And Introducing...
So I've made it quite clear that I really only have 3 friends in this whole entire world. But they're great friends. In fact, they're the absolute best. They're also the only 3 people who read this blog.
To make them all feel extra special (but as if ya'll don't feel privileged enough, what with being up close and personal with Miss Courty), I thought I would explain my first meeting with each one. Some people aren't lucky enough to remember the first time they met various loved ones. But me? I remember my first encounter with each of my most precious pals.
Up first is Charkins, if only because, like a sister, it seems she's been with me since the very beginning. Although not quite my oldest friend, she's definitely my bestest. Probably no one in this world has seen me at my worst quite like her (and yes, Adders, that even includes you), and yet she still loves both me and the Colony. Oh, Char, how we have Rhett Butler to thank...
Charkins
Ok, to begin with, the jury should note that my first memory of a certain Ms. Schnarky is not her first memory of moi. Apparently our first meeting occured a year prior to when I recall it happening, whereby accompanied by a certain "Erie Airplane" (Oh, God. Wow. Just wowwww) and a pint-size Jesus Freak, I dazzled Charkins on the playground of Amy Woodland with my uncontained ratnest of a hair-do while speaking nonchantly about picking up some "public school" boys. Yeah, you heard it here first, people. I was a bad-ass as far 10 year olds went. However, it should be known that I went to a certain religious (read: FUCKED UP) private school at that time where drinking out of the same water fountain as the opposite sex was considered fornication, so it wasn't that hard to be considered a rebel.
So yeah, I made an impactful first impression upon Char. However, it wasn't until a full year later that our friendship was solidified in the basement of the aforementioned Erie Airplane. It was Airplane's 12th birthday, and as I was being homeschooled that year (an event in my life that surely deserves its own blog entry, if only to describe the non-existent tutoring skills of my distracted mother and those long winter afternoons I spent in an apple tree, contemplating how I was going to make my mark on the world with my sidekick Leizy), I was ready to bust it out and PAR-TAY.
Now, perhaps it was my love of poofy dresses or maybe it was because I was already developing an addiction to fantastical romances, but whatever the reason, over that past summer I had become obsessed (and by obsessed I mean, "I've seen Evita in the movie theatre nine times") with the movie "Gone With the Wind." In fact I was quite convinced of two things. One, that Rhett Butler was my soulmate, and two, surely to goodness I was born to be Scarlett O'Hara.
At any rate, as I stood around Airplane's basement with a bunch of strange girls as well as my constant companion, Pint-Size Jesus Freak (PSJF for short), I thought what better way to get the party started than by convincing everyone that we should play "Gone With the Wind." As in, you know, play house. And I'll be Scarlett. And one of ya'll can be that bitch Melanie. And all the rest of you can play my various suitors and admirers. Oh, and one of you will need to be Rhett and tell me how beautiful and yet conniving I am. My grand idea, however, was not well-liked. First of all, most of the girls had yet to hear of the movie, let alone sit through the 4 hour epic. Furthermore, PSJF was now in a corner crying and contemplating whether she should run home and tell her mother everything (poor thing, if only she knew what was to come that night, what with the trying on of menstrual pads and Airplane simulating sex noises under her sleeping bag. But Good Lord, if only Charkins and I knew what was to come in seven years when Airplane and her scum-bag boyfriend would actually make authentic, real-life sex noises in their sleeping bags two feet from our head).
However, one girl, who heretofor had been standing in a puddle of muteness off in the corner, staring at me with flushed cheeks (they were always red!), wide eyes and a general demeanor of awe, embarrassment and trepidation, suddenly came to my rescue and shrieked as only an 11 year old girl can, "I looooove Gone With the Wind. It's so good. I've watched it a bunch of times. Rhett is hot. Can I be your best friend forever and ever? Love me, please say you'll love me."
I stared at this girl, who had ever so shyly introduced herself as Charkins at the beginning of the evening, and felt that I had last met another person who understood me, who understood that the movie was worth being obssessed over, and who would likely submit to my being Scarlett and her having to fawn over me.
