Part 1: How We Met

Today, as I fumbled with my keys trying to open my apartment door I realized, my life is the perfect story for a blog. I usually only write about specific issues that come up, but I feel lucky to have an ongoing story to tell. And I hope it comes off as interesting written down, as it is to live it.

I will begin by saying this is going to seem like a love story. But love is not how I’d describe it. I’d say it is an example of a lustrous connection between two adults who fear a deeper connection.  In a previous post about Memorial Day, I mentioned a man that I met through unusual circumstances that turned into a comedic friendship. This friendship has turned into what I hope will be an interesting, ongoing, blog-worthy story. So lets begin.

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I’ll start by reminding ya’ll how we met:
It was the first night my best friend Janelle and I went to Wing Night at Smokey Bones. We had gone to the mall earlier to shop for job interview clothes and decided wings was the best way to end the night. Little did we know what would happen next. Now, I had never eaten wings before. I never liked the idea of touching the bones of an animal while I ripped its skin off. –Now I’m fine with the idea. We devoured our wings, pretzel bones and loaded french fries, and I washed it down with a beer I randomly picked from the menu (Rogue Mango Astronaut). We then played a horrible round of beer pong, losing to a girl who played like Hitler, and before heading towards the door, a handful of wet wipes ended up in my pocket.

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Now– this is when the night went from fun to extraordinary. I, slightly intoxicated, tried to walk out, empty beer bottle in hand (it was an amazing bottle-see below.) A man at the bar, who first claimed to be an employee, stopped me in my tracks. “Excuse me, ma’m? You can’t take that out of here.” Ma’m. He called me ma’m.  He had my attention. We spoke for a few moments, him helping me conceal my bottle in my small bag, and me using my charm to get his phone number.  Janelle and I left that night with smiles on our faces, a new contact in my phone (Sarge) and no real expectation for the following morning.

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A little over five months later, and I’m fumbling with my keys to get in my apartment after staying the night at Sarge’s house. –I will remind you, this is not a love story. It is a story of my experiences over the past five months leading up to today, with a man who has seen me at my worst, who has seen me at my best, and who –like me, fears a deeper connection.

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