Remembering Andrew and all he brought with him

A friend of mine is in love online.  Yes, that’s right, I said online.  It’s something that always fascinates me, since you all know I fell in love with Andrew online.  She’s hopelessly in love, confused, excited, scared and anxious all at the same time.  It’s the first time she’s ever done anything like this and I am loving it on her behalf.

Something not many of you know was that almost the entirety of Andrew’s and my relationship was online.  He died the morning of when he was on his way down to meet me.  I spoke to him the night before and said good night, I was too busy and distracted to notice that he sounded weird on the phone.

Talking to her today brought back so many emotions.  So many crazy memories of talking to him until the early hours, drunken messages from each respective group of friend’s parties, emails of love letters trying to outdo each other with words, report backs on each movement of every event in every day.

I remember the first time we realized that our chats had become something more… substantial.  It was a simulrealization.  Both of us stopped dead at the exact moment and went “but fuck!  Hold on, I think I am in love with you! Oh jesus.  This is TERRIBLE!”

I remember getting to know all of his friends and chatting to them on skype.  I remember being jealous over every little reference he made to any woman.  I remember going over an editorial issue with a phrase in his book one night for HOURS.  I remember hating the fact that he refused to let me call his place mine, but he could call mine his.

I laughed at the time about all our plans and how absurd they sounded while I made them with someone I hadn’t ever met.  I cried when he said that on our first “date” he would have to tie his willy in a knot.  I died when he said he’d rather smell me, see how I fit under his arm pit, how he’d test out how comfy my couch was for mid TV-watching sex.  I sighed when he commanded me to rid myself of the habit of letting my pets sleep in bed with me, as it would not happen if we were to share a life together.

Ultimately, after months and weeks and days and hours, when Andrew finally got his head out of his book and I agreed to stop being a pretentious snob, we made arrangements to meet.  We were both terrified.  Sadly, he died that morning.  So I still don’t know.  But I can guarantee you that I have never felt so close to someone as I did that stranger of a man who knocked me to my knees.

It’s been one whole year, the second death of someone I adore, 12 months of getting over him and about 5 men later.  This other dude I’m seeing is the only one who’s held my attention for longer than two weeks.  But I haven’t forgotten about Andrew.  I don’t think I ever will.

I’m not talking about dating online, but what about meeting someone via other means of the internet and holding a connection… do you think there’s potential for something more than just a chat buddy?

I most certainly do.

Quote of the week:

I wish I could clone you so that I could still be a part of everything you do, but you would still have the space you demand.  Also, you smell nice.  And I miss you.

How to create a family chaos in ten easy steps:

1.  Update your Facebook status:
“SheBee is hanging out on the couch with her blister and her fiance”.

2.  Watch in horror
As your cousin Kelly (and numerous others) instantly comment on the status feed.

3.  Be prepared
For “what-the-fuck’s, who-is-the-lucky-man’s, when-did-you-get-a-boyfriend’s and how-much-did-you-pay-him-to-pop-the-question’s.

4.  Reply with disgust:
Marriage is for quitters and that the word ‘blister’ refers to your sister and HER fiance.

5.  Realize that you’re too late as your mother screams down the phone not a second after you’ve answered her call:
“No mom, jesus – I am not pregnant!” you reply in a calm manner.

5.  Attempt to, in your utmost effort’s best, explain where the misconception came about:
“Oh my god, the baby’s name will not be fucking Lawrence if its a boy, I don’t care that its a family name.  Wait, I am not even pregnant!  Mother! Please, for the love of Winston Churchill, will you PLEASE calm down.  Kill the whooping, I didn’t say yes to anything!  We’ve been dating for a few weeks for god’s sake, I AM NOT ENGAGED!

6.  Not having much luck:
“Yes, I will tell him that Kev demands two cows and a chicken for Labola…”

7.  Call cousin Kelly to ensure confirmation that it was just a misunderstanding.
“You stupid whore, look what you’ve done!”

8. Reassure your mother of your intentions of not being a lesbian with commitment issues:
Yes, we’re still dating, Mom.  Of course you would be the first person to know if I ever chose to marry.  Could I at least shtup this poor oke before you hound me about marriage? No, I don’t know if he has “a big willy”.

9.  Finally starting to get closer to clearing the air:
*Sigh* I promise to tell you when I shtup him.  Okay Mom, I love you too”.

10.  Update your Facebook status:
“SheBee wishes to clarify that she is not fucking engaged. Morons!”

How to not date:

How to not date:

1.    Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, do not write ‘I like it dirty’ on the back of The Date’s car (equally as filthy as yours) at a carwash.  It will only cause your cheeks to flush when he teases you nonstop for the duration of the date.

2.    If you gracefully trip over a loose brick in the park’s paved pathway, after a delightful picnic, telling the brick to go and “fuck itself” is probably not the best demonstration of femininity. This becomes clear once you look over to The Date and his eyes are pretending to not be large and a little amazed at your prowess and command of the language which would shame most sailors, and their mothers.

3.    Do not answer a compliment of how good you look in those jeans with ‘thanks, but you should see how unshaven my legs are and you’d know why I wore them’.

4.    When The Date arrives at your front door after only two hours of being separated by previous day date, preferably you should not have your dads checkered and holey grey pj’s on.

5.    If The Date decides that joining you at your house to support your friend who is on TV instead of drinking beer with his friends, you should not greet him in the foyer by saying, “what, did you come back with chloroform this time?”.

6.    When lying on the bed after six hours watching TV, contrary to popular belief “I am pretty impressed. You haven’t let your hands roam or anything” is not the best way of complimenting one’s gentlemanship.

7.    Equally, his earlobe for choice of complimentation is probably one of the most random body parts and will only leave The Date bewildered and confused after you bite your tongue and look at the ceiling fan.

There should be a guide book or something of how to behave on these things.  Oh wait, there is.  It’s called Cosmo.  Pity I always choose FHM instead.

Amazingly, he wants to see me again. I actually wouldn’t mind it that much