I'm Hell On Heels, and Baby, I'm Coming For You.

Last night, I received a text message.





It was a picture.





It was from a guy I dated, once upon a time...





...of the guy I dated before him.





Reporting the local news.





In a God-awful ugly Christmas sweater.








...I can't think of anything to better sum up my dating life.





It took a bit of pondering for me to decide what was going to happen to The Tucker Diaries after the story wrapped up.  When I began the blog, I didn't give much thought to the "what now" portion - partially because I was still amidst the unraveling tale, and was particularly certain it was never going to end.   Miraculously enough, it did come to a conclusion, and now I'm left with choices.  Call it a day, leave this blog as an honorarium to the crazy twists and turns I endured while discovering Tucker and the truth behind his lie?  Keep talking about it, even though, for the most part, it's reached a peaceful conclusion?  Share some of the similar stories I've gathered from readers over the last month?  Or, take the popular demand route, and start sharing the nitty gritty about the rest of my dating-gone-wrong disasters from years gone by?


Part of me wants to leave Tucker Diaries alone - it deserves its own little place in the cyber world.  It's such a crazy and (sort of) unique tale, that I don't want to taint it with anything else.  That said, so much of my dating history is exactly what brought me to Tucker in the first place.  Without the back story, the history, the behind the scenes...Tucker never would have come to fruition.  Without the 3+ years of prior dating disasters, this is just an isolated incident.  If I don't tell you what got me to this point, you might never understand how I fell for Tucker, or you might not comprehend just how relieved I was to FINALLY reach the end of my long, long journey.  Part of me wants to leave the Tucker Diaries alone.  A bigger part of me, though, can't wait to tell you the hilarity that has been consuming my love life since roughly the summer of 2008.


There's so much...SO much.  A week or so I ago, I set out to come up with a list of potential stories to tell you about.  I filled pages upon pages of my legal pad, jotting down stories as I remembered them: some fondly, some with a twinge of regret, others with a  bit of sadness and still others with head-shake-inducing chuckles. The hardest part, now, is where to begin.  Do I start chronologically?  Work my way from my high school days of dairy farmers and pickup trucks, through my college love, to the turmoils of my first real heartbreak and the subsequent misconstrued ideas of how to repair a shattered heart?  Or, do I jump around...leaving out the happy times and focusing on the tragic, the ridiculous, and the just plan unbelievable?


I suppose chronology would be in my favor here, if for no other reason than to keep things organized and logical.  It seems strange to revisit my dating life so many years back, but in order to properly set the stage for some of the funniest, most ridiculous stories I'll eventually tell you, we should probably start at the begining.  If you follow along, you'll be able to best understand why some relationships were just doomed to fail before they even began.  You'll be able to detect those red flags before I even get to the punch line - groaning as I drudge through another matchmaking mishap, because even YOU can see where this is going to go terribly awry.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, I took a little roadtrip.  A handful of people piled into my aunt's minivan, and we set out for the great land of Cedar Springs, to watch the local basketball team take on their opponant in some regional playoff game or something of the sort.  It was a blustery winter day, and I do believe at one point, there was a white minivan full of high school students driving backwards down US-131, thanks to an icy road and an overeagerness to get "the good seats" at the opponents' home turf.

On that particular trip, I was accompanied by my favorite cousin, a close friend, and a handful of strangers from the other high school in town.  Being the only girl, I entered the situation with a certain air of confidence, particularly because my cousin's friends were not exactly known for being the hottest, most popular guys in school.  I knew, without a doubt, that I would queen of the roost in that minivan. Those boys would be drooling all over me, and would be hanging on my every word.  It was fun being Brett's "hot cousin" - even if it wasn't necessarily true by most standards, to this crowd, I was the bee's knees.

Long story short, I fell in love that night.   A skinny, dark haired, dairy farming soccer player rode next to me as we made our way through the tundra to cheer our team to victory.  He shared his coat with me, when I was freezing during our obligatory pre-game tailgate in the parking lot...but his chivelrous display was not what sealed the deal.  What was it, you ask, that instantly made me certain I would spend the rest of my high school days dating this soccer stud?   Simple.  As we walked into the gymnasium that day, he hiked up his American Eagle thermal, loosened his belt, and showed me the crimson-on-ivory line on his backside from his overstayed welcome in the tanning bed the day before.  Sexy, right?

