends and I ate 5 pints of ice cream and watched The Sandlot at least four times in a row. We stayed in our pajamas and skipped class. We carefully drank the vodka that I managed to smuggle on campus. For the first time, I didn’t want to leave.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part Four

We arrived at Mr. Granola’s friend’s apartment. When we walked in I was hit by a cloud of pot. In fact the entire house reeked of weed. Oh what an interesting weekend this would be. I was shown to the room downstairs were we’d be staying and I quickly changed into something cute. The boys waited on me to finish changing and we walked to the party.

The entire night was drinking, drugs, and rock and roll. I knew no one and Mr. Granola wasn’t too good at introductions. I was left to fend for myself multiple times that evening. I got hit on by countless drunks and one in particular was completely relentless. I found Mr. Granola and told him about my stalker.

“Has he touched you?”

“Well, no, but,” I started.

“Well if he kisses you then I’ll talk to him, but I’m not starting anything over nothing. It’s not like I’d beat someone up for you, sweetheart,” Mr. Granola said.

Are you kidding me? Wtf?

He went back to a conversation he was having with one of his friends.

“Yeah man, I’m heading back and starting classes next semester.”

What?  Those were not the plans we had talked about. What happened to me transferring to the neighboring school? Us getting an apartment together? What happened to the dog? I was not happy. Not only had I discovered the secret smoking habit, but I was humiliated, and felt as though I had been lied to once again. I was done with this trip and I couldn’t get home without Mr. Granola.

When we got back to his friend’s apartment, I decided to head to bed. Mr. Granola stayed up with his friend. This wasn’t how I envisioned this trip. I tried to stay up and wait for Mr. Granola to come to bed but I ended up crying myself to sleep.

            The next morning, I woke up to find that Mr. Granola had never come to bed the night before. I had no idea where he was. I walked up stairs to find him asleep on the couch. I stood there looking at him bewildered for a few seconds before he started blinking his eyes and blearily looked at me. He sat up and smiled, rubbed his eyes and asked me what time it was. We had a football game to go to and tailgating festivities would begin soon. Mr. Granola didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he left me alone downstairs to sleep by myself. Quickly, we got ready to go and headed out the door.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part Three

*For those reading, I promise there are other guys. The beginning of my love life was dominated by the two men I’ve been writing about. But I promise you, keep reading, more characters will be introduced.

We were all set to leave for our weekend trip. I was thrilled. This was my first overnight trip with a significant other. It was a five hour car ride to the college campus and I was ready of some serious one on one time with Mr. Granola. The beginning of the car ride was a rough one. We left far too late, due to Mr. Granola’s intrusive mother and managed to hit immense amounts of rush-hour traffic. Because of the traffic, meddling mother, and just plain end of week exhaustion, Mr. Granola was snappy and short tempered. I felt like I couldn’t say or do anything right. This was not the way I wanted to be introduced to his friends.

At the half way mark, we stopped to get gas. Mr. Granola went inside to grab something to drink and came out with a pack of cigarettes. As he walked out, he handed me a bottle of water, opened the pack of cigarettes, and lit one. I was stunned. No words could possibly begin to explain the intense fury that I felt in that moment. I had dated Mr. Granola for a total of nine plus months. In all of that time, not once did I know he smoked. Smoking for me is a deal breaker. My grandmother and uncle died from lung cancer and I refuse to be with someone who indulges in that behavior. If you smoke, that is your choice and I have no problem with it. However, if you date me, I can’t tolerate it. Mr. Granola knew this. We had talked about it before and he had been sympathetic. He hid this habit from me for over nine months. What else could he possibly be hiding?

I was without words for the remainder of the car ride. He knew there was an issue, he wasn’t stupid. Mr. Granola asked me what was wrong, though he very obviously knew. I told him the truth; I was upset he’d hidden the fact that he smoked from me. 

“I thought you knew. I never hid it from you,” he responded.

“How come I didn’t know after nine months?”

“I don’t smoke that often, but I have done it for years.”

And just like that the conversation was over.

