And they all got the same heartbeat, but hers is falling behind.

- Echosmith, Cool Kids

-+-

Me:
yeah the whole time i was like no fucking way
like it wasn't even going a little well
it was going like
really well
like suspiciously well
i'm like
no fucking way it's going this well
LOL
i wasn't even trying to not be awkward and he totally was a champ about it
he was like what's up and i was like oh uh sorry i was objectifying you
and i explained to him that while i enjoyed receiving compliments, i was really bad at giving compliments
and so he was like well i got this for both of us then
and told me all these nice things about how he thinks i'm beautiful and he likes my smile
and i was like
uh
if i were to give you a compliment, i would... give you one... now
and he was like
not scared off
LOL

-+-

I usually enter a new dating experience with some healthy skepticism.  I won't neglect a red flag, but in general, I'll try to play on your team.  You have friends and loved ones that see the best in you, so I should try to see that, too.  Innocent until proven guilty (Though admittedly, some reach a "Guilty" verdict much faster than others).

Usually, if something seems worth going all-in for, I've never been one to hesitate in playing all my chips.  I've always been one to go for the leap of faith.  I've convinced myself that humanity deserves that.  A few bad eggs shouldn't take away from the theme that overall, humanity ain't that bad.

Lately, however, I've been washed with cynicism that is honestly unlike me.  I'll admit, some events this year have given me good reason to be cynical (coughalexcough), but I'm usually super gung-ho about the goodness in mankind and all that jazz.  So surmise it to say that I'm surprised at my recent behavior: I'm reacting to everything with a, '...no fucking way.'  

Of course, when going into a dating experience, you always want things to go well.  This time around, I literally can't believe that things could be going this well.  My attitude on the matter is, 'NOPE I GOTTA BE GETTIN PUNK'D OR SUMMIN, NAH WAY MAYN, NOPE'

A considerable part of me is waiting for the punchline, for the "lol jk!!!!!!"

Lemme paint a picture for you.

Meet Drew.

Example 1) He demonstrates exuberant laughter and banters with my corny jokes.

I tried to tell him this gem:

Q: How do you put a zebra into a refrigerator?
A: You open the door and put in the Zebra!

[Drew: Wait, how does a zebra fit in a refrigerator?  Zebras are pretty big.  I mean, do you have to sever its limbs to make it fit?  I don't think that's ethical, Christa.
Me: SHUT UP. It's like, an industrial-sized refrigerator, then!  Those are huge!  Those would totally fit a zebra!  ok shut up the joke isn't over]

Q: How do you put an elephant into a refrigerator?
A: You open the door, take out the zebra, and put in the elephant!

[Drew: Hold on, now.  I think if this is an industrial-sized refrigerator, there would be enough room for both a zebra and an elephant.  I don't think you need to take out the zebra if the fridge is that big.
Me: SHUTUP.  It's like, a perfectly elephant-sized freezer, then.  An elephant would be snug in it.  It would just fit one elephant.
Drew: But see, even then, I think if you were to arrange it so that the zebra was underneath the elephant, they could still both feasibly fit in the refrigerator.  I just think you could be more space-efficient, Christa.
Me: OMG I'M GONNA FIGHT YOU]

Example 2) Not only is he completely game to meet my friends, but he also has an instinctive understanding that ice cream is my one true love.

Me: My friends invited me clubbing with them tonight, but I have mixed feelings about it since I have work tomorrow... Hm, do you want to come?
Drew: Sure, that sounds like fun!
[...]
Me: Arrgh, maybe we shouldn't go.  Cover is super expensive now since I waited until the last minute.  Do you want to just do our own thing instead?
Drew: Are you sure?  I don't want to take you away from your friends!
Me: Nahh it's chill, I'll just hang with them next time.
Drew: What do you have in mind?
Me: Uhh, well there's a lot of bars in North Park, uhh.. Hm, what else is fun?
Drew: Do you want to stay in and eat ice cream and watch Netflix?
Me: oh dear god i would love that

Example 3) He can hold a conversation about bees.