I dated Dairy Boy for the rest of my high school career, and then some.  We had the time of our lives, back then.  Growing up in a little farm town, we were blissfully unaware of the big bad world outside of our homegrown West Michigan bubble.  For us, pickup trucks and barn parties were as good as it got.  Bonfires with buddies, truck pulls and county fairs, and the annual farm pig roast were the only things we knew.  Occasionally we'd round up our best friends and venture to the "city", to catch a movie and eat at a chain restaurant.  I'll never forget the time we got hopelessly lost, trying to get to The Melting Pot for our pre-prom dinner.  It's funny how small Grand Rapids seems now, but back then, for two farm kids in a diesel truck, it was a metropolis.

Dairy Boy was my very best friend.  We did everything together, and I loved that boy as much as you can love someone when you're not even old enough to buy a scratch off ticket.  I was a part of his family and he was a fixture in mine.  We grew up discovering the world and each other, the good and the bad of both.  He'd come visit me at work - covered in dirt and dust from being in the hot sun at the farm all day, and I'd sneak him a chocolate malt (gratis, of course), at the ice cream store where I spent my summer days.  After work we'd jump in the pool, and spend our nights cuddled up on the couch watching movies and talking about the future.  We'd take long drives on rough dirt roads, holding hands in the front seat of his truck like we were the stars of some country music video.  I learned how to milk a cow, how to drive a tractor, and how to outrun the local cops.  I learned how to properly kill a deer with a truck...intentionally...by hitting it in the back legs as to not disrupt the meat in the body.  I learned how to go "bowling" for seagulls at the lake - scattering McDonald's french fries throughout the parking lot, then gunning it and not letting up on the gas. He taught me what it meant to be a best friend, to love someone unconditionally, and what it meant to be selfless.

I have so many fond memories of him - summers on the lake, taking my little sisters tubing on his parents' speedboat.  The Christmas we snuck away to the Double J resort for a night away, and our parents were none the wiser (ehh...sorry mom!).  That Labor Day so many years ago, laying in the bed of his truck in the middle of a cornfield, planning our futures together and hiding from the world.  The days we would do absolutely nothing but camp out on the couch in our pajamas, making our way through an entire season of The O.C.   As far as high school sweethearts go, Dairy Boy was the best.  I couldn't have asked for a better friend, a better first love, and a better person to introduce to me what it meant to love somebody.

Obviously, DB and I didn't last.  I went away to college, and found myself in the midst of this brand new world.  I was surrounded by strangers - new people everywhere I turned.  I was away from home for the first time in my life, completely on my own without rules or restrictions.  I could stay out as late as I wanted.  I could go to IHOP at three in the morning with my new dormmates, and steal a shopping cart from the Meijer close by, then ride around campus in it when we got back.  For the first time, I could be whoever I wanted to be...and the freedom got the best of me. 

I ended it with Dairy Boy, about a month after college began.  The taste of that newfound independence was all I needed to start craving it in much larger doses.  I loved DB - I always would.  He was that perfect love from my teenage years, and I'd always thank him for that - but I needed something new.  I didn't want to spend my life back in that little farm town like he did.  I never pictured my future involving a farmhouse and six babies running around in the yard.  I loved the city, and now that I'd had a glimpse of it, I needed more.  I was at the point in my young life, where I knew I was on the verge of breaking free into something much bigger and better than the sleepy small town I'd known my whole life.  Unfortunately, sad as it was, Dairy Boy was a part of the world I was so eager to leave behind.

I still have a very special place in my heart for that boy.  If there was ever a person who completely embodied what it means to be a good person, it's him.  To this day, I know without a doubt that he would drop everything to help me if I needed it.  Less than a year ago, I lost my dear pup to what we think was a brain tumor/stroke 1-2 punch.  I hadn't spoken to Dairy Boy in months, maybe a year or so - but I picked up the phone and dialed his cell number like it had only been yesterday.  It was a Sunday, and the vet was closed, but Maggie was in so much pain, we couldn't stand to not let her pass away from her misery.  DB picked up the phone, and came through in seconds with the number of a friend, who was a vet, and could help us let our sweet Maggie go.  Later that day, he listened to my sobs as I called to tell him she was gone, comforting me and simply letting me cry - letting me get it all out.  He'd known Maggie, and I knew he understood that my heart was hurting. 