And so our friendship was forged. We gushed over the movie, excluded all the others (again, as only 11 year old girls can) and took our first tentative step at friendship. Although our relationship grew slowly over the next two years, it was Charkins who I suddenly found myself leaning on during the perils of junior high. And it is she who I have been leaning on ever since. She is a friend, a sister, a soulmate. And I love her to bits, all of her, including her penchant for older men, her memory like an elephant, the way she plays the air guitar (espeically to Keith Urban) and because if I recall my best memories over the past 13 years, she's in just about all of them! Charkins rocks because she gets it, all of it, without a word ever having to be said.
Tamara Lee
Her official title is that of the Roommate, but she is oh, so much more than that. In her I found my doppelganger and my co-star in what's sure to be the upcoming hit TV series "Better When You're Blonde." This is my second go at being TL's roomie and if it's anything like the first round, I can look forward to many a Saturday night's laying depressed on our living room floor, not speaking to people at parties and wondering why they all hate us, and generally laughing my ass off, especially whenever Yedward Edwards comes up.
But how did I meet this teeny-tiny blonde bombshell, and how did we not first scratch each other's eyes out? 3 letters: MCF. But let me explain. First, we must trackback 6 and a half years to Montreal, where at the age of 17 I had headed off to attend university. Living on my own, and not knowing a soul, I knew that I would have be the anti-Courtney to make any friends, and by that I mean outgoing, bubbly, a small-talker and waaaaay less timid. Bottom line - I would have to join clubs. And strangely enough, lo and behold on one of those first hot September days, I noticed a flyer in my neighbourhood that was advertising McGill Christian Fellowship (MCF) club's kick-off BBQ. I also read that the contact name was some girl named Tamara Lee and that if I had any questions or concerns, I should give her a shout.
I didn't. But I thought that she must be the person to introduce myself to if I was to attend the BBQ. Which I did, accompanied by my new totally NOT Christian and therefore "why the fuck are we here" neighbour Ba-shelley. Together, her and I lasted all of 10 minutes at the BBQ, enough time for us to be interrogated on whether we loved Jesus and allow me to tentatively sign up for a small group (and I signed up for one only because a hot boy did too). But just as we were leaving, I found myself standing face to face with a girl about half my size, with a wide smile and a voice so high that it made my ears bleed (ironic, I know, considering my own voice has been rising by an octave every year since). I introduced myself quickly, and she smiled back but her attention was scattered and so we parted ways.
Our next encounter occurred a week later when I found myself in the same small group as her. But again, our exchange was brief as I was more concerned with various other situations, such as getting a certain blonde named Ms Melly to shut the fuck up, get as far away as possible from a monster-headed Asian freak and secure the attention of the only boy in the group who was worth looking at, a young British guy who I thought would do quite well as my first boyfriend, a sort of substitute Hugh Grant.
In the weeks that followed, Tamara Lee and I only had one more exchange worth noting and that was when she encouraged me to get more involved in MCF and, you know, perhaps attend a weekend retreat. I looked at her with a mixture of both horror and amazement, incredulous that somebody would actually suggest such a thing to me (gaaaah!), and she returned the look with her own expression of bewilderment as she backed away slowly.
However, it was around this time that I began to notice something. Something... odd. Even though I was living in the fashion capital of Canada, a city on the cutting edge of trendy, the people I hung around with didn't seem to know that clothing could be found at places other than the Gap. And my new female friends had certainly never been to a makeup counter in their lives. Thus, I began to sorely miss the companionship of a girly-girl. I missed having a friend who not only owned mascara, but knew how to apply it. And I missed having a pal who would watch the Oscars with me, if only to trash every celebrity in sight.
And in Tamara Lee, I found all of those qualities. It suddenly occurred to me that she was the only other female in MCF who looked, well, girly! And so I thought to myself, "Well, Miss Courty, a shopping spree will either make or break a friendship with her so you might as well ask her to accompany you to The Bay." And indeed, I was right - over foundation and bum modelling, we became friends. But not just friends like those you go shopping with, or friends that you might just live with. Tamara Lee became the friend who mimics me in a way that is often brutal, dead-on and downright hilarious. She's the friend who posed for pictures at 2am before a final exam when our toilet exploded throughout the basement. She's the friend who calmly informed me that perhaps I'd rather use a sideplate for my bread rather than the ashtray when I was too drunk to notice the difference. And she's the friend who petted my hair and offered me juice (!!!!) as I lay on the floor, crumpled half under my bed, sobbing as my world crashed down around me and my heart broke in two. Tamara Lee is that kind of friend, the friend you have for life and the roommate you want to live with always.
