The Tucker Diaries

Tucker #1: And It Starts. You Think You Know a Guy.

2011-11-30T12:17:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time I fell in love. Men can be so...sneaky.

Chances are, if you're here, you know who I am. You probably clicked the Facebook link because you were bored at work, avoiding your homework, or generally like to creep on what I'm up to in cyberspace. To you, friends - hello! To those of you who may have stumbled upon this twisted story of deceit and confusion, welcome. I'm Kay. And, I'm sorry in advance...your head will hurt when this is through.

Each day I'll add a little more of the story. Trust me, it's far too much to condense into one post. Each of you reading this post has a varying degree of knowledge regarding the story that you are about to become inexplicably engrossed in, on a guaranteed unhealthy level. You will be jumping to conclusions, throwing out false accusations, and Tweeting your friends to see if anyone knows what the hell is going on. I promise, you don't. It's way more effed up than you could possibly imagine.

To those of you who jumped in halfway through the sadistic saga, here's your backstory. To those who haven't been graced with the hour and a half long story telling sesh - consider yourself lucky to have the fully scribed version, completely devoid of the hundreds of "oh but wait I forgot to tell you _____" and inappropriate number of "I KNOW RIGHT?!?!" exchanges.

Why am I writing this? Well, because it's fucking nuts. That's why. I could write a CSI Miami (only Miami though, this shit doesn't happen in Vegas) episode based on this story. Mostly I'm writing it, because it's therapeutic to put all the details down on virtual paper. That, and because I'm ridiculously tired of telling the story from the beginning every time someone else hears about Tucker. Please, join me for the ride. The story is far too unbelievable to put into a single blog post, so check in daily (business days only people, I have more psychopaths to meet, and my weekends are strictly devoted to such) for the next segment of our antifairytale.

Aight. Let's Tarantino this hey? Back to the beginning.

First, hi. I'm Kay. I'm a fairly normal (debatable, 100%), Heritage Hill dwelling, fun loving social butterfly college student hanging out contentedly for the last few years in our blessed little West Michigan haven known as Grand Rapids. I have a bevy of remarkable friends with which I spend nearly all my time, unless I'm galavanting back to redneckland to hang out with my family down on the farm. I meet a lot of people, all the time. My friends constantly remind me of the fact that I know (seemingly) everyone in this town. Great for social activity, terrible for dating. Grand Rapids is, for lack of a better analogy, like a giant high school. Everyone knows everyone, and has dated each other's cousin, ex-boyfriend, neighbor, roommate, and brother. I love our small town community more than anything, but it makes the dating pool smaller by the millisecond. Enter: OkCupid.com.

Yes, I joined a dating site. Get off it. Often the reaction I receive when I tell people this is, "Why?! Why do you need a dating site?!" Well, I don't. I can pick up a guy at the bar as good as the next girl in a dangerously low v-neck (sorry, Mom). However, I tired of seeing the same crowds at the same haunts, and of relying on carefully curled eyelashes and a strategically slit dress to spark a conversation that I can barely hear and certainly won't remember. Now, thanks to this online matchmaking metropolis, I can shallowly sift through 3-5 profile photos, scan for education, income, and height, and rule out anyone who mentioned MW3 or the LOTR Trilogy in their opening paragraph. Improvements, right?! Right. My good friends would never be surprised to hear I joined such a place. What's that? Give Kay unlimited characters to talk about herself and describe her Prince Charming, show off her footie pajama photos, and talk to a neverending man-harem of strangers? They'd wonder what took me so long to get there.

I've been dabbling for a bit, and have to say I've met some of the greatest people I know via the Interwebs. I've joked for years about writing a book about my virtual encounters - Craigslist --> PlentyOfFish.com --> OkCupid...it's seriously addicting, don't ever try it. For the sake of my friends, I won't divulge just how many of them are results of first dates turned best friendships. I was in the wedding of one such encounter last month, found a handsome local television personality once upon a time, and have a laundry list of tall blonde Calvin grads who've somehow become my very best friends. In fact, one aforementioned grad is essentially responsible for my best friend and I first hating each other, then falling in platonic best friend love. The wonders of technology, no?

Anyway, OkCupid. I crafted myself the perfect profile, which I will allow you all to view now. Side: clearly this is an indication of just how fantastic this story is going to be, if it's worth divulging my semi-secret online dating persona to the masses. Get pumped. Kay's OkCupid Profile of Geniusness.Read it, love it.

Now, once upon a time, right smack dab in the middle of my home page is this beautiful blonde man. Clearly I waste no time in shimmying right on over to his profile to have a looksee.

Deets:30 year old pharmaceutical rep, Grand Rapids transplant from North Georgia, named Tucker.

The Vitals:

Tall: check.

Educated: check (Masters from Auburn).
Attractive: supercheck.
Christian: check.
Loves his mama: check.
Has puppies: check.
Is Southern/has an accent: omgcheck.
Enjoys typical redneck tomfoolery: triplecheck.
Plays guitar/sings: imturnedoncheck.
Can rock a suit: check.
Loves football: checkcheckcheck.
Drives a truck: MY DREAM TRUCK PEOPLE, THIS SHIT IS SERIOUS. ....check.

Arightarightarightarightaright (shake it! shake! shake it!) <--- if you don't get this reference we're probably not real life friends, right? Thought so.

Naturally, I need to contact him immediately. Chances are, once it gets out that I'm writing this little novel, this profile will be deleted; for the time being, feel free to scope him out here: TUCKERDEVILMAN

Notice he mentions his affinity for the singer, Adele. Welp, I happen to have a serious girlcrush on Adele myself, so I select this commonality as my launching point for my impending marriage proposal. Here's how our conversations went:

K: Ten bucks says my crush on Adele out-obsesses yours ;)

T: Hmm I would def throwdown 20 on that bet and say it's not. Kinda scary huh? Btw I'm Tucker! it's nice to meet you. :)

T: Thought I'd shoot you this message as well and tell you a little bit about myself... I was born and raised in a town in North Georgia, so yes I'm southern and I do have the southern accent. I graduated from Auburn University where I played baseball and earned my masters degree in business management with a minor in marketing. I enjoy the outdoors fishing, hunting, working out, playing the guitar, singing, drinking beer, college football and taking drives down backroads off out by some lake in my truck. I believe that life is today and a miracle is tomorrow because your never promised anything so live life to the extreme and have fun doing it. My family makes up who I am. I'm the spitting image of my father and the loving hands of my mother and my sister is my bestfriend. Well, I guess that's enough for now but I look forward to hearing from you. Tucker

K: Dear Tucker,
You may have just written the perfect message, and I'm fairly confident you may be my dream man.

Cheers,
Kay.

T: That's never a bad thing to hear. :) Well I hope I'm not being too forward when I say this but if you like you're more than welcome to text me. I'm sitting on the couch filling out paper work, so maybe you can keep me entertained. (7**)******9.

At this point I am completely in love, and of course waste no time in texting my future husband. The next two days are a blur of butterflies and heart pitter patters and all that disgusting shit that I know better than to believe in. However, cynical Kay is smothered and stuffed in a trunk by planning-her-Georgia-wedding and picking-out-the-right-shade-of-white-for-the-fence-posts Kay. Forty eight straight hours of nonstop, obsessive, the kind where you wake up every 20 minutes on accident because you subconsciously want to check your phone for a new message, ridiculous texting. We're fascinated with each other, and absolutely must know every mundane detail (omg I took piano lessons TOO!) about each other. For a split second, I even lost my marbles and started talking baby names with Prince Charming -- he wants to name his son Walker, after his best friend who was killed in a drunk driving accident two years prior. *Awwww*. I tell him I'm naming my kid after a football stadium...not up there on the sentimental register, but by god he loved it anyway. He tells me of his parents (Jim, a chemical engineer, and Kara, a registered nurse), and his sister Andrea, who is his very best friend. I tell him of my family, talk about growing up in the country, and decide we are clearly destined to rock on porch chairs side by side til we're 95.

This is where we end today. Tucker and I are in love. My fingers are tired. May your hearts be filled with flutters and puppies and unicorns and all that fluffy shit. Enjoy it, today is the last day of hearts and rainbows, people. You know how your mama told you, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is." ....? I shoulda listened to your mama.

Daily Recap, so we're all on the same page:

Major Players:Tucker: the handsome southern man who has me picking out bridesmaid dresses.
Kay: well, me.

Other Names:Walker: Tucker's future child's name.
Lucas: My future child's name.
Jim: Tucker's dad.Kara: Tucker's mom.
Andrea: Tucker's sister.
Tux & Sadie: Tucker's dogs.

Come back tomorrow for more.

Cheers-
Kay

Tucker #2: Secret Agent Man.

2011-11-29T12:57:00.000-05:00

Welcome back, friends!

First, I want to say thanks/laugh at the ridiculous outpouring of interest in this crazy tale. Family, friends, friends of friends, total strangers - y'all wanna know more, and I love you. I promise you won't be disappointed - though I can't promise you won't be extremely anxious for each new installment.

ONWARD!

When I left you last, I was head over heels, stupid in love with Tucker Evans. Couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything without that crooked little grin of his infiltrating my every thought and every move. Each text he sent melted my heart, every word he said I was hanging from. I followed him around, virtually, like a goddamn lost puppy. Pathetic? Totally. I'm seriously disgusted with myself just writing this. Get it together, Kay. He's a man, not Rob Pattinson, and you are a GROWN ASS WOMAN, not a deranged teenage psycho Twilight fan. /endrage

Tucker and I talked about everything. We discussed our families and our childhoods. We talked about our travel plans and where we wanted to raise our children. We discussed music, movies, Theology, politics. Our conversations were absolutely endless. I was that annoying friend who went out with the gang and had her nose buried in her Crackberry the whole time. I HATE THAT FRIEND. I was falling more and more in love with this guy by the moment, and I literally could not focus on a single thing other than him. My favorite part about our relationship was the music. Tucker had this incredible voice - he would record himself singing and playing the guitar, and send them to my phone. I was addicted to the sound of his voice, playing his small playlist I'd racked up on my cell phone before bed every night. He'd send me pictures as well - dressed up in his suit for work, pictures from tailgates with friends, pictures of his parents' lake house (read: mansion) and their sprawling ranch in North Georgia, full of elaborate barns and horses. I felt like I was inside his life already - like I knew all of these people and places. It was as though I had known him - been in a relationship with him - for years, and he was simply away on a trip. Part of this, I'm sure, comes from the fact that I thoroughly stalked every aspect of his Facebook page. Albums from 2007? Okay, twist my arm. Scroll back and read the wall-to-wall with his ex-girlfriend circa 2009? Don't mind if I do! It didn't feel like I was talking to a person I'd never been face to face with. Throughout my online dabblings, I've had instant connections, sure. I've had great conversation, been smitten, and been more excited than Snookie at an Aquanet factory, but never have I felt such a deep, strong, real connection like I did with Tucker.

A week of this intense texting went by, and I began to feel like there was nothing more I could possibly learn about this man without meeting him in person. He seemed hesitant about meeting at first, explaining that he'd never met anyone from the Internet before, and was nervous about our first interaction. Being the online dating veteran that I am, I told him that we'd pick something relaxed and informal as our first introduction, keep it casual, and avoid any tension. I reassured him that I was born without a shy bone in my body, and awkward first encounters are totally not my style - everyone is my best friend from the get-go (except Jim - but we made up for it), can I get an AMEN!?

We settled on finally meeting at Hoptoberfest - a celebration of all things blues, food, and beer held downtown Grand Rapids in early October. I was already planning to attend with friends, and his coworker had mentioned it earlier in the week. The plan was flawless - I'd go down earlier in the afternoon, get sufficiently buzzed on Hopcat beer, then meet my future husband when he joined us later. What could go wrong? I followed directions like a good doobie, arriving downtown hours before Tucker was supposed to join me, and consuming dark craft beers like it was my job. For the first time since we began talking, I didn't hear from Tucker for hours. I assumed he was caught up in football, taking a nap, or something else, and thought relatively nothing of it. Hours passed without a peep from my southern Casanova, and that sinking feeling started creeping into the pit of my stomach. I distracted myself from the situation with beer and crack fries (oh hey, emotional eater), but couldn't shake the thought that I was being stood up.

