So this one time... I was in love.

Believe it or not, I used to be happy. I'm sure if you search my blog you will find I probably say that a lot. I was young, I had just moved back to the city that I love and I was having the time of my life. I lived in the back apartment of the house I grew up with and I was just so - problem-free. I loved it and so many times I wish I could go back, but then I think about how much I love my child and how far I've come since then and blah blah blah.

I was working full-time in a call centre, not ideal but the job was a little fun, competitive and I had some awesome gay friends. I developed a crush on an emo guy at work (who had no idea I was alive, and was probably uber-gay like all the other men that worked there - true story!). I followed this guy everywhere he went hoping that he would notice me...which he never did...and I was cute - he was so gay!

Anyway I had a room mate who was a really nice person, but I think she might have been peeing in bottles and throwing them into the garbage, still she was nice. This friend brought over a guy who said he wanted to meet me. A very nice gesture, no? Well it would have been, had she not decided to bring him over after I drank a bunch of Nyquil and felt like I was dying. I was passed out completely and woken up from a "coma" to see a guy sitting beside my bed in a chair. For some reason I was not alarmed, I was at a stupid part of my life where nothing really scared me. I had such a sheltered life that the thought of murders sitting on chairs beside my bed watching me sleep didn't really seem too strange to me. She was there too and thought it was hilarious that I was awaken from my self-induced coma to have them sitting beside my bed. Apparently this guy was dying to meet me. So we had a brief meeting where we realized that we had actually met a year before when his brother offered to piggy-back me down the street and my friend and I gave them a fake number. Can you say awkward? That was R. My R., always so determined and stubborn.

The weeks after that were so awkward and strange. He was always so nice to me and he asked me on a date, like a true gentleman would, every single day. The only problem, I was still after emo-boy and R. was a little older than I was (8 years - I think, oh god I can't even remember). He just came on so strong, and I honestly was a little put off by it. I knew he was sick, he had cancer and had a Pic line in his arm, but that never seemed to be a problem to me. I never took it seriously, and I never thought he would die - those things didn't happen to me - ever.

One day he was sent home from work because his Pic line bled, it was infected pretty badly and he had to go to the hospital to have it checked out. He refused to go because he didn't want to wait in the ER to see a doctor for what could be a wait that would take hours. I made him a deal, if he went then I would go out for dinner with him one time. We waited...and it was a wait that took hours, just as he predicted it would be. We talked for hours and hours while we waited for a doctor to take a look at his arm. When 3am rolled around we had both had enough of the wait. R. got up suddenly, went and got some bandages and gauze and wrapped up his arm and said "let's go".

I was stunned. If it would have been me, I would have been in that bed whimpering and asking for ice chips and warm blankets hours ago but here he was storming out of the ER and taking supplies with him. Then as he was walking me home he asked me where we were getting Chinese from...he meant that night. He was so intense - so radical and I was starting to fall for him. A few days later he went away camping for a week. While he was gone I realized that I missed him so much. I thought about him so much that it drove me crazy and that is when I realized I had fallen for him. I had to take a second job just to keep my mind from going crazy.

When he came back, he didn't pay as much attention to me anymore. I didn't really know what was going on, or who changed, but something wasn't right. All of a sudden the tables were turned, and let me tell you it didn't feel nice at all.

On Canada Day I stopped moping around long enough to go with my friends to see fireworks at the park. R. was there with his brother, who I hadn't seen since the piggy-back incident. R. happened to mention that he was taking his brother out that night to a bar - and before he could go into detail I told him I wanted to go. I remember the look he gave me, it was a look of awkwardness and of shock. I think mostly because he didn't get to finish his sentence - they were going to a strip bar.

It didn't matter if we were going to the moon, I was obsessed with him and I would have followed him anywhere at that point. I was obviously super-nervous, so I drank a lot, and got drunk a lot. R. walked me to my door, and instead of walking up the steps, I turned around and sat down and we were face-to-face...and I kissed him. It was probably one of those ew-I'm-kissing-a-drunk-chick kisses, but to me it was the best kiss in the world. He slept on my couch that night - and never left. He told me later on that he actually was interested in another girl after I turned him down so many times - which makes me think that maybe that's why I am going to be alone forever now - I'm just too stubborn to ever be in love again - although it was nice, and sometimes I miss it - a lot.

I meant to share this for Valentine's Day but I am a big-time procrastinator so here it is.

How did you meet your soul mate? I could use a few tips.