Super Sneaky Crushes

I am currently suffering from what I like to refer to as a super sneaky crush. It's on a guy at work. Yes, yes, I know, I should avoid work men like the plague after my last disaster, but this isn't a particularly huge crush, and I highly doubt it will go anywhere, mainly because I don't care to pursue it in the same way I did with Mr. A. This guy first came to my attention because my work girls pointed him out one day as being one of the few lookers on our floor (there are, for the record, only two). I agreed that he was cute, but he was a bit too short for my liking and all of my situational lust was being expended on the Greek god in our midst.

The girls kept talking about him, and I kept shrugging my shoulders in indifference. I saw him very rarely, and couldn't seem to get past the fact that he was only just my height. Then, one day last week, BAM! I looked at him and thought 'WOW! How did I not notice just how CUTE you are?!' Since then I have been the complete opposite of indifferent. I notice him all the time now, and we've been having little conversations whenever we do see each other. It's still just a situational thing, in my opinion, and thus something I'm unlikely to pursue, but yeah, it's definitely there now. 

The point of this post is not to talk in any depth about my silly little work crush, but more on the phenomenon of the super sneaky crush and how it has affected me in the past. Casting my mind back, I'm sure that I had a few of these in high school, going from not even noticing that a guy was alive to suddenly being obsessed to the point where I was scrawling our names together in the back of my school books. But they're largely uninteresting stories, and I guess a fairly common occurrence for teenage girls.

The only time that it has really happened to me as an adult was with a friend from university. The first time I met Chinchilla I thought he was a bit of a doll. We went up against each other in a faux debating situation for our degree and were both suited up. Chinchilla is a man who looks pretty amazing in a suit. He is tall, dark, and handsome in a rather Spanish way (which makes sense, as he is half Spanish). We got along fairly well too, bouncing witticisms off each other like they were going out of fashion. So I noticed him, admired him, and made a note to myself to keep an eye on that one. 

By this time though, I was in the throes of a pretty significant obsession with the Original Bluck (mentioned in an earlier post as I had the rather surreal experience of seeing him in Dublin whilst I was living there and promptly ran in the opposite direction). Chinchilla and the Original Bluck were friends. I basically lived in the library for much of my degree just to escape my home life, and the OB and Chinchilla were constantly there too. As such, we formed an unlikely little trio and became friends (in spite of my massive crush on the OB). When the OB wasn't with us Chinchilla and I would talk about everything and anything, and I made it pretty clear that I was interested in the OB (I thought that maybe Chinchilla could get me in there somehow). Chinchilla and I were in the deep end of the platonic pool by now, and I had almost forgotten how good he looked in a suit. 


I'm not really sure how it happened, but one day I was in the library with the OB and Chinchilla, and I looked over at Chinchilla and felt like a truck had just rammed straight into my heart. 'WOW! Why is it that I'm just friends with this guy again? Why am I so relentlessly pursuing this other douche when I could be with this pretty awesome, politically motivated, smart (did I mention looks great in a suit?) guy?' It was the sneakiest of sneaky crushes. I kept quiet about it though, maybe it was just misplaced feelings, I told myself that it was really still the OB that I wanted and that my weird rush of feelings towards Chinchilla was nothing more than a way of trying to distract myself from the disaster that was my non-existent relationship with the OB. 


But the feelings didn't go away. They got worse. And I finally confided in the best friend. She looked at me quizzically, but then agreed that he was someone worth crushing on. And from that point on, there was no stopping the emotions from growing. 


The funny thing is, I'm pretty sure that at almost exactly the same time as I first really noticed him, he noticed me too. Things didn't exactly get awkward between us, but the dynamic definitely changed. About a month after my revelation the annual ball held for those studying our degree occurred. I went along with the best friend and her then boyfriend, and showed up realising that Chinchilla was wearing a tie that was almost the same shade of blue as my dress. We said hi, but then spent the rest of the evening away from each other. But every time I glanced in his direction, even when he was on the other side of the room, he was looking straight back at me with an intensity that it was difficult to ignore. 


