- AstroWhale
- Mar 28, 2009
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This one is full of poo poo. Just pure poo poo. I want to preserve it before he deletes it.
https://imgur.com/gallery/uaoj6nb
quote:Welp, you asked, so here it is.
Hello, Imgur.
Before I tell you this story, a few disclaimers. This is not a sob story. I am not posting this for sympathy or attention or validation. There will be a time in the story where some of you will genuinely be upset with me. I messed up, said some cringe-worthy things. The reason I’m posting this is simply because it’s a good story, and I promised an update all those months ago. It’s only recently that I can laugh at some of what happened. Most of my friends know this story, and many were kept in the loop while it happened. Everyone I’ve told it to knows me well, so I’m interested to see how a bunch of strangers will react to it. This is by far the strangest story of my life, and if you ask any of my friends they’ll tell you I always attract strange stories. I haven’t posted this until now because I hadn’t felt that enough time has passed and it involved another Imgurian. For this reason, some of the names will be changed.
K (the Imgurian), if you happen to see this, I’m sorry, and I hope you’re doing well.
Anyways.
So, you all know the original story. If you don’t: http://imgur.com/gallery/Mw1qPkw
For the lazy: “So, Friday I found this anonymous 2-part note in my mailbox.The first part was red and (human) heart-shaped and said, "You give me heart palpitations, [my name]. Happy cardio day!" The second part was a folded notecard and said, "Hey..." on the front and, "Meet me at [local movie theater] to see Kingsman at 3:30. Look for familiar face, black leggings, and red scarf. This note = price of admission."
So, to get ready (I was nervous as all hell. I've never been asked out before.), I bought a first aid kit and filled it with chocolates (because heart palpitations are not something to be taken lightly) and got a white rose with red tips and waited at the movie theater from 3-4.
(I went and put the first aid kit back in the car because I realized how sketchy someone would look holding a small blue box in front of the theater on the most popular day to go to the movies in February.)
I walked around the plaza for a few hours after that, and even thought about giving the flower to someone, but I got to nervous any time a pretty girl would walk by. So I went home and played Monster Hunter until 4 am.
tl;dr: Got anonymously asked out in a super romantic way, no one showed up, felt like poo poo, killed some dragons.
(Totally not a front page edit): I promise to update if I get an explanation! And to everyone wanting to take me to go to the movies or on a date: I've never been this flattered. I'm gonna be blushing for the next month!
And yes, everyone I'm okay. I've dealt with worse (and dumber) situations than this. I think the fact that this blew up as much as it did makes it sound way worse. I'm bummed, yeah, but I just had a great dinner with friends and that mixed with the incredible amount of love you all are sending my way makes me feel just wonderful  "
That post got huge. I got the internet’s outpour of love and support, and it felt great. Shortly before Valentine’s day I had gotten SUPER rejected by a girl that dangled a relationship in front of my face then snatched it away. Dates are rare for me, and potential relationships are even rarer. So this Front Page post made me feel pretty good.
I got about a hundred messages asking me out on movie dates. Naturally, they were all from out of town, out of state, and even out of country. Then I got this mysterious message: http://i.imgur.com/EoP7nMz.jpg?1
Well, what the hell have I got to lose?
So I got to messaging this person back and forth, and she (I checked, it wasn’t some creepy middle-aged guy) seemed pretty cool. Then, throughout the conversation, I found out that she went to a nearby college.
She lived ten minutes away. We’re practically neighbors. She told me her name, which, for the purpose of the story, is K.
So K and I opted to get coffee. We met up the next day. And she was totally awesome! We got along well, had a lot in common, and she was by far one of the most attractive girls I’d ever met. I should have been way more nervous than I was. During the conversation we got on the subject of books, in which she recommended me her favorite book. I can’t divulge the name of the book, and you’ll see why later. Anyway, I could tell she really loved this book. She lit up whenever she talked about it, and when I said I hadn’t heard of it, she looked at me in the same way you’d look at someone if they hadn’t heard of Star Wars. We had a great time, and when we left, she said we should hang out again.
If you’re wondering about the note-writer, I didn’t find out who it was until that Thursday. Now, I expected it to be someone I knew. I mean, who (1.) had been to my apartment, and (2.) could possibly have a thing for me? I narrowed it down to two of my friends, and it wasn’t them. Anyways, I run a club on my campus, and Thursday after club a girl pulled me aside and asked, “Hey, did you get anything in your mailbox over the weekend?”
Not even thinking about the note I said, “Yeah, probably. I order a lot of books.” And I do. I have a very loving relationship with Amazon, so much so that I became somewhat of an urban legend in the apartment complex mailroom. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” one of the staff members once said when I went to go get my mail. But no, this girl was talking about the note.
