62 Days of Billy Blue

It’s been sixty-two days since I’ve known Billy Blue.

There’s been laughter and stories, surprises and sex,

Kissing and car rides, casinos and craps,

Photo booths, sangria, sushi and beers.

And on day sixty-one, there were tears.

And that’s when I realized, all the warning signs were there.

It was for Billy Blue that I truly did care.



Wherever you live, whatever you do,

There’s always that moment when you know it’s true.

When lust turns to like, or like turns to love;

That you might actually have feelings, when push comes to shove.

Wedding stories momentarily aside, I had a highly un-Aquarian “oh shit” moment last night when I realized that my feelings for Billy Blue were actually feelings—feelings I couldn’t brush off or leave behind in a bar or at the bottom of an empty bottle of Jack. Somewhere in the past sixty-two days I had lost control of my emotions and suddenly Billy was not just another Benjamin or Realtor or Trader or Attorney. My on/off switch unexpectedly shorted out and there I was, stuck with feelings.

So how can you avoid this sneak attack of sentiment? Just look for these telltale signs so you can better prepare yourself for those oxygen-depraving, heart-stopping, gut-wrenching moments when you realize that emotions really can come true in New York.

Jealousy
By the time you’ve hit age twenty-five, you’ve most likely had at least two post-junior high relationships, been cheated on, and had a minimum of one heart wrenching break-up that either resulted in a borderline eating disorder or required weekly attendance at your local AA chapter—essentially, a dating graveyard. So why do we (ok why did I) get jealous just hearing about our current partner’s hairy ex from college who permanently smelled like curry or seeing an old picture on Facebook that was never untagged? It’s because we want to have what they once shared together and more. Essentially, we want to stick around longer, outperform, outlook, and outsex our predecessors.

Fear
I should have smelled my emotions sneaking up on me from a mile away when Billy told me he was going out with a friend to play “wingman” for the night. The knot I instantly got in my stomach was an unkind reminder of when The Attorney played “wingman” one night with one of his friends—and so graciously ended up with another woman in his bed the next morning. When the fear of potentially losing someone enters the picture, you’re a goner for control over your feelings. White flag should be a full staff.

Approval from Your Friends
If your friends don’t like your significant other, whether they’re sober or inebriated, it’s usually for a damn good reason that you’re too stubborn (or drunk) to see. But once you know your friends have given their stamp of approval (and it hasn’t happened since 2007), your emotional guard instantly, and uncontrollably, goes down, making you more at ease with all those happy thoughts in your head that you can now free.

Lack of Flaws
Impatience, sub-par driving skills, and a tendency to avoid talking about feelings are just a few of my flaws—we all have them. If I had a dollar for every sneeze, chew, ugly shoe, bad pair of jeans, or obsession with Fantasy Football that annoyed me in my past relationships, I’d be a rich woman who could finally stop slinging Coors Lights on Friday nights. But when you can’t see your significant other’s flaws or choose to overlook them, all I have to say is one and a half words: DONE-ZO!

I can only hope that these four warning signals can help you to identify and better prepare yourself for any “oh shit, I have feelings” moments in your relationship futures. Hangovers happen, and apparently so do emotions. Who knew what 2010 would bring?

Wedding Crasher: Pre-Ceremony

As I uncomfortably writhed in the passenger seat of Billy Blue’s car, all I could think about was the fact that I was both a replacement date and a rebound. I exhaled deeply and attempted to cross my legs, which was highly unsuccessful considering my dress was a few stitches short of being a knee-to-tit corset.

I kept reminding myself that at least Billy called me by the proper name during sex and hadn’t tried to sever my nipple off as my past few rendezvous had. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to break it off with him in the middle of his sister’s wedding like I had to do with Benjamin in the middle of Mad River, because I was a long way from Manhattan.

After a few wrong turns and a few awkward silences, we pulled into the hotel parking lot where the entire male portion of the wedding party was waiting for Billy’s arrival. It was game time.

I was introduced to Billy’s brothers, Brady and Brannan, as well as the groom, his father and his two brothers, who all hailed from El Salvador. An Irish-El Salvadorian wedding? Would one end of the dance floor be Riverdancing while the other end would be two-stepping a merengue? This reception had potential to be awkwardly interesting.

Before I could say “mucho gusto” to the groomsmen, everyone began to pile into an awaiting black stretch limo. It was clearly for the men of the wedding party, so I turned towards Billy’s car, expecting us to follow behind.

“Oh no, we’re going with them,” Billy informed me.

Hmmm, I thought to myself. Riding in the limo to a wedding with a date I had known for a week and a groom and his groomsmen I had known for approximately cinco minutos probably isn’t entirely appropriate.

But what choice did I have? So I piled in and cracked open a beer just like the rest of them.

As we pulled up to the church, I realized that I may appear to be some sort of “entertainment” as we exited the limo. Billy sensed my concern as the El Salvadorians opened the limo door to make their wedding debut to the awaiting crowd.

“Why don’t you wait a few minutes and just get out after we all have?” he suggested.

I waited a good two minutes, as I watched Billy get pulled away to take family photos. I was on my own. I finished off my second beer, took a deep breath, and stepped out. I tried not to draw attention toward myself, but the awaiting crowd definitely noticed a mysterious woman emerge from the groom’s limo. Thank god I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before—the two beers I had just classily slugged put me somewhat at ease.

I saw two AARP-eligible women blatantly staring at me and decided to befriend them. For some illogical reason, I decided it may be easier to penetrate a circle of retirees rather than people closer to my own age.

“Are you here for the Blue wedding?” the taller, gray-haired woman affably inquired.

“I am,” I said with relief. She seemed somewhat welcoming. “My name is Bacchus.”

“Well I’m Margaret-Mary and this is Mary-Margaret,” she introduced herself and her shorter, white-haired sidekick, as they both stared at me, waiting for an explanation of who I was and why I was here.

“Who is she?” Mary-Margaret asked Margaret-Mary, as if I were suddenly invisible.

“I’m Billy’s date,” I graciously informed them.

A look of confusion subsided on both of their faces as I desperately looked around for Billy, who was still taking pictures in a courtyard a good fifty yards away.

“Who is she?” Mary-Margaret asked her counterpart, again completely ignoring that fact that I was still part of the conversation.

“She’s with Billy!” Margaret-Mary explained with annoyance.

Mary-Margaret turned to me, finally acknowledging my existence. “What was your name again?”

“Bacchus,” I answered, as she looked on with sheer confusion and doubt. I realized this would be only the first of many awkward introductions to come.

I should have stayed in the limo and polished off those last twelve beers…