By about 9pm, I accepted the fact that Tucker would not be making an appearance. I experienced a wave of emotions all at once. I was furious - not even a text with an apology because something came up? I was devastated - did he change his mind and decide he didn't like me? I was self-conscious - did he come to the festival, spot me, and decide I was so much cooler online? I was annoyed with myself - did I really think this perfect guy was for real, and wanted to be with me? I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps -- no really, I was wearing boots, he is southern damnit I had to play the part -- and enjoy my night, have a blast with my friends, and forget all about the perfect love that almost was.

I found my friends, strewn about barstools across Grand Rapids, and formed a beautiful alliance of shot-buying, dancing shoes wearing, sweet Jesus how did the Tigers just lose 15-4 depressed friends ready to rock Grand Rapids like we hadn't in a long time. In no time, I forgot about my dashing ditcher and showed the dance floor at Mojo's just how glad I was to be there.

1:30am rolls around. I get a text message.

"Baby :(" --> from Tucker.

I'm so livid (by livid, I mean drunk), that I can barely reply to his message without chucking my phone at Rosa Parks, who by the way looks incredibly menacing at 1:30am. He continues to tell me how he was called into work, the phone call woke him from a nap and he was in a fog, hurrying to get to the office in time. I tell him I've heard enough, and turn my phone off for the night, cruising home with Springsteen cranked up and not a care in the world.

Over the next few days, Tucker apologizes a hundred times for not calling. I'm annoyed, but can't help but want to forgive him. After all, we'll be getting married in a year (I want a Fall wedding, ok?), so at some point I have to stop being bitter and just cave. We try to make plans again, but every time, something comes up. 98% of the time, it's work. I suppose I should explain this - Tucker had moved to the mitten about six weeks prior, as a surgical supply rep for a company called Janssen Pharmaceuticals - a division of a national pharmeceutical company. He had told me from the very beginning that he was working about 90 hours a week, proving himself as the new guy and fulfilling duties and bottom of the food chain bitch. On the one hand, this meant I tried very hard to be understanding, and not fold my arms across my chest and demand he make time for me. On the other hand, why the hell would you sign up for an online dating site if you DON'T HAVE TIME TO DATE?! Idiot.

The days go by, and the excuse train is full speed ahead to splitsville. I'm growing tired of simply texting back and forth all day. While I love our conversations, and am developing real feelings for this person, I haven't cared much for pen pals since the third grade. We've reached the point where we need to meet in person, to determine if the chemistry is there, if we really click, and if this is going to develop into something real and long term. I haven't even spoken to Tucker on the phone - he's constantly at work, and by the time he gets home, I'm long asleep. This cell phone relationship has gone as far as it can, and I'm ready to move on. I tell Tucker he's gotta shit or get off the pot, and he promises we'll see each other over the weekend when he has some time off work.

As you may have guessed, I never met Tucker that weekend. He ended up being out of town on some work business all weekend, and at this point, I was ready to throw in the towel. Now, let me clarify. I am not the clingy, dependent, needy girlfriend. In fact, I've ended things with more than one person who apparently thought I was a marsupial and he belonged nestled safely in my pouch at all times. I have great friends, and a busy schedule, and am a huge proponent of my independence. That said, I also feel like there's a fine line between working hard and taking your job seriously, and being lazy about making time to see a person. I accuse Tucker of not really caring, as he clearly is not invested enough in our relationship to carve out even an hour for coffee. When I confront him like this, he gets defensive - making me feel terrible for demanding he sacrifice his career so I can see him...even though I'm pretty sure that's never what I asked for.

Now I'm just angry. Don't talk down to me, and treat me as if I'm some whiny, needy little bitch who complains that you spend too much time watching football with the bros and not enough time fawning over me and playing with my cats. Wrong girl, pal. So, naturally, I get my Google on. Why, exactly, did I feel the need to start scoping out my fake boyfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe on some subconscious level, I thought something was up. You know what they say about trusting your instincts? They were right.

**TOTAL SIDENOTE: this guy just sat down next to me and I'm fairly certain I can detect the precise scents of sharp cheddar cheese and summer sausage. I can't tell if this makes me hungry, or nauseated.

I Google Tucker's name, and am disappointed with the hodge podge of results. Nothing spectacular comes up. There are a few people with similar names, but no glaring red flags present themselves. Suddenly I remember something - during one of our very first conversations, Tucker told me that he goes by his middle name, not his first. I scrolled back to that conversation, and was reminded that William is actually his name. William Tucker Evans.

Feverishly, I typed these monikers into Google, and strangely got the sweats and light headed when I pushed the "search" button. The results appeared on my screen, and my stomach dropped. Hundreds of news articles and web pages were devoted to this person. I was shaking as I clicked the first one, reading about this person - from Tucker's hometown in Georgia, confirming I was reading about the same person. I click through article after article, struggling to comprehend what I was reading. My emotions were fighting each other for prominence - confusion vs. anger vs. disbelief vs. fear. Who was this person I thought I knew? Why was he lying to me? What was he covering up? What in Sam Hill was going on?

Daily Recap:

Major Players:
William "Tucker" Evans: the dude.
Kay: me.

New Facts:
Janssen Pharmaceutical: Tucker's employer
Wyndham Hill Apartments: Tucker's residence (GR, North side)
Tucker sings. Very well.
Facebook: I have SUFFICIENTLY stalked him. I am a creep.

Oh...and I should probably tell you, I've changed the names. I know how sneaky yall are - you're gonna have to wait for the story, Google will lead you to dead ends ;)

Stay tuned.

Cheers-
Kay

Tucker #3: Hey, White Liar - The Truth Comes Out A Little At A Time

2011-11-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

The day I decided to Googlestalk Tucker Evans was the first day of the rest of my life. Not really, but it did kick start the wild internet goose chase that you're all now so emotionally involved in. Speaking of, to the half a dozen people who stopped me at the bar last night to complain about a lack of post -- you guys are so legit. The wheels really start turning in this post, so I'm considering myself redeemed already.

I can still vividly remember the moment when Google introduced me to William Tucker Evans. I don't know exactly what I expected to find when I searched for his name, but it certainly wasn't this. Perhaps I expected photos of his college baseball days at Auburn. Perhaps an old work profile or a news article about a college achievement. I suppose I did have a decent amount of suspicion toward him, after our weeks of texting but mysterious lack of phone calls and in-person encounters. Perhaps I expected to find a crazy secret buried in cyber space - a criminal record, a failed marriage, a child. There were any number of things I expected to find about Tucker that would clue me in to why he was being so distant. I expected to find an answer to why he was so carefully protecting his privacy, but instead I was broadsided by a barrage of tell-all articles and photos of a person I certainly did not know.

William Tucker Evans is a twenty two year old Marine from Rome, Georgia. While he also goes by "Tucker", for the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll refer to him as William from here on out. William = Marine, Tucker = future husband. With me? I read article after article about William and his service with the United States Marine Corps. He had served in Afghanistan where, recently, he had been hit by an IED while on a tour there. The hundreds of forum posts, Facebook groups, and news articles indicated that William would be returning to the United States (or, HAD returned - the articles were about a week old), and receiving a Purple Heart for his bravery during his service. There were welcome home parties, parades, and other celebratory events planned to welcome William back to his hometown. Prayer chains, support groups, and a small Georgia community had been rallying together, praying for William and creating quite the online presence following his injuries. It didn't take long to feel like I, too, was invested in the life of this young soldier - the love and support was practically tangible.

As I read each article, post, and comment regarding William's situation, I became more and more confused. Was this the person I had been talking to all along? It seemed fairly clear - a lonely soldier spent some downtime overseas hoping to find a woman "back home" to talk to, and love. I'd run across Military men online before, usually explaining that they were serving overseas, and missed having someone to write home to. It wasn't unusual that William might be searching for the same thing - someone who was thinking about him, who cared about him, and who would eventually be waiting for him when he finally returned home. This, in and of itself, didn't bother me. I entirely understand the position of men like this, and don't blame them for looking for that special connection to ease the hurt of being so far away from home and the people they love.

What I couldn't understand, is why did William feel the need to create this fake persona online? Why couldn't he, like so many of his Military brothers, be honest about his current situation? Why not be proud of your dedication to serving your country?

Again, the battle of emotions started to take over. I was angry, first. Angry that I'd been blatantly lied to about the identity of a person I cared about. I was hurt, also that I'd been duped. I felt stupid that I somehow couldn't predict that this perfect man was nothing but a made up profile to help a lonely guy make a new friend. I was confused about the whole situation, frustrated that I let it even get to this point, and in a strange way, felt like I'd just been dumped. What?? Get ahold of yourself, Kay. Seriously.

I began to process my new discovery, and debated about what to do next. Do I tell Tucker I know about his real identity? Do I give him a chance to explain himself? Do I completely cut him off and move on, just leaving the situation as it was and cutting my losses? Do I continue to talk to him, but talk to him as William - is he even someone I want to know after all the deceit? SO many choices, but nothing seemed right.

I scaled back on my conversations with Tucker for a few days, struggling to decide how to handle the situation. I'm certain he could tell that I was different - I wasn't the permasmiley, cheerleader level annoyingly peppy girl he was used to talking to day in and day out. A few days later, I decided to re-investigate the situation. I wanted to know everything I could about William, the REAL Tucker, before I decided on a next move. I revisited all the articles I'd frantically read days before, hoping to feel some sort of divine intervention in the form of an urge to either forge ahead or let him disappear from my life forever. Suddenly, amidst a local newspaper article, I have a startling revelation.

The timeline of this story suddenly stands out like a flashing neon sign right in front of me. I was, without a doubt, NOT talking William Tucker Evans, the Marine from Georgia. William had only JUST returned to the United States, after weeks and weeks of recovering in foreign hospitals. When he returned to America, he was in a hospital in Atlanta, for more surgery and recovery. There is not a snowball's chance in hell that this kid had the luxury of a laptop with WiFi in his Afghani hospital, let alone the time, or desire, to be chatting up babes online all day. He certainly wouldn't have been texting me from overseas, or even in his hospital bed in Atlanta, all day every day. My mind is absolutely reeling, realizing with increasing clarity that it is nearly 100% impossible that I was talking to the "real" Tucker.

A whole new slew of questions arises. If I'm not talking to this Marine, who the hell AM I talking to? Have I overreacted this entire time, and it's possible that there are simply two William Tucker Evans? Stranger things have happened, and while it's entirely unlikely, it's plausible that these two men simply have the same name. If that's the case, how do I explain or rationalize Tucker's avoidance of the phone and a meeting? If it's not true, who on Earth is this person I've been talking to all along?

I pull away from my computer, staring at my screen in complete and utter confusion and disbelief. Every sane, rational ounce of judgment in me (which, okay, isn't much, let's be real) says to just walk away. Delete Tucker from Facebook, block him from viewing my OkCupid profile, and block his phone number. Walk away, let bygones be bygones and all that other cliche crap. Clearly something is not right in this situation, and I'll be better off just closing the door on this chapter of my life before I risk getting hurt. However, the CSI addict in me says not a fucking chance. Then and there I vow to get my Horatio Caine on and solve the shit out of this mystery. I will get to the bottom of this. I will find out who Tucker Evans is, and why he's being so slow to speak to me or meet me. I will end this thing, once and for all, if it's the last thing I do.

Major Players:
William: The "real" Tucker. A 22 year old Marine in GA.
Tucker: my currently in the doghouse future husband.
Kay: yours truly.

Important Discoveries:
- Tucker's real name, as he told it to me: William Tucker Evans
- Google search results for that name, yielding hundreds of results about William
- Continued refusal to talk on the phone or meet in person
- A timeline that doesn't match up to me communicating with William the whole time
- A Facebook support group dedicated to William's return home, recovery, and updates - created and maintained by his mother

Post 4 to come later today - stop by for a minute, won't you?