At the end of the night, the best friend and her boyfriend got into a rather epic fight and both left the venue, leaving me somewhat stranded as I was staying at their place. I saw Chinchilla sitting by himself at a table on the other side of the room. He motioned me over. And from then, everything just fell into place. He kissed me, and it felt right in a way that kissing the OB had never done. We left the ball and went to the ever so classy fast food chain known for its golden arches. There we were in our finery, me with his suit jacket draped across my shoulders to ward off the chill of the night, ordering the most disgusting of fast food. We then took a leisurely stroll back to the pretty little park that was adjacent to the Town Hall where the ball had been held, and sat on a park bench together. He told me he felt really, really happy, and that he had known that this would happen somehow. It really was a pretty magical night. 


We started seeing each other in earnest and the relationship ended only a few months later. I'm still not really sure why. Maybe it was because he was planning an overseas trip at the end of the year and wanted to be single for that. Maybe it was because I was a bit too honest and told him that I liked him a bit too much and he interpreted that as my way of saying I loved him. I'm not sure if I did love him, but what I felt was unusually strong. It was one of the most intense relationships I had ever had, physically at least. We didn't spend a whole lot of time together, but there was a spark between us that erupted into the most delicious of flames whenever we were alone together.



It's all a bit moot now, because early the next year when he arrived back from his overseas trip I had been dating the King of Emotional Fuckwittery for three months. I ran into Chinchilla in one of the local night clubs in our dreary little city and he seemed genuinely excited to see me, until I told him that I was there with my boyfriend. A friend later told me that he complained that I had 'bragged' about having a boyfriend, which I was annoyed by. He asked me who I was there with, I told him the truth, I was there with my boyfriend. I almost muttered this under my breath, because seeing Chinchilla again brought up a whole range of emotions that I was not comfortable dealing with, I was definitely not bragging. 


A few months after that Chinchilla started dating an awful girl. But every time we saw each other it was like a weird electricity was in the room. I couldn't stop staring at him, and he couldn't stop staring at me. And this was often in spite of the fact that our respective partners were in the room as well. I complained bitterly about his girlfriend's barely concealed hatred of me to the KOEF and he told me that the reason I hated her was because I was jealous. I would yell at him when he suggested this and say that I clearly wasn't jealous because I was going out with him and not Chinchilla. But he was right, for once. I was jealous, and I was angry that he would date someone so clearly awful. He seemed beaten down and that made me angry for him.


Our friendship was never the same again, of course, and I do regret losing it. But at the same time, I'm glad that I acted on my super sneaky crush, because it was a brilliant two months. We ran into each other randomly on the train in Sydney a few years later and had a cordial conversation. I was single (although still entangled with the KOEF), and he was still with her. This fact stood as an invisible wall between us. He's living in Spain now, almost certainly no longer with the dragon girl, and up until a few years ago I was still very much in an uncertain state of longing for him. This has dissipated now, and when I do think of him it is with a smile and not a feeling of what could have been.


I guess that this little story just goes to show the power of the super sneaky crush. One day you barely notice the person, the next you're on a collision course of longing that can go on for years. This is not going to happen with my situational crush right now, but a word to the wise- don't underestimate those sneaky little crushes, they might just break your heart.


Crush-a-riffic, 


B. J. Barnes

NO! Just NO!

Dear Random, Neurotic, Co-Dependent Mother (not my mother, another one),

You are causing my best friend to fly into fits of rage, which are completely justified, in the lead up to her wedding. This time should be one of the most exciting periods of her life. Sure, she should be a little stressed, but about fun things like invitations and shoes, cakes and wedding songs, not about idiots like you. 

You are really good friends with her future husband. As such, she has to invite you to the wedding and associated festivities. You, however, have made it clear that you will not be attending the wedding unless your child (not a very young baby who needs to be near their mother for breast feeding purposes) also attends. And you have been bombarding my best friend with questions about how her wedding can best fit around your child's needs. She shouldn't have to deal with this ridiculousness. I understand that children at weddings is a somewhat contentious issue. But my feeling is that if someone doesn't want to have children (particularly small toddlers who can easily be crushed underfoot when in a room full of merrily drunken people) at their wedding, that is a choice they are entitled to make and you should respect that. You have no right to throw a tantrum and state that your attendance is conditional upon your toddler being an invited guest. You are lucky that my best friend is not as blunt and stubborn as I am. This is a situation in which I would be pulling rank and telling my fiance that under no circumstances is that child stepping foot in the wedding venue (this is probably why I don't have a boyfriend or husband, but I don't care, it's the principle of the thing). My response to your ridiculous request would have been 'I'm sorry to hear that you won't be attending our wedding. Be sure to check out the photographs online.'