We continued our trip which felt like it was taking an eternity. We stopped one more time to stretch out legs. This time, no cigarettes. It was pitch black outside the car. Mr. Granola turned to me and said he wanted to show me something. He threw open the sun roof and opened the window.  A freezing breeze blew into the car but that wasn’t why tears came to my eyes. Above me was the most impressive display of stars I have ever seen in my life. Still to this day, I can go back to that moment and see those stars in my mind. Mr. Granola turned to me smiled.
“I’m so sorry I’ve been such a grouch. I promise the rest of this trip will be amazing. I love you,” he said.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part Two

         

           Somehow we ended up back together. Looking back now, I’m not sure how quite how it happened; it was just kind of understood and we picked up where we left off. The rest of my summer was spent with him. We were once again inseparable and I liked it.

            Not to say that there weren’t some complications involved in our newly rekindled romance. When Frank found out that Mr. Granola and I were seeing each other again, and so soon after, he flipped. Frank despised Mr. Granola for no other reason than the fact that he was my first love and I had never truly gotten over him. I guess Frank saw him as competition. But Frank wasn’t the only one who was hesitant about my decision to try things again with Mr. Granola. My parents and a good number of my friends were not completely on board. Their criticism just made me work that much harder to make this relationship work. I knew I was leaving for school but it was only an hour and a half away from him. It had great potential.

 Time came for me to pack up and move to school. Mr. Granola promised to help but was somehow mysteriously busy when the time actually came. Once at school I met my roommate and started to unpack all of my things. It was about a week later that I realized how miserable I was at this school. Everything I had wanted in a college was wrong. I thought I wanted a small, conservative college, no big party scene, and beautiful campus, far away from any big city. Turns out all those things created a small, conservative, small-minded campus that was far away from any town bigger than 500 people. I was bored. My class schedule couldn’t even begin to compare to my rigorous high school schedule and I was about a month ahead on all my work. And to top off everything, my super conservative roommate judged me night and day on the fact that I was in a relationship and not saving myself for marriage.

I was miserable. I went home whenever possible and found refuge in my relationship. But turning to Mr. Granola to fix my misery suddenly took a toll. We never fought but began fighting on a regular basis. He was under an extreme amount of pressure to fix everything that happened with the accident over the summer. He was taking some time off from school and was unsure of when he’d go back. We needed to talk and come up with a plan.

The talk was serious but exciting. Mr. Granola would return to school the next year and I would transfer to a school around his. We’d get an apartment somewhere in between the two schools and both commute. Then there was talk about a dog and which schools I was applying to. There was a load to think about but totally worth it. We planned a weekend trip to his school so we could find a place, I could meet his friends, and I could visit some schools. I was giddy with excitement. It was all settled and our future was starting to become clearer.

Mr. Granola: Round Two, Part One

I got the call very early in the morning and I only half understood who was on the other end. By the time I was able to fully comprehend who it was, I was almost in tears by what they were saying. It was Mr. Granola. I hadn’t heard from him in a few months. While dating Frank, I had received a few emails and drunken phone calls; nothing out of the ordinary.

 The news on the other end of the phone was what I had secretly always worried about. Mr. Granola had been in an accident, a bad one too. The car was totaled. The drunken idiot drove his car into a tree. I wasn’t sure why exactly he was calling me. The conversation only lasted a few minutes which was a mixed blessing because I could go back to sleep but I couldn’t really after that phone call.

I called him the next day when it became a more reasonable hour. It wasn’t much of a conversation, just clarifying that he was in fact alive and not in the hospital. He told me he was a bit cut up from glass but would fine overall. He just needed some R and R and he would call me in a few days.

It took him about a week to get back to me. He was dealing with the implications of the accident meaning insurance companies, getting a new a car, and most importantly, dealing with the parentals. But he wanted me to come over so we could catch up. He told me he would cook some dinner.

First Class Frank: Part Three

I got over the entire situation somehow. I don’t even remember how, he probably sweet talked his way out of trouble again. Before I knew it graduation came and went. There were tons of parties. My parents threw me an amazing party.  My cousin came down to Atlanta as a surprise. Now one would think that with me being as happy as I was on such an occasion, those around me would share in my joy. Well you would be wrong to think such a thing. First Class Frank was in a foul mood because he was not the center of attention. It was so noticeable that his mother, who was kind enough to show up to the shindig, pulled the boy aside and gave him a firm talking to.