Adders
What to say about the boy who changed everything, and who taught me all I now know (or don't know!) about love and life. What to say about the person who has travelled to hell and back with me and can still be found by my side, slugging it out, despite all the odds against us. What to say about the man who somehow fulfilled my preposterously high expectations on what falling in love should be like. What to say about Adders, who holds my heart in his hands and who takes care of it ever so gently.
Unlike my first meetings with Charkins and Tamara Lee, the first encounter I had with Adders was one where neither of us breathed a word to the other and yet much was communicated. He literally walked into my life, when I least expected someone would and yet when I most needed him to show up.
Flashback 17 months ago, to the tiny newspaper where I worked. I had just celebrated my 23rd birthday, and while I was happy with my job, life was not working out the way I wanted. I had no friends in my hometown of Crannie, and there were certainly no boys begging for a chance to ask me out. Stuck with only my mother for companionship (and we all know how well that turned out), it seemed almost Providential when Adders came in to place an ad in the paper. He sat down to meet with one of our sales reps just outside of my office and while she flitted off to grab some paper work, our eyes briefly locked as he sat there facing me. At this glance, I burned with embarrassment and quickly gathered my hair around my face so that I might conceal my blatant stares. Upon her return, they became engrossed in business, providing me with the opportunity to study him with a more critical gaze.
And I was alarmed. To be sure, he was hot. And hot guys are not all that common in my hometown of Crannie. But he looked young, oh so young! I pegged him at 20, but it could have gone a few years in either direction. However, the fact that he was in there placing a business ad led me to believe that maybe he was worth continuing to stare at. I mean, obviously he wasn't just some 18 year old punk putting his snowmobile up for sale!
I needed to make a move, I needed him to notice me. It was critical that I get his attention, and what better way than a walk-by, which would allow me a few key hair tosses and allow him to get a glimpse of my hot bod (good thing I had worn my biggest life jacket, I mean bra!!!!). So without another purpose other than to get him drooling, I sauntered by him, while making sure that I seemed completely unaware of his presence (or the effect that it was having on me).
And... NOTHING! He was too engrossed in the absurd laughter of the sales rep, who despite being quadruple his age, seemed determined to flirt her ass of with him. At last he left, and I made a bee-line for a co-worker's office, where all of the other ladies met in order to discuss the exchange with the hottie. The sales rep gushed and gushed, and informed us of his profession, which at least relieved me from the fear that I would be charged with statutory rape for ogling him. Sheepishly, she admitted that she had totally been flirty and that it was too bad that he was way too young for her. And with that, everyone turned to me. "Oh, Miss Courty, you should go out with him. Oh, you should date him! Oh, you two would be so cute together! Can we come to the wedding? Awww, just think of how precious your kids' will be!" I laughed it off and dismissed him, saying that he was probably too young for me anyhow, and besides I only attract freaks so what's the point? But secretly I was pleased, and secretly I plotted.
A few days went by and I casually mentioned his name to the sales rep. She had actually given his file to another rep, this one male, who knew Adders' boss. "Oh. No," I thought. "This will get messy." And sure enough, all it took was one passing, flippant comment about Adders to this rep named Mikka and the deal was sealed. I was taunted, I was teased but I was also mentioned to Adders the next time Mikka met up with him.
Soon enough, Mikka came smirking into the building, holding a telephone number in his hand. "Oh, Miss Courty, I have something for you here," he said as he presented me with Adders' number. But all I could utter were shrieks of horror and mortification. Soon the other ladies joined in, all equally appalled by the thought of me, darling little ME, having to make the first move and call the boy (and a boy, he certainly was. The age? 21. Mine? 23. Embarrassed to be robbing the cradle? EVER SO MUCH). Mikka protested, but finally gave in. A call was made, Adders was informed, and a few hours later I sat at a stop light on my cellphone, listening to him fumble his way through his first ever phone message to me. And if the grin on my face and the thumping of my heart at that moment was any indication, you'd know that I was already listening to the voice of someone I was very, very interested in.