Cheers,
Kay

Tucker #4: That's Not My Name!

2011-11-27T17:28:00.000-05:00

When I first encountered the countless articles about William Tucker Evans, I was utterly perplexed. Where, amidst all the dishonesty, deceit, and confusion, does the truth about Tucker lie? How do I even begin to piece together the details to create some semblance of an explanation for the situation in front of me? Where do I start? I knew I was being lied to, but I didn't even know which parts were untrue. Was the man behind the cell phone and computer screen a 22 year old Marine from Georgia? Was he, in fact, the man in the pictures, but simply changed his name to protect a secret and hide his true identity? Were both the photos AND the name adopted from two different people, in order to hide an entirely different identity altogether? The possibilities seemed endless, and to say I was overwhelmed would be the understatement of the century.

After taking a day or two to process my newest discoveries, I decided to cast a line out and see what I could gather from Tucker, without explicitly calling his bluff. Tucker had mentioned his baseball days from college, and I used that as my launching pad to fish for more information. During one of our usual conversations, I mentioned I'd love to see a picture of this era - because let's face it, who does not love a handsome man in tight pants AMIRIGHT? Tucker quickly steered clear of the topic, as I hoped he would, and I pounced. I informed him awhile later that I'd Googled it - Google has everything, CERTAINLY a big SEC school's baseball team would be easy to find. I casually mentioned how strange it was that there seems to be a young man with the same name as he, also from Georgia. Strange, right? Without missing a beat, Tucker deflected my curious questioning, admitting he'd read about the other Tucker in the news as well. He mentioned he knew about him, but they grew up on opposite sides of the state, and had never met him. I was disappointed, thinking for certain I'd catch him in the act, but instead it seemed as though I had simply overreacted, and the coincidence theory would prevail. Humph.

After failing to create some sort of dramatic discovery, I reverted back to pre-suspicion conversation with Tucker. I felt stupid for freaking out, and made a mental note to cut back on the OnDemand episodes of CSI at 3am. Tucker and I were in a good place again - talking all day, every day, and falling for each other all over again. We made plans to make dinner together, enjoy a bottle of wine, and spend Saturday night with each other, the dogs, and Netflix.

You already know what's coming, right? Of course you do. I didn't see Tucker on Saturday. This time, he was sick - too sick to even talk on the phone or Skype. My conspiracy theory tendencies fired right back up, and I settled in for a long night in front of the computer, determined to find out exactly what was going on.

My first step was to revisit the Auburn Baseball discussion. It didn't seem like it would be too difficult to pull up an old roster, some stats, or a news article about Tucker's performance on the squad, particularly for such a well known school in the sporting realm. I browsed a decade worth of Auburn rosters for any name that could even remotely resemble Tucker, but unsurprisingly came back empty handed. This solidified in my mind (as if there was any remaining doubt), that whoever I was talking to was not Tucker Evans. Whoever he was, he was using a name that did not belong to him, OR he was lying about his education, his extracurriculars there, and likely the rest of his life as I knew it. Did he even exist? Did he even live in Michigan? Was this some 50 year old pervert who got a sort of sick joy from screwing with the minds of random, unsuspecting girls?

I started to put together a list of the facts as I knew it, to try and help whittle down the list of possible outcomes to the story. Here's what I had:

1) William (Marine Tucker) was not the culprit. The timeline of events simply would not allow him to be the man I was talking to.

2) Tucker did not play baseball for Auburn - if he did, it was under another name.

3) The person I was talking to couldn't be a stranger, hiding behind both a false name AND photos. The Facebook profile was far too detailed and had such a lengthy history that it was impossible for it to be a made up, dummy profile used by a scammer.

This third point is perhaps the most important part of the whole story. Facebook. Tucker added me as a Facebook friend almost immediately after we started talking. I never had to bug him to add me - he did it voluntarily, right away. Because I'm a creep, I fully (oh, and I mean fully) stalked his Facebook profile practically immediately. I almost always do this right away when I'm talking to someone online. It's entirely too easy to pick your five best photos and misrepresent yourself completely via an online dating profile. Facebook is a great tool for getting a better idea of the person you're dealing with, see what their social interactions are like, etc. If any of you are reading and contemplating signing up for OkCupid (you totally should, it's great entertainment), just remember: Facebook is your best friend. Never continue talking to someone who won't add you, I promise it will end poorly. Anyway, my Tucker Facebook stalking findings are as follows:

1) Profile pictures abound. He's not a five-pic-offender with three of the five photos being of him on waterskis, wearing snowboard goggles, or in a huge crowd of people so you can't actually tell if he's deformed, has crazy eyes, or is actually 283 pounds. I find at least three years' worth of profile photos, plenty of close up shots, photos with other people so I know he has friends, etc.

2) Photo albums also abound. Albums of family vacations, friends' weddings, miscellaneous tomfoolery, etc. He seems to have a perfectly healthy social life with a great support system of friends and family.

3) There is a six month hole in his Facebook posting, but it's one that he'd mentioned before even adding me. I knew he'd deactivated his profile for a few months while he was in the final stages of job search/hiring and beginning his new position in Michigan. Seems totally legit - I never think twice.

4) Tucker had told me about a former girlfriend - a girl named Taylor who went to school out in Kansas. Sure enough, after scrolling back a few pages in his wall posts, I start to come across the bountiful postings from Taylor - plenty of I love you's and I miss you's, lots of back and forth between the two, and a healthy amount of pet names and baby talk. Gross, but at least it reaffirms what he'd already told me. Also, Taylor always referred to him as "Tucker", which means this is definitely his name, though she never included a last name.

5) I scrolled back even further, to the girlfriend before Taylor - a girl named Katie. Again, sweet back and forths between she and Tucker confirmed that they were indeed together.

6) While there wasn't a ton of wall posting activity, there were plenty of various friends writing on Tucker's wall throughout the years.

7) I couldn't view any of T's tagged photos. This doesn't bother me, because only about 30 people can view mine on Facebook, so it doesn't seem unusual.

8) I can't view his friends list either, but I also have hidden that before. Again, not a glaring red flag.

9) I decide to creep on the last girl to write on Tucker's wall before his new job induced haitus - a girl named Megan. She had commented on a post of his regarding "catching up with an old friend", in a fashion that made me assume he had been referring to her. I can't see anything on her Facebook page, but I can see she grew up in Whitehall - only about 25 minutes from my own hometown. Small world, right? She and I have a few friends in common, which reassures me that he is clearly friends with REAL people.

10) Upon my stalking of Taylor, Tucker's ex girlfriend, I notice she has nearly a thousand friends, a bevy of Facebook photos, and seems to be a perfectly normal coed enjoying her college years.

11) Another friend used the term "TE" to refer to Tucker - again insinuating that Tucker Evans was, in fact, his name.

This Facebook page would prove to be the single biggest hiccup in the entire Tucker saga. Every time I would think I reached a plausible conclusion to the story, I would go right back to the Facebook page. Clearly whoever was in these photos existed - and even though I knew I was being lied to somehow, I couldn't put my finger on exactly where the untruthfulness was founded. If he wasn't who he said he was, why did have at least four years worth of history on his Facebook? If he wasn't real, how did he have relationships with these people, who would post things like "Can't wait to watch Grey's with you this week!!"? Why was Taylor referring to him as "Tucker", and the other friend as "TE", if he had changed his name to hide his identity?

Major Players
Tucker: who the hell knows anymore.
Kay: hi, still here.
William: the "real" Tucker - 22 year old Marine in Georgia.
Megan: an "old friend" - last to write on T's wall, ironically from West Michigan.
Taylor: the ex-girlfriend who wrote hundreds of wall posts (and even posted VIDEOS on his wall), all in which she refers to him as "Tucker".

...shit's getting real, folks.

Cheers,
Kay

Tucker #5: Never Liked The Taste Of Crow, But Baby I Ate It.

2011-11-26T23:11:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, huge thanks to Perry Stubbs, the greatest friend in the history of the world, for sharing his beer and his computer while he watches Transformers 3 and snuggles with his 8 pound chihuahua/weenie dog, all so I can continue the Tucker saga this evening. You, sir, are a hero. Friends of the hot, single, female variety: Perry is single. Visit him here: Hi I'm Perry, I'm Hot & Single, And Have A Chiweenie.

The last time we met, I had begun my extensive Tuckerstalking, but kept running into dead end after miserable dead end. Each time I had a flash of genius (which, by the way, was always at the most inconvenient time -- in the middle of the night, during a work meeting, in the shower, etc.), I always wound up right back where I started - perplexed at how inexplainable the extensive Facebook history was. I couldn't figure out exactly HOW Tucker was lying to me, even though I was absolutely certain that he was. I'd ruled out my secretive suitor's identity belonging to William, as the timeline just would not allow it. I'd ruled out both the name AND the photos being stolen property, as both seemed to be entirely traceable on Facebook. I knew that whoever I was communicating with existed, on some level, and was actively communicating with others via Facebook. Despite all the knowledge I did have, I was missing something in this puzzle, and I was as determined as ever to find out exactly what that was.

I continued combing the web for the smallest of clues, praying I'd get lucky and stumble upon something I'd glossed over before, something that would flip the proverbial switch and shed light on the torrid tale I was so indescribably consumed with. I was certain that if I searched long enough, read carefully enough, and Googled cleverly enough, something would present itself and my AHA! moment would finally surface. I was far from that lucky.

One night, in a desperate attempt to catch my lying lad in the act, my best friend and I embarked on a mission. The goal? Eliminate another possible solution to the mystery. Which solution? The one that suggested Tucker existed, as he presented himself, but had a glaring physical difference from the way he appeared online. Maybe he was 5'7, but knew I liked tall guys and claimed to be 6'1. Maybe he had been in a terrible accident, and was missing limbs or was left with burns and scars. This theory suggested he was Tucker, mostly as I knew him, but had a secret that kept him from seeing me in person. On this particular night, Tucker had been texting me, still at around 11pm, claiming to be at work (which, consequently, he would never reveal to me its location). Sara and I hopped in the car, loaded up on french fries and Diet Coke, and camped out in the parking lot of the apartment complex Tucker claimed to live in. His truck was not inconspicuous - a giant black Chevy Silverado, not one that would easily blend in with the rest of the Taurus and Impala crowd in the lot. We drove around the small apartment complex, looking for the vehicle, but had no luck. After driving around, and waiting for Tucker to pull in the drive to no avail, it was clear he was not coming home, and did not, likely, even live in Grand Rapids.

Amidst all the confusion, I backed away from Tucker again, frustrated to the point that I couldn't keep my composure when we talked. He continued to carry on as though nothing was wrong, filling my phone's inbox with pictures, songs he'd recorded, and myriad tales about late work nights and 90 hour work weeks. I was tired of the game, tired of the chase, and tired of playing Inspector Gadget all over the internet. I was fighting every need to keep going, to keep searching for answers, because I was so mentally and emotionally drained from the tornado of lies, excuses, theories, and dead ends. I wasn't ready to give up, but I couldn't keep pursuing this seemingly never-ending circle of deceit with the full throttle determination that I began with. At some point, I had to accept that I'd been had, and let it go. Nearly all of the friends and family I'd told about the Tucker story urged me to walk away, to stop agonizing over the smallest of details, hoping it might be a clue. They advised me to cut all ties, say goodbye to Tucker, whoever he might be, and return that energy to my work and my REAL LIFE relationships.