 I was furious. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Frank and I parted and went our separate ways. He had been accepted at a very small school out in California and I was staying In-State. He was about to leave on a month long trip around the U.S. Whether he liked to admit it or not, our relationship was coming to a close. Now, I’m all for long distant relationships but not when the relationship is troubled when you’re living twenty minutes away from each other.

I waited as long as possible before doing the inevitable. Unfortunately I could only wait so long before I started getting annoyed by the constant complaint phone calls. I felt awful for drawing the line while he was on his solo trip but I couldn’t go through the motions of the relationship anymore. I put my foot down and out an end to the eight month relationship. I was upset once it was done. I was upset at myself for hurting someone I cared about. It was the first time I had broken someone’s heart.

First Class Frank: Part Two

All in all, the first date with First Class Frank was pretty standard for a high school. He picked me up and we went to dinner. We rented a movie (a very serious movie, Crash) and went back to his house to watch it. Of course in high school this means I met his parents. This meet and greet went much better than meeting Mr. Granola’s parents.

Watching Crash as a first date movie was strange. I don’t recommend it to anyone. It’s strangeness increased by being the movie that was on during our first kiss. Yes, Frank was forward and for some reason it didn’t bother me. After that kiss, the courtship was over. He became my boyfriend very quickly without any questions asked.

First Class Frank and I had a few good months. We had fun together. Everything moved a lot faster the second time around. But of course, with the increased speed of the relationship, there was also a lot more drama.

I was lucky to live in the “party” house in high school. My mom let me and my friends drink as long as no body left. To top it off, they didn’t mind if we smoked. They thought the hooka was funny and would sit out side with us talking and telling stories of when they were our age. So when I offered to host the St. Patty’s day party for my group of friends, the obvious answers was yes. The party was amazing! It was so much fun. I loved having all my friends there and having First Class Frank there with them. That was the problem though, Frank wanted to have ever ounce of my attention, which is difficult while I was hosting the party. Yes, I can multitask but I can only do so much. But he prevailed. And how, you may ask, did he successfully manage to win 100% of my attention? Well that’s simple, by crying. He threw the biggest temper tantrum and started to cry. Needless to say, my perfect Martha-Stewart-esque party was ruined. People left because no one was drinking. No one was drinking because they all knew I was upset. Once everyone left the party, Frank and I talked.

At this point in the night I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I was done with this relationship. I had much more important things to worry about during my senior year of high school. But Frank talked his way back into my heart. After our blow up fight, I found a hand drawn picture-note thing behind my picture frame on my bed side table. He called me a few minutes later and I apologized and he did too. This would be the first of a never ending series of fights and long winded make-up sessions.

It was this early in our relationship that I first toyed with the idea of worth. Was it worth it, all the drama, and tears, for a relationship that had just been formed? I didn’t love him yet, even though I knew he loved me. I knew because he told me and it was one of the most awkward conversations I’ve had still to this day. Frank and I were lying in his bed. He gazed at me. I loved the way he looked at me. I always felt pretty and I always knew he genuinely cared about me. Then he ruined the beautiful moment by dropping the bomb. The “L-Bomb” that is. I wasn’t anywhere near expecting it. It had only been a few weeks. I just smiled and kissed him, hoping it would just go away if ignored. I didn’t want to be the girl who said “Thank you” and I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t love him. So what was I supposed to do? Well, Frank wasn’t so couth; this would not be a First Class moment. He looked at me and asked, “Well, don’t you love me?”

 It took me a few months to be able to say it back and even then I don’t know why I said it when I did. I knew I cared about him but now, deep down I don’t think it was love, at least not then. I know what you’re thinking. What kind of girl fake says “I love you”? Well my mother explained to me once that there are many different kind of love. You never love someone the same way you love someone else. Each love is as unique as the relationship. It was at the time that I just assumed this was the love I felt towards Frank. It wasn’t bad; it just wasn’t as strong as my love had been towards Mr. Granola. That’s how first loves go. They always ruin the rest…

Anyways, I was outside my house; Frank had just dropped me off after a date and he decided to try again with the whole “I love you” thing. Maybe it was because I felt guilty about not saying it the first time, or perhaps I was trying to avoid yet another conversation, or maybe I really did, in that moment think I loved him, but whichever the case I said back to him.

