I initially moved to Virginia in August of 2011 because I was offered a job there. I left New Jersey and packed all my shit and moved south. Virginia was pretty good. The initial job? Not so much. I only lasted 6 months due to unforeseen circumstances. That left me in a shit position. Do I move back to NJ and accept that I'm a degenerate loser? Or do I push forward and stay in Virginia. Well after a few months of interviews and blowing through all of my savings, I eventually found a job. It started in April of 2012. This was the best and worst stretch of my life to date.
I started my new job on April 16. My lease at my previous apartment ended on March 31. So I stayed at home for a brief 2 weeks before I moved into my new place. The problem that I ran into for those 2 weeks was that I couldn't find a place to live. It's now Sunday, April 15 and I still have nothing. I have work the next day. I checked out a few hotels to see how much an extended stay would cost. 2 weeks was $1000. Ain't happenin' homie. I called my old roommate up and asked if I could stay at his new place because I didn't have anywhere else to turn. Turns out they had an extra room at this row house and after speaking with the owner for about 4 minutes, was offered the room. Great success!
Now I've got momentum. I've got a new job, a new place of residence. Life is good. The new job has allowed me the opportunity to meet some great people and I get to act like a complete asshole. I couldn't have asked for more. May rolls around and after minimal convincing, me and my other 2 roomies decide to go up. On a Thursday. Got your girl in the cut and she choosey. But seriously, we go to this college bar and it's decently packed. My roomie, Bryce, decides he's going to dance until his face falls off. We're throwing beers back like it's going out of style. One after another down the gullet. Hammer time!
Clock says 12:30. Bryce heads home because he's drunk and he has work at 7. That leaves Alex and I. Still throwing back beers until I see her. She's like the wind. A beautiful, short blond haired fox. I decide that I'm not going to do anything because that's how I roll. It's worked for me in the past. About 30 minutes go by and nothing. That is until Creepy McCreeperson approaches said beauty. He's grinding all up on that ass. I can't help but think I should go help her. I don't. We lock eyes. I can feel her asking for help. I shoot back that I won't. She stops dancing and works her way over to me. She starts grinding on my penis like the physical representation of Next - Too Close. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, die). Boner city!
The song ends and we get to talking. Turns out she's from Chicago, like my roommate Alex. So he's chiming in, asking her whereabouts, high school, college, whatever. This could not be going any better. She asks me to hold her bag while she goes to the bathroom. For some reason, I do. She comes back and the lights come on. It's closing time. She's with a friend and she needs to go. She decides she's going to give me her number. At this point, I'm too drunk to comprehend anything. I take it, smile, and leave.
I get back home and go to bed and anticipate what's going to be a shit day in the office. It was. But I got this girl Megan's number. I text her that night asking what her plans were for the night. I can't remember what she said, but it wasn't me. The next day, Saturday, she's touring all over DC to look at statues and museums and other gay shit. Lame. I try to meet her out that night but she has no idea where she is. I tend to believe her because she's from Chicago. My last ditch effort I ask her to IHOP at 3am. She says she doesn't like breakfast foods.
Now this is the point in the story where I should have cut all ties with this girl. She lives in Chicago, I'm outside DC. She doesn't like breakfast food, I love breakfast food. She's a great dancer, I'm also a a great dancer. Fuck.
She leaves to go back home and I carry on living my life. But not really. I continue to send texts to her mostly when I've been drinking. She responds almost every time. After a few weeks of texting each other, she asks my real first and last name because she wants to add me on Facebook. I assume it's because she has no idea what I look like. Now we're practically friends in real life. We continue texting. We Facebook message. We even talked on the phone like once. This went on from May 2012 to October 2013. We were talking for a year and 3 months.
My time at my job was starting to wind down. I didn't give a shit about it all anymore. Too many of my friends were leaving. Conduct policies were becoming more and more strict. It didn't feel like the same place anymore. Then my dad dies in September 2013. I get a bunch of bereavement days which mostly sucked. I make my plan to quit my job in November, use up the remainder of my vacation time since I don't get paid out for it, and plan to go to Chicago to visit Megan.
This is really the worst part of the story.
