You met her a few months ago, and somehow she managed to seep into your subconscious like that "Suga how you get so fly" song. Just like you have no clue who the hell sings it, you don't know why she's there. But she is, whether you like it or not. You know her cell phone, her room phone. You can dial her Aunt Doreen's house in West Springfield (where she goes to do her laundry every two weeks) faster than you can peck-out 911. But she doesn't know.
Her screenname, that generic one with her first name followed by three to five random numbers or UMass, has its own category at the top of your buddy list. Not only do you know what a "Buddy Alert" is, you've rigged your computer to play "Fat Guy in a Little Coat" from "Tommy Boy" every time her screen name changes from gray to black. Then her away message comes down, and you have a decision to make. To IM or not to IM? These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis. But she doesn't know.
She's it. All right, so maybe not "it" it. Not necessarily Ms. Right, but closer to Ms. Right-up-there-with-Anna-Kournikova-and-Lizzie-McGuire-on-your-list-of-people-you'd-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on-a-broken-down-elevator. But it's about more than that. When is it ever about more than that? Never. Not like frilly white dress, overpriced catering, embarrassing drunk in-laws more, but closer to UMass sweatpants, two D.P. Dough Roni Zonies, a futon and a movie you have no interest in seeing more. But she doesn't know.
She's gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement. More like you're startled every time you see her because you notice something new in a "Where's Waldo" sort of way. More like you can't stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can't remotely begin to describe something ... someone ... so inherently amazing. But you're a writer. You can describe anything. That's what you do: pictures to words, events to words, words ...
Kewl post Falcon. Been there, done that. I knew her for 5 years before I was sure that 'I KNEW'. It took me 18 months of stewing before I 'let her know', she was my best friend at the time, we hung out all the time, most people thought we were dating, we even kissed goodbye when we parted company, but once 'she knew', she got all weirded out by it and started doing stupid, hurtful things. 'Her knowing' wound up killing a great friendship. So now I have many friends, but no 'best' friend, and it left a big gaping hole in my heart. So if it ever happens again and I find myself at that same crossroad with someone special, who knows?
Some men wanna be loved and fussed over, some just want laid and forgot. Up front honesty and expectations is always the best policy for me. My last gal swore up and down for months I was the man she has been waiting for and she would never date another, she was lying.
read the post and it was nice...i was just wondering, should you just come out and tell them, or drop a hint every now and then, and take it from there?, or just be bolt and shoot for it?.....i know guys think differently then women, from the guys point of view, would he like an upfront question like that or would he feel cornered?........i don't know which way to go?
by not telling someone we love them we can be hurting them as well as ourselves and destroy whatever potential relationship there is or could be--if we truley love we want what is best for the other even if it isn't us
Bike, I agree, that;s why I will keep riding my HD,,,,It makes me happy and won't break my heart,,,,,
Every day I meet a new friend, and we are better off because we know where we stand with one another, tell a person upfront and save them from the pain...
Wow Falcon....... Nice post and it is a good read. Gives you something to think about. Should you take the risk? It very well may be worth it! Seems like the hesitation gets you every time, at least for me. Thanks for the thought.......
The article was written by Matt Brochu, a Collegian columnist at the University of Masachusetts. I was reading a summary of it in the morning dailies today and decided to give Go ogle and tinkle by searching for "Matt Brochu". I managed to come across his article which got perhaps all the college kids in the States hyped up. Nevertheless, the article is a good read and pretty much sums up what he needed to say.
The article has certainly created a lot of interest that it even got mentioned in The Washington Post.
Here's the re-produced article from the Daily Collegian:-
by Matt Brochu
November 21, 2003
So know you know whowrote it and when. Thought it apropro for this site. basically, if you never let her (or him) know, you have no one to blame but yourself for the missed opportunity.
Part III: But she loves him. He wouldn't know what he had even if she slapped him across the face and dumped him, but somehow she still loves him. And somehow she still doesn't know.
Then, out of nowhere, she slaps him across the face and dumps him. She comes to you. You've been there before, so you seem like the smartest guy on earth. She cries, but your corny half-joke, half-compliment somehow gets a smile out of her that almost makes you feel ashamed that you're the only one around who gets to witness it. It looks like you might make her realize that all guys don't deserve to have rocks thrown at them.
But nothing changes. She doesn't know. You get that library elevator feeling in your stomach that she'll never know. You get that feeling that you'll be forced to write a cheesy Collegian column about her that makes "Sleepless in Seattle" look like "Girls Gone Wild."
You go to sleep. You wake up. She doesn't know. You're not in love. You're not obsessed. You blame it on the fact that you just need to get some, but still, it's about more than that. It would just be nice if once in your life, things worked out the way you wanted them to.
Part II:words to even better words. But nothing seems right. More like you're afraid that if you stare at her for too long, you'll prove your parents right: that yes, your face will stick that way. But you wouldn't mind.
You wouldn't mind that the questioning, "Hello?" on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time. You wouldn't mind worrying about what to get her for her birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a Triple-A card to your name. You wouldn't mind that she left your TV on and the blaring infomercials wake you up at 4 a.m. ... because it gives you a chance to watch her sleep. You don't mind that you've slipped up twice when you were hammered and hinted at how you feel, but she was too drunk to remember. So she doesn't know.
Sure, she's pretty, but it's about more than that. You two connect. Anything you throw at her, she can throw right back. You figured out what's going on in that predictable head of hers in under five minutes, but something tells you her heart would take about five years.
You remember everything she's ever said to you, and when that freaks her out you blame it on your photographic memory (which is a lie, you have a 2.7 GPA). You can't remember your teaching assistant's name, and you can't remember that your Puffton rent check was due four days ago, yet you remember the middle name of the kid who tripped her in fifth grade and gave her that cute little scar on her shoulder. Maybe it's because you actually listen when she talks. When do you actually listen? Never. But she doesn't know.
But she has a boyfriend. The kid is a tool, and you are not. He has no redeeming qualities, and you have about 38, even when you're hung over. You could kick his butt, and you've never been in a fight in your life. He treats her like crap, and you would treat her like the princess she believed herself to be on Halloween in 1988.