It's a love story, part quatro (just keepin' you on your toes!)

I took Spanish, too. Because cool kids are multilingual, don'tcha know?

In case you've missed the earlier posts, you can find them here:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

My hands were shaking as I debated whether or not to answer the phone.

Should I play hard to get now? What would we even say? Our last phone call had been just short of disastrous, and I wasn't sure my brain was up for another call like that after getting two hours of sleep, working for ten hours and driving for six.

My finger quickly slipped over the ignore button, I pushed down and off he went. I turned the radio up and coaxed my heart back into its normal rhythm.

Until the voicemail came. Oh my. Should I ignore it? Leave it there to listen to in the morning? I knew myself well enough to know that if I did listen to it and he asked me to call him back, I'd do it in a second. And of course he would ask me to call him back! Right?

It was all of eight minutes before curiosity got the best of me. By this point, it was already pushing midnight and I was as exhausted as I'd ever remembered being before. Rolling back into town, I listened to his voice mail.

Honestly, I don't have a clue what he said except for, "If you...want to come over or something...you know...you can." Cue the chorus.

HALLELUJAH!

So did I leave him hanging? Make him stew and wonder if I thought he was a bad kisser or something? Give him a piece of his own medicine?

Of course not. Because I have no will power.

I called him back. Then I went to his house. Of course.

We watched a movie as much as you can watch a movie when you're trying to get to know each other. In other words, we spent most of those two hours talking while using the movie as our crutch when there were the occasional awkward moments of silence.

By the time I left, I felt like I really knew Tim. He was not my type. My type had always been the big, rugged guys. Even the occasional teddy bears. My type had never been the skinny computer geek. Why was I so drawn to him? Perhaps because I saw then what Tim has confirmed to be the truth - that he would make the most amazing husband and father a girl could ever ask for. Perhaps I didn't really know my type at all, because that night, I knew that I'd finally found my right type.

When I left, Tim asked if he could call me. And then my heart exploded into a million little pieces and floated up into my brain, rendering me completely giddy.

To be continued...

It's a love story, part trois {why yes, I did take French in college}

In case you've missed the earlier posts, you can find them here:

Part One
Part Two

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the football game. The one out of town that Tim just happened to be at. And he hadn't returned my calls. And he was either playing hard-to-get, just not that into me, or really shy.

I plead the latter, but truth be told, I've never actually asked him why he didn't return my calls. Hm, if he weren't asleep (at 9:00 at night on our in-home date night!) then I'd ask him right now.

ANYWAY.

Red-headed friend calls John, who announces that he, Tim and Bob are at the game, too! And wouldn't it just be awesome to all get together. And we should come meet them at such-and-such location in half an hour.

I knew I should have dressed up, I thought. But my oversized KU hoodie and jeans were going to have to do, because it's all I had.

We met 'em, we laughed, we drank, we listened to the boys tell raunchy jokes. The usual. Then we headed to the epicenter of that college town - the bar district! It turned into a long night. And at some point, really without even noticing, Tim had grabbed my hand.

He'd grabbed my hand! He'd grabbed my hand!

Then he got a little more cuddly, a little more aggressive (in the good way), a little more take charge.

That night is mostly a blur, but I do remember the long walk back to someone's house where we crashed for the night on probably the most uncomfortable floral couch with rips in the cushions and springs (literally) poking me in the back. But somehow, that was exactly where I wanted to be. Curled up together, we slept soundly for two whole hours until red-headed friend woke us up.

She'd managed to lose her purse and her car. However that happens. We raced through town to find it because we were both working a double shift at the bar & grill and we were two hours from home. She couldn't find her car, so we batted our lashes at Tim and he "offered" to take us home (as in he got roped into it and really had no other choice).

The only memory I have from that drive home is the frappuccino we picked up from the gas station. It's memorable and funny because I had no idea at that time what an obsession Tim had with gas station Starbucks frappuccinos. That obsession is almost as endearing as his Chapstick obsession.

