I'm In Love with Mary Jane

The first time I saw weed was in the back seat of a car going 60mph on the freeway.  My god sister’s boyfriend’s friend told he had something “special” to show me.  And, since 15-year old me had recently walked in on my boy cousin peeing.  I felt – you know - prepared.  Fortunately for my little girl eyes, it wasn’t what I expected.  Instead it was a bag of mysterious grass-looking plant leaves. 

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Mary Jane.” he answered. I stared back blank-faced.

“A Dime Piece?”
“Weed?” It was starting to click.

“Marijuana!”

DING! DING! DING!

I suddenly saw my short life flash before my innocent, un-narcotic touched eyes, and demanded they throw it out of the window OR let me out.

They chose the former! Apparently (and unfortunately for me), rolling a blunt seemed more important than rolling with me.  Go figure!

To this day, the thought of being in the presence of weed scares the heck out of me because…HELLO…smoking kills! 

Problem is, I was brainwashed in the 80s by a sunglass-wearing camel on a motorcycle  named Joe that smoking can be cool, be chill and sometimes be sexy.  So though I'm scared of weed, I can't help but envy Jay Z on the BluePrint Album Cover, or Al Capone's expression on the infamous cigar poster, or Obama  in his pre-presidential days squatting with a joint hanging from his lips. All of these people (camel included) are mad cool, and hella gangsta!  More importantly, each of them has mastered the art of balancing a black and mild between their fingertips while simultaneously exuding an I don't give a f*** attitude....an attitude I was currently swagger-jacking as I sat watching one of DC’s most powerful rainstorms, my legs kicked up on my balcony banister, and pretending to smoke an imaginary cigar.

I wanted to NOT give a f*** about My Crush, or the guy who had jumped his ass out of Breeanne’s Ugly Girlfriends with a Penis Club withOUT my permission and advanced directly into Breeanne’s Potential Man Fraternity (without passing GO!).

I will still pissed that My Crush - a month earlier - had attempted to hook me up with his friend, ignoring my too-discrete-he-clearly-missed-it attempt to connect with him over warm beer and chicken wings!  After my "no" then "hell no," he had skipped asking me "why" and began busying himself with the "how" task of pledging me into his Homegirls Sorority.  I - uninterested and happy to be an invididual - had been desperately trying to drop line ever since.

Every day he assumed the title of Dean and commenced the “getting-to-know” you pledge process of  gchatting me relentlessly from good morning to COB, hanging tough with him during happy hours while sexily sipping beer out a straw, and demanding I answer non-booty call related phone calls at 1am in my Girl 6 voice!

And what did I get for these efforts?

A date - Nope
A pat on the back - Nada
A penny for my keeping my thougts rated PG13 - Not a chance!

Instead I received the honor of being dubbed the unoriginal pledge name: “sweetie” and a confession from him that he had a

crush…

on...

another…

chick…(GASP!)

WTF!

I wanted to kick and kiss him, but not necessarily in that order! BUT then I (kinda) remembered his declaration that he rarely told a woman he likes her until he was sure she felt the same way, BECAUSE according to him, subtly was mandatory in all things related to romance.  So – of course – this made me speculate about his so-called Homegirl Sorority, which I figured might just be a modern day brothel of “potentials” that he kept running prettily around in a never-ending circle, in too-tall stilettos, chasing the carrot (which was him)!

Yes, I liked this guy....

But...problem was...I...do…not…pursue…a...man...ever!

So what’s a girl to do? 

Can a woman ever…really…move out of a friend zone without making her interest known? 

I contemplated this answer while watching DC rain drops fall and while lighting up my non-existent black & mild to chill out.  I was hoping that somewhere in my imaginary smoky haze that I could embrace the “I don’t give a f*** attitude” and figure out how I could avoid being left out there on the sidelines once again…

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Friends Without Benefits

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I didn’t get the memo that kids were better seen than heard until I was 21 and my little cousin talked back to me like she was 45. She almost (keyword: ALMOST) got put out in the middle of the 14th Street bridge until I remembered I used to be “that kid,” (yes, “that one”) that always had “something” to say. In fact, the only time I was speechless was in math class and that was because I hadn't figured out the best way to argue why 2 + 2 ALWAYS had to equal 4.   ALWAYS was too concrete for me, a little girl with an opinion and a pantaskirt - or rather, a skirt I wore tied between my knees in rebellion against the dresses-only code for girls, which resulted in MC Hammer-looking pants. 

I needed versatility.

