Bama Boy with a Texas Name

Hi strangers!  I am coming out of blog hibernation and have so much to share with all of you!  I am sorry for my disappearance.  I have been completely wrapped up in work, but do not fear.  I am back, and I have stories to share.  

I could tell you all about being a bridesmaid in my younger cousin’s wedding, and how Conner saved me by being my date.  Or I could gush about road tripping to Miss America with Lisa, Elle, and Lilly.  The ups and downs of friendship is another topic I could go on about.  I could tell you about my nervous breakdown, and how I am trying to overcome it.  But instead I am going to talk about something so much more exciting.  I am going to tell you about the new boy, well, man really.   

I am smitten.  This guy is the most beautiful boy who has ever been interested in me.  He is classically good looking, with a strong jaw, gorgeous blue eyes, and a little bit of gray starting to peek through around his temples.  His southern accent could melt butter with it’s warm smooth tone.  I could listen to him all day.  

We met a few weeks back at a Thursday night happy hour.  I was about to head home when a casual acquaintance of mine flagged me down from across the bar.  I had already noticed the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome friend he was talking to.  I made my way over just to be introduced to Houston.  Houston had asked for the introduction, and I have never been so flattered in my life.  Flirtation came easy between the two of us, and the way his lips curled and eyes lit up, I knew it to be genuine.  

He just moved to DC from LA a few months ago, but he grew up in Alabama. There is something about Alabama boys.  They are more beautiful than Georgia boys, and a 100 times sweeter than Mississippi boys.  They are still Southern, so of course they are trouble, but Alabama boys are never truly trouble on purpose.    And if they are, it is the good kind of trouble, the sexy pull-you-into-a coat-closet kind of trouble.  

Well, Houston got my number the night we met but hadn’t used it since.  I had been busy so with work and the trip to Atlantic City, so I hadn’t really noticed.  Okay, that is a lie.  I had noticed, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything even if he had asked me out.  

This past weekend Bee, my college roommate and best friend, made a last minute trip to DC.  It was her first time here, even though I have been in DC for almost 3 years.  I was so excited to show her my city, introduce her to my friends, and most importantly, just get to spend time with her.  I took her to my Thursday happy hour after she landed, and I struggled through my Friday at work while she watched Netflix at my apartment.  Friday night we hit H Street, and Saturday, toured the monuments and the Smithsonians.  Saturday night I took Bee to a late dinner at Cava Mezze, one of my favorite places in the city.  While sipping drinks and gorging ourselves on delicious food she convinced me to send Houston a text and see what he was up to.   And so the fun begins.

He responded promptly, and I could have floated away due to the butterflies in my stomach.  He was watching SEC football, like every good Southern boy does on a fall Saturday.  He asked what our plans were and I told him we were still trying to figure that out and asked if he had any suggestions.  Bee and I ended up at my neighborhood bar because the rain was just too nasty to venture very far.  Just when we were about to call it a night my phone buzzed and it was none other than Mr. Houston wondering if we were still out and about.  

As he and his roommate made their way from Glover Park to meet up with us my nerves started to kick in.  What if I am not what he remembers, or if he likes Bee more than me? It took ages for them to show, and they walked up as we were getting shuffled out of the bar.  I invited them back to my place to hang out with us, a decision Bee and I had previously agreed on.  Damn, he looked good in his perfectly worn jeans and ostrich skin boots.

I played bartender as we goofed off, telling stories and getting to know each other.  Houston interrupted the conversation at one point to say that hadn’t told me yet, but I looked really pretty tonight.  SWOON!  He also made several comments about thinking my voice was incredibly sexy, saying I could tell him bedtime stories.  Funny thing is I feel the same way about his southern drawl.  His roommate was macking on Bee hard, and she really wasn’t feeling it.  I have never seen her half-ass flirting the way she was.  It was hilarious, to me at least.  