This entire situation is more than enough to send me into a blind rage, but you have really outdone yourself in terms of absolute selfishness in the latest instalment. You have demanded to bring your child, that's right, YOUR CHILD, to the HEN'S PARTY! THE HEN'S PARTY!!!!! What on earth is wrong with you??? Honestly? Is your brain not fully formed? Do you not understand what happens at these type of events, and comprehend why the thought of bringing a child to one just absolutely beggars belief? Here is a short, by no means comprehensive, list of reasons why a hen's party is not a child-friendly zone:

• People get drunk at these events. Really drunk. Uproariously drunk. And so they should. It is a party celebrating the (fictional, but whatever) final hurrah of the bride. It is a chance to let go and have fun;
• Just going off the hen's parties that I have attended, there are usually at least one or two penis novelties involved. This might not happen at my best friend's festivities, but the point is, it usually does, and why on earth would you want to expose your child to this?;
• People get loose at these occasions, they swear, they talk about sex, they're usually not worrying about whether their stiletto heels are going to sink into the tender flesh of a child as they scurry about underfoot;
• Hen's parties are not kitchen teas. Kitchen teas could be child-friendly. But that is because they are also grandparent and mother-in-law friendly. This is not a kitchen tea. It is a hen's, and it will most probably get messy; and
• The final reason is not even a reason. It's a statement, not even, just a word. NO! NO! NO! NO! Just NO! Emphatically NO! How do you not understand that it is wrong to even suggest such a thing? ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Again, count yourself INCREDIBLY lucky that you are not dealing with me in regards to this. You are dealing with my best friend's sister, who is also my friend, and she is a LOT nicer than I am. She tactfully wrote back to your email which stated, didn't ask, mind you, that you would be bringing your child along with you to the party, and told you that whilst she would really like for you to come, it was, OF COURSE, not a child-friendly event. She even suggested that you get in touch with some of the other mothers, most of whom have children much younger than yours, and try to organise a shared babysitter for the evening. Your response? A few passive aggressive lines that commenced with 'We are very sorry that we will not be attending. We were looking forward to it.' We? Who is this 'we'? Could it be that your eighteen month year old daughter was really, REALLY looking forward to attending a drunken, debaucherous hen's party? Had she purchased a new frock and heels for the occasion? ARE YOU ON FUCKING CRACK?????? How divorced from reality can one person possibly be?

Just so you know, I don't do passive aggression. So if you step one foot out of line at the wedding, which I know you are still attending because your particular brand of emotional terrorism has worked on my best friend's fiance, expect to be dealing with me. I will not be holding back on my opinions, they will be freely shared with you. Hopefully if someone actually calls you on your disgustingly selfish behaviour, you might actually have cause to reflect on your actions. But probably not. Selfish arseholes like you rarely realise that their actions might be causing other people anxiety. 

Enraged,

B. J. Barnes

Where Did B. J. Barnes Come From?

For those of you not in the know, B. J. Barnes is not my real name (I really wish it was, it's a really cool name). So this is a short one to let you know where this little moniker comes from

A few years ago, there was a young woman (but really a girl) who had just finished university and also a long term relationship with a boy she had thought for a long time that she would end up with. Her best friend had just relocated to Melbourne, and she too had moved away from the town she had grown up in in order to fulfil her dreams in the big smoke. Everything was changing. Big times. 

New Year's Eve was rolling around, and a plan was hatched. The girl would go to Melbourne for the very first time. Fun would be had.

A week long bender ensued, and on one of the evenings the girl met a delightful, and rather dishy, young English man. Big blue eyes, messy light brown hair, gorgeous posh accent. Kisses were stolen in stylish Melbourne bars and numbers were exchanged. 

A few days later the girl was back in Sydney, and the English boy happened to be there at the same time. He came out to her home in the beautiful boondocks of Sydney. The situation was kind of awkward, and hardly earth shattering. It didn't result in any great revelation, and it took her another two years to finally move on from the King of Emotional Fuckwittery.