That night we spoke for the first time, an agonizing 15 minutes of conversation, in which we both paced around and nonchantly spoke of our mutual love of wake-boarding and summertime. We bull-shitted our way through until suggestions were made, and a date set.
And then suddenly I was opening our front door, staring into the blue-green eyes that I would come to know so well, relieved that he was just as cute as I had originally thought, and relieved also that his was a nice, new silver truck and not the monstrosity with enormous tires that I had been fearing.
He took me for drinks and a movie and sealed our fate by doing the following three things: sharing girly drinks with me (straws too!); showing off his sensitive, attentive side by suppressing his macho side and instead speaking to me earnestly about his family and asking me such questions in return; and lastly going out on a whim of spontaneity by taking me through a haunted house.
Immediately, I was smitten. But my delight quickly turned to mortification and then fury when he neglected to call me on the requisite third day after. Nor did he call me for a week after that. Bitch! Whore! Prick! The nerve of him!
And yet, when he called me again, 10 days later, asking me to a hockey game, I melted and immediately acquiesed. As the weeks passed, I fell hopelessly and utterly in love with Adders. He made me laugh. He turned me on. He got me thinking. And so he danced away with my heart, just as easily as we danced together at my Christmas party, that beautiful night when I finally had to admit to myself, "By gosh, Miss Courty, you're actually in love."
And here we are, with me telling him that:
"All I know is I'm lost without you,
I'm not gonna lie
How am I gonna be strong without you
I need you by my side
If we ever say we'd never be together
And in the end you wave goodbye
Dunno what I'd do
I'm lost without you" (Lost Without You)
And him reassuring me that:
"If love is a labour, I'll slave till the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand" (Swing Life Away).
So there you have it. Despite all my woes right now, I can't help but acknowledge just how blessed I am to have these three in my life.
Stay tuned 'till next time when maybe, just maybe, I'll provide in exquisite techni-coloured detail how I met my cat. Now THAT makes for some interesting literature...
To make them all feel extra special (but as if ya'll don't feel privileged enough, what with being up close and personal with Miss Courty), I thought I would explain my first meeting with each one. Some people aren't lucky enough to remember the first time they met various loved ones. But me? I remember my first encounter with each of my most precious pals.
Up first is Charkins, if only because, like a sister, it seems she's been with me since the very beginning. Although not quite my oldest friend, she's definitely my bestest. Probably no one in this world has seen me at my worst quite like her (and yes, Adders, that even includes you), and yet she still loves both me and the Colony. Oh, Char, how we have Rhett Butler to thank...
Charkins
Ok, to begin with, the jury should note that my first memory of a certain Ms. Schnarky is not her first memory of moi. Apparently our first meeting occured a year prior to when I recall it happening, whereby accompanied by a certain "Erie Airplane" (Oh, God. Wow. Just wowwww) and a pint-size Jesus Freak, I dazzled Charkins on the playground of Amy Woodland with my uncontained ratnest of a hair-do while speaking nonchantly about picking up some "public school" boys. Yeah, you heard it here first, people. I was a bad-ass as far 10 year olds went. However, it should be known that I went to a certain religious (read: FUCKED UP) private school at that time where drinking out of the same water fountain as the opposite sex was considered fornication, so it wasn't that hard to be considered a rebel.
So yeah, I made an impactful first impression upon Char. However, it wasn't until a full year later that our friendship was solidified in the basement of the aforementioned Erie Airplane. It was Airplane's 12th birthday, and as I was being homeschooled that year (an event in my life that surely deserves its own blog entry, if only to describe the non-existent tutoring skills of my distracted mother and those long winter afternoons I spent in an apple tree, contemplating how I was going to make my mark on the world with my sidekick Leizy), I was ready to bust it out and PAR-TAY.
Now, perhaps it was my love of poofy dresses or maybe it was because I was already developing an addiction to fantastical romances, but whatever the reason, over that past summer I had become obsessed (and by obsessed I mean, "I've seen Evita in the movie theatre nine times") with the movie "Gone With the Wind." In fact I was quite convinced of two things. One, that Rhett Butler was my soulmate, and two, surely to goodness I was born to be Scarlett O'Hara.
