Today is the day that some of us are participating in "Blogshare": a large group of bloggers posting anonymously on other people's blogs for one day. This concept was started by -r- of And you know what else fame and she is gracious enough to coordinate a ton of blogs for this. I don't know why I do it, as I have no secrets I keep from y'all, but it is kind of fun to have a "guest blogger" on my own page for a day. So, that being said, today's post is not written by me. It is from another blogger from another blog on planet Blogovia:I generally am a ridiculously open book on my blog, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to write about now that I can be anonymous. This time around, I think I'll take the approach of telling a story that I wouldn't post on my own blog because it makes me sound like a horrible person. Hell, for all I know, I've already posted it on my own blog and I've just forgotten. But here goes.
When I was in high school, I had what can only be termed a MegaCrush on a certain boy, who we will call Bill if for no other reason than the fact that I would probably never find myself attracted to a guy named Bill. Except shit, I once had a crush on an actual boy named Bill, but whatever. BILL.
My crush was completely absurd, because not only did I have this crush - I was extremely shy. I wasn't one of those girls who would tell someone I had a crush on a guy and hope he found out. NO WAY. Instead, I would have been mortified if he had known. This could, of course, be why I didn't have any boyfriends in high school and could also be a sign that I was not exactly the most self-assured of teenagers. But I digress. I even once set Bill up with another girl in order to throw him off the track of thinking I had a crush on him, because I really could not bear the thought of rejection.
Oy.
Silly Anonyblogger-in-teenage-years.
Well, this crush was so excessive that it...well, it lasted. Throughout college, in fact. I mean, sure, I had a completely different boyfriend and went to a school that Bill did not attend, but I swooned anytime I saw him when I went home to visit or anytime I heard updates about him from another friend. I loved me some Bill.
I liked Bill because he was ridiculous and, well, more human than the other boys I knew. When the other boys were being macho and cool, Bill was doing things like crashing his car into a tree (completely sober, mind you) and singing in the high school chorus. I liked Bill because he was a complete and utter mess.
And, well, the crush continued on despite the fact that I saw him once a year.
It turned out that my best friend from college married one of Bill's best friends, which meant that my connection to Bill - tenuous as it was - continued on, so that I heard through the grapevine one day that he was engaged to his college sweetheart.
Tragedy.
And it just so happened that I ended up at the same bar, with the same group of friends, as Bill - almost ten years after college and about a month before Bill's wedding. And because I am no angel, and with the aid of more than a few beers and perhaps a drink or two of Maker's Mark and ginger ale with a twist, I found myself talking to Bill and saying the following evil words: Bill, it's a DAMN shame you're getting married in a month, because I had a crush on you all through high school.
I'm not proud. Okay, fine, I'm an even worse person than I'm letting on, because I actually am a little proud. That took guts, y'all. Not only did it take guts...it got results. We spent the rest of the evening talking about how he, in fact, had had a crush on me as well. !!!! (OMG) !!! And then, dear readers, it happened. Two weeks before his wedding, Bill called the whole thing off.
Yep.
And I saw Bill at a 4th of July party the next month (we were living in different states at the time), and he told me that I played a role in the wedding cancellation.
And then I made out with him. And, because i was going through a floozy and apparently-horrible-person phase, I also later that night found myself kissing another engaged guy while his fiance was asleep upstairs. And then even later that night, kissing another guy who I'd known since Kindergarten, and you can judge me for this, but all I can say is (a) the guy was a freakin' Green Beret, and if that didn't sound paradoxically H-O-T to my little liberal tree-hugging anti-war soul, well, I dont' know what did; and (b) well, shit. I had never been the girl that all the guys wanted to make out with before, and before common sense about my harlot-like behavior could kick in I instead was just enjoying myself. Sue me. But I digress.
Unfortunately, what Bill didn't tell me was the fact that another girl from high school had ALSO confessed to having a crush on him, and that I wasn't the SOLE reason he called off his wedding.
And Bill also didn't tell me that he was STILL, ten years later, a complete and utter mess.
And he also didn't tell me (because, really, how could he know?) that I would no longer find the idea of being with a man who was a complete mess quite as attractive as I did in my high school days and that I might not find it fun to semi-long-distance-date a guy who was still receiving calls from his ex-fiancee and juggling me, her, and the other girl who played a role in the cancelling of his engagement. Whoops.
All's well that ends well, though, I suppose, as Bill later got back together with his college sweetheart, and then married her, and then joined the Peace Corps and moved to Africa with her.
But I can't help feeling a teensy bit guilty (and yet, oddly proud). Whether that makes me a horrible person or not, well, you can just keep your thoughts on it to yourself.
The End.