A week or so passed with little to no communication from Tucker. I was still hoping for my miraculous clue to appear, but was done pursuing it with reckless abandon. The Monday before Halloween, Tucker began texting me - chipper, peppy, and sweet...as though nothing had happened. "Hi baby, I miss you! How's your day?" ....uh....scusemewhat? Remember that time I've been ignoring you for the last week because you're a lying sack of shit? He continues to text me as though the last week of silence had never occurred. I start to wonder if this newfound glee will lead to some sort of slip up, or another clue as to who this tricky texter might be, so I play along. Tucker tells me he's in Georgia for the week, visiting with his family and celebrating his father's birthday the upcoming weekend. I drop the sweet-girl act for a moment, livid that he couldn't find an hour to have coffee with me, yet suddenly his oh-so-crucial new job could be ancient history for a week while he palled around back home with the fam? Curious. Tucker seems happy, explaining how stressed he's been in Michigan with his new job, how the ninety hour work weeks have taken their toll, turning him into a permatired, stressed out, grumpy version of his usual happy go lucky self. He explains he requested this time off before even beginning the job, in order to be with his family for his father's birthday celebration at their lake house, which is why he was working overtime to get everything done before he left. For a millisecond, my mind flashes back to that old "maybe he's being entirely legit and I'm a crazy bitch for freaking out and stalking him" mode...but within seconds, I remember that this guy is a lunatic and my instincts are most definitely right.

Regardless of my belief that I'm still a part of the greatest episode of Punk'd EVER, I agree to making dinner plans with Tucker when he plans to return the following week. We pick a date and time, and a location (HopCat, of course, where ALL my internet first dates take place...sorry, former first dates, you were part of a strict regimen), and talk about how excited we are to see each other. Shock of shocks, that day comes and goes without a peep from Mr. Evans. Since I knew he wouldn't be making an appearance, I'd made alternate dinner/Pinterest crafting plans with a good friend, so in case you were worried, I was not lonely and stood up. Tucker, however, got a different story. I was livid, ranting via text message about the new dress I bought, the haircut I got, the reservations I went to extreme lengths to secure, and the bottle of wine I bought to have ready for him when he arrived. I bemoaned my hours spent drinking an entire bottle of wine while waiting wistfully in the corner booth of the bar, watching other couples come and go, and wishing I weren't so pathetically alone. In reality I was mildly drunk on Chardonnay, watching Trailer Park Boys and hot gluing the shit out of some vases, but of course, he didn't need to know this.

After awhile, T starts to respond with lengthy explanations of an extended stay in Georgia, blah blah blah, By this time, I've returned home, and have crawled into bed, ready to kiss the night, and this conversation goodbye. When he appears in my inbox, I'm so annoyed that I momentarily consider shutting my phone off to avoid snapping at him and ruining the naive, believing guise that I've so carefully crafted. Unfortunately, the remnants of the Chardonnay (and, if we're honest, a bit of PMS), had other plans.

It took three consecutive texts overflowing with bullshit excuses (really, Tuck? you couldn't even shoot me a "hey, by the way, I'm staying in GA and will miss our FIRST DATE text??) for me to completely go over the edge. I demand he call me so we can discuss this "in person", and he feeds me a line about having no service. I was fuming, furiously typing out a response on my phone, palms sweaty and heart racing as I prepared to fully confront Tucker for the very first time. "IYou can text all day and send me cell phone pics, but you don't have enough service for a phone call? My parents get shitty service at their house too, but I know for a fact I can make a phone call WAY before I could send a photo message. It comes down to this Tuck - if you were who you said you were, and you actually wanted to be with me like you keep telling me, you'd find a way. You'd walk to a goddamn payphone to make sure I was 100% without doubt when it comes to you - but clearly you're hiding something, because instead of making it happen, you're making excuses per usual."

We go back and forth a few times - Tucker defending his honor and myself continuing to call him out for deceiving me in some way shape or form.

"I haven't quite pieced together yet, because I've been hoping and praying there was an explanation for the identical Jim/Kara/Tucker/Walker Evans thing, and the fact that you won't meet or speak to me, etc. but since you refuse to tell me the truth about who you are, I'll have to figure it out on my own, lucky for me, I have an arsenal of very smart, very sneaky, and very well connected friends in my corner who will stop at nothing to find out who the hell you are, and stop you from harming anyone else in the midst of your little game. If you're the 22 year old Afghanistan war vet, and you were bored and needed someone to talk to, or something ridiculous like that, then just tell me. For godssakes just tell me. I won't be mad, I just want to know the truth."

Twenty minutes pass by without a peep. I curse myself for lashing out, certain that this will be the last I ever hear from William Tucker Evans. He knew he'd been caught, and like any smart psychopath, he will now vanish into the darkness, never to be seen or heard from again. He'd delete his Facebook, or at least block me from ever finding him. He'd remove the dating profile, or at least change the screen name and location. He'd disappear from my life, and I'd never know who he really was, or what, of all the details I knew about him, was the truth.

Twenty minutes pass by without a peep...and then this.

"Okay, you have the truth. I completely fucked up and I sincerely apologize. I am the one you've read about. I just came home from Afghanistan, and was awarded a Purple Heart, just like you read. My life has been nothing but a horror story since I came back from overseas - I almost lost my life over there. I thank God every morning I wake up that he let me still be here. I got so caught up in all this and tripped over my own two feet, and let it drag me into a deeper and deeper hole each day. I hope you can accept my sincere apology and let us both just move on from this. I know the fucked up mess I caused and I'm horribly wrong for doing it. I was to move on, have peace, and no grief. I wish you the absolute best and this message will be my last. I want to move on my life and let you move on with yours and make this right. I don't want to hurt anyone, ever, especially you because you will make someone SO happy someday. Best of luck to you Kayleigh - goodbye."

Tucker #6: Mama, I'm In Love With A Criminal.

2011-11-25T00:56:00.000-05:00

Since Tucker's Facebook profile was deleted, and I KNOW y'all can't get enough stalking, I thought I'd throw in a few extra pictures I'd saved, from back when. Since I'm totally a stalker, I'd sufficiently combed his Facebook albums, and downloaded all my favorite photos. Why? So I could e-mail them to all my friends and brag about my hot Southern future hubs, duh.

For your viewing pleasure - a few favorites that didn't make the OkCupid cut.

Oh, sup Lake House...that dwarfs my parents real house. Cripes.

Would I ever fall for someone who WOULDN'T make a fool of himself like this? No.

I've never been much for Brett Michaels, but....

Perfect Redneck man...sweet Jesus, I'm in love.

Rocks the Confederate Flag, but still whips out Lacoste? Yeah, okay.

Oh, Hi T.

That crooked smile...seriously slays me.

Mama Tucker. Aw.

Tucker #8: Won't Get Fooled Again.

2011-11-24T12:49:00.000-05:00

I've had five words throw me for a loop, make me cry, and piss me off before.

"Kayleigh, we need to talk." Aw snap.
"It's not you, it's me." Damn right it's you.
"There has been an accident." Stomach drop. Heart in throat.
"Maggie had a bad stroke." Maggie = my sweet yellow lab baby back home.
"Someone ate your butterscotch pudding." SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU DID WHAT. Assholes.
"The beer is all gone." *cry*

Never has five words rocked me quite as hard as William's Facebook response.

"lol, no. but it's cool".

I wasn't surprised. This is what I expected, right? What I had hoped for, even. I knew Tucker was lying to me, and he wasn't recovering from surgery, at home in Rome, Georgia. Still, despite the understanding that this was the case, reading the words from William - the concrete proof that I still had not reached the end of my tormenting from Tucker - broke my heart. Now what? I had confirmed my suspicions, verified William's innocence, and returned to the place I'd begun.

I responded to William's Facebook message, no longer caring if I seemed out of my mind crazy or not. I needed to know where this story would end, and he was my only help from here on out. I had exercised all other options, searched (/stalked) til my fingers were sore, and each time reached another devastating dead end. If I wanted to come to any sort of conclusion, I had to get William's help.

"William, this is the weirdest conversation you will ever have, but we seriously need to talk. I know you dont know me, but will you text me? I have some important info to talk to you about. (Insert phone number given out to total stranger here) -- promise you I'm not crazy - text me and I'll explain everything."

Nuts? Absolutely. But what choice did I have? I gathered my composure, and another Woodstini, and set out for the dance floor, determined to enjoy the rest of the night with my girlfriends. No sooner had I stolen the set list to find out if I'd already missed "Come On, Eileen", (I had, damnit), did my cell phone start ringing. I glanced at the number - not a contact I had saved in my phone - and set it back down, as I rarely answer numbers I don't recognize. I jolted back to attention and scrambled for my phone when I realized what area code was calling - 706 - from Georgia. It was William - it had to be. I dropped my drink, and bolted for the door.

An hour or so later, I was still sitting on a curb outside The Woods, and had nearly finished telling William the entire Tucker story. He was patient as I wound through the harrowing details, stopping every few sentences when I remembered a detail I'd left out. I'm certain he was unbelievably confused, but continued to "uh huh", and "okay" his way through my entire rendition of the tale. When I finally wrapped it up, I asked William if he thought I was crazy. "No," he reassured me, "but all this is." I was relieved that he believed me, first of all. He asked me some questions, I clarified some parts that were confusing, and I welcomed William into what had been my crazy world for the last month.

I asked him what he was thinking, and the most he could muster were remarks about how crazy, how unbelievable, and how creepy this whole thing was. He was furious, first, that Tucker had stolen the names of himself, his parents, and his brother. He was confused as to why someone would want to use his name in order to hide their own identity. Why not a "John Smith" or some other common, inconspicuous, NOT EASILY SEARCHABLE ON GOOGLE YOU DAMN FOOL sort of name. Why was someone running around ripping off his identity, yet combining it with their own photos and life? It didn't make any sense.

The second part of William's anger stemmed from the ludicrous (totally had to look up how to spell that properly - DAMN you Luda!) "confession" of Tucker and William being one and the same. He was nearly speechless, and I sensed the anger in his voice when he told me how he nearly died overseas - nearly lost his life fighting for his country - and this coward, hiding behind a computer screen and a cell phone, has the audacity to claim that strength, that bravery, as his own. I hadn't thought of it this way yet - I was too busy being wrapped up in my own drama to realize the severity of Tucker's claims. When William approached it this way, my anger only intensified, and it was then that we vowed to find him, together, no matter what it took.

William was amazing, right from the get-go. He expressed his own apologies that I was dealing with such an outlandish event. He promised to help me get to the bottom of the mystery, asking for any information I could give him - phone numbers, pictures, e-mail addresses -- anything that might help him track down just who this was. We talked some more, as I walked toward my car. It was so strange to be talking to William - the "real" Tucker - and I was so relieved to find out he was not the one lying to me all along. We talked as though we were old friends - going back and forth from chatting about our nights to marveling at the preposterous predicament we were now forever bonded through. As our discussion came to a close, I promised to send him all of Tucker's information when I returned home, and agreed to touch base the next day to determine the best plan of action.

The next morning, in a haze that I'm certain was a blend of a few too many cocktails, a lack of sleep, and the newest developments in my adventure, I wandered to a good friend's house to share breakfast and unload about my conversations with William the night before. Jamie had heard the story unfold as it went along - she was with me the night weeks before when I was supposed to meet Tucker for the very first time. As I unraveled the details of my communication with William, she tried to piece together the clues and developments as well. Neither of us could get any further with the story, and settled in for our morning's coffee, breakfast, and gossip gab instead. It didn't take long for my phone to alert me of a text message from William, asking me how I was feeling, and checking in for any new information that morning. I had nothing recent to report, so our chat reverted to the standard "can you believe this?" and "holy shit this is insane" that seemed to be par for the course for anything Tucker related these days. He told me he had a few ideas of ways to do some digging, and promised to be in contact the moment he had news, should he uncover anything important.

I went back to chatting with Jamie about knitting, sucking down coffee like it was my job (did I mention I slept TWO hours the night before? Two. Even my BODY was too wrapped up in Tucker to sleep), and casual Facebook meanderings. My phone lit up again - it was William calling. It hadn't been more than a half hour or so since our last conversation - I couldn't imagine what monumental discoveries he could have made in such a short time. I answer the phone, expecting to hear a few more questions, a request for more details, or some clarification about some part of the story.

"So, I downloaded an app on my phone that lets you type in a phone number, and it searches for directory matches AND places on the internet where your phone number might be posted."

"Okay...and?"

