Matt is coming home TOMORROW!
Actually... he's coming home today. Because, technically, it's morning. I can't sleep! Thought this would be an opportune time to (take advantage of my insomnia and) tell you more of this Mister Matt about which I keep blogging.
This is a new blog section is going to be called "How We Met."
Let's be honest-- couples' stories are cute. Sometimes they're nauseatingly cute, but hey. If you have a story PLEASE share. We can't help it-- we all love reading a little mush sometimes...
And if you do share, feel free to add a little graphic and to let me know!
So, How we met...
~*~ August 2006 ~*~
Crawdad Ct. is a strange name for a street. Still, when you're moving into your first off-campus house street names are the last thing on your mind. Unpacking is a joy, often paired with a beer, since adulthood springs from each hanger, each poster, each box. You blast music, dance through piles of unfolded clothes, and bask in the warm glow of a bed that will never have to be made. College is sweet.
This was my mood, overexcited and jumpy, as I entered into my new life on Crawdad. Fresh off an awful summer breakup (or just awful relationship) and riding the wake of ex-boyfriend hatred, I used each step into my new life and new house as one more push toward the classic you're-better-off-anyway attitude.
My new roommates were really nothing new: two adorable boys I've known and loved since the 8th grade. Dave and Taylor were as skeptical about living with a girl as I was living with two boys, but we were excited nonetheless. We were such old friends... what could go wrong? (More on that in another post.)
After being overloaded with rants about my sucky ex, my guy friends/new roommates forced me to shut up and go to a party at our neighbors' place. Now, don't get me wrong, I love people and parties and all... but I'm not really a party girl, and definitely wasn't an extreme one in college. I'll take a glass of wine and a movie over a party ANY day.
But... I was post-breakup and full of spontaneity due to my new life. So... not only did I go to this party... I went in a mini-skirt.
...And cowboy boots.
YIKES! I know. What was I thinking. What would my mother have thought? Actually... she probably bought me that skirt. ANYWAY, needless to say, I was feeling pretty noticed in my boots and skirt. I easily slid into position on the beer pong table (usually takes a while at these college parties) and was enjoying some harmless flattery and flirtation...
UNTIL: this dark-haired boy shelled out something different. He made fun of me. Now... I don't remember exactly what was said. But it was about me not being good at beer pong, and it was paired with a sweet but taunting smile. I definitely remember being a little off-balance. All around were new, and more importantly-- not-my-ex, boys paying me positive, ego-feeding attention... and this guy was joking about my beer pong shot? I tried to brush him off...
I can still picture it. There I stand, outside on my neighbor's back porch at the end of some homemade beer pong table, skirt and boots and all, about to shoot a stupid ping pong ball at some gross beer cups... and there's this dark haired boy, fairly tall, nice eyes... standing off to the right...
Then... I feel it. Nerves.
I'm nervous?! I'm playing the dumbest games of all games, but I'm nervous about my next shot.
I end up missing, and the beer pong table is offered up to someone else. I walk inside, almost forgetting the whole thing, when--
Bam. There he is. Dark hair, fairly tall, playing darts. Winning at darts. We share a few flirty smiles, and he lets me throw a couple. With sheer dumb luck I hit a couple good shots. He's impressed, and I pretend not to be.
But he's pretty chilled out... not offering me any drinks, not offering up tons of conversation... as a matter a fact, he's not offering anything. He's very nice, not at all closed-off, but also doesn't seem interested in flirting like the other boys. He's an enigma.
In the end, I spend more time at the party talking to some other guy who thinks it's fate that he wore a cowboy hat to a party and met a girl with cowboy boots (...yea... original. Definitely don't remember his name.)
The next day, after much sleeping in, a friend of mine and I are walking out of my house and on our way to a dinner with some new boys we met. On the way--
"HEY!" says the front porch on the house two doors down. Bam. Dark hair, fairly tall, big smile. I smile back and try not to act surprised, but I am.
"You're still here?" I ask.
"I live here!" he says. "What are you doing tonight?"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I met Matt. It's how I fell in love with my neighbor... how I went from being the girl-next-door girlfriend to the long-distance girlfriend and (now) to the live-in girlfriend... how a boy from Detroit found a girl in cowboy boots.
I still randomly thank UNCW, Crawdad... college parties... all the things that brought Matt and I together. Because since that party, for almost three years now, we've been practically inseparable. I've learned that (1) The nice guy is the good guy... LiLu has seconded this... and (2) Never underestimate something when it takes your breath away.
I have to end this story with something sweet... Rebecca has just posted a fabulous recipe for Lemon Posset. She called me out specifically because she's read my blog and knows I need a simple recipe and that I've failed terribly at desserts in the past. She suggested that I make this treat tomorrow (eh... today) to celebrate Matt rejoining the apartment life, and I plan to! Can't wait to share! Thanks Rebecca :)