But the one, rather brilliant thing that did come of this ill-advised fling was the germ of an idea, and a pen name. You see, that boy's name was B. J. Barnes, and that girl asked permission to use this should she ever be a great (or even lack lustre) writer. And that is where it all began.

Every story needs a beginning,

B. J. Barnes

What Should Have Happened

So, since the whole Mr. A thing ground to a really disappointing halt, I've been dealing with the uncomfortable realisation that I still have it super bad for The Writer. I've kind of known it for awhile. Even before I leapt in and started pursuing Mr. A I was asking myself whether or not I was ready to be with anybody else. I pushed aside those thoughts and threw myself headlong into the chase, because I figured that was the best way to move forward, and I do really love a good chase. 

But I am still thinking about him. And it still hurts to do so. Which is really quite odd. I mean, I understand the concept of getting over someone, and how long that can take. But I haven't really been this hung up on someone that I never had any sort of physical relationship with. I've had the unrequited pining thing before, but that's been for ex boyfriends, people that I've actually had physical and emotional connections with. What I feel for The Writer is a much more insidious, all encompassing thing. And it makes me feel truly, truly awful. 

I realised the other night what I had really needed to happen, back when I was still in Dublin, in order to be able to move forward from this whole heartsick mess. I really should have just slept with The Writer, in spite of his girlfriend, because one of two things would have come of it:

1. It would have been really lacklustre, as most initial sexual encounters are. And awkward, and awful, and absolutely mortifying. And he probably would have pulled what I like to call his 'concentration face,' which would be enough to turn anyone off sex with him. This would probably have been enough to make me move on from the delusion that he was The One; or
2. It would have been crazy, mindblowing sex because of the intellectual and emotional connection we shared, and I probably would have cried a little bit.

Either way, it would have been done. The one thing I do know for sure is that if he had slept with me I would have felt incredible guilt. And distaste for him as a person. Because I couldn't stay in love with a guy who was so easily able to shake off the sanctity of a relationship for one night with a girl that he flirts with at work. Even if he felt the same pull to me. I would have judged him. And myself. Because that's how I work. And that would have been the perfect cure to this pain. In the short term it would have hurt more, but in the long term I could have chalked it up as 'well, would you really want to be with a guy like that anyway?' The answer is a definitive no. And my own guilt over my part in the proceedings would have been enough to keep my mind away from it.

Instead, I'm left with the fact that he seems to be a really good guy. A wanker when it comes to books and his affectations, sure. A borderline hipster who wears really unattractive knitted jumpers with weird patterns on them. A guy whose goofy comments and self-righteousness made me roll my eyes with some regularity. Someone who drives me to the point of absolute madness, and who is quite happy for me to drive him there too until we're both sniping at each other and blowing up tiny landmines of abuse. In spite of all of these annoyances, he's still a good, moral guy. 

And this is what kills me. If he'd just slept with me, or even kissed me, I could have formed a snap opinion of him and his views on all things relationship related. Instead, I can see that he truly values love, and his girlfriend, and everything that goes along with that. He is fiercely loyal, and wiling to do what it takes to make something work, and considerate, and, well, just bloody perfect in that respect. And until he screws that up, I continue to wait it out, in some sort of sick way. Hoping that one day he'll suddenly wake up and think 'YES! The way is clear!' and pack up his bags and never look back. But he won't, because he's a fucking stand up guy with morals and standards and a heart. In short, he is very much like me.

Intellectually, and I know that I've said this before, I know it could never work between us. We'd kill each other. It would be a crazy, passionate ride, but it would burn like an incredibly bright star that was falling rapidly and inevitably to a disastrous end. 

I finished reading the final book of The Hunger Games trilogy recently, and in the last part the protagonist, when referring to why she was not suited to her best friend, states that 'I have plenty of fire myself... What I need is the dandelion in the spring.' And I identified with this (I'm secretly a sixteen year old girl), because I have far too much fire to be with someone as equally flammable as him. I need someone calm and quiet and relaxed. Someone who is willing to stand up to me if I'm being an idiot, but who is not too easily provoked. And that's not The Writer. Not at all. 


And yet, here I am.


Next time this happens to me, I'm just bloody well sleeping with the guy. 


B. J. Barnes