Stamped: October 9th, 2007 | Toggle Similar
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Age 11—you had a huge crush on that cute new kid in homeroom. You loved him even though he had braces and a slight mullet. You wished that homeroom lasted more than just fifteen minutes a day. So finally your second-best-friend talks to that guy who’s first chair trumpet in band who also just happens to live next door to the man of your sixth grade dreams. And instead of this cutie jumping for joy because you are so completely and utterly amazing, he starts being really fucking annoying, pulling on your hair, pushing you in the halls and accidentally knocking your library books out of your hands.
Age sixteen—Blake Howard who got totally hot over the summer sits across from you in Honors Chemistry. You conveniently forget that this time last year his face was so covered with zits you couldn’t even see those gorgeous brown peepers. After endless conversations at lunch and on the band bus to away football games your friend Sarah finally talks to his friend Mike and suddenly Blake Howard is not only talking to you but asking you to be his date to the homecoming dance. Finally, just as the sun is shining down on you, the dance comes and he decides to hang out his guy friends all night save for one KC and Jojo song, and you’re stuck with that third tier group of your friends who don’t have dates standing by the punch and cookies table.
Age 21—your first real and true serious relationship. Jason Jones. He’s everything you could have ever want in a man. You met at a party after his best friend fell over on you during a kegstand gone wrong. He brought you a roll of paper towels to mop your shirt off with and suddenly you were his partner in a doubles game of Quarters. You spent the night throwing up on the curb outside of his fraternity house but the two of you have been inseparable for a record breaking (for you anyway) seven months. Then suddenly he’s all distant and weird and three days before the end of spring semester you get an email saying he needs to take a break and will be spending the summer discovering himself in Antigua while teaching English as a second language. Two months later you discover he actually spent the summer in Florida at his ex-girlfriend’s beach house and couldn’t tell you the truth because he “didn’t want to hurt you.”
Age 26—Mark Kelly. After four years of post-college dating you finally meet someone you could definitely see as being “The One.” He’s 36 years old, a senior VP at a top public relations firm, owns his two-bedroom Upper West Side co-op. And he’s cute. You meet at a friend of a friend’s art show—he accidentally bumps into you as you’re trying to make sense of a masterpiece that consists of three badly drawn lines on white canvas. You start talking about the absurdity of the painting’s $5,000 price tag and you realize that this guy really is something else. Four months later you guys are officially boyfriend-girlfriend and a year later you’re ready to say goodbye to your roommate and your fifth floor West Village walk-up and hello to the utter domesticity and sereneness of 76th and Central Park West even though he hasn’t even hinted at you to moving in or anything. You’ve decided that Mark Kelly is the one and you’re ready to say yes as soon as he pops the question. And then he starts to pull stunts that remind you of all the boy habits you thought were left behind when one enters into adulthood. Somewhere along the line you guys stopped actually communicating by voice on the phone. Instead your conversations consist of text messages in which “are” turns” to “r” and numbers are liberally substituted for actual words. When you finally do see him again he tells you that while you happen to be an amazing woman, he's not at a point in his life where commitment is a viable option. His life is so busy now but your time together has been a treat. He leaves you with a not a kiss or a hug but a chummy pat on the shoulder and a shrug that uncannily reminds you of the cute boy from homeroom in 6th grade.

You stand watching after him as he walks away and disappears around a corner, knowing that maybe he's not a point where he can commit to you but your coworker saw him in a very committed pose with another pretty young thing just last week but of course; you swear a little for not being able to mention that before he walks away. Turing back towards the subway, you wonder why it's seemed so easy for you to transition to adulthood but every guy you meet is in a permanent stage of arrested development.

Last 5 posts by Brandy

• Hell House - November 9th, 2007
• College was a good time. - September 25th, 2007
• I'm the easiet girl ever to break up with - September 18th, 2007
• Christmas Lights - August 28th, 2007
• Why I am not a middle school speaker - August 22nd, 2007