He is a good man.  A great man.  I can't wait to see the blessings that will make their way into his life someday.  Without him, I would have missed out on such a big part of my time as a teenager in that small town.  I look back, so fondly, on my memories of high school, and know he was integral to that happiness.  He was the perfect example of that fabled high school romance that a girl just never forgets.  I broke his heart, once upon a time, and I hate that our paths were just not destined to cross forever.  Someday, he'll make someone so lucky, and so happy, just like he did for me so long ago.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

After I said goodbye to DB, I experienced the strange phenomenon of being a single college girl.  Now, this may not seem like much of a momentous occasion, but coming from a girl who hadn't been single more than a week since she was fourteen...it was a bit of a big deal.  Suddenly I was free.  Free to flirt with whoever the hell I damn well pleased.  That cute guy in my English class?  Yes, I'll spend countless hours in the library with you because you suck at writing but you're sexy so I'll edit (/rewrite) your paper.  Hottie on the third floor of my dorm?  You bet your sweet ass I'll go to the homecoming dance with you, you fox.  Tall, adorable boy in my First Year Seminar with a penchant for Jack's Mannequin and wearing six layered shirts at a time?  Of course I'll secretly have a crush on you but never talk to you because you strike me as the Frat Boy type and it scares me.   Suddenly, I was responsible to no one.  I could work my game, get my flirt on, and fraternize with all of Hope College's finest, without feeling guilty about my "long distance boyfriend" (I was an hour from home, by the way...it's not like he lived in Seattle or something.)

Okay, let's be real.  I didn't have the first clue how to flirt.  I was awkward and weird, and didn't really know how to approach a guy without looking like a Grade A Doofus.  Funny how not much has changed, eh? About this time, a fellow dorm resident invited my roommate and I to join him for a night of "clubbing" in big, bad Grand Rapids.   For those of you from the area, we went to The Margarita Grille.  To those of you who aren't familiar, Margarita Grille was basically a giant cesspool of scantily clad 18 year olds grinding on greasy, balding 30 year olds.  It was not pleasant.  Mind you, this was my first real introduction to the world of "dating" and being a free, independent woman.  THIS is what I was up against?  In order to find a boyfriend I had to let my vagina hang out of a tube dress, teeter around in stilettos and hope the only guy in the bar under 25 might throw me a bone?  Christ.  If this is what it was like to be single, I was ready to crawl back into my small-town-dairy-wife hole and call it a day. I. Was. Terrified.

Now, the parts about my potential flirt targets above were actually true -- there WAS a super cutie from my English class who was my most favorite library buddy ever.  I made out with him once but that's another story for later...chronology, remember?  There was a guy who lived in my dorm, who I was set to go to the homecoming dance with.  There was also an adorable sweetheart in my FYS class that really did love him some Jack's Mannequin, but I was always too shy to talk to.  There were options EVERYWHERE, but for the most part, I didn't know how to be single.  I had never really been on a date...at least, not one that didn't result in dating the guy for years after.  I didn't know how to just "hang out" with a guy, because I was so used to being in long term relationships.  I  was totally new to this, and to be honest, I was totally freaked out by it all.

Hope College is an interesting place to find yourself single for the first time.  Think of it as an extension of high school, really.  You have the jocks, the popular girls, the nerds, the Jesus freaks.  Greek Life ran rampant at Hope, and divided the student body distinctly into Greek and non-Greek sectors.  Thankfully I steered clear of my pledging brethren, and found friends without having to pay for them.  So much of the campus was divided up into these little cliques, that it became difficult to mix and mingle, and make new friends without joining some sort of group or club.  Luckily, the housing department helped me out freshman year by placing me in a giant room with two other girls who became my soulmates. My roommates were like my sisters, and the three of us were inseparable, which I thank God for every day - I may not have survived freshman year without them.  We lived in a smaller dorm, on the outskirts of campus, which led to a closeness amongst my dormmates that was hard to explain to anyone who didn't live there.  We had a co-ed dorm, and my roommates and neighbors quickly bonded with a few roomfuls of guys from the floor above us, and we forged a beautiful group of friends that feel so blessed to have been a part of.