The double-shift flew by, but I had to drive red-headed friend all the way back to Manhattan (Kansas!) to get her car that we couldn't find earlier that day.

And then, on the way home, I got a phone call. The kind of phone call that leaves you mostly breathless with a racing heart and a lump in your throat the size of Texas. A phone call from Tim!

To be continued...

It's a love story, part deux.

Since I'd finally developed a normal college social life, I thought it only appropriate that I have a normal college birthday party. So I did.

When John showed up with Tim, my stomach literally flip-flopped. But how would I get John to leave without Tim? I was a schemer, but this seemed an impossible task, even for me. The details have escaped me now, but I somehow accomplished the impossible.

*Bow chicka wow wow*

And all of that.

I woke up with this ridiculous smile that just wouldn't stop. It had happened! We had kissed and now Tim was in love with me and we would be married and life would be good! Oh, to be young and naive again. By 2:00 PM, I was sitting at red-headed friend's house with JOHN. Big, huge, gigantic frowny face. Surprisingly, he blurts out, "Just call him already, DUDE." And who am I to say no? So I picked up that phone and I dialed that number and I was going to be a take-charge kinda girl!

Tim: "Hello?"

Me: "Hey."

Tim: "Hey."

Me: "So."

Tim: "Uh huh?"

Me: "What...are...youupto?"

Tim: "Working."

Right. This is that weird career thing, huh?

Me: "Oh."

Tim: "Um..."

Me: "Well I just thought if you weren't busy that you might want to...maybe...come over to *red-headed friend's* house?"

Tim: "Yeah, maybe I can. I don't know."

Me: "Okay! Talk to you later!" Click.

WHOA.

I watched the clock. Intently. Like a hawk, you might say. Many, many, many (too embarrassingly many) hours later, I gave up and went home. This is the part where I'm scared to come off as cocky and PLEASE TRUST ME I'M NOT, but I thought, "Is this what it feels like to be rejected? Because OUCH, that hurts!" Now let me elaborate before you quickly unfollow my blog. I don't think I'm some hottie who can score any guy she wants by ANY MEANS. I just chose wisely, if you know what I mean. I didn't go after any guy unless I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was into me. Frankly, I didn't really go after guys much at all. I was WAY too shy for that sorta stuff!

This pretty much just solidified my obsession. He'd made it a challenge. One that I was up for!

Fast forward a few weeks. I'd heard not a peep from Tim. I'd completely distanced myself from John. I was a trainwreck. So I soaked my tears away with some weekends out of town with red-headed friend basking in Oktoberfest and a football game. Unbeknownest to me, Tim was at that football game.

To be continued...

Continue to part three here.

It's a love story.

I've wanted to get my love story down on paper for ages, but something always gets in the way. In the pre-baby days, it was my career. In the post-baby days, it's my baby. Well, not that he gets in the way. That sounds terrible! He occupies my time. Since I don't sleep anymore anyway, I might as well take advantage of these late nights and get something accomplished, right? Behold, a (insert unknown number here) part series revisiting those sometimes horrendous, sometimes silly, rarely scandalous, mostly cliche, always heart melting days of my younger years.

At 21, life had given me just short of all I'd expected. I was taking Journalism classes at KU and hating every last moment of it. It wasn't that I hated being in college or the idea of making something of myself. No, I hated the school of Journalism. In all its cocky splendor (We're one of the top 10 Journalism schools in the nation! We developed convergence! We are awesome! Hear us roar!) it was a glorified sorority hangout. No offense to my sorority pals, but I wasn't one. Not only were the halls teeming with North Face jackets, Ugg boots and bad dye jobs, but the PROFESSORS looked like they'd just stepped out of a Victoria's Secret photo shoot.

