Potential?

None.
Age? well... a lot older than me.... (cough)...21...(cough)....
Attractive? Extremely
Flirtatious? Very
R.M.? Yes
Off Limits? Totally
Single? Luckily
Ex- Boyfriends Best Friend's Older Brother? Well.... Yes

Six Word: Too Much History. Like You Anyway.

Q. Really, how much is 9 years?

Here's the run-down. I met him a week ago under strange and funny circumstances. We bonded over a long car ride. He was initially bothered by my age (or lack thereof) , but has since, it seems, reconciled that feeling, but not to the point of being uninformed or indifferent of it (creepy). Reason tells me that it's a bad idea to get involved with this guy on a variety of bases. The biggest ones are age-related.

1. When I was a squalling infant in my mother's arms, he was learning long division.
2. When I was wishing I could go to school like the big kids, he was losing his virginity.
3. When I was at the last leg of my time using pink Barbie toothpaste, he was heading to college.
4. When I was entering the age of parental defiance, he was living up the college experience and all that entails.

Since I consider myself duty-bound to confess all things unto you, the readers of the Boy Blog, I must also give the reasons that reason might lose this battle. I might add that I am fully aware of their superficial nature.

1. He has a motorcycle. A really, really fast one.
2. He's a certified pilot and is going to take me flying sometime.
3. He's pretty cute.

As I scampered into Alice Child's room last night after his departure, I was accosted with strong accusations of unwise decisions and a forthcoming storm I could be bringing on myself. As Alice and Friends pointed out the flaws in my desire to overlook the age difference (a feat he's seemingly better at than I), I used weak defenses to block their razor-sharp statements. Alice says, "He's going to teach you how to drive his motorcycle, is he? That's not all he wants to teach you!" and all I hear is his voice saying, "You're the cutest thing I've ever seen" (which does actually make me feel young). Alice says, "He's going to take you flying, is he? Is he planning on making you a member of the Mile High Club?" (I had to google it - found it at the urban dictionary website. Of course.) And I just think how much I would LOVE to go flying.

Beyond the previously mentioned superficial reasons that reason may fail, I had to ask myself the unbearable question: do I actually like him? And I don't actually know the answer. I should, I think, like him. I just don't know if I do, and if I don't, all other points are moot. Or, at least, they should be. Right? On top of a myriad of other negatives that I need not discuss, there is the most important that is looming over me like the esca on a deep sea anglerfish.

Q. Really, how much is 9 years?

A. Too much.

The Goings On in California - Part 1

Hello Ladies,

I wouldn't ordinarily be posting on the Boy Blog while on vacation in California, but when I have so much to say (and I'm waiting for my friend to get out of the shower), it seemed necessary. I've had some great times here. I'm here with Jenn, McKenzie and Covey. Each of these girls is beautiful and funny and always up for a good time. I have no idea what our parents were thinking when they let us go to California without any chaperone.

The first day I arrived in Anaheim, I was given the chance to walk around the city by myself for 4 hours. How did this come about? Jenn, McKenzie and Covey have been here a few days longer than me, staying at McKenzie's grandma's house in Long Beach and soaking up the sun on the beach. I flew in Monday morning, and my shuttle dropped me off at the hotel by 11. The girls were supposed to be here around 12:30, but because they are who they are (God bless them), they didn't leave until 2 and wouldn't be here until 2:40. Perfect.

I asked the hotel to hold my luggage so I could explore the area a little more. They said that they would usually let me check in early, but it was pre-paid for and it wasn't under my name, so that idea was shot out the window. Let me paint a visual of that first-day experience in Anaheim. The morning I flew out was a miserable, snowy day, and Anaheim was warm, beautiful and sunny. Imagine you are alone in a city you're completely unfamiliar with. It's technically a safe town (my hotel is less than a mile from the Disneyland entrance), and you know you're going to have to entertain yourself for possibly hours. Naturally, your first instinct would be to buy a giant red slushee from the 7 Eleven next door, then head down the street that's lined with palm trees. Naturally.

