A Long History of Disastrous Attractions, or That One Time I Fell for a Rennie

If this post had a main idea it would be this: "I went to the renaissance faire, lookin' for love".  But let's not start there.  I've been listening to this absolutely useless nonfiction book on tape recently, and this lady keeps talking about "how you got to where you are".  So let's talk about that.  Let's talk about where the love life of someone who ends up looking for love at a renaissance faire starts out.

My first ever celebrity crush was none other than "New Kids on the Block"- more specifically, Donnie Wahlberg.  A few years post-New Kids I watched this documentary about the guy who put together New Kids on the Block, and other bands later, and how he had a specific formula.  Basically, you get the most fans by putting one member in the band who could appeal to every "type".  So, you've got your "nice guy" Joey, your "older responsible guy" Jon, your "heart-throbby" Jordan.  

Danny?  

I don't know what the hell was going on with rattail Danny.  Most of the time I felt bad for him, because he looked like a monkey to me.  If you were crazy for NKOTB Danny, I would LOVE to hear from you, because I never got that.  What I imagine in my head is this: the 1990s dollar stores with bins FILLED with giant Danny pins.  And what the hell was up with those pins?  Why would you need a pin that big?  Do you remember how HEAVY they were, and how they pulled whatever you were wearing down?  That's a discussion for another day.

Anyway, my fav was Donnie.  

Here he is as I remember him most clearly from my "Hangin' Tough" VHS video circa 1988, wearing a shirt that says "homeboy".

I have several things to say about this video.  One would be that if you have to include the lyrics "we're tough!! and we're rough!!" in your song... you're probably not.

Same goes for the "homeboy" shirt, Donnie.  It's sort of like wearing a shirt that says "New York City".  If you're actually from New York City, you don't wear a shirt that says New York City.  And if you're actually a homeboy... 

you get my point.
I do, however, enjoy this scene I see in my head of homeboys getting together and saying "Hey, guys- we should get shirts!" and then collecting money and going to the screen printer.

Anyways, if you somehow neglected to follow the career of Donnie, not to worry- I was on top of that for you.  You may not know that he later set a hotel on fire, disappeared for a number of years, then reappeared here:

That's him in The Sixth Sense.  He's the kid who shows up in Bruce Willis's bathroom in his underwear, pees on himself,  and (I think?) kills himself.

I can pick 'em.

After Donnie got match-happy, there was a several-year gap when I don't recall being desperately in love with anyone.  Except for Stone, from General Hospital.

Remember Stone?

Stone was an IV drug user and, as a result, contracted AIDS.  What you're seeing here is when he went blind and his super-straight and narrow girlfriend Robin stayed by his side despite the warnings of her uncle and caregiver, Mac, who also happened to be the police chief.

On the day Stone died, I cried.  Then my mom came home and took us out for Burger King, which eased the pain.

After that, I took a break from love.

Then, in 8th grade, "Mr. Jones" came out.

That's when I fell in love with Adam Duritz.

Oh, Laura.

What the hell?

I say that as someone who is still (mildly) in love with him, but rolls her eyes a little bit at some of his songs, though I still love them.

Adam was a cocaine addict.

I feel like this is a good point to mention that I've never- literally, never- done a drug in my life.  I've never even smoked pot.  I prefer to just fall in love with the drug addicts.

Those dreads are extensions.

Which is odd.  Because they look so natural, right?

I feel as if all of this leads me up to my for real love life. And by that I mean my lack thereof.

The first guy I ever went out with was Evan.  He, in retrospect, was not attractive.  He had a very odd overbite.  We had health class together, and at the end of class we sat on the desks and listened to Dr. Dre in his headphones together.  Because I was a huge Dr. Dre fan.  I could probably name half a CD's worth of Dr. Dre songs.  If you handed me a Dr. Dre CD and let me read the titles off the back. 

Sometimes, if I was feeling daring, I would talk to Evan at the pop machines.  Not surprisingly, based on my history, his brother was reportedly a drug dealer.

Cool, Laura.

It's amazing that I don't have a criminal-record-by-proxy.

That didn't work out.  You're shocked, I'm sure.  Actually, what happened was that we went out on one date and talked on the phone a lot.  Then I got interested in someone else and screened Evan's calls via Call ID (VERY cutting edge at the time) until my dad said "Laura.  If you don't want to talk to that boy, tell him." I did.  It was REAL awkward.

Shortly after the Evan ordeal, I was at pom-pon practice when this kid that I'd been friends with for a while passed me a note during break.  I actually think of this person often, because once, when we had an English class together, he didn't turn a paper in when it was due (which was like, a shocking thing to me) and he said "Well, I couldn't think of anything, and I'd rather not turn anything in at all than turn in something crappy."

Now that I'm an English teacher?  That pisses me right off...

LAZY!  Lazy, lazy, lazy!  Ridiculous excuse!

Anyhow.  It was a note asking me out.  This is one of my favorite stories of all time.  

The note was asking me out and it said, and I quote, "I know you're not the prettiest girl in school, but you're true blue."  I don't know what happened to that note but, man- I really, really wish that I still had it.  I would scan it so you could read it.  It was a masterpiece of backhanded complimentation.  

It pissed my mom right off.  She told me to tell him to go to hell (in not so many words).  Thanks for having my back on that one, Mom.  He wasn't a druggie.  But he was a douchey, which isn't something you can typically recover from with a stint in rehab, so it's possibly worse. 

I'm skipping at least two high school boyfriends here.  It may or may not be because I'm still friends with them on Facebook.  You decide.   In a few years, when I'm a famous writer, they'll be happy for me to make fun of them, because it will be part of literature and whatnot.  But right now it's just making fun of someone on a free blog.  Which I'm not above, but still.

