Watch as Jeanette Uncomfortably Attempts to Tell a Love Story

A quirky and unexpected (though I don’t know why) side-effect of being a regular blogger on this website, is that friends of Kyle’s, that I’ve never met, know a good deal about me.  At the same time, friends of mine, that Kyle has never met, know a great deal more about him.  In fact, people that neither of us know at all, now have a general working knowledge of the ins and outs of our respective lives and relationship. 

 Given that the linear course of friend introduction here is all out of whack, I often encounter lads and lasses that, feeling they are already well-versed as to the current state of our relationship, instead are most curious about how such a relationship came to be.  For brevity’s sake, I typically dole out the standard, “Oh, we met through a mutual friend.”  An entirely true response.  But, dear readers, the full story of how I met Kyle is a bit more interesting and I’d love to share a slightly longer version of it with you today on What We’ve Got.  So please, sit back, rub your eyes and go the bathroom if you must.  Because for the next 2-5 minutes (depending on your personal reading level and speed) I am going to do my best to entertain you all with a love story full of daring adventure.

 You good?  Okay.  Well, let’s get started! 

Before I begin, I need to let you in on a little something about me.  And I know this is going to come as a shock to those that know me well:  I’m not very good at being sweet and romantic.  Just typing the words “love story” and then seeing them in print takes me to a place outside my comfort zone.  Kyle is by far the sensitive and romantic one of our duo.  (Sorry for outing you on your own site, but I think it’s probably a known fact at this point.)  My peeps either mock or swoon (depending on whether they have estrogen or testosterone coursing through their veins) over how often Kyle mentions me on this slice of interweb.  But it’s true!  He totally does and I love him for that.  As I’ve said, he is the sweet one and I am the one with the inability to say anything nice.  I often attempt to reciprocate the sweetness, but it always ends up taking the form of taunting sarcasm, feigned ADD or simply sometimes, childlike behavior.

 For example, when we first started dating (the impetus to which I’ll get to in a minute) he would send me lovely emails and I would respond in kind with something like:

 i miss you more than ted leo can’t sing,

and more than the gayness of hobbits in that movie about a ring;

i miss you more than you shouldn’t eat yellow snow,

and more than robert downey junior likes blow (and hookers).

(4/23/09)

 Or perhaps a jaunty reply limerick…

 there once was a boy named kyle,

who always could make me smile,

he liked to write books,

and had wicked hot looks,

and i hope he sticks ’round for awhile

(6/8/09)

As our relationship progressed, his emails turned into beautiful spoken sentiments, to which I would undoubtedly make an off-color joke or simply repeat back his words to him only louder and with a Scottish accent.  When things got too sappy, I’d do what every self-respecting woman does when a perfect man is romanticizing her; I’d burp in his face.

 So with that little nugget about me out of the way, I’m now going to dig deep into myself to try and muster up a bit of romance so that I can tell our epic love tale with the air of respect and dignity that it deserves.  

The Love Story

Kyle and I met in a Pittsburgh bar on a Saturday night in April of 2009.  For the life of us, neither of us can ever remember the date.  Suffice it to say that it was the Saturday before Easter.  And the only reason I remember this much is because I was out that night with a very good friend, whom we shall call “Willie”, that had given up alcohol for Lent and was looking to enjoy a beer or two that evening.  Hence, I was along to remain my usual sober self and drive him around.

 Truth be told, I was really out that evening to catch a show of one of my top 20 favorite bands, Donora, at the Station Square Hard Rock Café.  Driving Willie about was just me being a good friend – a kindness he returned a year later by driving me to meet a bum at a bus station – hurm, I suppose there goes his cover.  “Willie” and I were meeting up with our superfriend, J.R., that night, who mentioned that he had invited his “buddy Kyle” to join us at the show.  The way I understood it, buddy Kyle had just moved to Pittsburgh and hadn’t made any friends yet.  I remember thinking to myself, “What sort of loser can’t make friends?”  In fact, I likely said it aloud.  I viewed my willingness to let buddy Kyle see Donora with the cool kids as a sort of charity project.  And since I hadn’t done one of those since that books-for-inmates Bingo game a few years back, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

 As it turned out, buddy Kyle was rather interesting.  In fact, he had this really cool job writing books and gangsta rap lyrics for other people.  I immediately asked him if he wrote the Twilight series.  Kyle played coy and said he wasn’t allowed to disclose the books he wrote.  (My own research later revealed that he, in fact, did not write the Twilight books, as, after reading only one sentence authored by Kyle, it became clear to me that Stephanie Meyer is the far superior writer.)  I became so engaged in our conversation as the evening went on that I found myself uttering words to him that I’ve never uttered to any other man in my entire life.  I don’t know what got into me, but before I could stop myself I heard the words escaping my lips as if I had no control over my own body. 