Everything between us was rocky from St. Patrick’s Day on. Prom came and went just as quickly as the year before. The only real difference was there were two of them to go to this year because First Class Frank went to another school. I got my dresses months in advanced, as to prevent any duplicates, and scheduled my hair appointments. One of the dresses had to be totally re-altered because it was two sizes too big. My prom was first. Everything was planned out and I prepped, waxed, tweezed, and crammed myself into the dress. I was so nervous and just wanted the pre prom pictures to turn out well. Frank was running late and when he finally got to my house, he ran to the bathroom. When he came out he looked at me, smiled and said “ok let’s go.”  We took our pictures and got in his car.

What happened next could have been a total over reaction but as far as I’m concerned no girl should EVER have to dig for complements, especially from their boyfriends and on the night of Prom. Of all people, Frank knew how much work it took to get me to look that good and he never once complimented me. I wasn’t looking for a soul searching, declaration of love and adoration. No, I was just looking for a simple “Oh you look so nice.” A compliment is something that is so small and should be almost involuntary. I made a point of telling him how handsome he looked first thing when he walked into the house.  Well, you can only imagine that he heard about what he had done (actually more like what he hadn’t done), all night.

Oh it was a tense night, not quite as intense as when he did it AGAIN for his own prom. That one was even worst because he made a point of telling all of his girl friends how nice they looked. Unbelievable. And he wanted me to try to sneak in and spend the night at his place while his parents were home? Hell no, that was not happening.

First Class Frank: Part One

It was my friend, Elizabeth ’s birthday and she was having a boy/girl sleepover. It was a very exclusive party and I was excited to have gotten an invite. Especially because Elizabeth and I were on again/off again recently. But I made it and so far it wasn’t too bad.

 There was a guy there who I’d never met before. He didn’t go to our high school but I’d heard about him. He went to a private school and we had a few good mutual friends. I wasn’t quite sure how they knew each other and actually, I’m still not really sure. For the purposes of our story we will call him First Class Frank and you will see why if you keep reading.

The group decided to go to Blockbusters to get a movie. I was divided into a car with my best guy friend, Stephan, and First Class Frank. Obviously, First Class Frank had a first class car. It was his pride and joy, and Stephan wanted to drive it. So we took the long route to Blockbuster. I sat in the back grabbing the door handle for dear life as we zoomed in and out of all the back road curves.

By the time we got to Blockbuster, everyone else (who had arrived 15 minutes earlier) had picked out the movie and was ready to check out. So we left. It wasn’t until we were back in the parking lot that I realized First Class Frank was flirting with me. He opened the car door for me. It was such a simple gesture but it meant so much.

We got back to the house and started watching the movie. I got bored by it and went to the kitchen to grab some food. Frank followed. We sat in the kitchen and talked for an hour or so. He was nice and it was obvious he was interested in me.

 But then it got serious. Our late night food raid was interrupted by Paige. Stephan locked himself in the bathroom, crying, which meant I was needed. By the time I got there, Stephan had moved to the office. He had tears streaming down his face. He looked up at me, his phone clutched in his hand. He managed to get some words out of his mouth, “Diane’s been raped.”

Diane was one of my best friends who didn’t get an invite to the party. She and a few other people had made their way to a local college campus. Alcohol had been had and she woke up to find a guy on top of her. Stephen and I decided to go pick her up and bring her to the Emergency Room.

We ran out the door with little goodbyes. The people who needed to know we left knew but didn’t know why. I gave Frank a hug and thanked him for the kitchen company and left.

 Diane was as okay as anyone could be after a situation like that. I hate to mention something so serious in a collection of stories that are so funny but it was a huge event in my life. We had to lie to the doctors so she could be seen and gave the police a report of what we knew. I had never been so scared about the well being of another before. Diane had to be forced to go to the hospital, I felt terrible about it but all of us wanted to know she was alright. She would be, and her story is a happy one now. 

So, enough with the serious stuff.

The next day, I got a call from Frank. He had gotten my number from Paige at the party. He wanted to ask me out. I said yes.

