(*Damnit, does this mean I have to start referring to him as the BBC?)
There has recently been a rather shocking development in the land of The Weirdo (i.e. me)… one with so much inexplicable importance that it simply MUST be documented. This phenomenon, as it is now like to be called, is nothing other than a very big BLOG-CRUSH. That’s right, you heard it here first… blog-crush mania is sweeping the nation (as well as all the other nations, I assume) and I have been unable to escape its steely grasp! Finally succumbing to the inevitable lure of a love that dare not speak its name (no, not that love, the other one… no, not that one either… Ah, forget it!) I have found myself imprisoned in the chaotic mess of my own head…. again.
But wait a minute, didn’t you just have a fake relationship?! Like a second ago? Didn’t it end badly?! Yes, yes I did… and it did. Basically yes to all three. But wait! This is different! And here’s why:
1. I do not know the BBC in real life (Ack, terrible! Sorry, British Broadcasting Corp!) This means that,
a) I cannot make a total fool of myself by making inappropriate advances in inappropriate places (not that I ever did that, I swear)… I can however make inappropriate advances on Twitter… which I do, like, all the time. (No valley-girl jokes, please!)
b) There was never any real need to decide whether or not I should tell him… So, I “told him” right away. I mean really, what’s going to happen? Worst case scenario – he’s totally creeped-out and I simply stop Twittering. (Did that make anyone else think of the word “twitterpated”? No? No one has seen “Bambi”? Okay…)
2. The fact that all the flirting will lead to nothing is already well-established, because… well… he lives really far away! Also, the flirting has been relatively tame. Which means that,
a) We don’t have any fake children… yet. (Fake children are disastrous for many reasons… but mainly I’m just glad not to have to carry around that fake diaper-bag anymore. God, that thing was monstrous!)
b) I feel absolutely no need to decipher between flirtatious texts (i.e. “Does this mean the usual makeup sex?”, etc.) and the probability that he actually wants to go in the back room and make out. Wonderful.
I know what you’re thinking,
Right, having a blog-crush is fine. But you’re clearly insane. Do you realize there are other live humans right outside who you could actually… I don’t know… have a conversation with?!
And yes, I do realize that…
I realize that I am cultivating an attraction which can only go to waste;
I realize that if, in reality, we ever did meet, the chances of us both being attracted to eachother are very slim (because really, human chemistry is so un-predicatble);
And I realize that yes, I am incredibly lazy and should probably attempt to meet more people who are more easily accessible… ones that say, live within the same state, or hey, even the same city!
I realize all these things, and yet, I can’t help but like someone I barely even know, someone I’ve never actually met.
So what is my problem? Am I just so fed up with being rejected that even thinking about getting to know someone else is exhausting? I don’t really think so…
But maybe, just like so many other girls with their romance-novels, or sappy movies, or… umm, Twilight anything… I simply wanted to experience something fictional for a while. To believe I was falling for someone who could be (nearly) perfect, if only for the reason that he did not exist in my real life. Maybe it is easier to fall in love with someone when you don’t have all the facts… when you don’t have to deal with/adore all their little idiosyncricies… when you don’t have to learn to communicate with them in a way you can both understand… when they can’t see you, and all your finer flaws. Maybe, just maybe, fake love is a viable way to exercise real passion… a passion that I quite honestly have no other outlet for.
But then, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to kiss someone I could actually feel?