I showed up at his work at the local Blockbuster and confessed that it was me, -- yes, me!
-- who had sent him the anonymous Valentine's Day card.
In eleventh grade, I baked cookies for our student council president -- my next object of affection -- and joined every club that he ran.
At the end of the year, I eventually cornered him in his office and professed my feelings for him. The resolutions of these ploys were akin to that of Andrew Logan's: disappointing and fruitless.
(And impeccably creative -- I mean, that attention to detail!
He was born in Vancouver -- so he's earthy and athletic -- but his law degree from Mc Gill University proves that he's also intelligent and articulate. " "Cool." They, of course, being the kindest people on earth, never questioned my sanity -- though maybe they should have -- or reminded me that was indeed, about the least "cool" thing on earth. They wished him "happy birthday" (not last week however) and sent him online quizzes such as, "Which Grease Character Are You? He always responded back in his jovial, cool manner, ending every sentence with his trademark, "Buddy." "Happy birthday, buddy," he'd write on my friend Rob's wall. While the 20-minute drive between our houses seems longer each time, I'm really happy with the choices we've made, for a number of reasons. A few years go by, and they get engaged and married because "it felt like the next step" or because "everyone expected us to." And then kids "feel like the next step." These are supposed to be the most important relationships in my life. We're all going to enter into our "forever" relationships with a past. I've seen many friends date and then move in with each other simply out of convenience. Boyfriend and I come with relationship baggage, and elements of divorce in our families make us both (and, I suspect, many from our generation) hesitant to believe in anything honest or lasting. But I've never lived with a man I was in a relationship with, and despite any past mistakes or regrets, that is something intimate and wholly me that I can say, "Here, have these messy, secret, hilarious, questionable, honest pieces of me that no one else has ever had. I want to discover how this works -- being a husband and wife -- with only you." When and if we do get married, I want to start a completely different life together, not just come home to the same place we've been after a very expensive party.While I was cleaning out some boxes in my parents' basement, I unearthed a bunch of old stories, journals and diaries from my youth.As I was flipping through the diary from my last two years of high school, I discovered an alarming pattern that made my stomach turn.After high school, I would go on to date my ex-boyfriend, the impetus behind Andrew Logan. Waiting for love is often riddled with anxiety, and allowing people to love you and find you, just as you are, is terrifying.Then, years later, there was the coworker who, after months of fun and flirty emails, I managed to convince to meet outside of work under the ruse of delivering a check to me. A recent relationship came from my scheming to get laid. Not all of my relationships have been partially manufactured, but many of them have. When my mother picked me up from Blockbuster after my run-in with the red-faced senior, she told me, "That's not how it's supposed to work. It's important." Of course she was right, as most mothers annoyingly are, but it took me a long time (basically, until, now) to recognize it. But trying to force someone to love you is never a good deal; it's only a raw one for you. Leading up to this move, everyone assumed we were moving in together, and seemed shocked we weren't. You don't know anyone -- he'll be so busy you'll only see each other if you live together. But we are willing to take the risk on this relationship, and when and if it's right, a commitment that means more.Or, they didn't seem shocked, and I found out later it was because they thought we were lying. Right now, the next step for us is respecting the process of discovering our future as a couple, while still in our individual spaces.