Somehow we came to the decision to head up to my roof.  I said I would meet everyone up there so I could use the restroom.  Houston stayed too and the moment the front door closed he grabbed me, pushing me against my closet door, and kissed me roughly and passionately.  I was almost dizzy from the heat between us.  We made out like teenagers, but better.  Teenagers don’t know how sexy it is to pin your arms above your head, or that passion doesn’t have to be sloppy, but blurred lines are the best kind.  

Every time he touched me, it was with hungry hands and hungrier lips.  It didn’t matter if it was waiting for the elevator, in the elevator, or pushed up against the door leading to the roof where our friends were just on the other side, it was steamy.  My imagination goes wild thinking about what, how, and where things would have happened had our friends not been there.   

Unfortunately, Bee and I had to send them on their way around 5:30am.  My studio can’t hold 4 people and Bee had more than fulfilled her best friend duties of taking one for the team.  Houston said we would hang out again soon, and I am crossing my fingers and toes that I hear from this one.

Bee and I had a great rest of the weekend.  We met an old college friend at the zoo, I cooked dinner, and we watched the Emmy’s (Best and Worst Dressed to come).  It was great having her here, and my apartment felt so empty when she left.  Everything with Bee is so effortless, we never get sick of each other, and she knows me better than anyone in the world.  Now that she is done with law school it has crossed my mind to move home.  We could live together again, and it would be like nothing has changed.  But everything has changed, maybe not our friendship, but I have.  So much has happened to me over the past 3 years, good and bad.  I have a life here, and although I am not always happy, I know home would never be enough for me ever again.  I can’t run away because things get hard here, or I get scared.  I am right where I belong, and who knows, maybe this new Bama boy will be another reason to stay.  

Bye Bye Bama

Two weeks.  All I have is two weeks to get Bama to kiss me.  He is leaving, moving back to Alabama.  My crush smothered just as it was beginning.  I had thought about what it would be like to flirt with him all summer.  To dance with him on some hot dance floor in the wee hours of a summer morning.  To splash around in a pool fully aware of when our bare skin would touch.  To kiss on my rooftop under the summer stars.  

Now if I do any of those things, it will be with someone that right now is nameless and faceless.  It won’t be with Bama, the boy whose crystal blue eyes have been haunting my fantasies since the day we met.  How do you say goodbye when you have barely finished saying hello?  

More so, I am sad for Hadley, who is losing one of her best friends.  It is so sudden.  Two weeks is all anyone gets.  It’s not even enough time to throw a party.  Goodbye parties aren’t really for the people they are thrown for.  The are for the friends of the person leaving, so they can make one last memory and smother their feelings with booze and cake.  Cake can solve just about anything, and if cake can’t solve it, surely booze can.  

One of the worst parts about living in DC is the fact that 50% of the people you meet won’t stay here.  Washington, for many people, is a pit stop necessary to the life they want somewhere else.  People come for a few years and get tired of the cutthroat mentality, so they head back to wherever home is.  Sometimes when people leave, you see it coming, and other times the news is like a sucker punch to the gut.  I consider myself a lifer.  When I look into the future, I don’t see myself anywhere else.  That is why it is hard for me to understand why some people choose to go back home because this is my home now.  

Now, I need to figure out my plan, come up with a strategy.  I only have two weeks before Bama heads back to the south, back to the world where only old people find me attractive.  I hate the idea of not being able to get what I want, and I want Bama.  I want to run my fingers through his hair and my hands along his muscular back.  I don’t want to have to imagine what kind of kisser he is; I want to know.  So, I need a plan.  Really, I just need to get myself in a room with him. I like to think that I have enough game that I can make moves, or hope that if in a room with me, he might want to make some moves of his own.   

It is funny how things change so quickly.  Just last week Bama was a symbol for possibility, and now he is bringing out desperation.  Possibility now has limits, a time restraint, a ticking clock slowly diminishing the free feeling of hope.  In the end, adding Bama to the long list of crushes that never reached their potential.