"Well I found a match. You are not going to believe this."

Tucker #9: Georgia On My Mind.

2011-11-23T18:40:00.000-05:00

My stomach catapulted into my throat when William told me he'd found a match for our elusive Lothario. The tone in his voice when he assured me I would not believe what he was about to tell me, indicated a shock value of proportions I could not even begin to gauge. In the half second between hearing his words and replying with my own, I seemed to concoct a thousand theories of my secret suitor's identity.

Was it someone in William's family - thus explaining the extensive use of their names? His brother, a cousin, his father?

Was it a friend of William's - trying to play a twisted joke on his buddy, not realizing the expense at which it came?

Did William and I somehow have a connection with a mutual friend we didn't catch on to? Was someone playing the both of us?

(Aside: how fucking awesome is Michael Bolton? I can't even think to write while I'm listening to this man. Also, mental note to watch Office Space ASAFP*)

Was it someone with some level of social or political stature, hiding his identity to woo me with his personality and charm, instead of his bank account?

My mind even drifted to the impossible - was this someone who had died, and a friend hacked his Facebook account, picking up where he left off? Morbid? Yeah. But really, at this point, I would have believed nearly anything.

I snapped back to reality and waited for William to reveal what he'd found. I don't know why I didn't think to reverse-search Tucker's phone number. Actually, I had done that via Google, quite some time ago. The only thing that turned up was an area code verification that the number originated in Rome, Georgia - something I already knew. What I didn't think to do, was download a creepy iPhone app that, for 99 cents, searches beyond basic telephone directories and pulls up any location your number is stored online. Facebook? Nabbed it. FourSquare? Caught ya! Twitter? You can't hide from the iPhone you sonofabitch. Thankfully, William is far smarter than I am, and thought to put his phone to work searching for our perpetrator. Sure enough, within moments, a Facebook page appeared on his screen.

When Tucker told me the name at the top of the Facebook profile, I was speechless. For, quite possibly, the first time ever in my life (act surprised, assholes) I was completely and utterly unable to speak. This could not be possible. I must have muttered "Are you sure?" a dozen times, each time William patiently responding with some variation of "Yes, I'm absolutely sure."

I clicked the profile, hoping to find more information about my cybersuitor. Instead of venturing into his online wonderland, I was roadblocked by a mostly private profile. There was a vague profile picture - the kind where you can't even make out a face, and you're not entirely sure if you're looking at a person or a circus animal. I could see the Rome, Georgia location, a friends list, and a listing of new friends and event RSVP's on the devastatingly bare wall. I couldn't look at any more profile pictures, but suddenly my eyes were drawn to the top right corner of the page - "Mutual Friends: Tucker Evans."

"William...you're our mutual friend...do you know this person?"

He insisted he didn't, at least not that he could recall. The only explanation he could come up with was that they attended the same high school, though he was a few years older. Perhaps his younger brother was a connection? It was a small town, and not entirely impossible that it was simple "I know who you are because we're 2 of 2000 people who live in this town" sort of friend request - my Fremont crowd can totally relate to this. We all have at least 100 friends that live in our town, we have 200 mutual friends with, but aside from the errant "like" and awkward birthday wish, have never spoken a single word to in our lives.

William ventured further into profile exploration, as I wait anxiously on the other end of the phone for him to give me some sort of clue as to how - and why - this was even possible. I'm still not convinced it's correct - could there have been an error? Did iphone genie lie to us? As William browsed the profile, he quickly confirmed the number app was correct - the phone number I'd been texting - Tucker's number, was right there, in black and white (actually I think it's blue...or maybe that's just on my phone. Either way...), listed as the contact number. I hung up the phone as I tried to process what I had just been told. I was stunned. Confused. Outraged. Confused. Scared. Disgusted. Confused. Pissed out of my mind. Dumbfuckfounded. HOW? How is this even possible? How could I not have made the connection before? How did I not pick up on this - I should have known.

My emotions are in a battle royale as I stare blankly at the screen in front of me. I should have known all along...but how could I have? I fight the truth, still clinging to some shred of belief that a mistake has been made. Despite the smorgasbord of facts, spread out in a tell tale buffet in front of me, I struggle to rearrange the pieces to create an alternate ending for this tale. My perfect, perfect man has to exist. He has to be real. This is all a huge mistake, and at any moment, Tucker is going to text me that he's home from Georgia, and waiting on his couch with a bottle of wine and a stack of Will Ferrell movies. There's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, and my fairytale ending that I don't even believe in will finally unfold. Whatever this is, is a cruel joke - come on Ashton Kutcher, you can come out now!

For a blissful moment, the anger entirely subsides. I no longer feel betrayed, lied to, deceived to most unbeliavable extreme. I feel nothing. I look at the face peeking out at me from beneath the ballcap in the profile photo, and I stop feeling anything. Then, as soon as the anger had evaporated, the wave of the next emotion crashed down on me. I felt broken. My heart physically hurt - I had really fallen for this incredible man - a man who loved the Lord and his mama and was charming and adorable to boot. Our conversations of building our dream house and spending weekends fishing came pouring back into my mind as the floodgates of memories reopened. I was caught in a torrential downpour of reminders of why I was still so emotionally entangled in this mess. I left the anger and pursuit of justice to stand in the rain of that perfect love I almost had. This was the end. The proof was right in front of me. Tucker was over - there was no explanation, no justification, no redemption. He was gone, I'd been had. I. Was. Devastated.

I called William back, after regaining enough composure to try and determine the appropriate next move. By the time he answered the phone, he'd already done some poking around. His voice was uneven - almost shaky - as he told me what he'd just come across.

"I looked through the profile pictures - there were only three."

"That's weird...but what did you find?"

"Well, the first one is the one you can see - with the baseball hat on..."

"Right - where you can hardly even make out a face."

"Yeah. Well, the second two...are of me."

Tucker #10: Who Are You?

2011-11-22T15:55:00.000-05:00

Everyone PLEASE watch this video and laugh your asses off at Keith Moon. Notice his headphones DUCT TAPED to his head. God bless The Who.

When I left you last, I'd sort of dropped a bomb on you. Sorry about that. Also sorry for being MIA the last few days - I had the pleasure of recording an interview with one of my favorite podcasts, "A Little Off Topic", and had to be careful about how far ahead in the story I went. Now that the interview's live, I'm back to further draw out the story and annoy the piss out of you. Oh, but speaking of that interview, click here to listen to it...and snag a secret or two only revealed on the podcast!

Where were we?

Ah, yeah. Still not at the end...but would you expect any less?

When William told me he'd found the Facebook page of our culprit, I was nervous, excited, scared, and anxious, all at the same time. I couldn't wait to find out who had been stringing me along all these weeks, but at the same time I was, in a strange way, sad to see this come to an end. Perhaps "sad" isn't the appropriate term. It's difficult to explain, but the Tucker saga had become so much a part of my life, it was going be strange to finally lay it to rest, for better or for worse.

As I stared at the face of the person behind Tucker, I no longer knew what to think. The person I was looking at was NOT the man in the photos from the dating profile or the Facebook page. The person I was looking at was another person entirely - this was not simply the case of a changed first name. There wasn't much information for me to go on, as the profile seemed pretty bare. Even William, who could view the Facebook page in its entirety, wasn't able to pull any significant clues about the identity of our perp, or the reasons behind the stolen name AND photos.

So many questions arose.

Who is this person?
How do they know William?
Why William's name?
Who is the man in the photos on the dating profile?
How much of the dating profile is true?
Why did this all begin?
How can the extensive Facebook page be explained? 4+ years of history?
Why does William's profile picture appear as two of this freak's profile pics?

I started to piece together my own assumptions for the answers to these plaguing questions. Whoever this is, clearly knows William and/or his family. The man in the photos MUST be a friend, family member, or some other close personal connection - nothing else would explain the readily available plethora of photos so easily claimed as his own. I still couldn't explain the history of the Facebook page. Did this man abandon his page, for whatever reason (new job, got rid of FB, bad breakup, who knows), and our imposter somehow accessed this old page, revived it, and carried on as though it was their own? None of it made sense. There were far too many loose ends and unexplainable aspects for me to fully believe that we'd found the person behind the crime. It seemed as though this new discovery was only a stepping stone to the real truth - I certainly wasn't satisfied with this ending.

I went back to discussing the discovery with William. He promised to make some phone calls, do some digging, and find out just how he and "Tucker" were connected. It didn't take long for my phone to ring with yet another breaking news announcement from my Georgian counterpart. As it turns out, Tucker and William were, indeed, connected - closer than William had imagined. Tucker has a niece - a 16 year old girl living in the same hometown. As luck would have it, that niece was, and had been for some time, dating William's younger brother. Suddenly, worlds were colliding, and small world syndrome was in full effect somewhere in North Georgia.

William is floored by this strange connection to Tucker, while I'm still in Grand Rapids completely dumbfounded at how it was even possible to be more mindfucked than I'd already been. Tucker knows William. Tucker's NIECE IS DATING WILLIAM'S BROTHER. This isn't a random act, it was premeditated, and William's name was taken very intentionally. Why? I just don't get it. I can't process the information I'm receiving, because it just does NOT make any sense. Why William? AND WHO THE HELL IS THE MAN IN THE PHOTOS?

My phone starts buzzing uncontrollably as I sit, perpetually perplexed at the whole scope of this wild tale, and I look down to see what could POSSIBLY be happening now.

It's Tucker.

Not William...but Tucker.

I open my phone and stare at the words in front of me. A rambling confession/apology hybrid the likes of which I'd never seen. It was as if someone turned on the I Fucked Up faucet and words were gushing out at light speed. Half of the "sentences", if you could even call them that, didn't make any sense. It was one long winded run-on sentence of "I'm so sorry's" and "I hate myselfs". One after another, the texts rolled in, proclaiming stupidity and begging for forgiveness. I was too livid to even respond, surprised that at the audacity of this coward to even think forgiveness was deserved. I shook as I struggled to formulate a proper response in my head. I re-read the message, hoping I'd find the words to say to confront the person who'd hurt me so terribly over the last month.

"Hey Kayleigh. I know right now I have a whole lot to say to you. I wanna apologize to you for the awful horrible thing I have done. I know I did more bad than good bc I put you through living hell. I know how completely fucking stupid I was to do such a thing. I am a complete wreck bc I am a fucking idiot for what I did and I mean a fucking idiot but idk what I thought the reason of it was. I was fucking stupid, that's not shit you play with and I understand that clearly now bc obviously I didn't before. I hope you understand how terribly awful I feel about all this. What was the point of it, god if I know. If my family knew about this, I'd be afraid and ashamed to look at them anymore bc I know what a horrible thing I did. I pray to god that I can have your forgiveness and I be left alone about this bc I know what I did and I want to fix it. I got to good of a life ahead of me to fuck it up with stupid shit like that when it was for totally fucking bullshit for me to do in the first place."

The only thing I can muster up:

"You're right, it is total bullshit. Please explain the lengthy Facebook history - that doesn't make sense. It was clearly not a thrown together fake page, there were years worth of photos and wall posts...no way that was all made up. How did you do it? And the ex-girlfriends? How do you explain that. An apology is a start, but I need an explanation, and I need it now."

"I can't. There is no explanation. This shit happened and I got caught up in it and I'm done. I have no explanations, I wish I did but I don't. I made horrible mistakes and I know what I've done but there's no way I can explain that to you. All this shit is completely fucked up. I'm a complete idiot and all I'm trying to do is apologize and move on from all this especially by doing better bc I have a good life in front of me and I really don't want to fuck that up. So please, I hope you can forgive me. Let me move on with my life by doing better and being happy. I'm tired of being chased with all these questions because I have no answers. I wish there was something I could do to take it all back but there isn't. I'm sorry."

...scuse me what? YOU want to move on and be happy? YOU have a good life ahead of you that I should so gracious as to not mess up? YOU'RE tired of being chased with questions? What do you mean you have no answers, no explanation? You're the psychopath behind all of this - you're the ONLY person who has the answers.