I initially make the flight plans and talk to Megan all about it. This is when I'm arriving. This is when I'm leaving. I need a place to stay. She tells me right before I buy the tickets that I can stay with her. Awesome. A week later I buy my ticket and the first thing she asks me is "Where are you staying?" Uh, what? I explain that one week earlier, you told me I can stay with you. She doesn't seem to remember. I look at hotels. Week stays are not affordable. And that was another mistake. Why I didn't go for a weekend is beyond me. I guess I wanted to enjoy Chicago as much as possible.
I ask Alex, my roommate, if there's anywhere I can stay in Chicago (friends, family). He lets me know he's got 2 friends near Wrigley that wouldn't mind having me. So we're all good there. I get into town on Monday morning at 9am. I call and text Megan multiple times. No response. I'm sitting in O'Haire for 2 hours because I don't know the first thing about Chicago and I've got a huge bag with me. Eventually I make it onto the train and head downtown. I walk around the Sears Tower. I get some deep-dish pizza (fucking nasty), and sit in front of Barnes and Noble charging my phone.
It's now 3pm. Megan decides to respond to my texts. "Sorry, I got blacked out last night and didn't get home till 6am. I've been asleep and now I'm hungover. I can't hang" Alright, whatever. I walk 5 miles to the place that I'm staying. I get there at 4:30pm. They don't get home from work until 6. So I sit in Dunkin' Donuts questioning my life choices. They get home and I drop all my shit off and watch tv with them until it's bed time. I assure myself tomorrow will be a better day.
Tuesday comes and it's pouring out. Several texts back and forth to Megan assures me that nothing will be happening on Tuesday. So I sit in the house all day watching tv. The guys get home from work, we watch some baseball playoffs and the day is over.
Wednesday is a much better day. Cool out, but not horrific. Megan and I finally decide upon hanging out. I meet her at the Barnes and Noble. To my surprise, she's not a 40-year-old black man waiting to wrap me in his arms. I haven't been catfished! I wasn't expecting to, since, ya know, I've already met her. We walk around Chicago. I see the Bean. I see Michigan Ave. I go to Navy Pier, We grab some lunch and a beer. I even paid. She told me she had volleyball practice that night so she didn't think she'd be doing anything, but would let me know if she was. We hug and part ways. I never saw Megan again.
Thursday is full of more rain and misery. I end up going out that night with the guy I'm staying with and have the most fun since I've been in Chicago. I text Megan a few times to let her know what I'm doing and where I am and she's more than welcome to come. She answers, but never makes an effort to meet up.
Friday the Blackhawks are in town. I ask if she wants to catch a game. Heck, I'd even pay for tickets. No response. I go out for a few beers and ask if she wants to join. No response. I reiterate that it's my last night there and I came to Chicago to hang out with her. No response. The night comes and goes and my time in Chicago is about to come to an end. I thank the guys for letting me stay with them and prepare to go to the airport at 4:30am for my flight back to DC. What a waste.
I get home and am asked about my trip. I have nothing positive to say. I'm incredibly disappointed. Mostly because I feel like I was brushed off. I spent all this money on airfare to see her for 4 hours one day. I didn't even get to bang her. That's probably why I hurt the most. I tell Alex and Bryce about it and I can see they seem disappointed for me. They didn't even make fun of me like friends do. So we just go out locally, get drunk, come back and after some talking. Decide that it's a good idea to take a snapchat of my asshole and send it to her. I do.
She texts me to ask who's asshole that is. I tell her it's mine. She tells me that it's the most disgusting thing she's ever seen. I send a two paragraph text about how hurt I was that she didn't want to hang out with me while I was in Chicago. I didn't need to bang her, fingerblast her, or even hold hands if she wasn't into it. But to leave me high and dry? That was just mean. She never responded.
So I leave you with an important lesson today. When people question your spontaneity, tell them to fuck off. Because for once in my life I did something pretty spontaneous. I mean. I flew to Chicago to go spend time with a girl that I had spoken to face-to-face for 30 minutes of my life. That was bold. And I always would have regretted not knowing if anything ever would have come from that. But in this instance, it was one of the worst mistakes of my life. If I could go back and change it, I wouldn't. Because from that week forward it cemented in me that "I am better than you."