One particular guy from this group, who we'll call Junior (he was a ____, Jr.) quickly became a regular in 221 Voorhees Hall.  He developed a crush on my roommate from the very first day we moved in, and before we knew it, it because strange to come home and NOT find him lounging on our futon.  He was that quintessential "buddy" to Sarah and I, all while he was pining away for Betsy, who had a boyfriend back home and friend-zoned Junior so fast he didn't know what to do.  He might as well have been gay, as far as I was concerned - he was interested in my roommate, was like a brother to me by then, and had seen me at my very worst - Cleveland Browns boxers, ponytail, glasses, no makeup, and all.

One fall day, I was posted up on the futon in sweats, watching a Michigan State football game, dreading the part of the afternoon where I needed to start getting ready for the night's homecoming dance.  I was attending with a guy from upstairs, who I'd started to develop a bit of a crush on.  Junior was going with my roommate, and we were all excited for a night of fun with friends.  Betsy came home, informing me she felt sick and was going to stay home from the dance.  Shortly afterward, I received an IM from upstairs, notifying me that Nick wasn't able to go either.  My first instinct, of course, was to be super thrilled that now I could spend the night in my sweats watching football...but Junior had other plans.  He asked if I wanted to go with him - we already had tickets, our other friends were all going...we might as well just go together and enjoy the night, right?

You can guess how this went, can't you?  We left the dance, twenty minutes in, in favor of a coffee run to Lemonjello's and a drive to the beach.  In October, this is not the most brilliant of moves, mind you.  Strangely, though, I remember nothing about the frigid weather, and everything about falling in love on some private beach (no, we didn't know the people, we just...invited ourselves to go for a stroll), sipping coffee and talking til four in the morning.  The next few days were a haze.  Many of you can probably relate to that foggy period of time when you first fall madly in love with someone.  It's that feeling that you can't remember what day it is, any school or work obligations go out the window because you can't focus, and you keep replaying the part where he kissed you, over and over again in your head.  He got me, and he got me good.  He was the shit, and I was knee deep in it - and I loved it so much, I didn't try to escape.

I dated Junior for the next couple of years.  So much for being single, right?  It's a wonder I've been single this long since him, and haven't spontaneously combusted - I honestly didn't know it was possible.  I was a goddamn magnet for commitment and long term relationships...perhaps this explains my commitmentphobeness these days, you think?  Anyway, Junior was the first time I feel like I can say I loved someone, in the "grown up" sense of being in love.  Dairy Boy was my high school love...but then, I'm not sure I really understood what it meant to love someone.  When I loved Junior, I loved him. It was a different kind of feeling - those of you who are nodding your heads in understanding, get what I mean by this.  It was a more mature kind of love.  It was a love with understanding, and rationality.  It wasn't naive, throwing all caution to the wind and believing we could do anything because damnit we loved each other and the Notebook says that's how it works.  With him, it was slow, and gradual - not an instantaneous love.  We knew each other as friends, first.  He'd seen me in my pajamas, and first thing in the morning with my hair a mess and (god forbid) no mascara.  He'd been there when I broke up with Dairy Boy, and spent the night crying on the futon.  We fell in love in a different way than I'd fallen for Dairy Boy, or the handful of prepubescent loves before him.  You'd think that now, five years later, I'd look back and realize I hadn't actually loved him, but only thought I had...but that's not the case.  What we had was real, and it was beautiful, and I'll cherish it always.

Junior was a blast and a half.  We had so much FUN together - I'm certain that was the reason we worked so well as a team.  We rarely argued, because neither of us ever tried to make too much of a situation.  We spent our weekends going home to one of our hometowns, hanging out with family and friends together.  We took weekend trips to Chicago, went on shopping extravaganzas to IKEA with his mom, or spent a weekend at Cedar Point with the fam.  We were always busy, always trying new things and seeing new places.  We were on the go a lot, but we also enjoyed plenty of nights doing nothing on the couch.  We were the perfect balance to each other - the ideal compliment to the other's personality. 