(Mind you, I'm wandering through JoAnn Fabric with Jamie while this is happening, sweating my ass off in a down winter coat, even though it's frigid outside. I feel like I might throw up and my palms are sweaty and I'm pretty sure the rest of the Saturday morning customers think I may go crazy and shoot up the place because I look like a damn lunatic.)

Now I'm pissed. I respond.

"Unless you want authorities involved, you WILL deal with the questions. You realize impersonating a member of the United States Military is a federal offense, right? Start talking. Who is the man in the photos? Explain the four years worth of photos and wall posts. Explain the ex-girlfriends. Explain all of it, ALL OF IT, or I will involve police and I would NOT test me on this."

Okay, so, I probably wouldn't actually contact the police, because let's get real, "I got lied to on the internet" is not exactly grounds for a supreme court trial. However, I needed to stand my ground, make it clear that I was NOT just going away because Tucker apologized and begged forgiveness. I was going to get those answers, no matter how long I had to BS to get them.

"I know the guy in the photos personally, he is a close family friend. Yes I've done this before, but have gotten myself out of it bc I knew it was wrong. Then for some stupid reason I would do it again, but this time I wasn't as lucky (editor's note: by this, he means he never dealt with a professional internet stalker like me. SUCKAAA!!!) Do I think this is funny, no. Do I feel like shit about it, yes. I want to move on, I'm through with it. I know William personally, his brother is like part of our family. I'm so sorry, I just want this to stop."

Yeah. Me too.

This is the part where I go home, light candles, lock myself in the bathroom and sink into my giantamazingwhirpooltub. I can't think about this anymore. My brain hurts, almost worse than my heart does, and I need to mentally check out for an hour before I have a serious meltdown.

As I lay there soaking, I can't stop my mind from drifting back to Tucker. How had I been so incredibly stupid? How did I not see this coming - was I so blinded by my excitement over discovering my dream man that I didn't notice the fact that he was completely and utterly playing me for a fool? Or was he that convincing, that good at manipulation and deceit that I simply fell prey to the wiles of his ways? I just couldn't get over the Facebook thing - how on EARTH was this thorough profile even possible? Was it a possibility that this had actually been going on for as long as the profile existed? Had Tucker been masquerading around online for nearly four years, and all the relationships established on his page were purely online? This couldn't be, could it? Would a seemingly normal college student (Taylor), become wholely committed to a person she'd never met or spoke to? I couldn't fathom it, but again, I couldn't fathom any part of this situation.

I was still determined to get to the bottom of this, even after the confession was laid out in front of me. There were still secrets, still lies - I couldn't fully move on and close the door on this impossible situation without having all my questions answered. Even then, perhaps, I couldn't walk away - but I didn't stand a chance without it.

There was still one very, very important piece of the puzzle that was missing. Even if Tucker explained to me the history of the Facebook page, why this even started in the first place, why Grand Rapids if he was in Georgia, why me, why the two men whose identities were stolen...even if all those things were finally explained in full, there was one thing I couldn't let go of. The man in the pictures - who was he? And if he wasn't a crazy psychopathic liar, then did I still have a chance at nabbing my perfect man? If he was out there, somewhere, there was still a chance I could find him. Maybe he wasn't all of the things that "Tucker" was, on paper...but maybe, just maybe - he was.

I changed my tune in my responses to Tucker - shifting from accusatory and angry to understanding and calm. I offered forgiveness, admitting that I'd made mistakes too, albeit none of which involved impersonating two dudes on the internet - but still, I acknowledged that good people made mistakes. Once I did, the communication started flowing. Conversation came more easily, and explanations started to materialize. I had Tucker right where I wanted him, and I was ready to make my next move. Carefully selecting my words, I crafted a plea for the name of this handsome identity theft victim. I wanted to know him - I NEEDED to know him. I typed my request cautiously, addressing my definitely-not-Tucker, uncovered and outed perpetrator for the first time ever by his real name.

"I need to know who the person in the photos is. All the hell you've put me through, I think I deserve to know the person I thought I'd fallen for all this time."

"I can't tell you his name. I need to apologize to him first. I need to be the one to tell him what happened, its only right. Once I tell him, I will tell you."

"That's not enough. I need to talk to him, and I can't wait for you to find the courage to speak up about what you did. What is his name?"

"I promise to tell you. Just not yet, let me talk to him in person first. I can't let him find out from anyone else or he will never talk to me again."

"Please, I'm begging you. Hannah, I have to know."

Tucker #11: You've Been Struck By A Smooth Criminal.

2011-11-20T18:14:00.000-05:00

RAISE YOUR HAND if you saw that coming. Did you? If you did, you're keener than I, because I got hit over the head with the what the fuck stick REAL hard. Like this:

That Rafiki's a real asshole. Also the Lion King is the best movie ever made, no questions.

Because I jumped ahead a little, let's back up a second shall we? When William sent me the link to the Facebook page of our culprit, I stared at my screen, slackjaw and speechless, one hundred percent blindsided by what I'd just been told.

You've GOT to be kidding me. I've been talking to a GIRL? A GIRL!?! I couldn't believe it was possible - couldn't believe I'd been been fooled this badly. I struggled to comprehend the hows and whys of the unfolding conclusion to my dramatic internet romance, still unable to process the truth behind Tucker. How did she pull this off? How did I fall for it? How had she carried on so long without slipping up? And, most troublingly, WHY did she pretend to be this man?

William, bless his heart, was acting as our liaison, skipping back and forth between my conversation with him, and his with Hannah. He tried calming me down, knowing how irate I was at this imbicile who had so skillfully duped me into falling for her online persona. I was furiously texting Hannah, threatening to involve authorities and demanding I know every last detail of her secret life as Tucker Evans. William begged me to take a deep breath, reminding me we were dealing someone who, whether we liked it or not, was connected to his family via his younger brother. This wasn't simply a random act of internet fraud - the perpetrator was someone who KNEW this family, and wasn't easily shrugged off as a psychopathic freak.

I actually grew angry at William. How could he possibly defend this monster? Hours before, he was determined to hunt down the man behind this impostor situation and end it once and for all - but now, he was asking me to retract, to cut her some slack, and to let it go. Let it go? How could I possibly walk away from the biggest act of deceit I'd ever experienced? How could HE walk away, when it was his name that was attached to this fabricated character? I didn't understand why no one seemed to be as upset as I was over this situation. I didn't understand why I was suddenly alone, at the end of this journey, with nothing to show for it.

After numerous attempts to garner an explanation from Hannah, I came to terms with the fact that I would not be receiving the answers I'd hoped for. I would never know how she did it, how many people she lied to, or how she got away with it for so long. While she did explain pieces to me, after I began my "let's be friends" approach, I still never fully got the hows and whys I so desperately needed to hear. I knew the end of the story, but I felt like the culmination was incomplete. There were still questions, and a disconcerting lack of answers.

A few days passed after the revelation of Tucker's true identity. I had some time to go over what I'd learned, and to try to come to terms with the whole thing. My close friends were godsends, listening to me rehash the whole story time and again, grasping for any sort of comfort in finally having the truth. I still struggled with the unanswered questions, despite everyone around me seeming to be content with closing the book on Tucker. I needed to know why. I needed to know how. I needed to find the beautiful man in those photos and tell him what was going on. Perhaps the draw to my mystery man was the one piece of the puzzle I still needed to uncover before I could fully accept and move on from this bizarre tale. I set out to find him, determined to uncover his identity no matter how long it took. I found Hannah, so it couldn't be that hard to find someone who ACTUALLY existed, right?

I hadn't talked much with Hannah since the day she confessed and apologized. I was frustrated still, and wanted to distance myself from her as much as possible. No matter how much I wanted to erase her from my life, though, she was the only chance I had at ever uncovering the identity of my future husband. I texted her, inquiring about the status of her promised confession to this man, hoping to reignite our previous conversation about his identity. Surprisingly, it worked.

Hannah couldn't stop gushing about Tucker (as he was referred to in our conversations). She told me about his friendship with her brother in law and sister, and mentioned multiple times what a close friend he was of her and her family. She often referred to him as her "big brother", and seemed to talk about him as though she had some girly childhood crush. She wistfully wished she was older, or he was younger, as she would have pursued him, she claimed. Hannah couldn't stop talking about what a wonderful person he was - an honest, good, loving man who had great friends and family, and lived a wonderful, happy life. It was strange to hear her talk about him - it was exactly how I'd pictured Tucker when I first came across his dating profile. The way Hannah spoke of him was nearly identical to the way I'd spoken of him to my friends all those weeks ago. I can't describe exactly the emotions I felt during this conversation, but intrigue and excitement most certainly topped the list. The further she gushed, the more I became determined to find him.

I managed to coyly sneak in an inquiry about his relationship status, and felt my heart race when she gleefully reported he was single. That was the only thing I needed to hear, and Mission: Uncover Tucker was full speed ahead. I only needed a name - first name, last name, anything. I needed a clue. I had all the information from the dating profile, but without a name, I had nothing.

This wasn't the first time I'd looked for Tucker's photogenic face. I'd tried everything - searching through Auburn Baseball rosters for old photos, looking through Auburn alumni pages for a snapshot of MBA grads. I went so far as to use a website designed to help photographers protect their copywritten images - a website that performs a "reverse image search", looking for places where identical pictures are posted on the internet. None of Tucker's pictures turned up any results - no Facebook page, nothing. Without his name, I'd reached yet another dead end, and I wasn't going to just walk away now. I'd worked so hard, and come so far, I could feel the real ending just beyond my grasp, and you'd better believe I was going to get there.

It took hours of texting Hannah, buttering her up, reassuring her I wasn't angry with her and had moved on, promising to defend her to a very angry Megan. I sweet talked her like nobodies business and she was slowly turning into putty in my hands, answering more and more questions about my future husband and continuing her gushfest over how absolutely perfect and incredible he was. The more she glorified him, the more I told her exactly what she needed to hear to make her feel like I was on her side. I promised Hannah I trusted her to make her confession to Tucker on her own, that I simply needed to put a name to a face for my own sanity. I begged her from the bottom of my heart, playing on her need for forgiveness and explaining that I just couldn't fully forgive, forget, and move on until I came to peace with the identity of this person. It took hours, but she caved. Finally, after days of searching and manipulating the person who'd put through hell, I had a name. Hannah only gave me a first name, as she knew I couldn't resist the urge to find him and tell him everything. Clearly she forgot who she was dealing with, and it never occurred to her that a first name was the only thing I needed to unlock this mystery.

Armed with a name - Blake - I returned to my stalkings, fully prepared to finally find the man who may or may not be my unknowing soulmate. PS, can we talk about how weird that is? Can you imagine receiving a message from a total stranger, informing you they know everything about you and fully intend on marrying you someday? God I'm a creep. Anyway, my first step was right back to Auburn Baseball. There's a nifty website called FanBase that allows you to search rosters for most major college sports teams, and thankfully Auburn was a prominent enough school, that the last 30+ years of baseball rosters were available. As it turns out, there is not a single "Blake" who played baseball at Auburn. Ever. Strike One. I decide this must be the part where Hannah padded his dating resume a tad, and the man actually never set foot in a dugout. My next shot was the MBA graduating classes at Auburn, where his profile told me he'd earned the aforementioned degree. I combed the alumni site, the College of Business site, the Auburn Grad School site - anywhere a name or picture might turn up to give me a last name to go by. Nothing. Searching Auburn's general website with that first name turned up results that got me nowhere. Strike Two.

I began to question how much of the dating profile was even true. Clearly Hannah was a pathological liar, so even though she assured me the information was accurate, I began to get a sinking feeling that it wasn't. His degree and career weren't the reason I fell for him. I really could care less if he played baseball, although I wouldn't be mad if he trotted out the old college uniform a time or two...cowboys and baseball players - tight pants, don't hate it. Emo guys in skinny jeans, this rule does not apply to you. Lay off the eyeliner, freaks. Neither of these things was the reason I fell for him, no - but if that was false, what else was? Did he have a great relationship with his family like he claimed? Did he go to church and love Jesus? Was he a fan of the outdoors and laid back country life? How much of this guy was a lie? I felt defeated, for the umpteenth time, and started to accept the fact that I would never know who this handsome stranger was.

