A Date With Michael Bay: Part 2

Oh gosh, are you excited or what. I know I am. I love to relive these moments. These moments of deep, deep shame and humiliation...

Part Two
So we're at the park, holding hands and things. Sitting and talking. And he leans over and kisses me. No big deal, easiest thing in the world! I think that was the big draw there. It was not awkward, not forced. Nothing with this guy was. It was... sweet.
I try and refrain from being sweet too early, so guys don't get the wrong idea and think that's how I normally am. I don't want to give them the wrong idea and crush their hopes and dreams. Usually...
At this point in the summer, I had an internship at a theatre where I was working backstage as a stage manager. It was a play with teenaged actors and not something everyone would enjoy... Actually probably just the parents of the children and people that appreciate youth theatre... So like five people.
In any case, I had to go. It was in Seattle, we were in Tacoma, I had to drive and that was the end of our date. OR WAS IT.
"Well, I could just drive you there on my MOTORCYCLE."
He did not really speak in capital letters, but that is how my brain saw it.
And my brain said yes. yes. YES. Almost immediately.
I try and follow the simple rule of "If my mom would not like this, I shouldn't be doing it." Now, I'm not a total prude, I do occasionally ignore this rule and revel in the debauchery of my twenties. But I've noticed a lot of things I do that I know my mom would not like, I regret later. Or I'm on my knees throwing up later. Either way!
In this case, I totally ignored my rule.
And then got in a horrible fiery motorcycle crash.
No, jay kay. I did not. Gotcha. But we did drive all the way to Seattle and by the time we got there my ovaries were vibrating. And I was clutching on to him like a baby panda. Or koala. Whichever you prefer envisioning me as.
"We can sit up a little bit you know. You don't have to lean forward the whole time."
"OH. Yeah I was doing that out of terror."
He watches the play, poor soul. (It was actually quite good, and I like this theatre a whole lot, so I'm sure he wasn't completely tortured.) Then we're back on his motorcycle and back to Tacoma.
Riding on a motorcycle, on a freeway, at night. One of the most exhilarating things I've done this summer. I watched my shadow race by me as we passed street lights and laughed, and it was scary-cool-amazing.
"So do you want to come up and watch a movie or something?"
Gentleman, can I just let you guys know: we've cracked your code. You don't really want to watch a movie. You just want to make out and touch our boobs. And that's okay! You don't have to keep up this pretense that you want to watch a movie on your laptop on your bed. We're okay with that!
Ladies: They don't really want to watch a movie.
We didn't watch a movie.
What we DID do, I'm not quite sure how to describe.
So I've decided to do a mad lib for you. Whoever comments and has the most hilarious fill ins wins an illustration of your mad lib from me. Now, not the most accurate, the most hilarious. Got it? I don't want to draw me in any of your strange fantasies.

We went up to his room and he immediately                 me up against the               . "Man," I thought, "This guy is                !"  Making out with this guy is like                              . And it's                     . I never thought that I would find someone else that liked to                           . He pulls my                     over my                   , and suddenly we are outside on his                      and I am upside down, looking at the lights of Tacoma.                        are coming off rather quickly for someone who proclaimed himself to be a                    , but no big deal! "I don't want to be that girl you                    in the morning," I say seriously, looking into his                 . "I really              you." That's probably where it all                    . He doesn't seem like a               , with the kind of                he is doing, but I'm not one to judge. Maybe he's read lots of                   ? It is outta control, and I have                in places I never thought I would have                . It's perfect. It is like Fight Club up in here and I am                  . There are some things he does that I don't like, such as the frantic                      . But you win some, you                        . At the end of this, after                hours, we are                     and                        and collecting our                        from various places.
And I am                      .


I don't know what you gleaned from that artistic rendition of what I like to call, "One Night With a Marine," but I hope you enjoyed it and didn't think any less of me for my cryptic mad libs.
I drive home at about five in the morning, floating on this candy cloud of bruised lips and words that I haven't heard anyone say to me in a long time.
This was my first "date" I guess you could say, since my boyfriend and I had broken up. I missed him, a lot. He was my best friend, and despite incredibly obvious reasons we could not be together, I thought about him every day. It was nice to not think about him.
It wasn't my first "date" though, as much as it was my first time finding someone that I actually liked to talk to. I was beginning to think I had given up my only train ticket; that at 23, I was going to be left behind on the platform and everyone else was going to have their great love. All I had to do was compromise a few things, and I would've been fine. Now I know that's not true, but this summer was a hard one. It was really hard.
The next morning he texted me.
"It looks like a wolverine attacked my back."
"Well, it looks like a crazy sucker fish attached itself to my neck. So there."
I didn't really say that, but it did look like that. Who gives hickies?
The day goes on and I am singing and polishing things and contemplating inviting him over for dinner so that we can actually talk and find things in common and jump each other.
He calls later then expected.
"Are you somewhere where you can talk?"
"Um, sure. I'll go outside."
I settle myself on the lawn, expecting a warm lover's voice and instead getting a cold stranger. I am confused.
"Are you okay? What's going on?"
"I went to dinner with an Elder from my church."
Oh no, oh noooooo. I am writhing on the grass I am tearing up things and throwing them.
"Oh?"
"I'm really sorry. I didn't respect you as a gentleman last night and I apologize."
"It's really okay. I mean, it takes two to-"
"I can't see you again."
I am silent on the grass. I am contemplating at one point I hated being 23 and alone. This point. 
"Like, ever? Because we don't have to do those things, I mean, I'd like to just go to a Mariners game and-" stop stop stop being so desperate oh god stop
"Ever. I'm really sorry. I need to be in a relationship where I can come before God with my partner, and I don't think I can do that with you."
I'm pretty confident he is correct, but still cannot believe this is happening.
"So you're just, not going to see me again? We can't just take a step back or draw a line?"
"No. I'm really sorry."
"You know, it's funny how that doesn't make me feel better. I hear it does sometimes, but it's really not working for me." please don't cry with this stupid person on the phone. 
"I know. Look, I'm going to have to let you go."
"I hate when people say that. I didn't say I wanted to go, you can't let me go."
"Goodbye."
"Yeah."

Now I wonder if he was really talking about something else. I throw the phone.