Drew: What are you thinking about doing grad school in?
Me: Uhh.. so long story.. but uhh.  OKAY, you're gonna need some context.  So I'm a honey collector, and it kind of spiraled out of control when I moved to San Diego.  I was a vendor for the San Diego Honey Company and now I'm a member of the San Diego Beekeeper's Society.  I'm really into bees.  So I'm actually looking into getting a degree in bee neuroscience. [I wait for classic reaction of laughter and/or disbelief]
Drew: That's awesome! I know everyone is getting really concerned about bees with the rise of Colony Collapse Disorder.  [I think, 'wait what he actually has an opinion about bees?'] I remember when everyone was just taking the bees for granted.  Someone proposed a future where we lose all of our bees, and that someday, people would need to pollinate their plants by hand.  At the time, everyone thought this guy was crazy, because that sounded so impossible.  So do you think that's a real, tangible threat?
[Commence full-fleshed conversation about regions of China that are already devoid of bees, so people have to pollinate their own crops there]
Me: WE JUST HAD A CONVERSATION ABOUT BEES, THAT'S AWESOME

No fucking way, right?

...

no fucking wai

...

...

so it begins

-+-

Me:
no way it's going this well
it's gotta be a trap or something
it's going way too well
lol oh dear god
am i jaded

After that he's just hopeless
soul mates become soulless

-- Kanye West, Hold My Liquor

-+-

me: i think i might be a little jaded
me: [...] told me, "i've never connected with someone so quickly in my life"
me: and i was just like
me: neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerd

-+-

There is one really bad habit that I used to have, and one that I can fairly say that I’ve kicked.

For years, I’ve been in the habit of taking naps in my car.  Honestly, if you can park there, then I will nap there.  I’ve napped in various mall and outlet parking lots, I’ve napped while parked along various neighborhoods, I’ve napped in school parking lots.  I’ve napped right in front of my apartment complex or while parked in my driveway.  It usually starts when I first park my car, and I’ll check my phone for all the text messages that I ignored while I was driving.  Then while I reply, I’ll recline my seat, and make myself comfortable.  Then, I’ll find myself browsing Facebook, Reddit, Instagram… then before you know it, I open my eyes and it’s dark out.  Sometimes I’ll nap as a break before the next errand – fit in a power nap before I hit the mall or go to the gym.  Woke up super early to drive my sister to the airport?  I’ll just drive to work, nab a great parking spot, and nap in my car until it’s time to start my day.

Over the course of several years, I was the poster girl for loitering.  Even though I would experience an occasional drawback every few months, it worked for me.  I’ve had a run-in with neighborhood watch, I’ve had a tap on my window by a solicitor at the parking lot of a Target, I’ve had a concerned couple check on me while I was parked outside my apartment complex.  Nothing too extraordinary, and nothing worth stopping my serial nap streak for.

That was until I fell asleep in North Park in San Diego, CA.  I met with a friend in the neighborhood, and had just parted ways with her.  However, I had a few too many drinks, and I didn’t want to drive inebriated.  The answer, of course, seemed obvious to me.  Nap in my car until I could sober up and drive.  I nap in my car all the time, so it didn’t seem like a big deal to me.

There were a few news reports of assaults against women in North Park, so I carried mace with me and called it a day.  That’s a crime of young people.  We hear things on the news and think it won’t happen to us.  Danger seems like such a world away from us.  We’re so full of life, we figure we’re invincible.

Let me start by reassuring you that this ends with a happy ending, but it’s just pretty creepy and cringe-worthy throughout.  I know you already have an idea of where this is going, and you want to punch me for being so stupid and reckless.  I want to punch me, too.

-+-

North Park.

I wake up in the middle of the night.  I'm slow at orienting myself.  I see a flickering streetlight, I feel the curves of my carseat, and I hear the sound of men laughing, “There’s someone knocked out in there!”

I realize that these voices are talking about me, so in a sleepy haze, I run on reflex and instinct.  I sit up a little bit and wave a hand, “I’m fine, everything is fine!”

