PB doesn’t just stand for “peanut butter.”

It also stands, or should I say used to stand, for “pretend boyfriend.”  Or at least it did in my world.  I have had more “pretend boyfriends” than I could ever possibly count, but a few really stand out in my mind.  But first, I suppose I should explain what I mean when I say PBs.  Some might describe them as the stalking victims of my adolescence.  I prefer to explain that they were boys I had somewhat unreasonable crushes on when I was much younger and must less mature.  When I say unreasonable, I mean extreme.  And usually my victims, I mean PBs, were guys I didn’t even know very well.  They more like vessels for me to project the romantic fantasies (think sweet, not slutty) of my vivid imagination upon.

In high school, my major PB was a basketball player who was a year older than me.  We had a class together when he was a senior and I was junior.  I thought it was lurve.  Problem: I had briefly “dated” (if we couldn’t drive does it still count?) his younger brother the year before.  Oh, and I barely knew him and I am pretty confident we had nothing in common, except for the fact that he was the only white basketball player and I was the only white cheerleader (I’m really giving myself away here, but hey, it was a million years ago and I think he probably knew about it anyway).  GO Hornets!  So in my infinite crazy I did the following:

1) Drove by his house on the weekends.  I figured this was relatively safe because if I got caught I could either say I was actually stalking his brother (I’m not sure how that was better in my 17-year-old mind, but it was) or that I was going to his next-door neighbor’s house because I had dated him too.  (I realize all this dating makes me sound more popular than I was, but seriously, I was a tool who wore short-alls and ribbons in her hair in high school).

2) Traded another cheerleader to have him as my “basketball buddy” so I would be in charge of making all of his spirit snacks for the season.  I spent an inappropriate amount of time on his senior poster too.

3)  After Miss Rose and I convinced our first period class to have a Valentine’s Day party (we were the only girls in a class full of senior boys, good thing they were semi-nerdy), I painstakingly picked out the flirtiest Valentine that came in the set I purchased and put it in his Valentine sack.  Seriously. I was 17. And that actually happened.

Fortunately for him, I started dating another junior just before my Bball PB graduated so he didn’t have to worry about me stalking him to college.  My next major PB came along in college and I am afraid to admit that I was far creepier with College PB than Bball PB. I know, you didn’t think that was possible, but with me, it totally was.  Again, I didn’t really know him that well, but we did have a lot of mutual friends and he was a smart, frat boy — sometimes really hard to come by.  So I did what I do best, I fixated:

1)  Found excuses to cross paths with him on campus, at parties or at his frat house.

2)  “Borrowed” at hat from him without his knowledge.  (For the record, I had accomplices — I’m looking at you, Miss Dubs.)

3)  Not-so-loosely based the main character in the epic romance saga I wrote my senior year of college on him . . . Yeah, that was pretty bad.

I fell out of “love” with College PB when he a) asked a mutual friend for Miss K2’s phone number and b) started dating a girl I went to high school with.  It was just too much.  Unfortunately, washing my hands of him effectively ended my work on the next great American smut novel, much to the disappointment of my roommates.

I wasn’t nearly as into my Law School PB as I had been with my previous PBs.  But I did look for any excuse to cross paths with him and I may or may not have drunkenly forced him to take a party pic with me at the law school Halloween party.  He was more just someone to talk about than anything else.  Also, I was fascinated by how incredibly weird he was.

I think all three of these people just served as faces for the men in my daydreams and in my “novel.”  I turned them into who I wished they were and used them as muses in my creative outlet — writing.  But I don’t think I had any real feelings for any of them.  I’d like to say that I’ve outgrown my PB obsession, but honestly, I probably haven’t.  In fact, when I don’t have a real object of affection/admiration/desire, I default to my current PB, who I will not identify for fear that it will get back to him.  It’s nice to have a fake crush when I’m feeling bored, especially since I rarely have any real crushes.  For the most part it’s all in good fun and relatively harmless . . . unless they find out how truly creepy/stalkerish I am. . .

Anyone else ever have a “pretend boyfriend?”  Please tell me I wasn’t the only one who participated in the high school “drive-by!”  (I know I wasn’t because I vividly remember dragging the likes of Miss Rose, Miss BW and Miss PoliSci with me on many occasions!)

PS – I have no idea what possessed me to confess my crazy on the internet, but here it is.  I think Valentine’s Day helped me think of several relationship/love related post ideas.  Even though this post is mostly silly, it was fun for me to write and to remember how truly crazy I used to be.  Look how far I’ve come! =)



Filed under Love

6 responses to “PB doesn’t just stand for “peanut butter.”

  1. Kate

    It’s like we’re the same person.

  2. Miss Dubs

    Yes! I had a little bit of a PB in high school, but then I actually ended up going to a homecoming dance with him….so, I’m not sure that counts as a PB, but we’ll go with it. Well, he lived in my neighborhood so my friend and I would drive by on the golf cart (this was before we could drive) a lot! I am sure he thought we were crazy driving by in that silly golf cart. The things girls do! Turns out, when I actually went out with him, he was too nice… you know how I can’t ever get into the nice guy. Today, he is a priest….my fault, maybe? My Dad seems to think so.

  3. Pingback: The Dark & Twisty Place* | Quarter Life Confused

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