... I wish nothing but the best for you, too." ~ Adele "Someone Like You"
Saturday morning dawned bright and early. A little too early as I'd been at Jen and Jeff's seeing their new place the night before (beautiful place I might add). I also had over 30 bags of shredded paper in the back end of my mom's truck I had to recycle before I met my friend Liz to go to Eastern Market. So needless to say, I managed to shower, throw my hair back in a headband, and apply the bare minimal of make-up before I hit the pavement in my Levi's, Chucks, and a long sleeve gray t-shirt.
So it figures I'd run into one of the ones who got away, doesn't it?
As Liz and I approached Shed 3, I noticed a man standing to the right of the doors smoking a cigarette. Something about him caught my eye and I glanced in his direction again. It was indeed who I thought it to be.
Catholic Boy (and when he grows up, he will be Catholic Man! That last bit will only make sense if you've seen the movie Cabin Boy).
He was wearing his uniform Detroit Tigers hat (perfect fade, perfect curve in the brim... which reminds me, I need to grab mine from my mom's house), a pair of jeans, and a track jacket. He looked hot. Smokin' hot (no pun intended).
I was debating whether or not to say something when the decision was made for me. As I was hmmmm'ing and hawing over Catholic Boy, Liz was opening the door. And two women, one carrying a large Norfolk Island Pine (thank you, www.bordineplants.com), spilled out of Shed 3.
They were laughing. They were joking. They looked like they'd be fun to hang out with. They were pretty.
And they made a beeline to Catholic Boy.
I felt my heart plummet. The three of them walked away, Catholic Boy now carrying the tree. And I felt as if I walked into a wall.
The truth is, I've always been loathe to explain my attraction to Catholic Boy. We met online almost five years ago, and it's been back and forth ever since. Except for the year long "communication vacation" we had back in 2010.
I remember being at work the day after we met and I couldn't stop smiling. Which is odd because there are a lot of people who will tell you I smile constantly. But everyone at the office kept remarking about the fact that I could not stop smiling.
Like I said to my friend Lorie once. "This little moth is drawn to his flame."
I enjoyed Catholic Boy. It wasn't about sex, because while it was good, it wasn't mind blowing. I just enjoyed him. He made me laugh. He made me think. He made me cry once or twice.
But what I liked most about Catholic Boy was that every time I thought I had him pegged, he did something to crack my latest illusion. For example, I loaned him my copy of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, written by Tucker Max.
It should be noted that Tucker Max has been described as "the poster child for vulgarity" by U.S. District Judge Stewart Dalzell and that a feminist group at Ohio State University claims his writing "promotes a culture of rape." (Both of these factoids are found on the Tucker Max Wikipedia page). While I do agree, partially, with the Hon. Stewart Dalzell, I disagree with Ohio State's feminists. He can be crude, lewd, and even vicious, but there's still no denying that he's a funny guy. I thought for sure given some of the things we'd talked about and the fact he was a frat boy in college that Catholic Boy would find I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell as funny as I did.
He didn't.
I think to me though the fact Catholic Boy returned my book was more surprising to me than the fact he didn't find it funny. Which again, just goes to show I couldn't figure him out.
In 2009, he asked what I'd been up when we met up one night. I told him I had gone to the Norman Rockwell exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Arts.
"Wait, there's a Norman Rockwell exhibit at the DIA?" he asked.
"Yep."
"I like him." Well, no shit, Sherlock. Because the three reprints you have hanging in your living room didn't clue me into that fact. "We should go."
Catholic Boy wanted to go to the museum to see the Norman Rockwell exhibit. Do you know how rare it is to find a guy who wants to go to a museum? Just for the record, we didn't go. The following weekend was the last weekend it was at the DIA and both of us had other plans.
To best describe our relationship, it was a friends with benefits kind of thing. For me though the friends outweighed the benefits.
But the night we buried my brother, I used him shamelessly for sex. I simply sent him a text that said, "Are you home?" When he responded in the affirmative I sent him a text that said, "I'm coming over." His response was that the door was open. I literally walked in, did what I set out to do, and walked out. I didn't say a word (which as you can guess is unusual for me).
A few weeks later, we met up again. As soon as I walked in, he asked "What was up with you that last time? You didn't even say hello, let alone good-bye."
I sighed. "I'll tell you later." We did what we always do and he asked again.
"Catholic Boy, we buried my brother that day. I needed to feel something, anything, and I somehow needed to feel it with you."
"I'm sorry." He paused and looked at me. "I'm really sorry, Mo. I know how much your brother and sister mean to you."
Another shocker. He remembered that I have one of each sibling.
He was a jig-saw puzzle I could never quite finish.
Last weekend, I finished reading He's Just Not That Into You. I made up my mind not to "waste the pretty" and as stated repeatedly in the movie, I thought of myself as the rule, not the exception. With my new mantra and Catholic Boy's text-every-few-months habits, I knew I was going to have to move on.
Seeing this glimpse of him this weekend, with a woman who looked like she'd be a lot of fun to hang out with, I knew it was time.
I texted Lorie, who was there with me at the beginning and understands that I can't explain whatever it is that Catholic Boy and I have, but I know it has to end whatever it is. I texted Jen, who emphasized with my idea to play Adele's "Someone Like You" over and over and over again (my neighbors would be relieved to know I was too lazy to go out and retrieve the CD from my car). And I texted my friend Chris, the guy I go to for advice about, you guessed it, guys.
Me: I ran into the one who got away at the farmers market this morning. He was with his girlfriend. She's gorgeous. I want to kill myself.
Me (again): Not literally, but most definitely hypothetically.
Chris: If they walk away, let them walk!
Me: Does it ever stop it from being a disappointment though?
Chris: Nope.
Me: And there you have it....
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