The first day he took me home to meet his mama, he dropped me off, and informed me he'd be back in a few hours. He was going to pick up a treadmill for his mom, with his best friend, in another town.  I was to stay home and meet Mom, and get to know her.  Please stop for a moment and process with me how OUT OF MY MIND nervous I was.  This woman was going to come home to a stranger in her house...nevermind the fact that this stranger was dating her precious baby boy. FML doesn't begin  to describe it.  Two coffees and a lasagna lesson later, I was in love.  Junior's mom is, aside from my own mother, my favorite woman on the planet.  To this day, we still meet up for coffee when we're in the same town, and catch up on each other's lives when we can.  I'm confident I was so in love with him, because he was raised by such a fantastic woman.  His siblings became like my own family, and I still keep in touch with his sisters.  Spending those years with his family was so fantastic - they were the kind of family every girls prays her in-laws end up being like.  I still miss them every day...every goddamn day.

Years went by, and Junior and I came to our fork in the road, as most couples eventually do.  I wanted to leave Hope College.  He wanted me to stay.  He thought about going to school in Iowa.  I didn't want to move there.  We had finally hit the roadblock that we knew would ultimately find us. At 20 years old, we had a decision to make.  Did we chase the love we had, blindly following it and praying that what we thought was so true and so real would ultimately uphold us and guide us to a future together?  Or, did we go our separate ways, each pursuing our dreams and following our hearts, and praying that we our paths would reunite once we established ourselves individually?  We chose the latter option, obviously. 

Even at 20 and deeply in love, I was a bullheaded, stubborn asshole who refused to back down and compromise on what I wanted for my life.  Some days, I wish I'd given a little.  Most days, I'm so glad I didn't.  Love is a compromise - yes.  I can't imagine what my life may have turned out like, though, had I never taken the leap on my own.  I never would have moved to Grand Rapids.  Never would have had an internship that changed my life.  Never would have gone to Calvin College.  Never would have made the incredible friends I have now.  Never would have been so excited for 2012, because I know it holds the biggest and best things I've yet to see.

Junior and I don't talk anymore.  In fact, he's one of the only relationships I've ever had, that I'm not still good friends with.  After we broke up, our differences got the better of us.  Our breakup wasn't easy, it wasn't simple, it wasn't a clean break.  It was rough, it was raw, it was as tragic as a college breakup can be.  He started seeing someone else - I was devastated.  He cheated on her with me for months. I'm not proud of it, but it happened, and it made me feel like I still had power over him in some way.  There finally came a time when we were forced to omit each other from our lives completely, in order to finally move on and heal, but that point didn't come without months of struggle and heartache.  He's happy now, as far as I can tell.  I've heard he lives down south with the same girl he began seeing shortly after we split.  He's a good person - he has a good heart, and he cares so deeply for others.  I wish we hadn't ended so unfortunately...I would love to still be friends with him, like I am with so many others I've said goodbye to in the past.  It didn't work out that way, and I suppose it's for the best.  I still wish him all the best.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that I wasted those two years at Hope on a relationship that didn't last...but at the same time, I'll never regret it.

The summer after Junior and I finally parted ways was the begining of a new era...corny as that sounds.  It took me awhile to even be able to consider the thought of dating again.  However, I eventually got back on that proverbial horse - and holy hell.  What a ride.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------



If you would have told me, in the Fall of 2008, that I'd be writing this blog three years later, I'd have laughed at you.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that I could suck THIS BAD at dating.  I assumed I'd go on a few dates, meet a nice guy, and settle into yet another long term relationship.  Mmmm...not so much.  Instead, I've become the reigning queen of first dates in Grand Rapids - a professional at where to go, what to say, what NOT to say, and exactly how to make a guy swoon.  Clearly my tactics fall drastically short after the first date, but hey...you can't be good at everything, right?





Now that the stage is set, we can embark on the real journey: how I went from two long term relationships, to the Duchess of Dating (self appointed, shutthefuckup) in just over three years.  The rollercoaster ride between Dairy Boy and Junior, and Tucker Evans, is one that even I have a hard time believing sometimes...and I'm the one who's responsible.




Stay tuned.  We'll cover all sorts of things in the posts to come.  Why you should never date a Calvin College student/grad.  The categories of men you'll find in Grand Rapids.  The proper way to write a message to a man on an online dating site.  That time my new boyfriend poisoned the goldfish from my ex-boyfriend.  The time I accidentally dated a married guy.  Why you should never date a man who wears Affliction or Ed Hardy.  The list goes on.




The Tucker Diaries is FAR from over.  Welcome to Chapter Two.