You can consider me a love sick school girl, except for the fact that I'm an emotionally stunted 23 yr old college grad, who's quickly falling for the most unexpected of characters. He shall remain nameless, because nameless characters are easily marketable, unless they possess obscure androgynous names, like York or Asher or Hudson. But he is not called any of the aforementioned brandings, so I will brand him as D, a sweet, short, initial - like the sweet, short moment I started falling for him. I hope he feels the burn, as much as I feel its steam.

I admit this, with the utmost confidence that I am not the only female being who's acted this way at one point in her life: I am boy crazy (FYI: boy crazy does NOT mean slutty). I just have an insatiable eye. If I find someone attractive, cute, hot, and promising, then he is demoted to crush status. Yes, demoted. Because prior to crush status was human being status.

A crush, by definition:

1. is seen as someone unattainable, like a celebrity or a saint, except without the paparazzi or Vatican sanctions. (Note: celebrity crush is an entirely different entity.)
2. like most celebrities or saints, the said individual results in me acting erratically and awkwardly. (Imagine: seeing Jake Gyllenhaal or [name of celebrity you have the jalapenos for] winking at you on the street and asking you out on a date, but you are so dumbstruck that all you can think of saying is that St. Sebastian was killed by arrows, or some other slanted piece of religious history they taught you in Catholic school or CCD, all while tripping on your own two feet.)
3. is someone you make great pains to avoid, because you don't want him to see how neurotic you really are.
4. is someone you want to see 24/7, both for the eye candy and for the rush, the increased heart rate he seems to give you with a look, a smile, an insignificant touch on the shoulder, that you make a doctor's appointment for fear of hypertension or a case of heartbeat irregularity.
5. prevents you from being a human being because of the aforementioned. And since non-human beings cannot develop relationships with human beings - therefore, solely by association, you demote your crush to the category below that of the Homo-sapien. According to current scientific data, this category is the Neanderthal. Don’t laugh, this means that you, as the “crusher,” are also a Neanderthal.
6. is like the cooties.
7. comes and goes. (Think: magician, top hat, white bunny.)

Knowing very well that I had boy crazy tendencies, I did not allot any further analysis into my developing heart palpitations while in the presence of D. I quickly labeled him a crush and went on with my life, assuming that it would fade into the distance, like the ocean’s horizon. Unfortunately, Friday night and its Halloween glamour, an ex-boyfriend and his friskiness, and two cups of the party punch, all sent me on a boat ride in open water. It was a speed boat, fueled by Everclear, which now has me at the horizon line, teetering on the edge, wondering if I’ll fall in bruised but enchanted, or sail back penitent but unscathed.

I showed up at the ex-boy’s (H), Halloween Party with my supportive cousin J, who I shamelessly dragged with me even though she had just had a round of dialysis treatment, and D, because I was crushing on him. I dressed as a cross between the paparazzi, a representative of the press, and a news photographer. Open to interpretation. J was Avril Lavigne. D, a basketball player, was the person I, as a reporter, would be following around and blinding with my camera – which I shamelessly did.

It began because H was drunk and had roaming hands. I am fully aware that I have no claim over him now, but we see each other often. OFTEN. And the jealousy unfortunately persists, especially when some slut in a lady bug outfit is backing her ass into his frontal zone. So to drown my sorrow, I drank a cup of the party punch. I mistakenly thought it was mixed with Vodka, but it was in fact graced with Everclear. This was not good for many reasons: I do not drink and have negative zero alcohol tolerance, the ex-boy causes mind numbing headaches where it is imperative for one to abstain from alcohol (apply prescription directions on Tylenol bottles to this situation), and because I had never been drunk and first times never really turn out positive for me.

I finish the cup. D asks if it was good. I nod and smile. He has nice eyes. J watches us with amusement. He goes to get a cup for himself and one for me. When he comes back, we continue our little threesome in the corner, estranged from the rest of the party mostly because I am angst-ridden, and because J and D know no one but me. I drink. Tease him about some under-aged girl he’s checking out, who’s dressed as Skank Cop in hot pants and premature cleavage. I drink some more. I’m nowhere near that hot. In fact, I'm not hot. Period. The added angst results in half a cup left of the magic Everclear.