I have walked down the Vegas Strip looking glamorous before. I have jogged past construction areas with a slightly-better-than-average bod. I have lain on the beaches of Cancun in less-that-modest attire. But I have never received more catcalls and whistles than what I received that sunny day in Anaheim, walking down the street in ridiculously modest clothes with that "traveler's glow" that makes most people turn away blushing. To a certain point, catcalls can do a lot for your self-esteem. Or simply make you laugh, if you're me. Occasionally, a dude gets enough motivation to do MORE than catcall, such as jump over a bush from the parking lot he was standing in to ask directions to somewhere.

When he jumped over the bush, I considered running. A bush-jumper is obviously displaying some form of desperation, and desperation makes people do crazy things. However, he introduced himself as Danny and began talking to me. I was talking back. The spontaneous street attack was beginning to flow. I was talking to a stranger in every sense of the phrase, but there were plenty of people around, so I disregarded every warning my mother ever gave me and enjoyed the conversation. (I didn't get a single catcall when talking to Danny.)

Things we discussed:

Where I am from. (Utah.)

Why I'm in California. (Friend's 18th birthday.)

How old I am. (18 - oops, it slipped.)

How old he is. (28 - forgive me.)

How he couldn't see me dating guys my own age. (Imagine if he knew I was 16.)

His job. (Auto parts company.)

His dad. (Hated being a lawyer.)

My mom. (Is a lawyer.)

My plans for that week in California. (Party hard. At Disneyland.)

My plans for the following day. (He suggested coffee with him.)

My phone number. (I gave him my real number. Don't know why.)

That night, my phone broke. Goodbye, Danny.

Two hours and a giant red slushee later, I was making my way back to the hotel from Target. My friends were finally leaving Long Beach and would be in Anaheim within the hour. It was a relatively long walk back to the hotel. I'd walked far enough that I was in a slightly less crowded and less nice part of town. I was on the side of the street that very few people seemed to be walking on. That's when I almost got kidnapped.

Allow me to explain. I cannot prove that his intentions were to kidnap me. I cannot prove that anything would have happened. But I can put the pieces together enough to figure out that I was in a bad situation. It started with one whistle. It might have been when I was crossing the street somewhere. I don't remember exactly. But when I recognized the same Mexican in a black car suddenly turning around to FOLLOW me, I knew something fishy was up. (Racism is out. I was just stating the facts.)

He pulled up next to me and motioned for me to come over to him. (Tell me; do I have STUPID written across my forehead???) I smiled a little but but kept walking. I knew my mother would be anxious to give me yet another lecture on stranger danger at this moment. The man drove away and I thought it was over. I was still on edge and was very aware of my surroundings.

I was walking fast, trying to get to an area with more people. I hurried past the entrance to a small, run-down souvenir shop just as a car pulled in right behind me, almost hitting me. I had the strong feeling that I shouldn't turn around until I had gotten further away. I waited a moment before turning around to see the same man in the car, his eyes still on me. He again motioned for me to come over, and started pulling his car around the parking lot to the other side where I was walking. I pulled out my phone and frantically started calling my mom over and over again. I don't know why that was my automatic response. "Hey, there's this creeper trying to get me into his car. I should definitely call my mom who is 264 miles away."

After I realized my mom wasn't going to answer her phone, I got smart and called my dad. Who was at home back in Utah. I told him what was going on and asked him to just stay on the phone with me until I got back to the hotel. I was laughing hysterically, but on the verge of tears. By the time I got back to my hotel, I felt safe and I had regained my composure by the time my friends arrived.

Watch out for Part 2 of The Goings on in California, coming soon!!

Age Sucks

Why is it that I can’t like a guy younger than me, even by 9 days?

Why is it that I don’t find any teenage male attractive, physically or personally?

Why is it that I can be so immature that the only guys that like me are perverts or only 13? (Oh wait, isn’t that the same thing?)

Why is it that I bounce between crushes on teenage boys and crushes on guys in their mid-twenties and crushes on movie stars and a strange attraction to sports cars and chalupas?

Why is it that the first guy I ever connected with on an intellectual level was 8 years my senior... oh, and I only met him once?

Why is it that I can’t stand 75% of all males, but I still have a problem with the lack of problems in the other 25%?

Why is it that the only guy close to my age that I understand intellectually fits in that 25% category, lives in California, is in love with my perfect, beautiful friend, and is a diehard conservative?

Why is it that I’m thoroughly worried about this when I’m not even 16 yet? I’m giving myself a headache.