At any rate, as I stood around Airplane's basement with a bunch of strange girls as well as my constant companion, Pint-Size Jesus Freak (PSJF for short), I thought what better way to get the party started than by convincing everyone that we should play "Gone With the Wind." As in, you know, play house. And I'll be Scarlett. And one of ya'll can be that bitch Melanie. And all the rest of you can play my various suitors and admirers. Oh, and one of you will need to be Rhett and tell me how beautiful and yet conniving I am. My grand idea, however, was not well-liked. First of all, most of the girls had yet to hear of the movie, let alone sit through the 4 hour epic. Furthermore, PSJF was now in a corner crying and contemplating whether she should run home and tell her mother everything (poor thing, if only she knew what was to come that night, what with the trying on of menstrual pads and Airplane simulating sex noises under her sleeping bag. But Good Lord, if only Charkins and I knew what was to come in seven years when Airplane and her scum-bag boyfriend would actually make authentic, real-life sex noises in their sleeping bags two feet from our head).
However, one girl, who heretofor had been standing in a puddle of muteness off in the corner, staring at me with flushed cheeks (they were always red!), wide eyes and a general demeanor of awe, embarrassment and trepidation, suddenly came to my rescue and shrieked as only an 11 year old girl can, "I looooove Gone With the Wind. It's so good. I've watched it a bunch of times. Rhett is hot. Can I be your best friend forever and ever? Love me, please say you'll love me."
I stared at this girl, who had ever so shyly introduced herself as Charkins at the beginning of the evening, and felt that I had last met another person who understood me, who understood that the movie was worth being obssessed over, and who would likely submit to my being Scarlett and her having to fawn over me.
And so our friendship was forged. We gushed over the movie, excluded all the others (again, as only 11 year old girls can) and took our first tentative step at friendship. Although our relationship grew slowly over the next two years, it was Charkins who I suddenly found myself leaning on during the perils of junior high. And it is she who I have been leaning on ever since. She is a friend, a sister, a soulmate. And I love her to bits, all of her, including her penchant for older men, her memory like an elephant, the way she plays the air guitar (espeically to Keith Urban) and because if I recall my best memories over the past 13 years, she's in just about all of them! Charkins rocks because she gets it, all of it, without a word ever having to be said.
Tamara Lee
Her official title is that of the Roommate, but she is oh, so much more than that. In her I found my doppelganger and my co-star in what's sure to be the upcoming hit TV series "Better When You're Blonde." This is my second go at being TL's roomie and if it's anything like the first round, I can look forward to many a Saturday night's laying depressed on our living room floor, not speaking to people at parties and wondering why they all hate us, and generally laughing my ass off, especially whenever Yedward Edwards comes up.
But how did I meet this teeny-tiny blonde bombshell, and how did we not first scratch each other's eyes out? 3 letters: MCF. But let me explain. First, we must trackback 6 and a half years to Montreal, where at the age of 17 I had headed off to attend university. Living on my own, and not knowing a soul, I knew that I would have be the anti-Courtney to make any friends, and by that I mean outgoing, bubbly, a small-talker and waaaaay less timid. Bottom line - I would have to join clubs. And strangely enough, lo and behold on one of those first hot September days, I noticed a flyer in my neighbourhood that was advertising McGill Christian Fellowship (MCF) club's kick-off BBQ. I also read that the contact name was some girl named Tamara Lee and that if I had any questions or concerns, I should give her a shout.
I didn't. But I thought that she must be the person to introduce myself to if I was to attend the BBQ. Which I did, accompanied by my new totally NOT Christian and therefore "why the fuck are we here" neighbour Ba-shelley. Together, her and I lasted all of 10 minutes at the BBQ, enough time for us to be interrogated on whether we loved Jesus and allow me to tentatively sign up for a small group (and I signed up for one only because a hot boy did too). But just as we were leaving, I found myself standing face to face with a girl about half my size, with a wide smile and a voice so high that it made my ears bleed (ironic, I know, considering my own voice has been rising by an octave every year since). I introduced myself quickly, and she smiled back but her attention was scattered and so we parted ways.
