In the backwater swirling there are some things that will never change.

I was crazy about a gorgeous guy named J.T. Costa. It was the first time I was really head over heels. He read my diary while I was in the shower at his house and became insanely jealous of the fact that I had been dating someone when we met at Spring Break '95. Even though I ended that relationship after meeting J.T. He was a jealous kind of a guy, I guess. He also idolized the band For Squirrels, who had committed group suicide, because he never wanted to live past 35.

I was at his house in Oxnard, and only had 3 days to spend with him before leaving to go to Europe for the summer. He hadn't spoken to me for most of them (post diary spying), and was basically freezing me out. I didn't know what was wrong (how could I?) but I couldn't wait to get out of there.

While he was at work, I was driving his car and went to put a CD in. This was an old jalopy, and the cd player had been basically Velcroed into the console. I was driving and not looking and somehow managed to push the cd firmly into the space between the actual cd player and the car, only to be wedged in and lost forever. I knew he'd be furious and I just wanted to replace the CD with no comment from him. I didn't want to give him another reason to glare at me over his Miller High Life. I figured, I can go to any CD place and find it. Wrong. Way way wrong. I had to find my way all over Oxnard, a town I knew little to nothing about, to every CD place I could. Meanwhile, I was going to be late to pick him up from work. Finally, FINALLY, I found a used copy, replaced it in the CD book, and raced to get him. He was angry and suspiscious when I got there, all of which was communicated by his mutely pouting. I am fairly certain I cried myself to sleep that night while he watched Morphine on Conan.

Worse, the next day he had to drive me home which was 2 1/2 hours away. I wanted to take the train home but my Mom had had it with my obnoxious drunk ass and didn't want to lend me the money. So, we drove back, and got stuck in awful traffic, so it took close to 4 hours. 4 hours of odd, stilted conversation. It was awful. When we got there, he walked me in said goodbye and left. No explanation, nothing.

I was crestfallen for the first 2 weeks in Europe. But, in my cockroach-esque way I managed to get over it. There are many more twists and turns to this story. The final one involves him calling me out of the blue a year later and saying he made a mistake, he wanted me to move to Florida with him, and that he was in love with me. Be careful what you wish for. I was sure he was drunk or out of his mind on drugs. So I told him if he wanted to tell me all of these things he had to call me during the day sober. He called the next day at 1 pm. I looked at the caller ID, sat and watched the phone ring, and I didn't pick it up because I was frozen in terror. I was in shock. I sent him a letter a while after that and asked why I would go to stay with him when he was drunk 70% of the time and irresponsible. I was cruel to him and he wrote back and said he'd never talk to me again.

I think about him sometimes. He was such a funny guy. I am pretty sure he OD'd. If not I imagine hin to be like the adult Trip Cullman from "Virgin Suicides". I'm sorry I was so mean. But I'm sure if I had been dumb enough to move there it would have been over in a matter of weeks. The minute you surrender and acknowledge you'd be the slightest bit willing to try to make a life together, they freak out. He would have proven no exception, even if he did think he loved me. He was probably drunk.

I date men who don't know what they want, but they know they don't want someone that loves them. And I want them to love me the most, so I can win the great big "I am a valid human being because a man approves of me" grand prix.

The CD was Too High to Die by the Meat Puppets.