Late one Saturday night, days after giving up hope during my intial Blakefest, in the midst of an Always Sunny marathon on the floor of a dear friend's home, I got the strange urge to look for Blake again. I turned, this time, to trusty Facebook. If anything could help me track this man down, it was that. I had a name and a face in my satchel, and a whole lot of nothing else to go on when I clicked on the "search" button. "Blake" was the only thing I typed in - it was all I had. Facebook gave me a list of people I might know, but of course he wouldn't be amongst them. Let's not forget I'm a total stranger here folks. I narrowed my search to "people", eliminating fan pages, celebrities, restaurants and bands, and leaving me with only personal facebook pages. From there, I had the luxury (God bless you, Facebook) of further narrowing my search by three options: location, education, and work place.

I attempted to narrow my search to Georgia, but clearly was swamped with results far too numerous to wade through. I typed "Rome, Georgia" into the location field, and pulled up a shortened list, but was disappointed to find no one who looked like they resembled Captain Sexy. I decided to forego the location route, and focus on the education track. I already knew he didn't play baseball at Auburn, and seemingly didn't get an MBA there either, so I wasn't too hopeful when selecting the University from my search options. Again, I was presented with a list longer than the mangy hair of 90% of the OWS protestors. Why the hell did EVERYONE who had a male child in the south, between 1987 and 1992 name their child Blake? RUDE. My final chance in this arena was the additional option to enter a graduation year. Would he have chosen his undergrad year? His MBA grad year? Would he even have entered a year? I hadn't on my page, why would he? A little math told me 2003 was my go-to, and I plugged it in.

Four listings appeared.

Sure as shit, there he was. Staring back at me with those familiar blue eyes and crooked smile. My heart was palpitating (Mrs. Tyink, I hope you're reading this) and I got that same sweaty palms, might throw up, butterflies doing the Thriller dance in my stomach kind of feeling. Here he was. I FOUND HIM.

...now what?

Tucker #12: I'm In Love With Judas, Baby.

2011-11-18T19:52:00.000-05:00

I sat there, staring at my computer screen at the face of the man I thought I'd been lusting over for nearly two months. My mind was racing as I tried desperately to come up with the appropriate words to say to him. Do I tell him the whole story, laying out all of the twists and turns, the impossible details, and the labarynth of lies upfront?

Do I send him a teaser, only offering a little bit of information and asking him to contact me for the rest of the story? Do I simply add him as a friend, hope he accepts, and strike up a casual conversation? Should I even TELL him what's going on, but add him as a friend and pray to the gods of internet dating that the face of my former lover is just as perfect as his impersonated counterpart? Perhaps I should just profess my undying love from the get-go and lay it all on the line, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best?

I decided to forego the creepy stalker route for once, afraid the brutal honesty approach was probably NOT the best policy in this case. I wanted Blake to WANT to talk to me, not contact Facebook authorities begging for them to remove the crazy stalker who was sending him links to her Pinterest board full of wedding ideas, dress photos, and ring images. Instead, I decided to be direct, to the point, and all business-like about the whole thing, in order to present myself as a completely sane person...while informing him his identity had been stolen and I fell in love with the fake version of him.

...right.

"Hi Blake- This is, shockingly, the least strange e-mail I've had to send in the last week, but no matter how normal this has become for lately, it's going to be weird for you, so bear with me.

You don't know me, but I have something pretty serious I need to discuss with you. It's nothing you did, but more a case of stolen identity, you being the victim. I feel like this is something you need to be aware of immediately.

Please send me a message when you've read this - I'll explain everything in detail, but it's probably better suited for a phone conversation than an e-mail.

To prove I'm not just spouting randomness for the sake of it, I've attached a few of the pictures that I received, texted to my cell phone, this past weekend. If for some reason this isn't you, by all means ignore this...but I'm willing to bet just about anything that it is.

Please get in touch with me as soon as you can - you can find me here, or feel free to give me a call at xxx.xxx.xxxx.

-Kayleigh"

I was nervous to hit "send", rereading my own words a dozen times, tweaking them just so, and praying what had become my day-to-day lately would somehow sound believable to this total stranger. I must have started over at least ten times, never sure of how exactly to approach this man. Writing him was so strange - I knew SO much about him, but he had no idea I even existed. It was like in the fifth grade when I wrote a love letter to Lance Bass of NSYNC, outlining my undying adoration for him and praising his musical prowess. I reassured him he was far more attractive than Justin Timberlake, and even though JT was everyone's favorite, I would never stop loving my Lance. Naturally he turned out to be gay, so I should have known this was a bad idea, but nonetheless, I pressed on. Once I was finally satisfied with my first attempt at communication with Blake, I pressed send.

My heart pounded, and I stared at the screen anxiously for the next hour, waiting for the little blue icon to light up at the top of my page, telling me Blake had replied.

Of course, that didn't happen.

It didn't happen, in fact, for more than a week. That week was the worst week of my life. Everyone had moved on from the Tucker scandal...everyone except me. I wasn't done with this, why the hell did everyone else seem to think it was over? The person who should have been the most angry about the situation had no idea it was even happening, but everyone else involved had decided everything was hunky dory again. I still was not okay with the situation. I was not okay with the fact that I'd been so terribly lied to, that the truth was not entirely known to all those involved, and that the man of my dreams WAS IGNORING MY GODDAMN FACEBOOK MESSAGE.

I actually began to harbor anger toward Blake. Why wasn't he responding? I knew he'd read the message, actually. See, when I sent it, I'd also sent a friend request - because I couldn't resist an open opportunity to be creepy, and you know it. The day after I'd sent the message - Sunday - my phone alerted me that he'd accepted the friend request. When I noticed the alert, a few hours had passed. I went to further stalk his Facebook page, and found that we were not, in fact, friends - and I had the option to "add" him again. You know what this means, right? He confirmed my request, THEN DELETED ME. What an asshole! He clearly read the message and:

A) Didn't believe me
B) Didn't give a rat's ass

I chose to believe it was option A because who seriously is okay with their face being all over the internet, I mean really. So, naturally, I sent him another message - you know, just to make sure he knew I meant business.

"Blake- Clearly you've read this and think I'm out of my mind...I don't blame you.

Maybe this will help explain what I'm talking about: http://www.okcupid.com/profile/WilliamsTckr81 The Facebook profile with hundreds of pictures of you, your friends, and your family has been deleted, unfortunately, but this still exists.

I talked to this person, for almost a month, believing I was talking to someone named Tucker Evans. After "Tucker" refused to speak on the phone and always had excuses for why we couldn't meet for dinner or something, I grew suspicious and started digging.

It took about a dozen people a month or so of Google investigations and Facebook stalking, but this weekend I finally figured out who was behind the Tucker story.

Again, there's much more to it than this - down to the recordings I was sent of "Tucker" singing (Gavin DeGraw, David Nail, Marc Broussard...). Apparently this was you...you've got skills, good work! Unfortunately, again, I thought Tucker was singing me to sleep when all along it was someone using your life.

I know who the person using your identity is, and I'm happy to tell you everything. Its someone you know, and they confessed to using all these pieces of a friend's life. I received a confession yesterday, and finally got your first name, after demanding to know whose pictures, songs, and life I thought I knew. A little Facebook searching (the poser confessed that your age and Auburn attendance were true), it was simple to find the person I'd been calling Tucker for months.

Blake I am far from some crazy girl messaging you out of the blue! I've been stressed out over figuring out who was lying to me this whole time for way too long now. Trust me it took a lot of work to get to the bottom of this, and I'm so glad I can finally stop searching for answers. Now that I finally know the truth, I thought you should know as well. If I was being impersonated online, I would absolutely want to be made aware.

I'm so sorry that this is even happening - trust me I wish I'd never seen a picture of you! I just want you to be aware of what's going on, so it will stop. At least three girls that we know of have had relationships of some sort with a man we thought to physically be you...not okay.

I hope to hear from you so we can all put this behind us for good.

-Kayleigh"

Boom.

Problem solved, right?

WRONG.

That asshole STILL never responded. Rude.

I gave up, yet again, tossing in the proverbial towel and again deciding I just wasn't going to get any further. I'd done everything I could do, and short of marching down to Rome, Georgia and showing up on this poor man's doorstep, there was no way I was going to convince him to believe me. The ball was in his court now - if he couldn't look at all the evidence I'd provided him, and believe that I was telling him the truth, there was nothing more I could do.

If he simply didn't care enough to respond to me, then I suppose he deserved to have his face plastered all over the internet. If he couldn't even have the decency to thank me for tipping him off to the damage Hannah was causing his reputation, unbeknownst to him, then screw him, he didn't deserve my undying love and affection anyway.

It wasn't til a week later that my phone chirped a good morning to me, informing me that I had a new Facebook message.

It was Blake.

"Is this real, or is this a scam?"

Oh, honey. It's a scam alright - I got scammed and I got scammed good. But this scam is for real, it's happening, and it's not going away. Sweet sweet southern man...you have no idea just how real this is.

Tucker #13: Call Me, Call Me, Any, Any Time.

2011-11-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

Happy Saturday, Friends!

I hope you've enjoyed a few days of recuperating from your busy lives with the aid of gluttonous amounts of food, drinking before noon, and sleeping until it's time to eat/drink again. I've napped more this weekend than I did my entire preschool career, which is pretty impressive. I think I've played more games of euchre this weekend, drank more cranberry margaritas, and ate more different kinds of "hey I killed this" game meat than ever before, and I couldn't be happier.

Before we jump back into Tuckermania, I have two very big favors to ask of you. First, could ya pop on over to our Facebook page and give us a "like"? Second, a few loyal Tucker fans have put the bug in Ellen's ear about our little blog, and her people want to know more! We'd love to tell the Tucker story on Ellen - and I know you want to see all your favorite Tucker characters, live and in the flesh, in the same room for the first time ever, AMIRITE? In order for this to happen, we've got to make a little noise - go pay Ellen's site a visit, and use her "Send Ellen an E-mail Form" (just click here), to tell her about the Tucker story. Describe the blog however you like, just make sure to include the blog address so she can come check it out for herself! Andy is her right-hand-email-reading-man, so feel free to address the both of them when you write. Thanks in advance for your help - YOU guys are the reason I'm still in sweatpants, writing this post right now. Love you long time.

WHEW. Okay, back to business.

I know it's been a few days, so let's recap a little, shall we? When we last chatted, I'd e-mailed Blake - the "face of Tucker" - a few times on Facebook. I knew he'd read my messages, since he'd accepted my friend request, then promptly deleted me (?!) like a real d-bag. I was frustrated that he couldn't be bothered to respond to this monumental hunk of information I'd presented him with, and was about to write him off completely when I received a response in my inbox. He questioned the validity of my claim - inquiring if what I said was real, or if it was a scam.

When I first received this message, I was flabbergasted. A scam?! Why the hell would I make this up? What on EARTH could I stand to gain by pretending someone was pretending to be Blake but also pretending to have Tucker's name. My head hurt just trying to understand where this guy was coming from. Who does he think he is, accusing me of lying about this? I actually felt insulted - this had become such a huge part of my life over the last month and a half, and this guy waltzes in, and has the audacity to suggest I might be bluffing. RUDE. As I was concocting a trite response to this outlandish accusation, I realized that maybe Blake had a point. We've all seen those Facebook posts claiming "OMG IS THIS YOU?!" with a link attached that opens a terrible virus on your computer and posts pictures of naked women and the world's largest zit all over FB. I suppose he was somewhat justified in not believing me - especially when I remembered just how insane the story sounded. I had a quick attitude adjustment, and responded to Blake's message, hoping to calm his nerves and remove his suspicions.