Then H comes over, right after I’ve looked into D’s cup and race him to finish it. Instead of allowing me to chug it myself, H tips the cup as I’m drinking, nearly spilling the alcohol all over my clothing. He laughs. Thinks it’s funny. I could have choked. But I was hungry for his attention so I didn’t stop him. Nor did I stop him when he kissed me and squeezed a butt cheek. It was familiar territory. We do not run from what is familiar to us.

After getting his momentary fix, he runs off, probably to find the ladybug. Now my sorrow is swimming in a stomach full of alcohol, and J decides that it’s time to put an end to my misery, my self-destructive behavior and wants us to leave. Goodbyes were said. Explanations concocted in response as to why we were leaving so early.

I made my way downstairs, in a zig zag motion. Stepped ankle deep into a puddle, twice. I was drunk. Handed my car keys to D and asked him to drop off J, then to drive back to his place so I’d be responsible for driving my own self home. Everything went accordingly as planned, until we got to D’s house. He asked if I was ok to drive. I lied and said yes. He turned off the engine, and said we’d just sit and talk for a while before he would let me drive home. The sweet, short moment I started falling was when he put the gear in park and turned off the engine. He actually cared. I was surprised, because we only knew each other through J. I boarded the speedboat and made my way to the horizon called “No turning back now, the Crush Road to Like.”

So we talked. I was sailing on the Everclear, but still cute and quirky, and most importantly coherent enough to carry on a conversation about love, sex, and cryptically my wanting him. We talked in generalities; some of it was hot, laden with eyebrow-raising innuendos. I prefer not to divulge the conversation for privacy purposes, but mostly because it was the first time we shared something just between the two of us - our first, one on one moment, albeit just as friends, but still special to me. Frankly, I want to be selfish and keep it to myself.

There are two things however, that I carry away from our late night talk. I would like to share it because it proves to be intuitive information for all humankind.

1. Guys like the chase. They don’t want anything right away because part of the fun is the chase. If a girl gives it up too quickly, then he will be not as inclined to call her the next week.
2. The game involves the art of timing. You must know when to give in and when to hold back. Holding back for too long could result in his loss of interest.

He told me I was lucky for actually getting these pointers. I fantasized that he was telling me this as a cryptic way of saying, not tonight, but I’m intrigued so keep doing what you’re doing. I really wish it wasn’t a fantasy. Then again, I was drunk and could have over analyzed everything he said, or made the whole thing up. I could easily turn back, but I really wanted to kiss him. I still really want to kiss him.

Today, he invited himself to our (J & I) shopping hunt. And with a smile and a rosy blush, I’m proud to say that we were shameless flirts the whole day. He was teasing me that we had a quickie, a one-night fling in the car because I was drunk senseless. I told him I didn’t remember, not because I was drunk, but probably because he wasn’t the great. Is the sexual tension obvious yet, or am I still reading too deeply? It was a triumph for me when he programmed his number into my cell phone. And tonight, he asked me to a movie. But I declined. This is the part where you hear the buzzer marking the game’s beginning.

Unfortunately, there are three fouls in the game.

1. He and J have history. She used to have feelings for him a long time ago, like four/five years ago. I was cautious in my asking her if my feelings for him would hurt her, and she said that she only sees D as a friend now. She has a boyfriend of her own at present, but one never really knows what could happen.
2. We only hang out when we’re hanging out with J. When the three of us (thought it was only two when he asked me to the movies, but apparently he also asked her) were deciding to go to the movies, J said she didn’t want to come and told him to go with me alone. In response, he said something along the lines of “alone like a date? H might get mad at me.” I do not know how to interpret this, except for the fact that I sense uncertainty. Would uncertainty exist if he saw us just as friends?
3. He’s a slut. j/k He’s somewhat of a player, and I try to stay away from that class of boy. I don’t want to get burned! Life is complicated enough as is, with H transitioning out of my life. I don’t think I can take another heartbreak. I don’t want to be one of his flings, or a booty call. I want to be THAT girl, the IT girl, the operative term these days being wifey.

I’ll just have to wait and see how all this unfolds. Regardless of the outcome, I’m enjoying the palpitations. He makes me blush, and the thought of him gets me to smile in inappropriate places, like the 12:00 mass. When he playfully took off my cap, played with my hair, stroked my shoulder and arm, and poked me in the side to tickle me today, I told him to stop – but secretly loved every moment of it. It’s a new fervor for me – and it’s about damned time!

Labels: The Progression of D