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THE ROAD TO LOVE
If you have ever done online dating for a period of time it is probable that
you will meet someone who lives in another town, perhaps in another
state, or another country that you feel like you are destined to be with.
In my case that was a girl from just a small town outside Seattle named Lyla
(not her real name). She was quirky and creative and I assumed that like me
she was a sort of hip city lesbian. I was a bit younger then--a bit of a pot-
head barista with not much in the way of hangups and she gave good email.
I don’t remember now how long our whirlwind email affair took place, but
me being a broke barista and her being unemployed I expected it would
be a while before we met. In the meantime we racked up long distance
bills and I alienated my roommates - and her dad - with the sounds of loud
Eventually she managed a trip down to Cali to visit me.
I wish I could say that I was attracted to her at all or even impressed
in the least. But she was the type of lesbian who wore socks with Burk-
enstocks, and I was the type
who wore thrift store Bat-
man shirts and tight jeans.
Her visit was, well, weird.
I spent our time together
pasting the image I had of
her based on the emails that
she had sent me, over the
person that she actually was.
I was filled with immense
relief when she was gone.
However, time passed,
and the online affair con-
tinued. In her absence I was
able to reconstruct my per-
fect vision of her without the
real her getting in the way. It
came time for me to make
the trip to where she lived. The fabricated image of her as a chivalrous
butch stud came back and I found myself with a plane ticket and a travel
bag full of sexy outfits. In the flesh, Lyla had put on more weight, and gotten
the haircut of a redneck farmer boy. But what I was most upset about was
that I found myself picking up the tab everywhere we went. I kept waiting
for her to be the gentleman she projected herself as, or at least go dutch,
but she just looked at me with hopeful cow eyes everytime the bill came.
The stardust was already pretty much gone and I began counting down the
hours till I would get home.
Things reached their peak when we visited her favorite bars -
a place unbeknownst to me that made all their standard drinks as
doubles. I proceeded to get violently ill from two drinks, which
were actually four (I was a pothead but not much of a drinker).
We got back to her place and I was just trying to recover. I thought
it sweet that she went to the store to get me bread and water, but
soon realised that she was unsubtly trying to hurry my heal-
ing process so we could have sex. I was waiting for the world to
stop spinning and she was trying to put my hand in her panties...
That trip wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time that I trav-
elled for love and/or serious delusion. All I know is I wish I were
the type of lesbian who had travel stories that involve me going on
an Olivia cruise and soaking up the sun while drinking daiquiris...
Instead I found myself in a small town with a moochy white trash
girlfriend who lived in her dad’s basement. Yet somehow when I got
back home it took me another month before I broke up with her...
the world to
and she was
trying to put
my hand in
THIS IS AWKWARD
By Denieal Williams
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