The Story of Us

I started my first blog my junior year of college. Putting your innermost thoughts on the internet and putting the link in your AIM profile is probably not the smartest thing to do, but all of my smart/witty/deep friends were doing it and we all do really dumb things in college. At least I didn't get herpes or something.

The next summer I dated MB. MB wasn't as smart/witty/deep as me and my friends, but he wanted to pretend so he started his own blog. Unfortunately, having already graduated from college (and I am using the term "college" very loosely) and being marginally employed, the content for his blog was pretty mundane. He attempted to make up for it by posting song lyrics (usually Italian opera lyrics that no one understood) and some of his original poetry (he was self-published). Shortly after we broke up, he took a stab at writing fiction. Really grotesque fiction (think scripts for snuff films). About me. Using my real name.

I am not going to go into details, but let's just say with a good bit of alcohol in my system, I could probably be persuaded into a few kind-of-kinky things. Necrophilia is not one of those things. Especially if I am the dead one.

Ordinarily, this would be terrifying and I would look into restraining orders, but, as I may have mentioned before, MB was questionably literate. So much so that you had to read each sentence three or four times before you understood what he was trying to convey. So instead of taking out a restraining order, I printed out a dozen copies of one of his creepier stories and left them on the editing table of the newspaper office on a Sunday afternoon.

My fellow editors are to this day some of my best friends because just like me, they are a) anal about editing things and b) willing to do just about anything to avoid doing actual work.

My friends didn't let me down and immediately began editing MB's prose and researching the submission requirements for the literary magazine (as in we called the editor of the literary magazine, told her we were writing a story about it and asked a bunch of "interview" questions--then, so no one would suspect anything, we stuck a random "call for submission" text box on the A&E page). We put MB's real name on his story and stuck it in the magazine's on-campus mailbox in the middle of the night.

I wish I could say it got published, but it didn't. Surprisingly, the literary magazine actually gets enough submissions that they are able to reject some. I never heard about it again, unless you count every editorial meeting for the rest of the semester.

I guess it's all for the best, as it probably would have resulted in both of us getting in real trouble if it had been published. And while I am all for making my exes pay for their transgressions, I don't think any of them have done anything bad enough to deserve jail time.