a story

It was dark in his room.

He wished it was a bit darker.

Still, he decided he didn’t have to get up just yet.

He grabbed his laptop and crawled back into bed.

He pulled his sheets up to his chin.

He half-read blog posts as he kept an eye on sports highlights playing on a loop on his tv.

He noticed that an old blog friend had added something new to her blog’s sidebar.

“Blog crushes.”

He looked to see who the first one was.

“Turquoise what now?”

He had no idea who it was.

And he wondered why he wasn’t the blog crush.

And why he wasn’t EVERYONE’S blog crush.

But he’d never admit to either of those things.

In order to reassure himself that he was more adorable than this “Turquoise Ribbons” person, he followed the link.

He read.

And he read.

“Crap,” he thought.

He liked her writing. It was direct, with a sweetness and thoughtfulness.

It wasn’t trying to impress anyone else.

As the blogiverse expanded, he kept reading.

He’d even comment from time to time.

And she’d comment on his blog.

He’d get excited when he got the notifications.

He’d read comments from her a few times.

One day she posted a request for guest posters. Despite not really knowing her, he volunteered. He hoped it wouldn’t seem too out of the blue.

She replied. She accepted the offer. He wooed and hooed.

Then he realized he had to write something.


He wanted it to be wise and funny and so life-altering that it would make her write his name inside of a heart in her planner.

He wrote.

He deleted.

He wrote again.

He finally sent it to her — along with an apology for it not being awesome enough.

She thanked him.

She posted it.

He beat himself up for it not being more awesome.

Some ass left a negative comment on it.

One of only three he’s received in 3834746 years of blogging.

He resisted the urge to track the commenter down and explain, “What the hell?? I’m just… I’m trying to impress this girl. And then you… For no good reason… I looooathe you. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Time went on.

He wrote. She commented.

She wrote. He commented.

Then one day (the blogger now known as) Ashalah posted that she had met this (still anonymous and faceless) girl with turquoise ribbons that made him a little bit swoonyboots.

He typed a question to Ashalah as quickly as his giant fingers would move.

“Is she as cute as I think she is??”

Then the reply came back:


“I kneeeeew it.”

One day, she finally posted a video of herself (and her sister) car-singing a song from the 90s that he won’t bring up for fear that it’ll stick in your heads until three weeks after THE END OF TIME.

He loved it.

He watched it again.

And again.

He sent her an email complaining that she got the song stuck in his noggin.

She replied, cutely explaining that the song — and the band — was awesome.

More time went on.

Occasional comments.

A few emails.

Then she took his blog out of her Google Reader, in what could only be described as a DECISION SO HORRIBLE THAT IT SHOOK THE PLANET TO ITS VERY CORE, because he “didn’t blog like other people.”

Thankfully she wised up and added it back.

More comments.

More emails.

Then one night.

Emails led to email replies led to fun exchanges led to actual flirting.

Eventually a phone number was shared.

And used.


Then lots of emailing followed.

And lots of gchatting.



And hitting it off to such a ridiculous degree.

And obnoxiously cute things like falling asleep on Skype together.

And whispered secrets and never ending support and her admitting to having had a crush on him for years and hundreds of Glee songs on Dropbox and watching sports and sneaky pizza deliveries and a girl so unreasonably cute that his face was perma-achey from smiling and movies/shows that were likely only viewed so she could test just how much he liiiiiiikes her. (Hint: A LOT.)

And various other fun and creative ways of trying to bridge the distance.

And now.

And now she’s going to visit him.

In three days.


His plan to lose 15-20 lbs has only been partially successful. It got sidetracked when he realized he might have to, you know, eat less.

His plan to lose 5-10 years also ran into a wee snag when he realized no one had found a fountain of youth yet. (He checked Wiki to make sure.)

He got a haircut.

He housecleaned.

He arranged for the temperatures to be 50 degrees cooler in his town each day than it will be in her part of the world.

He bought new clothes.

(New. Clothes. For serious.)

He’s bought and planned for enough delicious Canadian food that she’ll need to eat 17 meals a day during her visit to get to all of it

He has 432 more things he wants to get done, but is running out of time before she arrives.

At some point he is going to have to just call it a day and wait.

And smile.

The most important things are handled.

He’s done 30+ years of work on himself.

Becoming who he is now.

And, really, he is pleased with the results.

He thinks she will be too.


He’s going to go buy some more delicious Canadian food.

10 thoughts on “a story

  1. As someone who has just put an end to the “long-distance” part of her relationship with her now fiancĂ©, this post makes me just a teeny bit reminiscent of the OMG-HE-WILL-FINALLY-BE-HERE, LET’S-PLAN-TO-DO-EVERYTHING-POSSIBLE-IN-A-SHORT-AMOUNT-OF-TIME rush of emotions. Here’s to cramming in everything you can, enjoying the moment, and more. :) The wait is always worth it.

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