That’s Not Very Brice

3 May

These past few weeks it’s been Marlie’s world, and I’m just living in it.  From the late night phone calls, to the all day text messages, to the actual dates, it’s too much to put into words.  And if I had one emotion to sum it all up, it would be afraid… very afraid.  To me, Marlie lives in a little glass box of perfect that I’m just trying to balance on my egg shaped head while walking in six inch stilettos with worn down heel tips.   Don’t you hate that, when you feel no sense of stability in your shoes and the exposed nails are just grinding into the ground, making you and any hardwood floor around you absolutely miserable?  I do too.

I’m freaking out that as soon as I admit to liking Marlie it’s all going to unravel.  Given this same situation, most girls (of the Midwestern variety at least) would ride it out, crossing their fingers and closing their eyes at night to only hope that he might be The One.  I, on the other hand, choose the most blatantly wrong route to go about liking Marlie – by making fun of him at any given opportunity, trying to not ask him any questions about his life and making a point to still date other people. 

That’s normal, right?

On Sunday after just returning from being out of town I asked Brice if he wanted to go to church with me.  I missed the morning service and I needed a ride to the afternoon service, which inconveniently isn’t two doors down from my apartment.  He said yes and we went to church together.  Surprisingly, I’ve loosened up a lot when it comes to church.  I can actually go to church with another human being and not feel like I am going to pass out from the awkwardness.  And, I sing during the service too. 

Afterwards, we got in the car to go home and he made the mistake of asking me what I wanted to do next.   Uh, what do I want to do now?  I want to go home.   I want to go back to my studio apartment, sit on my twin sized bed, eat refried beans from a can and watch Teen Mom on TV until 9 p.m., when Khloe and Lamar is on.  Don’t you know me at all by now? 

I geeked it really hard though, because I was so thrown off by his statement that I couldn’t even come up with a good excuse.  And boy did he know it. 

You don’t even want to go to dinner?

I just bought groceries.

Lie.  The only things I cook in my apartment are bean burritos and, on a big day, tacos.  The only difference being that sometimes I spring for ground beef to make taco meat.  Anyone knows that.  I just didn’t want to hang out. 

Cue Brice absolutely freaking out that I didn’t want to spend the remainder of the evening with him.  You give them an inch and they take a mile.

I don’t want to ever see you again.


Seriously, I don’t get you.


You’re the most confusing person on the entire planet; I’m done hanging out with you.

Uh… could this car move any slower?  You think he would pick up the pace since he seemed to be so adamantly against me.  Same old five miles an hour down Fullerton though.  When we arrived at my apartment, I pretended like I just woke up from a 20 minute blackout that was the car ride, thanked him for taking me to church, smiled and told him I hoped to see him soon.  I mean, we were on our way back from church.  If I’m not going to act like a Christian five minutes after service, when am I?

A few seconds after I got home, I received this from good old Brice:


He really knows the way to this girl’s heart.  I didn’t respond and then I received this:

Call me, I need to tell you something. 

Yeah right, Brice.   Like I am going to fall for that trick.  Oh maybe he just needs a cup of sugar or help figuring out what 4 x 5 is.  Yeah. Right.  After not responding, I received this an hour later:

Ha you’ll never call back, text it is.  Am I in the friend zone (have I always been)?   Sometimes it seems like I’m not, then it does again.  I thought I was getting invited to your thing, then I didn’t.  If I am, that’s cool.   I think you’re pretty darned cool and I didn’t want to make you (or me) feel awkward by always asking you out if I’m in the f zone.

Dear Brice, you basically just attacked me in a moving car, telling me that you never wanted to see me again.  Yes, if you haven’t been already, you’ve been demoted to the friend zone.  Actually, friend zone is two levels higher then where I would place you right now, so kudos to you for being an overachiever. 

Another hour later:

Will you forgive me if I buy you a hot dog?

Good, but not good enough.  I didn’t respond, because by that point in the evening I had the innards of a Cadbury Creme Egg stuck to my two pointer fingers (from scooping out the good stuff from the chocolate shell and then repeatedly licking them) and I was too busy thinking of pranks to pull on Marlie.

I should probably be happy that any guy wants to date me.


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