Then there was my job. I didn't mind serving in that I made money, but I hated serving in that I had to SERVE. Other people. Even when they wrote things like "NO TIP FOR YOU IF YOU DON'T ASK TO SEE MY ID!" on the backs of their credit cards. Like, the nerve. That one will stick with me for ages. And there was the time that a lady told me I would burn in Hell because I wouldn't give her the (completely eaten) dinner she'd ordered for free because she claimed there was a bug in it. Like, who eats bugs?

At least I had my social life. And boy did I have my social life! My red-headed friend (whom shall remain nameless due to the fact that we had the biggest blow-out of all blow-outs that have ever been had) was a pistol. She considered partying her full-time job and she was GOOD AT IT. I don't remember a night that I stayed home for a six month stretch.

And that, my friends, is where it gets good. On one such night, my red-headed friend and I were doing a little shopping when we ran into, we'll call him, er, John. John, red-headed friend and I all knew each other from our community college days. He'd moved to Lawrence, too, and apparently he'd had a thing for me back then. Who'd have thought? A real class act, John had moved to Lawrence to "Mooch off my friends and live in a big house with them." His words. And because I was just lonely enough, I met up with him several weeks later. Well, red-headed friend and I. He was out with his hot little roommate, Tim.

One look at his piercing eyes, his sexy "man hands," his adorable little dimples and it dawned on me exactly why I'd agreed to meet up with John. It was destiny! Right? Meh, I'm not a huge believer in destiny, but I knew that there was a reason we'd crossed paths and I was quite bound and determined to figure it out. I flung my hair, laughed wildly at his jokes, checked and re-checked my make-up in the mirror. Just as important as the fact that he was most pleasing on the eyes was the fact that he was a...BUSINESS MAN! What was this new concept? You mean, you have a full-time job and you CARE about your job and you make a LIVING?! Hm, one might say that up until that point, I'd had a propensity for younger guys. Not younger as in younger than me, but I usually dated within my age bracket. What would a 4.5 year age gap feel like?

Sadly, Tim didn't seem to share the same feelings. You mean a guy with a career doesn't want to date a college girl working in a bar?! Shocker, huh? I went home with John because at least that meant I'd be going home to the same house that Tim would be sleeping in. It was a step in the right direction.

John's room was directly across the hall from Tim's. That meant that every day that I schemed myself into their home (Um, my computer isn't working. Can I come over and use yours? Um, the craziest thing just happened! I have no running water in my house. Can I come brush my teeth at your house? Um, the landlord needs to...clean my carpet. Can I come hang out at your house? Um, my dog is driving me crazy. Can I come hang out at your house?) I would sit in John's room and stare longingly across the hall at Tim. He was usually sprawled out on his bed, watching some TV, oblivious to the fact that this TOTALLY NAIVE, TOTALLY SMITTEN girl was staring at him for hours on end.

And then there was the day that I just knew. The day I knew I'd marry him. Red-headed friend and I were over at their house, AS FRICKIN' USUAL, twirling our hair and batting our lashes. Tim was sitting in his computer chair in his cute little home office, holding this teeny little Yorkie. His other roommate, er, Bob (If you only knew "Bob," you'd laugh right along with me) was there, too, though that's pretty inconsequential to the story.

ANYWAY.

Bob, red-headed friend, Tim and I were talking. I haven't a clue what we were talking about but it didn't really matter. Tim was lovin' on this little doggie like I'd never seen a man love on a doggie. Then this lightning bolt shot straight down from the ceiling and said to me, Chelsea, you better marry that boy. He's gonna make a great daddy. And I was all, Why thank you, lightning bolt. I think I might.

And then I called my mom. As far as cliches go, this probably tops the list. I told her that I'd met the man I was going to marry. This is the part where I'd like to tell you that she squealed with excitement right along with me, but to be perfectly honest, I haven't a clue how that conversation went. She probably shrugged it off because (EEK!) I'd been engaged before. Since that ended so well *dripping with sarcasm* I'm sure she had high hopes.

To be continued...

Continue to part two here.