matthew fiske and allie oates

So I’m kind of a sad excuse for a human being. I don’t get crushes a lot (like almost never), but when I do, hold on to your fucking hat, I’m a psycho. Last year, I had my first crush in years on this guy named Matthew Fiske. I met him through work, but we didn’t work together or anything. I had seen him a couple times, with no tingly feelings down there, but the second we were actually introduced and shook hands (touched) I was like, Holy shit, I’m in love!

I immediately began circling, looking for a weakness that would allow me to catch my prey off guard. I’ve grown up a lot since high school, so I didn’t start any secret Matthew Sororities or get my dad to drive by his house at night or create any screen names in his honor. But I did cyberstalk him, and all but harass him with text messages trying to get him to be my boyfriend. He seemed like a good sport for a while, very eager to please, which is what I like, but with virtually no follow-through. We hung out a couple times in a group, but I could never get him naked… errr, I mean alone.

Finally, I was presented with the perfect opportunity. My office was having a holiday party, and I needed a date. Matthew had already made plans, but said if I didn’t mind him skipping out early, we could go together. I agreed, he picked me up, we had a nice little car ride there, in which we fell deep deep in love, and then we got to the party where he was completely charming to everyone we met and we continued falling deep deep in love.

Now let me rewind a little. I have a bit of a reputation at these work parties. I usually get balls-to-the-wall drunk. I have a ridiculous story from every one of these parties: Crying on the Floor Night, Credit Card Stolen By Boss’ Son Who Spent the Night in his Car Waiting For Me to Come Blow Him Night, Wallet Stolen/Almost Arrested/Driven Home by Aunt of Home-wrecking Co-worker Night, Friend Almost Get’s DUI but I Save Her By Being her Designated Decoy Night… yes the list goes on and on. But I had vowed that on this particular night, I would save all craziness until after Matthew left. I actually kept my word.

At some point in the night, we got on the topic of crushes. He brought it up. He told me that it makes life more interesting to always have a secret crush. I thought this was a silly and childish thing to say, but I went along with it, nodded, and smiled demurely. He said, “I have a secret crush.” I said, “Me too.” But in my head, I was like, Dude, where is this going?

I walked him to the door when it was time for him to leave, and he gave me a friendly hug, but whispered in my ear, “Secret crush.” And then he was gone, leaving me wondering WHAT THE FUCK?

So I’m convinced that he’s in love with me, though the weirdness of his behavior had not escaped me. I run back into the party, stopping at the bar to ensure I’m double-fisting for the remainder of the night to make up for lost time, and immediately begin questioning everyone I run into (including my superiors) about Matthew. He said, secret crush? That means me, right? He had his arm around my shoulders, not around my waist, thats a bad sign right? He said he had fun, not a good time. Which is better? You saw how he was acting, do you think he likes me? Like I said, I’m a freak. Everyone was trying to get away from me after that so I did the only thing I knew to do. I started massaging the butt of a stranger playing pool. I punched (and continued to threaten) a co-worker’s large, black husband. I inserted myself into every photo being taken. I spilled a drink on our highest profile “client” (so high-profile, that I am certain, you reader, have heard of him). And then I passed out at the bar.

Eventually the bouncer woke me up and put me in a cab. The cab driver and I became great friends until we got to my front door and he asked me if he could come upstairs with me. I told him that usually I would accept his offer (in exchange for free cabfare of course), but on this night I was Matthew Fiske’s secret crush, and I couldn’t taint this beautiful night with a one-night stand. Once upstairs, I walked out on my balcony. It was a chilly LA night, and I sighed with drunken contentment as I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and looked out over the twinkling lights of the valley. That’s funny, I thought. Why are my car keys in my coat pocket? I then pulled out someone else’s car keys from my coat. As I was wondering how the keys got there, I looked down at the sleeve of my coat and realize that my brand new, bright blue coat had faded into a dull charcoal color. I was initially pissed until I realized what you all have already realized: I was wearing someone else’s coat. With someone else’s car keys. Meaning someone couldn’t get home.

I immediately called the bar and tried to drunkenly explain what had happened. They told me to call back tomorrow. I was like, “No, no, no, you don’t understand. Someone can’t get home.” They wouldn’t even take my number. My FB status that night was something about wearing someone else’s coat, and one of my friends/co-workers immediately responded that it was this girl Allie Oates‘s coat. That apparently she had been panicked, behind me at the bar WHILE I WAS SLEEPING, asking the bartender if anyone had seen her coat. It’s all sorta beautifully cinematic if you think about it. Anyway, so I got Allie her coat the next day, she was such a good sport about it, we even became friends on Facebook after that.

At work on Monday, everyone came prepared to make fun of me again. It wasn’t until about halfway through the day though, that a mutual friend of mine and Matthew’s shows me that at some point between Matthew leaving the party and me passing out at the bar, I had drunken Facebooked him, writing on his wall, “You’re my secret crush!!!!!”

We didn’t speak for six months. Apparently, I wasn’t his.