It's a good story, and also totally Tom's fault. Tom is my best friend, and I have no reason to create a pseudonym for him, considering I only have one dude best friend, and it's not so much a mystery.
I met Tom at community college when we were cast as a couple in The Nerd. I was really excited, because I had never had a stage kiss, and this was going to be it. Fantastic love affair with co star! Instead, he and the other guys in the cast threw as much shit at me as possible, called me a transvestite and I became one of the guys. (Not...literally...)From then on, we were pretty close. Except for that one time he got a girlfriend and ignored me for two years. We female friends, we get the shaft. In the not positive way. In any case, we are friends still, he is single, I am single, and I love to say 'I told you so.'
I love when things are Tom's fault, because then I can hold it over his head forever, and whenever he gives me shit, I can just say, "Hey, remember that one time, you introduced me to Mr. Military?"
Mr. Military
Tom and I had just graduated from college and in the tradition of all broke ass graduates, having a grad party. Mine was kind of a bust, really rainy and hard to play bocce ball. But lots of money that I promptly spent at Target, so that was nice.
Tom's party was at his mom's house. It was a lovely sunny day, and I was ready to get drunk and make fun of Tom with his family. I walk in with my posse and here is some stranger with aviators.
Don't even get me started on aviators. They are an insta-hot camouflage for anyone. Not coincidentally, he knew something about camo, having just come back from Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or somewhere hot where they shot at him.
"Hey, would you like a ride on my motorcycle?"
I can pretty much pin point the moment I was totally hooked on this person that was totally wrong for me, and it is the motorcycle.
Being brought up as a super bleeding heart feminist liberal has been really wonderful for me in some ways. I enjoy and am knowledgeable about my rights, have a sassy retort for misogynistic assholes, and can hold my own in a debate on gun ownership.
But I'm still a total sucker for a guy with a motorcycle and aviators.
And then he picked me up and spun me around in a circle (eeeeeeeeeee!) at the end of the night and I was all like, "Feminism? I hate pants!"
It was bad.
Can I just say though, that he was a really nice guy? He was not an asshole, and was in fact the perfect gentleman. In hindsight, that was probably the biggest warning sign.
Enough foreshadowing! I told Tom to give him my number. He called me.
The Date
He called me the morning of our day date (people still do apparently, have dates during the day) to ask me how I liked my eggs.
I did not say fertilized.
He was making me breakfast! Who does that?!
I arrive at his house he shared with two other military guys expecting a total shit hole, and instead arrive at a lovely duplex. It's clean. With a puppy. (A puppy!) And breakfast.
Do you see now friends, how I had no chance? No chance whatsoever?
I hope my parents do not read this blog for many, many reason, but the main reason right now, is that I really do not want them to read about what we did on this date, because my mother will KILL me and then my father will hide the body and pretend they never had a daughter.
We went shooting.
YES. I know. He dared me to come with him shooting and see if I liked it, I said I would never like it. So to prove him wrong, (Yeah I am not always this dumb) I went shooting.
It hurt a lot. And I did not like it. Because guns kill people and I don't take any joy in hitting targets knowing that the targets symbolize people.
But I liked him. And his dog tags.
Also, I was completely terrified and out of my element, like a scared puppy at the 4th of July. You ever want a girl to like you, just scare the shit out of her. That's why they invented scary movies, so the chick is too scared to walk home by herself.
Skip ahead to the park. The rose garden. The hand holding ("I LET HIM HOLD MY HAND." This will become my constant refrain to Tom later when I am screaming obscenities about Military Man). the talk about how he really hates the mentality of the military but he wants to make a difference and be a military pastor...
Yes. He wants to be a pastor. Now you may be able to guess what is going to go wrong in this scenario.
Sidebar:
Let's talk about Jesus. Now, I don't know about you (Five people that read my blog), but I love Jesus. More specifically, God. People usually assume that I am not religious (For a number of reasons I'm sure, but probably my propensity for swearing like a sailor) but I am.
I am Episcopalian, which I like to refer to as "Catholic Light." We drink, we smoke, we use birth control and sing traditional hymns, and love the big G (That is the first and only time I will ever refer to God as the big G. It was a mistake and I apologize). I personally find my religion kind of bad ass; I love God and science, I'm not a bigot and I'm not a douche bag on an acoustic guitar. So now you know: I like to go to church and I love tradition. I like to wear hats to church and I believe in the existence of a higher being that created the earth using evolution as a tool! Surprise!
Apparently that is too much, (or not enough) for some people.
I googled "cool Jesus" and this was the first thing
to come up... If I get this as a tattoo, is that too
redundant?
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