Dear Friends,
Writing about your life gets tricky when you’re seeing someone. I don’t know how Carrie Bradshaw did it for so long. I guess Mr. Big really, really didn’t give a shit, and if she had a website back in the 90’s, he would not have read it, but I try to avoid his types. I had an ex who hated the fact that I wrote about my relationships and experiences. In fact, he once broke into my “diary” AKA book that I was working on and confronted me about a dream I wrote about. I had dreamed that I was living in New York (when I was in LA and had no plans to move here whatsoever), and that I was running around the city trying to locate my fiance. I ended up getting to the top of maybe the Chrysler Building, and the doors opened, and I saw him. But I couldn’t actually see him. But I was happy; but I didn’t know who I was happy about. All I knew was that in my dreamland, I wasn’t engaged to my ex boyfriend, and therefore I broke up with him. He extrapolated that this was because I wanted to marry my other ex. I extrapolated that he was an extremely paranoid human being.
Remember when life and dating was simple? I know – I don’t either. But really, remember when it was way simpler, to put in those terms? I had my first kiss when I was 14 years old. It was to a little Catholic boy, who had a raging Catholic mother who was not happy with me. I couldn’t understand it. I was practically angelic – did she have a sixth sense of what I would turn into 10 years later? Doubtful. But, for whatever reason, she severely disliked me and her son was severely into me. Into me in a way, I just don’t see that much anymore. “Into me.” People use the phrase, but I haven’t been proven this for awhile. For lack of a better word, we gave each other butterflies. Kissing was like a dream. And we did not see a need to do much more. It was very PG, but I totally felt like I was in one of those teenage movies I sought after, and that he was my Freddie Prinze Jr. or something. The whole thing was tinged with innocence, but more importantly, it was all brand new. It was like floating on a cloud, and I didn’t know that I might have to worry if he didn’t call me every day at 3:35 p.m. after school, on my second line that went directly to my room attached to my purple phone (so cool, don’t even try to argue with me). I never worried that he’d call – because he always did. Dating used to be reliable. Dating used to be worry-free. Now it’s all about games and headaches, and stomach-turning sensations, and then sometimes, if you’re very, very lucky, it clicks. He calls you every day on your purple phone – well it might be a Blackberry now but you get the picture. Also, let me just comment on the length of the phone conversations. OMG. It’s like I either had THE best first boyfriend ever, or it was just easy. We’d talk about my Spanish homework and the fact that he had smooched someone at summer camp when he was 12, but how the kiss didn’t feel real until he shared one with me. This thought of course made me jealous, but then so reassured. It was like magic. Somehow at 14 a man knew exactly what to say to me? I don’t have enough time in a day to solve that conundrum. Feel free to comment if you do.
Everything tasted better too. I would pour lemonade and it was like, the best lemonade ever. I was able to go to bed every night thinking about him, and not feel like I was some sort of loser-stalker because I had checked his Facebook page that day, or whatever. I don’t even have FB anymore, but you get the picture. I didn’t have friends trying to see if they had mutual friends with him, and if he quoted Napoleon Dynamite or not (ick). I had one responsibility and that was to dream and fantasize, and make sure that every time I saw him and we’d go to the movies to make-out and hold hands in the back row (duh), I made sure I felt that same electricity when he touched me every time. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with that chemistry. But I knew it was there, and I knew it was reliable. And I loved it.
Some days, I wish I could come home from work, and expect to see my Spanish homework and my purple phone. Instead, I sit down and reflect on when I was young, and hope that some day soon, my Blackberry will buzz every day at 3:35 p.m. Now, I just hope it doesn’t buzz at 3:35 a.m…
Remember your first love? I hope you find your second one soon.
Kisses,
Jessica