Mr. Granola: Part Three

Other than crazy parents and siblings, Mr. Granola was amazing. We had been official bf/gf for about a month and a half when I received a text message from him. I didn’t get it until the morning after it was sent but it was obvious that the sender, Mr. Granola, had in fact been drinking. It stated, “I knwq t this s erally soooon an I’m estoj but I love you.” Drunken translation: “I know that this is really soon and I’m drunk but I love you.” Twenty minutes after I read that, I got a call from him. It was the “I’m sorry, I know I was drunk and I don’t remember what I wrote” speech. It was bull. I knew his phone kept a record of out going text messages. I was glad I hadn’t responded though. I didn’t mention it or bring it up.

He came over after school the next day. We were lying on the couch in the office. He looked at me and said, “I lied to you. I know what I wrote in that text message. I just didn’t want that to be the time I said it. I love you.” Whoa. This was the first time anyone had said that to me, I mean other than family and friends. And he was fully admitting that he said it first in a drunken text message. Of course, how else could it go, this is me we’re talking about.

 But was I ready to say it back? Did I know the meaning of love? Do I know the meaning of love even now? I knew I would do anything for him and as far as I was concerned, at the age of seventeen, that meant love. So I said it back. He smiled and then kissed me. It was kind of perfect.

The school year flew by as did my time with Mr. Granola. Parties and prom came and went. Prom was perfect. It was the cliché high school prom everyone dreams of. I had my dress, simple and black, my hair done, pulled back into a gigantic bun and a beautiful Boho necklace I found up North over spring break. I was outfitted to the T.  And company for the evening? I felt that I should let Mr. Granola hang out with his friends as it was his last prom. I didn’t really know the group we went with but we had fun nonetheless. For dinner we went to a fancy restaurant where I ate ostrich and for dessert, kumquat ice cream.

At our school, our prom had a “Senior Walk” where the senior class entered the room with their dates and were announced over the loud speaker. The Senior Walk was the highlight of the night. It was a big deal to be a junior in the senior walk. All my friends stood by to watch as Mr. Granola and I walked by. I felt pretty bad ass.

The year coming to an end meant one thing for me and Mr. Granola. We needed to talk about what was going to happen with him leaving for college. It wasn’t something either of us wanted to discuss but it became more and more difficult to avoid. Everything finally came out when I was on the way to meet his grandparents. I broke down and started balling. The verdict: we would be ending things but would enjoy the rest of the summer together while we could. I had mixed feelings about this. I knew it was the best decision so I wouldn’t get hurt more down the road but it was also hard to know there was a time limit.

Things got more difficult after we slept together. It was my decision. I wanted him to be my first everything. I was hesitant about doing “the deed” but I knew I loved him and I knew I would never regret doing it with him. To this day, I still don’t regret it. I’m glad he was my first.

So here come the juice details of my not so romantic evening.  While it wasn’t romantic I did laugh the entire time which is the true reason I am so fond of the memory of the evening and why I do not regret any of it. It started off with him flat out asking me, “Do you want to have sex?”  You had to give the kid credit for his honesty and blunt nature. It wasn’t the first time he had asked either. It was more like the twelfth time. But for some reason, this time I felt comfortable with it. I knew what all it entailed and the responsibility of it. So, I said yes. I think my answer stunned the poor boy. He gave me a look of shock, then smiled and threw me over his shoulder and ran into his bedroom. We both started laughing at the seriousness of the event. We had successfully started when all of a sudden we heard footstep charging down the stairs. His dad…. Or at least that’s what we thought when we heard the noise. He immediately jumped off of me and ran to hide in his closet. “Go to the bathroom, now” was the only thing he was able to get out before he closed the door. I got to my feet and scrambled to the bathroom. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Once again, this was just my luck.

I waited for what seemed like forever. Finally I heard a knock on the door. I opened it a smidgen and saw a very naked Mr. Granola standing in front of me. He sighed and said, “It was my sister running upstairs.” Wow. There are no words to describe the relief I felt. Needless to say, we never finished the “deed” that night.

While I enjoyed the new found closeness, it made the goodbye that much harder. And the goodbye was difficult, let me tell you! I cried for what seemed like days and didn’t eat anything for just as long. He cried too. I wrote him a letter, a thank you letter. Overly cheesy, yes,  but I felt like I didn’t get to say what I wanted to when we ended things and every time I tried to call I would end up sounding like a hysterical mess.

It took about two weeks of being miserable to get over myself and eat real food again. I lost some ridiculous amount of weight, along with my childhood innocence, and the first guy I ever loved.