 “Do you want to go to the Jane’s Addiction/NIN concert with me?” I asked and then immediately gasped in shock at my own words. 

 AAAHHH, what had I done?!  I didn’t know this boy at all and here I was offering him the other half of my mega-coveted FRONT ROW tickets to the concert event of the year?  And for FREE?!?  I had real friends, friends I had known for more than 72 minutes that were clamoring to buy that second ticket.  But there I was, all willy nilly giving it away to a stranger that could very easily have a girlfriend, or be a compulsive liar, or a cat burglar, or even worse, a Dave Matthews fan!  Oh, the horror!! 

 The look of shock on Kyle’s face probably mirrored my own.  From his perspective, I probably came across as a loser girl that couldn’t round up one friend to join her at a concert.  Or maybe even one of those emotionally unstable hyper-girls that plans her wedding with a guy after one date (P.S. – simple, elegant and Star Wars themed).  After all, Jane’s Addiction wasn’t for another 6 weeks.  I clearly had some pretty lofty expectations about where the two of us were headed.  Kyle politely accepted, but I could tell he didn’t believe that I would actually follow through on my offer.  But despite my self-induced horror, I knew I was making a wise choise and was not going to renege on something as important as Perry Ferrell. 

 After my momentary lapse of reason, the rest of the evening was superfly.  Donora rocked as always and Kyle scored bonus points for loving the band and mega bonus points for not talking during the set.  After the show, Kyle invited Willie and me back to his South Side apartment to read poetry on the roof.  Oh, you read that right.  Poetry on the roof.

 Being that reading poetry aloud anywhere, let alone on a roof, was an entirely new concept to me, I eagerly agreed.  Perhaps a bit too eagerly, because Willie (the ultimate friend) pulled me aside to quietly remind me that crazy girls don’t get asked out by sensitive, writer boys.   Willie also casually mentioned that if I blew this and didn’t end up dating Kyle, he would kill me.  (Spoiler alert!!  I did not die, for here I am today;  writing on Kyle’s blog and most decidedly not dead by the hand of Willie.)

 As it turned out, reading poetry was fun and easy!  All you need is a 4th grade reading level, a general understanding of sentence structure and a flashlight.  However, actually getting on the roof was not so easy.  Kyle forgot to mention that, to reach said roof, one must exit his apartment through a miniature window in the second-floor bathroom that is located nowhere convenient to the floor.  At the same time, I forgot to mention to Kyle that I’m a complete klutz with an unnatural fear of lightning and an inability to whistle.  So I guess we were even.

 After the rooftop poetry slam came books and records and stories and favorite artists and authors and more records until it was approaching 5 a.m. and Willie was long asleep in the roommate’s bed.  It was getting late and I decided it was time to ask Kyle a very important question.  One that most girls would probably ask a guy after spending an entire evening together.  “Do you know my name?” I queried.  The fleeting look of panic that crossed his face answered my question.  But he felt the need to power through this awkward turtle moment.  “Sure,” he replied, “it’s…..Janet?” 

 And I had given this guy my front row Jane’s Addiction ticket.

 I then woke Willie up, as I knew he had a hot Easter brunch date in a few hours that he wouldn’t want to miss, and drove him home laughing at our evening’s follies.  But not before I hid Kyle’s one and only pair of shoes behind a chair.  Sure it was childish, but the dude didn’t know my name or phone number and I never expected to hear from him again.  It gave me a little smile to picture him spending an extra five minutes getting ready in the morning. 

 And yes, you can probably guess that was not how the story ended.  Kyle weaseled my name and number from J.R. and we went to a carnival together the following weekend where I promptly fell in love with him on a ferris wheel.  I can’t say that either of us have matured greatly since that first night, but we at least know each other’s names now.  And how to spell them!  Oh and here is a picture of us at the Jane’s Addiction concert.  I’m the one who can’t open her eyes for the sun.  I also don’t believe that Kyle’s had a haircut since then…

 

Going to see Donora that Saturday night in April was the best decision of my life.  Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what a man like Kyle wants to do with a spazoid like me.  But I’ve learned to accept that he has his reasons, as twisted as they may be.  My reasons are simple:  Kyle’s got soul power.  And, as I always tell him, he’s the yellow bird that I’ve been waiting for.