Out of My League, OR The Line that Guarantees You Get Kissed Every Time

Oh, where or where do I even start? My life is a debacle and a facsimile of a sham. Well, no, it isn't at all, but sometimes I really wonder how I manage to endure one ridiculous experience after another. If goodness and badness were judged merely by one's social interactions, I'd be up for sainthood (at least this weekend).
So here's the good news: Remember how I was sad for two months as one of my boy bffs and I were in a tiff? Thankfully, this is all behind us now. I'm ready to move forward. After a lot of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth (mine) and avoidance (his), we finally hashed things out on Friday night. And what the heck-- here are (some of) the sordid details:
The trouble had started a couple months ago. After a night of silly fun, and utter joy at being reunited after a cruel, two-week separation (otherwise known as my vacation), friend and I were overcome with happiness. We'd had a lovely evening with some of our other besties, and celebrated with Happy Hippos and making fun of a mutual friend as we watched him get the shaft in the Institute parking lot. Well, as you all know, my brain and good judgment go to bed at about midnight, but because I was still jet-lagged, chances are they had been dormant for several hours. Regardless, I was dropping boy bff off at home, and when he said, "I was thinking about what it would be like to kiss you," I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
NOTE: HE TOTALLY USED MY OWN LINE ON ME!! Seriously! How did I not realize this?!?! For those of you who don't know the big secret of my kissing success (besides the old adage that practice makes perfect), I'll let you in on THE sure-fire way to get the lip-action you desire: Just tell the person you wonder what it would be like. They can never resist! This is best done when it comes across as totally innocent. They're talking about something mundane like tree frogs or what it's really like living with a disability or how they're out to save the world, etc., etc., and you stop, look sheepishly into their eyes and say, "I'm sorry. I was listening, but I must have been a little distracted, because I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you." I don't think this line has ever failed me. I don't always use it (I'd like to think that I'm at the point that I just send the telepathic message and it all comes together), but when I'm tired of waiting around for it to happen, I dust off that bad-boy. It works like a champ. In mere moments, you forget about the tree frogs and you're able to spend your time in more enjoyable pursuits.
OK, so anyway, imagine my shock later when I realize this guy totally schooled me and used my very own line! Boo! Still, if you can't take it, you can't dish it out, right? And besides, I was just about to use that very line on him anyway (because my brain was still in Egypt, I guess), so there you have it.
So, lest you think our fight and two-month standstill was because of the kissing, I am here to tell you that it wasn't. Not completely, anyway. For me, the evening was experimental and enlightening. On the one hand, it was odd because this friend is someone I've only thought of as a brother, but I didn't feel guilty. I didn't feel like I wanted to do it again, but I was also taken by surprise that I found him attractive. Still, there are loads of men I find attractive, and you don't see me running up and planting one on all of them. Friend felt the same. It's funny that attraction and love don't always equal chemistry or need for a relationship. You hear people counsel single people all the time to marry their best friend, but this time it didn't work out. No harm, no foul. I hardly noticed a change in our relationship.
Anyway, the problem crept in later when we both made some mistakes. I felt truly terrible about my part of the ordeal, and did what I could to fix things up, make things right, provide emotional restitution, etc., etc. In the meantime, though, my friend had a little bit of a harder time with things, and it all just snowballed. Who was right and who was wrong doesn't matter because it's in the past and we learned from it and now we're happy again. It's awesome.
And I know I've told way too much already, but there is one little part of the story that's too good not to share-- I crack up every time I think of it.
In the midst of all the talking and crying (mine) (by the way, my nose is all peely, which I find highly annoying) and the admissions of sadness so intense to keep a person in bed (his), we had to run the gamut of making sure things were ok on every level. So it was inevitable that the aforementioned kissing episode was discussed, to rule it out as what was really the issue at hand. Happily, we felt exactly the same way about it-- it was fun, but not happening in the future. But the best part was when he felt like he had to give me the break-up speech (honestly, why is it that boys feel they have to break up with girls even when the girl a) never seriously dated them and b) isn't one bit interested in ever dating them?). Normally this weird rite-of-passage of letting down someone is reserved for those who are in love with you and there is no hope of things getting better. More refined persons (ie., not my last four boyfriends), usually go for the old, "It's not you, it's me" approach. I'm a big fan of this tactic myself-- no need to kick someone while they're down and enumerate all their shortcomings, right? Well, so I saw this speech coming, and to help my friend preserve some pride, I didn't stop him. I was mildly interested in what he had to say. But I should also mention that this friend (through no real fault of his own) tends to get a lot of verbal things mixed up. So imagine my surprise when he said, "And besides, I'm way out of your league!"
WHAT? Fortunately, I reserved judgment on this one, assuming it would get better, and it did. He proceeded to tell me, "you have a degree, and a house, and a car..." and blah, blah, blah. Material things and different stations in life generally don't make me think one way or the other about my potential dates (as long as they aren't in the extreme-- like the 55-year-old man), so I found this amusing. I'd never stopped to consider if this friend and I were in the same "league" or not, but if there is a disparity, it's probably just an emotional maturity thing. Still, I loved it. Nothing like hearing that a guy doesn't want you because you've achieved some mild success. I think I'd rather be in league with a man who appreciates the fact that I'm not just sitting around, waiting to be taken care of, and knows that the little bit of equity I've got will just (hopefully) mean fewer money problems in the future. Yes, I have a degree, but that's never been a stopping point. While I'm surprised that grad school isn't in my immediate future (sorry, how's that for announcing it to the world? And don't worry... I'm at peace with the decision, which came after a lot of prayer and consideration), I have little doubt that an advanced degree will happen somewhere down the road. In the meantime, I've got a huge laundry list of self-improvement to-dos, so that ought to stave off stagnation. My car? Pure luck and the result of my parents' generosity in moving my mom's car down the food chain. Those are things. They are not who I am.
Regardless, that uncomfortable time is past, and you know it won't be long before another comes along. I'm almost at the point that I live for them now, because whatever else would I write about? In the atrocities in the war of love, I'm a happy survivor. My coaches, friends, mentors and confidantes are all trying to throw me back into battle, sending me right to the front lines with set-ups and blind dates and winks and suggestions. But I think until I see something worth fighting for, I'm going to maintain my status as a conscientious objector. Send me to the Red Cross where I can administer kissing relief instead to the other soldiers. Because you know, I've been wondering what it would be like...