My eyes adjust and evaluate the crowd in front of me.  It's a couple of burly guys, dressed like they tore a page straight from the Thug Stereotype Handbook.  Oversized white shirts, oversized jackets, baseball caps in the dead of night, baggy jeans struggling to stay attached to their bodies.  I try to keep a pretty open mind about cultural stereotyping, but you have to admit, it can be pretty valuable in a life or death situation.  Especially when you realize you’re a young, delicate Asian woman flying solo in the dark streets of North Park.  You’re more likely to instantly put your guard up when you think, ‘Oh fuck these guys are ghetto thugs, perhaps I should be aware for my safety’ vs. ‘oh suspenders and hipster glasses, neeeeerds.’

I warily eye the men as they pass by me.  Oh, thank god.  They’re walking away, just exchanging casual laughter about the girl napping in her car.  They’re about to turn the corner.

Then, one of them does a double-take at me.  Fuck.  My heart sinks into my stomach as his pace stalls.

‘No, no, no, no, keep walking, keep walking, keep walking,’ My fingers urgently search for my mace in my purse. ‘C’mon, keep walking.’

“Oh, hey,” he exclaims, “Actually, you’re pretty cute!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  He turns around and walks towards me, his entourage following him.  He walks over to my driver’s seat window and knocks ardently.

“Hey girl, roll down your window,” he smiles.

Jesusfuckingchrist.  I'm used to getting hit on at bars and other public settings, where if something goes amiss, at least I'm in a room full of people.  This is different.  If anything happened to me right now, there’d be zero witnesses other than a dying streetlamp.  I remember that numerous assault cases have been happening in this neighborhood.  Oh god, am I the next victim?  I evaluate my options, and I evaluate all the cultural stereotypes in my arsenal to think of how to handle this situation.  I decide that I’m possibly in a life or death situation, no time to be politically correct!  The only thing reassuring me is that uhh, at least my windows are rolled up.  In front of me is a moderately burly guy.  Behind him are two extremely burly guys.  Oh, great.  That’s reassuring.  I look over their clothing again.  From my understanding of thugs from movies and television shows, a lot of them wear baggy clothes... to hide guns and weaponry.  I realize that if I try to pull a Christa and sass my way out of this, this has a real potential to get ugly.  I don’t know their tempers, I don’t know their lives.  I decide that if the worst possible scenario were to happen, my windows sure aren’t bulletproof.  I have better luck getting out of this calmly and verbally than by freaking out and trying to mace three huge guys at the same time.

I roll down my window, literally an inch.  Just enough to exchange verbal conversation, nothing more.  He still decides to slip his fingers as far as he can in the inch-wide opening to shake my hand.

“What’s your name, girl?” he inquires.

At this point, I’m already walking on eggshells.  I try to stay observant.  I quickly notice that he reflexively runs his hand along his chest and his stomach as he talks, surely in some showy effort to emphasize his physique to a woman that he’s attempting to court.  At first, I’m trying to ignore the awkward hand movements.  Continuing his showiness, he lifts his shirt a little, I think to show me his abs.  It’s impressively cliché, actually.  He’s the exact person I usually lol at on the internet.  If I wasn’t so scared out of my mind, maybe this situation would be a little funnier.

Instead, it gets a lot less funny, real fast.  As he lifts his shirt, my eyes catch view of something.  Either he has an extremely ambitious boner, or that’s the hilt of a gun tucked behind his belt.  His friends start lighting up a joint behind him, and marijuana smoke starts creeping into my car.  It’s a scene from a bad movie, and I’m in the thick of it.

I start coping with the idea that there’s an actual possibility of this night ending with a bullet in my head.  Hopefully improbable, but the likelihood is still higher than I'd like it to be.  I never thought that this would be my mantra in a situation like this, but I find myself thinking, ‘Oh dear god… please let that be his penis, please let that be his penis.’

“Christa,” I nervously smile.  Giving up my name felt like an act of surrender.  In this context, it felt like the situational equivalent of being mugged for my wallet and quietly handing over my purse.

“Watchu doing here, girl?”

“Uh, I didn’t want to drive drunk, so I was taking a nap until I sobered up…”

“Cute and responsible, would you look at that.  Well, girl,” he licks his bottom lip while running his fingers across his chest, “what's your plans tonight?”