Two things. 1. I’ve never spoken to this girl. 2. I didn’t even know her name. I still don’t know her name. She walked away without telling me. And after a while I was just too afraid to ask. All I knew was that she was a regular at the club. And she apparently had had a crush on me for like six months. Anyways, what I was supposed was to give the note to the ticket guy and find her in the theater. But I didn’t think to do that since the movie was sold out. However, I was so attached to the idea that it was someone I knew that even if I HAD gotten into the theater I would have either seen no one I knew and left, or seen her, said, “Hey it’s that girl from my club,” and left all the same.
I played it cool when she told me. I knew she was nervous. I wasn’t offended by any means. I told her that I in fact did show up and that I knew it took a lot of guts to leave the note. Yet, a part of me was still pretty weirded out about her finding out where I lived. She showed up a few more times to club, and I haven’t seen her since.
Things with K, however, were great. We weren’t constantly texting, but had a conversation every couple days. I bought her favorite book, and powered through it (to impress her, obviously). Turns out it’s a really popular young adult novel (more “young” than “adult”), but I enjoyed it. It was really charming.
We hung out a couple more times over the weeks (both of us were really busy) and then one night at a local burger place after geeking out about the book she showed me a lump on her neck, just below her chin. She said the doctors didn’t know what it was, but she was going in on Monday to get it checked out.
Then she started entertaining the idea, “What if it’s cancer?” She was surprisingly nonchalant about it. She said she’d probably refuse treatment because her immune system couldn’t handle it, take a few years off to travel, then come home and die around the same time her dog died, The Notebook style. It made me a little uncomfortable, seeing someone make light of something so heavy, but we’re different people. “Let’s bank on it not being cancer,” I said, and we continued hanging out.
When we got to her car, I told her that I liked her, and that I wanted to date her. Right before I kissed her she said, “Nooo, don’t like me.” But we didn’t leave on awkward terms or anything. We just sort of dismissed what had just happened.
It was the Friday before Spring Break.
During the weekend I thought about what she said when I kissed her, and decided I shouldn’t pursue anything romantic if she wasn’t into it.
Monday finally came around. The first day of Spring Break.
Me: “What’d the doctors say?”
K: “hodgkin’s lymphoma”
I called her. She picked up. I expected her to be an emotional wreck. But she seemed completely unphased. “I’m fine,” she said in the same way you’d say “I’m fine” when one of your good friends says hi on any normal day. She said she would still refuse treatment. It was so strange.
I’ll tell you right now: cancer freaks me out. It runs in my family. I’ve seen what it can do. I don’t like it. But I didn’t want to get emotional and weird her out. After all, I didn’t really know her that well. So my brain took that idea and went as far in the opposite direction as possible.
There comes a point in every guy’s life where he says the WRONG THING. Now, the WRONG THING isn’t anything said to be cute or funny or sarcastic or to be thought of in any way. It just sort of comes out. It’s happened to everyone.
What I should have asked was, “What’s the prognosis?”
Instead, I asked her how long she had left to live.
She immediately hung up. I didn’t know what to do. My heart sank. In a panic, I texted apologies to her, but I didn’t want to be sentimental or that weird creepy guy who floods message inboxes. But I was in such a panic that I probably realized too late and turned into said sentimental weird creepy guy. No response from her.
I’m the sort of person who gets really depressed whenever I offend or piss someone off. Even if it’s online. I don’t like creating conflict. I do my best not to gently caress up. And when I do, I try to fix it as fast as possible, which is why I was so quick to try and apologize. So I called my best friends, and asked them all for advice. I even spoke to my screenwriting professor, who’s somewhat of a father figure to me. No matter who I told, the general consensus seemed to be: http://i.imgur.com/Xda2viR.gifv
(Though, in hindsight, it’s pretty funny to think about my friends Jordon and Billie relaxing on their Spring Break Cocoa Beach trip, receiving a call from a panic-stricken me saying I just asked a girl with cancer how long she had to live on the day she got diagnosed).
I couldn’t clear my head. A gently caress-up of this magnitude would require an apology of equal or greater magnitude. And remember, I was no long thinking of K in a romantic sense. I just wanted to do something nice for her. But what could I possibly do? I don’t know too much about her…
The book!
The book had an author and illustrator. And by some miracle (that’s convinced me that Googling is in fact an art form), I got in contact with them. The author, through a literary festival in his hometown (there was nothing on his website aside from a fan mail PO Box, and that would take too long), and the illustrator through her agency. Both were very kind and understanding and agreed to send gifts.
