My Brandon

Once Upon A Time there was a boy who made girls laugh, made girls cry and sometimes he made them crazy.  He loved Vegas Girls, which in Sin City means just a few things - fake boobs, fake tans and miles of legs.  He found himself newly single one day and while he mourned the loss of his most recent girlfriend, a dancer for the arena football league, he found himself charming a girl that didn't look like any of the others that came before her.

That girl was me.

Maybe it was because we were both fire signs, maybe we were both in a certain place in our lives, but all the people in all the land in this fairy tale quickly heard our story and it was highly likely that they heard it from a parking garage when we were screaming at one another on my 26th birthday.

This story began as a cautionary tale, one in which I would warn naive girls to stay away from the likes of this boy, the Brandons of the world, as I've decided to call them.  These are the boys that do not want a relationship, but are like heroin - euphoria followed by a deep blackness.  A boy can tell you he doesn't want a relationship, but the high is just too high and you can forget the lows when he says something funny or does something thoughtful, because my God, that high.  My Brandon wore Von Dutch trucker hats tilted to the side, drove a red Mustang and tats slowly inched their way up his arms.  The "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign on his forearm should be warning enough.  I wanted to write a manual, I wanted to tell girls to Beware Brandons, but I couldn't go that route. 

You see, as much as Brandon and I fought and then made up and then fought and then made up, he is very much a part of my Happily Ever After.    

I should explain that Brandon was never my boyfriend and I was never his girlfriend.  Shortly after we stopped "dating" I moved on to a man that I fell madly in love with and Brandon fell in love with a girl that I would have dated.

"Jesus, Brandon!  She's gorgeous!"

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"I'm not, but damn.  I have a crush on her."

Oddly enough, my boyfriend was jealous of Brandon.  He had heard the stories from mutual friends that dubbed our interactions as "passionate" and he may have even heard the fight in the parking garage from wherever he was in the world that day.  After months of insecurities and arguments my boyfriend moved on and I was picking up the pieces on my friend's couches.  

Enter Brandon.

Well, actually Enter Mr. J, but not without a push through the door from Brandon that started with a phone call.

"Do you know Mr. J?"

"Yea, I've seen him around."

"He totally has a thing for you.  Dude, he came into my office and asked if I knew you and was going on and on.  You have to go out with him."

I yawned, "Well, I'm very busy and important.  I'm not worrying about boys right now."

"Jeanette, he is the perfect guy for you.  I'm telling you, if you date him you guys will get married.  I'm serious."

I laughed.

This went on for three weeks.  Brandon called, I waxed and waned, he planned our wedding, Mr. J started showing up in my office, more calls from Brandon and finally a push, "Will you just call him already?"

"He's the boy!  Why can't he ask me out?"

"I don't know!  He likes you though.  I'm serious, Jeanette.  You're going to marry him."

"Whatever."

I finally sent a text to Mr. J after daily visits and flirtatious banter was becoming overwhelmingly annoying since he never followed up the bedroom eyes with any kind of question.  Open cell phone, text "So, are you going to ask me out or do I have to be the boy?" and Send.

We went out.

Mr. J had a reputation for loving the ladies and I was trying very hard not to sleep with him, resorting to guerrilla tactics - I stopped shaving my legs above the knee.  Around Date 5 he called to say he was coming over with wine and a movie.  I started sweating and immediately called Brandon.

"Brandon!  What do I do?  He's bringing over a movie.  And wine!  Do you think..."

"He wants to get laid."  

"That's what I thought, but I don't want to do it yet.  Well, I do, but I shouldn't.  Not yet! Besides, I don't have time to shave.  So, can we drink wine and just hang out?"

He laughed, which gave me pause, but I shrugged it off as he concocted a plan, "Ok, we're going to Roadrunner tonight.  As soon as he gets there tell him we invited you and come hang out."

It worked.  

I got a phone call about two weeks later, "It's time."

"Really?"

"He really likes you, but you need to give it up."

"I'm on it."

Brandon and I caught up over lunch this week and he called me a dork as I took a picture of his tattoo.  Years had passed, we had both grown up and as we reminisced (and the parking garage fight came up) I had to smile and shake my head at the silliness that was my mid-twenties.  It went a little something like this:

"I only got that guys number to piss you off."

"Oh my God, that was such drama.  You started crying on the escalator and then fighting in front of everyone?"

I smiled slyly, "You called me a slut."

He shook his head and laughed, "I was a jerk."

I gave him a hug as I left and realized that I'll always have a soft spot for him.  Every girl should have a Brandon in her life.  She may not think of him as fondly as I think of my Brandon, but it is highly unlikely hers will deposit a husband into her lap.  We all need a boy to drive us a little crazy, make us flail our arms around and cry in public.  

How else are you going to learn?