Our next encounter occurred a week later when I found myself in the same small group as her. But again, our exchange was brief as I was more concerned with various other situations, such as getting a certain blonde named Ms Melly to shut the fuck up, get as far away as possible from a monster-headed Asian freak and secure the attention of the only boy in the group who was worth looking at, a young British guy who I thought would do quite well as my first boyfriend, a sort of substitute Hugh Grant.
In the weeks that followed, Tamara Lee and I only had one more exchange worth noting and that was when she encouraged me to get more involved in MCF and, you know, perhaps attend a weekend retreat. I looked at her with a mixture of both horror and amazement, incredulous that somebody would actually suggest such a thing to me (gaaaah!), and she returned the look with her own expression of bewilderment as she backed away slowly.
However, it was around this time that I began to notice something. Something... odd. Even though I was living in the fashion capital of Canada, a city on the cutting edge of trendy, the people I hung around with didn't seem to know that clothing could be found at places other than the Gap. And my new female friends had certainly never been to a makeup counter in their lives. Thus, I began to sorely miss the companionship of a girly-girl. I missed having a friend who not only owned mascara, but knew how to apply it. And I missed having a pal who would watch the Oscars with me, if only to trash every celebrity in sight.
And in Tamara Lee, I found all of those qualities. It suddenly occurred to me that she was the only other female in MCF who looked, well, girly! And so I thought to myself, "Well, Miss Courty, a shopping spree will either make or break a friendship with her so you might as well ask her to accompany you to The Bay." And indeed, I was right - over foundation and bum modelling, we became friends. But not just friends like those you go shopping with, or friends that you might just live with. Tamara Lee became the friend who mimics me in a way that is often brutal, dead-on and downright hilarious. She's the friend who posed for pictures at 2am before a final exam when our toilet exploded throughout the basement. She's the friend who calmly informed me that perhaps I'd rather use a sideplate for my bread rather than the ashtray when I was too drunk to notice the difference. And she's the friend who petted my hair and offered me juice (!!!!) as I lay on the floor, crumpled half under my bed, sobbing as my world crashed down around me and my heart broke in two. Tamara Lee is that kind of friend, the friend you have for life and the roommate you want to live with always.
Adders
What to say about the boy who changed everything, and who taught me all I now know (or don't know!) about love and life. What to say about the person who has travelled to hell and back with me and can still be found by my side, slugging it out, despite all the odds against us. What to say about the man who somehow fulfilled my preposterously high expectations on what falling in love should be like. What to say about Adders, who holds my heart in his hands and who takes care of it ever so gently.
Unlike my first meetings with Charkins and Tamara Lee, the first encounter I had with Adders was one where neither of us breathed a word to the other and yet much was communicated. He literally walked into my life, when I least expected someone would and yet when I most needed him to show up.
Flashback 17 months ago, to the tiny newspaper where I worked. I had just celebrated my 23rd birthday, and while I was happy with my job, life was not working out the way I wanted. I had no friends in my hometown of Crannie, and there were certainly no boys begging for a chance to ask me out. Stuck with only my mother for companionship (and we all know how well that turned out), it seemed almost Providential when Adders came in to place an ad in the paper. He sat down to meet with one of our sales reps just outside of my office and while she flitted off to grab some paper work, our eyes briefly locked as he sat there facing me. At this glance, I burned with embarrassment and quickly gathered my hair around my face so that I might conceal my blatant stares. Upon her return, they became engrossed in business, providing me with the opportunity to study him with a more critical gaze.
And I was alarmed. To be sure, he was hot. And hot guys are not all that common in my hometown of Crannie. But he looked young, oh so young! I pegged him at 20, but it could have gone a few years in either direction. However, the fact that he was in there placing a business ad led me to believe that maybe he was worth continuing to stare at. I mean, obviously he wasn't just some 18 year old punk putting his snowmobile up for sale!