A couple weeks went by. It felt like forever. Time moved slower. I felt lovely the entire time. You know that feeling where your chest feels heavy after loving up? It was that for two weeks straight. I’d since sent a message to K apologizing for the stupid things I said. No response. I got worried. Then, the package from the author arrived. He had sent a signed hardcover copy of the book. I texted K.
Me: “Have you heard of [author]? He sent something for you.”
K: “… are you loving bullshitting me right now?”
Well, not the worst possible response.
I sent her a picture of the box without revealing the gift and she sent me a message apologizing for freaking out, which confused me. No, no, no, you don’t apologize. I apologize. I’m the one that hosed up.
So we met up that night and I gave her the gift. She loved it. We talked for a good bit. Turned out she started getting treatment. Things were finally looking up. When we left, she told me to text her, and I did. And she responded.
If this is starting to sound somewhat like the bestselling YA novel “The Fault in Our Stars,” don’t worry. The similarities end here.
This is where the story actually gets strange.
She stopped responding after that. Like, worryingly so. (I should add, that early on when we started texting we established that some of my messages go through. I’ve never particularly liked people who send a, “Hello? Are you there?” after 10 minutes of not responding, so I didn’t want to be bothersome. She said not to worry about sending her too many messages, because it happened a lot with her phone).
A week later, the package from the illustrator arrived. Another signed hardcover copy, but this time with a personalized letter. I texted her about it. No response. Then after a week, I got a rather annoyed text saying she was dealing with some family stuff. I was understanding and told her the gift would be waiting for her when she got back. No response. Another week and a half went by.
Then, on Easter Sunday, I woke up to find a text from a number I’d never seen.
Number: “JW?”
Me: “Yes?”
Number: “You don’t know me. I’m K’s friend.”
My first thought was, “Oh no, did something bad happen? I hope she’s okay!” But I wanted to keep my cool.
Me: “Gotcha, what’s up?”
Number: “K gave me your number because she thought we’d be compatible.”
Wait. What?
Okay. Well, the circumstances that got me there were crazy enough, so might as well keep the crazy story going. And I’ve long since stopped thinking of K in any romantic sense. We’ll call this girl S.
So I told her I wasn’t looking for anything (a complete lie, but hey, gotta be cautious) but we could still meet up. We texted for a good portion of the day, and she seemed pretty cool. The main things I learned about her were that she was a creative writing major and game design minor. We agreed to get sushi the following Friday.
Mind you, I still hadn’t heard anything from K.
Friday came around. Still nothing from K. I’d brought the gift from the illustrator in hopes to give to S to give to K. S finally showed up. Before any of you inevitably ask, she wasn’t unattractive at all.
However, I noticed two things about her.
1. Her voice. It was very peculiar. High-pitched and falsetto, almost as if Mickey Mouse had been voiced by a woman.
2. She was really, really, really, incredibly, ridiculously, absurdly, preposterously, unbelievably shy. But not quirky or cute shy. Remember when you were a kid and your parents would introduce you to their friends, and you were like, “I don’t know what to do because I’m four.” That’s what she was like. So I decided I would make it as comfortable for her as possible.
So I’m telling you now: I kept my cool through all of what I’m about to tell you.
Anyways, we’re sitting at a table, talking. I should say I was talking. She hardly said anything. And so to fill in the auditory gap, I had to keep talking.
One of the first topics, obviously: “So how long have you known K?”
“Oh, we just met,” she said.
Wait, they had only just met? That means I can’t give S the gift to give to K. That’d be weird. It turns out S had recently met K at K’s work. They got on the subject of boys and K said, “He does nice things for girls,” then gave her my number.
So I kept talking for a few minutes. Internally frustrated, I thought, what is something I know about her that I can use to find some common ground? Okay, she’s a creative writing major.
So I said, “What do you like to write?”
“Umm, I don’t really like romance. But I don’t want to get into too many details or else I’ll start describing porn.”
You know, this part really is better with my facial expressions. On the outside, I kept completely calm. But whenever I tell anyone the story I tell them that my facial expressions are my internal monologue. Either way, I was a bit taken aback.
“Oh. So, like erotica?”
“Yeah.”
So I talked about what I liked to write (most certainly NOT erotica) and got the conversation back to something regular.
A few minutes of me talking. Then, out of the blue, she asks, “Are you vanilla?”
Now, at the time, I had no idea what this meant. I thought this was something like, “Are you an ‘oreo’” or “Do you like vanilla ice cream” or “Do you listen to Vanilla Ice” or something like that.
“What are you asking?” I asked.
Very bluntly, she said, “Are you into kinky stuff?”