The good news is that, at some point near the end of high school, I stopped falling for druggies.  The bad news is that I overcorrected and switched to nerds.  Not so much the oh-so-lovable nerds.  More the hide in a basement, haven't seen the light of day, where are my 12 sided die, Magic: The Gathering sorts of nerds.  

As Jon said to me last night, "You've got a type, Lola.  And it's nerds".

That trend continues to this day.  And this is where we rejoin our story.

I recently fell for a nerd.  This was a bad idea for two reasons:

(1) He's 4-5 years younger than me.  When I say 4-5, I really mean 5.  But 4 sounds like a lot less of an age gap to me, so I say 4-5 so that I'm not lying, but still making myself feel better.  What bothers me tremendously about that is that he's younger than my baby brother, who is no longer a baby, but is still my baby brother.  So, like I said, 4-5.

(2) He may or may not be Brady's preschool teacher.  Don't directly ask me if he is or not, because I won't answer you.  Your probing questions are inappropriate.

That said?  I didn't know he was a nerd.  Because he's cute.  Also?  He's a great leaner.  He always seems to be leaning on something and, I'm telling you, he looks great when he's doing it.  

And frankly, how could I NOT fall in love with someone with whom I discuss my son's bathroom habits on a daily basis? Exactly.  

This is where I have to bring my friends into the story.

You know.  There are lots of people who are lucky to have ONE really fabulous friend in their life; I have SEVERAL.  To name a few: 

In high school, when this girl wanted to beat me up because I was dating a guy who she liked, my sister totally stood up to her for me.  Last summer?  When I said that I was going to read Pride and Prejudice?  Jen jumped on board to ENCOURAGE me.  Want to know how that ended?  Jen finished the book.  Me?  Not so much.

And then there's Sara.  This particular story happens to be about Sara.

One time, in the first year of college, we came home for Thanksgiving and everyone wanted to go to Bugsy's, or "Thugsy's", if you will, which is an absolutely retarded bar that I, being who I am- awkward, and a terrible dancer- never had any business going to.  But I did. But, the drama on this particular occasion was that something was wrong with my contacts.  I was HORRIFIED, because I was going to have to go to Thugsy's in glasses.  Everyone knows Thugettes don't wear glasses.

Do you know that, just to make me feel better, Sara showed up in her glasses too?

True.  I even have a picture, which I can't currently find, but I assure you exists.

If I could extend the metaphor a bit further, Sara has been wearing glasses on my behalf for almost 20 years now.  Such as last week, when I said this to her:

Me: Sara

Sara: Yes, Lola

Me: Remember that guy I have a crush, who is an absolutely absurd person for me to have a crush on, being that he is too young and (possibly) my son's teacher?
Sara: I remember, Lola.

Me: Well, he invited me to come see him at the renaissance faire.  Where he is a sword fighter.

Sara: I will go with you on this absolutely absurd, Seinfeld-like adventure, Lola.  Furthermore, I will at no point mention what a terrible choice for a crush this person is, even though it's glaringly obvious to absolutely everyone.

Me: Thank you, Sara.

And that's how we ended up at the faire.  

It didn't go so well, though.

Here are our kids, playing in... something.. at the renaissance faire. Probably the pool of water that launched the original Black Plague.

Drink up, kiddies.

We saw and heard many things at the ren faire.  A rat circus.  Booths full of Dungeons & Dragons.  People speaking in fake accents that suggested one parent hailed from Russia and the other from Jamaica.  They also had Mountain Dew, which I was unaware had such a long history. 

What we didn't see: sparks flying.

And the problem was this: me.

The advent of technology was a really good thing for me.  Because it allowed me to talk without being face to face with people.  Once I know people, I'm totally fine.  But when i don't?  And especially when I have a small, ridiculous crush on them?  Oh, lord.  It is painful to watch.  

Here's some actual footage of me trying to talk to someone I'm interested in:

It. Was. Awful.
Never has less conversation taken place.
Which was, in retrospect, probably a good thing.  Because, a few weeks back, both Erin and Jen received this frantic call in the morning:
Me: Ahhh!  I tried to talk to (Teach) and it was horrible!  I couldn't stop talking! I was spewing nonsense!
E/J: What did you say?
Me: Spiderman! I started talking about Spiderman! I couldn't freaking stop!  I don't even know what I was saying!  I don't even know anything about Spiderman!

But, in my defense, what does one talk about with a renaissance sword fighter?
"So.  Swords..."
Sara was kind enough to take my side and say that it was HIS fault.  Because one should not invite another to a sword fight and then not strike up a conversation!  Am I right?  Is it not unchivalrous to do so?
Actually, Sara was fairly pissed at him over the whole thing.
Well, medieval karma came back around.  Later that week, my swordfighting crush was cut by a sword.  Then this text conversation took place between Sara and I:

And my point, obviously, is this: who the hell needs druggies or nerds, or druggy nerds, or sword fighters, or any semblance of a love life at all?!
Okay, I do.
But friends are also great.

So my rene-crush is over.  By which I mean I would go out with him without a second thought.  But he would have to do something really stellar to win back my affection, such as jousting someone for my honor, or cultivating the perfect fake British accent.  And in the meantime?  I'm back on the nerdprowl, kids.  I'm scouring second-hand video game stores and lurking in Babbages.  I'm showing up at midnight screenings for Star Trek and Lara Croft.  I'm logging on to internet chat rooms in the wee hours of the morning to debate which incarnation of Dr. Who was the best.
All in the name of nerdlove.