I needed to make a move, I needed him to notice me. It was critical that I get his attention, and what better way than a walk-by, which would allow me a few key hair tosses and allow him to get a glimpse of my hot bod (good thing I had worn my biggest life jacket, I mean bra!!!!). So without another purpose other than to get him drooling, I sauntered by him, while making sure that I seemed completely unaware of his presence (or the effect that it was having on me).
And... NOTHING! He was too engrossed in the absurd laughter of the sales rep, who despite being quadruple his age, seemed determined to flirt her ass of with him. At last he left, and I made a bee-line for a co-worker's office, where all of the other ladies met in order to discuss the exchange with the hottie. The sales rep gushed and gushed, and informed us of his profession, which at least relieved me from the fear that I would be charged with statutory rape for ogling him. Sheepishly, she admitted that she had totally been flirty and that it was too bad that he was way too young for her. And with that, everyone turned to me. "Oh, Miss Courty, you should go out with him. Oh, you should date him! Oh, you two would be so cute together! Can we come to the wedding? Awww, just think of how precious your kids' will be!" I laughed it off and dismissed him, saying that he was probably too young for me anyhow, and besides I only attract freaks so what's the point? But secretly I was pleased, and secretly I plotted.
A few days went by and I casually mentioned his name to the sales rep. She had actually given his file to another rep, this one male, who knew Adders' boss. "Oh. No," I thought. "This will get messy." And sure enough, all it took was one passing, flippant comment about Adders to this rep named Mikka and the deal was sealed. I was taunted, I was teased but I was also mentioned to Adders the next time Mikka met up with him.
Soon enough, Mikka came smirking into the building, holding a telephone number in his hand. "Oh, Miss Courty, I have something for you here," he said as he presented me with Adders' number. But all I could utter were shrieks of horror and mortification. Soon the other ladies joined in, all equally appalled by the thought of me, darling little ME, having to make the first move and call the boy (and a boy, he certainly was. The age? 21. Mine? 23. Embarrassed to be robbing the cradle? EVER SO MUCH). Mikka protested, but finally gave in. A call was made, Adders was informed, and a few hours later I sat at a stop light on my cellphone, listening to him fumble his way through his first ever phone message to me. And if the grin on my face and the thumping of my heart at that moment was any indication, you'd know that I was already listening to the voice of someone I was very, very interested in.
That night we spoke for the first time, an agonizing 15 minutes of conversation, in which we both paced around and nonchantly spoke of our mutual love of wake-boarding and summertime. We bull-shitted our way through until suggestions were made, and a date set.
And then suddenly I was opening our front door, staring into the blue-green eyes that I would come to know so well, relieved that he was just as cute as I had originally thought, and relieved also that his was a nice, new silver truck and not the monstrosity with enormous tires that I had been fearing.
He took me for drinks and a movie and sealed our fate by doing the following three things: sharing girly drinks with me (straws too!); showing off his sensitive, attentive side by suppressing his macho side and instead speaking to me earnestly about his family and asking me such questions in return; and lastly going out on a whim of spontaneity by taking me through a haunted house.
Immediately, I was smitten. But my delight quickly turned to mortification and then fury when he neglected to call me on the requisite third day after. Nor did he call me for a week after that. Bitch! Whore! Prick! The nerve of him!
And yet, when he called me again, 10 days later, asking me to a hockey game, I melted and immediately acquiesed. As the weeks passed, I fell hopelessly and utterly in love with Adders. He made me laugh. He turned me on. He got me thinking. And so he danced away with my heart, just as easily as we danced together at my Christmas party, that beautiful night when I finally had to admit to myself, "By gosh, Miss Courty, you're actually in love."
And here we are, with me telling him that:
"All I know is I'm lost without you,
I'm not gonna lie
How am I gonna be strong without you
I need you by my side
If we ever say we'd never be together
And in the end you wave goodbye
Dunno what I'd do
I'm lost without you" (Lost Without You)
And him reassuring me that:
"If love is a labour, I'll slave till the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand" (Swing Life Away).
So there you have it. Despite all my woes right now, I can't help but acknowledge just how blessed I am to have these three in my life.
Stay tuned 'till next time when maybe, just maybe, I'll provide in exquisite techni-coloured detail how I met my cat. Now THAT makes for some interesting literature...
posted by Divine K @ 6:48 PM
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