…wat.
“No.”
“Well, then, you’re vanilla.”
Uh. Huh. Okay. I don’t judge. I have a few overly-open friends that talk about this stuff, so it wasn’t too shocking or anything, but in my experience THESE AREN’T THINGS YOU TALK ABOUT WHEN YOU MEET SOMEONE.
So, again, I brought the conversation back on track, trying to shoehorn my way into a new topic.
A few minutes later: “So, have you slept with anyone?”
At this point I got a tad frustrated.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I’m just curious. I like learning these things about people. You know, the FUN stuff in life. I’m just asking because you’re speaking to what is commonly known as a virgin. I’m saving myself for marriage.”
Abstinence is something I can completely respect. However, one thing still bothered me.
“So why’d you ask me about the kinky stuff?”
As bluntly as possible: “Because you can be into kinky stuff and not have penetration.”
Now, at that point, what should have probably gone through my mind was, “I should probably leave.” What actually went through my mind was, “I’ve gotta see what she says next.”
While we did manage to have one sincere conversation about my romantic mistakes in the past (I gave her the advice, “Don’t sleep with anyone you wouldn’t be comfortable being in a relationship with”), but aside from that, the rest of the not-date was pretty similar to the awkward conversations. After sushi we started walking around the plaza (We’d gotten there at 6, and I said I had to leave at 8). I’d talk for a few minutes, then she’d ask me an obscene question (questions about porn, and am I attracted to guys [she scolded me for not being attracted to guys]), or go on a nsfw tangent about her kinks or crazy exes. The most normal question she asked me out of the blue was, “Have you ever been arrested?” I have not.
We got to the parking lot. I remembered that I’d given myself that out when we first started texting.
So I said, quite bluntly, “I’m gonna go ahead and stay single for now.”
“Okay, well, if you happen to have any friends with fetishes-“
“I’ll send them your way.”
And so I left.
Now, had this been any random (not)date, I would have thought it was hilarious. One of those, “it only happens to me” things. But it wasn’t. K deliberately sent this girl my way WITHOUT ever once telling me. And I’m not a narcissist by any means, but if you met S the last thing you’d think is that we’d be compatible.
Which meant that K was trying to get rid of me. I would have been able to shrug it off if I didn’t still have the gift from the illustrator.
I told all of this to a good friend of mine. One of my earliest friends in college. Really down-to-earth guy. No secrets. I finished telling him the story, and he responded, “Man, that’s hosed up… Do you still have S’s number?”
(“There are things you don’t know about me,” he said. I couldn’t judge, so I gave him her number and told her he’d be texting her soon. About a week later they met up. Apparently it went well. I didn’t ask.)
Another week an a half went by. My best friend Alice told me I was being too nice to K. She told me to gift the gift to her and she’d “take care of it.” I refused. I had to finish it. I finally got ahold of K one night after saying that if she didn’t want it I’d give it away, and she told me she was in the hospital.
I should mention that K didn’t do Facebook. She had given me her Instagram when we met, but I never checked it since we texted. But I checked it. Filled with fun, colorful adventures. Beaches, parties, and the like. I’m not saying this as a negative. She has her life and I have mine. And a friend of mine who had cancer has told me that sometimes people with cancer cope by partying.
Also, if I’ve given you the impression that I’ve flooded K’s inbox with text after text, that’s not correct. When I say I tried to get ahold of her, I meant I messaged her once every 3-4 days, and sometimes the intervals were shorter, like 2-3. Like I said above, I’m very weary of over-texting or bothering people or being creepy.
Anyways, K told me she was in the hospital (I don’t know if that was true or not, so I won’t comment on it), but that she was being discharged the next day and would text me to get the gift. Next day, nothing. So, I gave the box to Alice and never asked about it again. That was in mid-April.
I wish I had a happy ending for you. I really do. But this is how it happened. I still haven’t heard back from K.
And that, Imgur, is the strangest story of my life. And I’m only 22.
Epilogue:
A couple months later I ran into my friend whom I’d given S’s number to. He told me they still had occasional conversations, and that she’d announced herself as transgender. (So, himself, I guess). Last month I moved out of my apartment complex and as I was driving away for the last time I saw K helping a friend of hers move out. Actually, I didn’t know if it was her or not, so I slowed down and looked to see if it was her. It was. We made eye contact. It was awkward as hell. I realized I had stopped the car like a total loving creep, so I drove away. I cringed at first, but then I smiled knowing that she was still okay.
tl;dr: Too much happened to give you a tl;dr. Read it. It’s a great story.
No, don't read it.
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Aug 9, 2015 22:16