“I’m actually pretty sober now,” I force a chuckle, “I think I’m gonna head home pretty soon.” ohgoodlordinheavenhallowbethyname

“Well, girl,” he says, “give me your number, then.”  Again, I evaluate my options.  I realize that I’m still gambling on whether I’m being held at bulletpoint or penispoint.  From the look on his face, maybe both.  I decide to not take my chances, and I surrender my number.

With his next sentence quickly resolving this debacle with a happy ending, I feel like I win the lottery.  He calls my phone to make sure I didn’t give him a fake number, then says…

“Well, I have to drive my friends home, but I’ll hit you up in the morning.”

Did he just say he’s leaving?  HE’S LEAVING?

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

For all I know, I was just being an incredibly terrible person and a stereotyping bigot.  Even then, I have to tell you, words can barely describe the relief that washed over me as he and his friends drove away in his lowrider.  In the upcoming week, he texted me several times a day and left me a bunch of voicemails, but that discomfort was chump change compared to my constant thankfulness that I got away from North Park in one piece that day.

It’s a story that I’ve forgotten in the month since it happened.  Until today.  Today, I left the coffee shop, and felt a little sleepy as I got into my car.  In a past life, I would’ve just given into the temptation and would’ve stolen a quick nap before heading back home.

Not this time.  This time, I remembered that night in North Park, and I just drove on home.

And that’s the story of how I became the ex-serial napper.

Muscle to muscle and toe to toe
The fear has gripped me but here I go
My heart sinks as I jump up
Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut

-- Alt-J, Breezeblocks

-+-

Our average conversations went a little like this.  When we laugh, I flashback to all those months ago.

SHE: Uh, so... I joined the San Diego Beekeepers Society.
HE [in a fit of laughter]: Seriously?!
SHE: Yep.
HE [sternly]: Are you a bear?
SHE [laughs]: Excuse me?
HE: Are you a bear?  Because now I'm starting to think you're a bear.
SHE: What?!
HE: It's okay, I understand.  After all... I'm a bear.
SHE: Oh, really? You're a bear?
HE: Well... you've seen my chest hair.
SHE: Oh, shut up!
HE: You want to know a secret?
SHE: What?
HE: We're all bears.
SHE: Like, everyone here?  Everyone at this restaurant is a bear?
HE: Shh! You're going to ruin the secret!

No matter what, there's one thing I have to admit about him.

Let me preface this by noting that I laugh profusely.  It's one of those laughs where my reputation has come to precede me.  People can tell I'm coming from a mile away because they'll hear my laugh down the hall.  I love golfing, but I don't do well on the calm-mannered course because I can't stop laughing.  People punctuate my giggle-filled comments with, "And she's not even drunk!"

As awful and hopeless and careless as he is, one thing he can claim is that he's one of few that matches my laughter.  For me, that counts for a lot.  I'm used to people telling me I need to calm down, that I need to temper myself.

With him, well.  We're a mess when we're together.  Everyone turns and stares at the pair racing through the building, devoured by giggles.

If even for just that reason alone, a piece of me will always look at him in a good light.

A piece of me will always know him as the boy that's as silly and awkward and strange and quick to laugh as me.

(P.S. but jesus fucking christ)

It started out with a kiss, how'd it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.

- The Killers, Mr. Brightside

-+-

"You're beautiful."

What?  I must've misheard him.  He probably made some really bad pun that incorporates the word "booty" in it.  Classic.  That's totally something he'd do.  I know him well enough that it wouldn't surprise me.  I laugh it off, and think nothing more of it.

Some time passes.  Eventually, he says, "You're so pretty."  ...Wait, what?  I finally look at him, only to realize that he's admiring me.

I'm starting to think that I didn't mishear him.

"I missed you, Christa."

That hits me like a punchline.  I feel my heart skip.  Compartmentalization is an art form, and most days I feel like I have it down to a tee.  Then, there are moments like this.  Moments where I don't know where to place my next step.  Where I don't know what my next move should be.

Should I play the enigma, the detached, the carefree?

Or should I say the truth?

... I missed you, too.