The need to understand that always wasn't forever, that a pantaskirt could be one (a skirt), two (pants), or both! So you could imagine my professors reaction when she proclaimed that “opposites attract and likes repel,” and I nodded in agreement. What she couldn't know was that I had developed a crush on the geekiest, nerdiest, brown noser boy in class who took pride in following the rules…and if opposites attracted, than maybe a pretty girl in a pantaskirt, and a little boy with a penchant for following the rules could work.

What I couldn't know then, but learned 15 years, 3 boyfriends, 2 heartbreaks, and a really embarrassing session where I used the therapist hair for Kleenex later, was that "opposites only attracted" in science class and in the 6th grade.

And I held on to this fact...

UNTIL...

20+ something me felt that familiar heart flutter for a guy friend of mine!

At first I was mad! Livid! Peeved!

I had never - before this day - pledged a guy friend and crossed him into the fraternity of Breanne's Potential Man.  Matter of fact, all of my guy friends - for all intents and purposes - were really ugly girls with penises.

This guy wasn't even a guy friend, partly because he was GUD (Geographically Un-Desirable) living across yonder in VA, but mostly because we had nothing in common.  He loved expensive cars (Porches, BMWs, Bentleys).  I drove a GEO.  He reveled in shopping for Prada and Gucci. When someone mentioned mall, I thought monuments.  He endeavored to be a millionaire.  I got happy when I paid my bills on time.  He was GQ and I was...so...not...interested!

But one day...

He posted a gchat status that took me back to my renegade days: "Opposites only attract in the 6th grade!"
And I hit him back with a "Dude, I totally agree!"

A dialogue occurred soon after, catapulted into a conversation, and ended somewhere past 1,238 lines of  chatting. And our chat conversations continued weeks after, flowing seamlessly from discussions about my pantaskirt and his Porsche, as well as my volunteer work and his 15 hour working days!

And...

These conversations continued every day never lacking in frequency or volume. It didn't take long for us to wonder if our budding computer love, was limited to keystrokes and emoticons or if our conversation could translate into an LOL smiley face - sans gchat!

So, we both RSVPd +1 for an after work happy hour! The +1 was our blackberry, the ride-or-die companion we kept on "ready, set" just in case we both got overwhelmed by the excessive use of our vocal chords.

The non-date started off innocently enough, with both of us asking polite questions that required one-word answers:

How are you? GREAT
Are you hungry? YES
Do you like beer? SOMETIMES

The question, I really wanted to him to ask was: Are you bored? 


To which I would reply:  HELL YES!

But he didn't ask that, because - dangit - that would require a two word answer.

After a long and awkward silence and more awkward sideways glance.  I was just about to call on my "ride-or-die" when he commented on my skirt, saying something silly about how it would look better tied between my knees.  I thought he said "he would look better between my knees."  And me - being single and celibate for 2...long - yelled "SAY WHAAAAAAT!" a little too loud!

And both of us started laughing at a joke we both missed.  Me - because I was little horny.  Him - because...well he couldn't let me laugh alone and be the guy sitting with "that" (insert one: crazy, loud, psycho) chick.

Lucky for us! The conversation flowed from there! Our vibe was similar to harmony, insomuch as we were two different tones that sounded right together!  Our differences absolutely contrasted, but other intangibles like sense of humor, temperament, conversational pace were all in one acchord.

After the fourth beer.  He put his hand up like a 'hi-five' and matched each of his fingers with tips of mine. 
There was a brief moment of silence where our eyes met and suddenly I wanted to him to kiss me!

"You would be perfect..." he said as I slid my fingers inside the space of his.

"For?" I questioned.

"My friend..."

Wait what! What the fuck do you mean perfect for "your" friend!  I took my beer, threw it in his face, pushed our plate of chicken wings on the floor, and walked away while flippin' him the bird.

Okay, I'm lyin', I didn't get all Fatal Attraction on him...but I did push the chicken wings plate to the ends of the bar counter after I disentangled my hand from his. I know, I'm such a bad ass.

"We're friends right?" he asked as I looked at him with that phony/fake smile you give to old people and big head babies.

I had to think.

If my therapist mucus-ruined hair was any indication, opposites did not - INDEED - attract.  So he wasn't even eligible to cross into Breanne's Potential Man Fraternity and was always destined to be an ugly girl with a penis (such was the destiny of all my guy friends)!

"Bree, we're friends right?" he asked again.

I closed my eyes and tried NOT to imagine him in a leather, Prada G-strring.  Tried to channel my inner, break-rules, bad girl.  Tried to imagine 12-year old me in a pantaskirt.

I wanted to tell him yes, and prove my science teacher right.  I also wanted to tell him no, so my 3 heart breaks would not be in vain.  So...

Rebelling against the concept of "opposites DO NOT attract"

Optimistically, I replied...

"Kinda."

 The renegade in me was convinced that "anything was possible."