"Hey Blake...it's real. Trust me I wish it wasn't, but it is 100%. I know it sounds crazy, because it is. If it was a scam, I couldn't tell you that Hannah Johnson was behind the whole thing...pretending to be you for at least two years, maybe longer. She used your photos and everything about your life....I have recordings of you singing on my phone that she sent to me. She used another guy's name, but the rest is all you. I know it's insane...i know. The only reason I tracked you down is because I thought you should know your face was all over the internet and someone was using your likeness to have relationships with girls."

Blake responded quickly, still clearly tentative about believing the absurdities he was reading. He questioned everything - asking for names, phone numbers, internet links. He asked me to give him a rundown of the story (again!?), and I obliged, understanding he was walking into this for the very first time, and was certainly just as confused and bewildered as I'd been as the tale was unfolding. I grew frustrated with the never ending interrogation, but patiently answered question after I'm-about-to-lose-it question. I had to admit how I'd found Blake in the first place, revealing my unbelievable creepy ability to stalk out just about anyone on Facebook, and probably nearly destroying my chance of ever talking to this man again, but I couldn't let him walk away NOT believing this was real. I laboriously waded through the murky details of how I found Tucker, how he was connected to Hannah, how I knew Hannah was connected to Blake, and how on earth I ever stumbled across her in the first place. It was almost painstaking to rehash every single detail of the story, but question by question I responded as best I could, determined to make Blake a believer.

Blake and I went back and forth via Facebook messages for about an hour - he'd ask questions, I'd give answers. I was beginning to think he'd never believe me - and who could blame him? Suddenly, a phone number appeared in my inbox, with an invitation to give him a call. I wasn't sure what I'd said to finally convince him I was being truthful, but there it was.

You'd think, by now, I'd be fairly used to dialing up a complete stranger and talking to them about this story. I'd done it with Megan, with Tucker, and even with Hannah - why should Blake be any different? I was unexplainably paralyzed - I couldn't get my brain and my fingers to coordinate and press "call" button. I felt that all-too-familiar stomach drop go into effect as I stared at the ten digits before me. What would I say to him? I'd already explained the ENTIRE story in greuling detail - what else did we have left to discuss? Should I tell him about the blog that I'd already started to write? Would he be furious that, on top of the fact that his face was all over the interwebs already, I was writing about it and airing my (/our) dirty laundry to the entire cyber universe? Would he simply ask for some more details to satisfy his curiosity, then never speak to me again? My brain was racked with questions and hesitations - and I knew they all boiled down to one thing.

The moment I found out Hannah was..well..Hannah, one of my first initial thoughts was that my dream man was suddenly thrust back into the realm of possibility. While I didn't know exactly how much of the profile that had caught my attention was true, I now knew "Tucker" (/Blake) existed somewhere, and he wasn't a goddamn lunatic. Now, as I sat in my car unable to press "send", I stared at the phone number in front of me and realized why I was so unable to function. For the first time, I would hear Tucker's voice. I would speak to him, voice-to-voice, not in a text message or Facebook chat, but as close to "in person" as I'd ever been. I was about to have a verbal conversation with the person I, on whatever level, fell head over heels for all those weeks ago. This number was my DaVinci Code that I'd worked so hard and so long to find. I never expected this would be the outcome when I sent that OkCupid message so long ago, and it terrified me to break through the very barrier that told me something was very wrong from the beginning.

A whole new slew of questions erupted in my mind as I sat there, trying to work up the courage to call Blake. How would I feel when I heard his voice? Would he think I was crazy, weird, or stupid because of my role in this whole process? Would he want to know me, after all of this? Would he be on my side, or would he defend Hannah like Tucker seemed to? Would he be angry, confused, scared, or some weird hybrid like I had been? Would he blame me, and be angry with me for putting him in the midst of this situation?

I sat there, shivering, giving myself a pep talk and rallying by myself in the car. I could do this - I just needed to leave my emotions at home, and go into this 100% business. I needed to tell Blake the details, and leave it at that. I needed to be there to answer his questions, to talk to him through all the confusion, and to help him however he decided to proceed. I needed to be purely objective, a resource, a teammate. I picked up my phone, and pressed the green button, then waited anxiously as the ringing purred in my ear.

When Blake answered the phone, my heart stopped beating. Only for a moment, sure - but it stopped. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel that rush of emotion coming back, even though I'd been so determined to leave it behind. I'm certain I sounded like a bumbling fool for the first few minutes of our chat, and to be honest, I can't even remember what was said. From what I remember of this conversation, it consisted mainly of the same disbelief that was shared between myself and Megan, and Tucker as well. It was the same rehashing of events, swapping "oh my gods" and "you've got to be kiddings", and trying to figure out exactly what to do next.

The thing I remember most about this conversation, was how quickly I felt entirely at ease talking to Blake. He listened patiently, asked questions, and shared in my conglomeration of feelings toward Hannah and the situation as a whole. He offered a very different perspective, sharing that he'd only met Hannah a few times - certainly NOT the "big brother" and "close family friend" she'd portrayed him to be. He was close to her sister and brother in law, and seemed to be absolutely blindsided by the situation. I felt for him. For the first time, I forgot how hurt I'd been by the situation, and felt utterly horrible for Blake's unbeknownst role in this unfolding tale. I realized that, while I'd been lied to for a few months, Blake had been paraded around as a dreamboat, perfect man, to who knows how many people across the country. I couldn't imagine the feelings he was experiencing, and immediately knew every second I agonized over trying to find him was worth it. He needed to know this was happening - he needed to be able to stop it - he was the only person that had the power to do so.

Our conversation lasted about fifteen minutes, and we both went our separate ways to further mull over the words we'd just exchanged. I felt relieved - so glad I'd finally been able to share the story with the one person who most needed to be aware of the situation. I felt anxious - eagerly anticipating Blake's next move, and curious as to exactly how he would choose to handle the situation. Perhaps most strangely, though, I felt empty. Now, finally, Tucker was over. He was gone. It was done. I'd spent two months searching, digging, and investigating. What was there left to do now? I had come to the end of my part of this journey - the rest was in the hands of someone I barely knew. Aside from offering descriptions to whomever Blake decided to talk to, my role here was finished. I also felt like I'd said goodbye to someone very important in my life.

I can't describe the feelings I had about Blake that day. I was relieved that he was sweet, light hearted, and calm about the situation. I was so glad he believed my story, and seemed willing to do whatever it took to make sure it didn't happen again, and that Hannah was confronted for what she did. He was easy to talk to, made me laugh in light of a terrible situation, and was genuinely grateful for my amateur CSI work in solving this mystery and tracking him down. I still was unsure what came next - would I ever hear from him again? Was the situation far too strange to allow a relationship to ever blossom with my perfect stranger?

I got home that night, and decided to try my hand at a Facebook friendship with Blake again, ya know, now that he knew I wasn't a raging psychopath trying to infiltrate his Facebook page with porn viruses. It didn't take him long to accept my friend request this time. Of course, immediately upon receiving the notification, I made a beeline for his profile to fully get my stalk on.

I was, per usual these days, that too-familiar blend of nervous, excited, and on the verge of throwing up as I ventured to my future husband's page.

That sweet, crooked smile grinned at me from his profile picture, and I felt those butterflies rushing back - the same butterflies I'd felt when I first saw that smile on OkCupid.

His profile seemed completely normal - full of friends, wall posts, pictures, and the like.

There was only one tiny glitch in my plan for my perfect future.

As I glanced over the information at the top of his home page, a heart shaped icon caught my eye.

My future husband...was engaged.

Son of a bitch.

Tucker #14: Hello? Is It Me You're Looking For?

2011-11-05T16:38:00.000-04:00

HELLO? Oh, Lionel. Who hurt you? WHO HURT YOU LIONEL RICHIE?

(Guest post alert! Everybody say hi to Blake, welcome him to the blog, and listen up as he tells you HIS side of the story)

Here I am!

Oh, wait, there I am.

Hold up, where the hell am I?

Is this Kansas, Texas, Florida, or Michigan?

It seems like I have been popping up in more random places than the elusive Carmen San Diego, yet I haven’t even left my safe and secure nest, tucked away right here in Northwest Georgia.

Wow! Where to begin? I am truly blessed to have not had to explain and relive this story, as my Michigan girlfriend, Kay, and her talented, artistic, writing abilities took care of all that for me. Seriously, y’all, who isn’t impressed by her skills? She could have been writing about Grimace and the Hamburglar stealing another Big Mac, and we would have all been glued to the edges of our seats. Just as you all have been so patiently following this tale, one that seems closer to folk-lore than truth, I too was floored by the events of the past 8 weeks. I mean, how would you react?

Most of my friends didn’t really seemed to be that amazed or surprised. Apparently “stuff” just happens to me – it’s hard to explain, but I’ve been told drama just seems to find me, particularly in the relationship department. But, not this kind of stuff! This is the kind of story that Lifetime fabricates for their ridiculous movies about love and heartbreak and the crazy circumstances in between, not the stuff that happens to real people in real life. Even I didn’t believe all of this at first. When I read Kay’s message, I was skeptical and interrogated her like a job interview for hours before I finally believed she was for real, and gave her my phone number. It all seemed too crazy to be true. Who would pretend to be someone else for that long?

The day that the hunt for Tucker was finally over, the day that I was eventually “tracked” down, was the single most nerve wracking, gut wrenching day of my life. Yea, you think you can relate? I gave myself an ulcer within 12 hours, and was literally sick for 2 days. I didn’t know if I should call the cops on the cute psycho from Michigan, who was professing her ever so growing love for me (well, the “fake” me, I guess). Or, did I report the person who had literally stolen everything about me, except my financials, thank God…that was the first thing I checked. Like a kid at Christmas, I did not sleep a wink that night, terrified that I was going to be cut up into tiny pieces and eaten. For every noise I heard, I got up and squirmed, and felt sick to my stomach. I spent my sleepless night crafting my own investigation, and research. I had to find out everything I could about this girl in Michigan, so that I could identify every logical possibility why she was wrong, and prove the girl I knew here in Rome, was not behind all this. The one thing I couldn’t get over was why Hannah had chosen ME. Why was my life worth stealing? I couldn’t figure out why I was the one who had gotten roped into all of this, and why I had to now deal with all the circumstances in front of me. Why me? WHY me?

By the time I got to work on Monday morning, I figured since I made it through the night uneaten, I was going to be safe and I had better start taking control of the situation. I talked to Kay time and time again, via text, and phone, so that I knew everything she knew. By this time, she had completely convinced me, through all the details of the story, reverse phone number searches, and her knowledge of the connection between Hannah and William that she was not psycho. I was trying to find a hole in her story to prove to myself she was making this up, but unfortunately, she was entirely out of this world truthful with me.

As Kay mentioned, Hannah’s brother in law is one of my closest friends. Now that I knew this whole disaster was true, I was face to face with one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do…confront my friend about his sister in law’s crazy extracurricular activity on the internet. All I could do was tell him the truth and hope he didn’t hit me or think I was crazy. I sat there in front of him and began the story just as it was told to me. I was nervous, and tried to recall all the details as Kayleigh had told them to me. He stared at me blankly, obviously trying to put together everything I was rambling about. The look on his face wasn’t just confusion though, it was different, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

He stopped me about five minutes into my story and made a confession. Tucker’s family had already confronted them about the situation. The two families were already connected, because of Hannah’s niece and Tucker’s brother’s relationship. My friend had already been told what was going on, and heard the whole story. What he didn’t know, and the reason for his disbelief, was that the person behind all the photos was me. He couldn’t believe the crazy connections between everyone in this twisted story went even further than they already had, and here he was looking at the person his sister in law had been impersonating for years.

Telling the story was helpful. It was good to get it off my chest, and to someone who knew Hannah and could somewhat understand the situation better than someone who wasn’t involved at all. I’d made it through what I thought was going to be the hardest part, except I realized that just because I’d told my story, didn’t make it go away. This thing wasn’t over, and I was still facing multiple hurdles in the days or weeks to come. There were still a lot of people I needed to talk to, and I still had a lot of questions, mostly for Hannah. There were a lot of dead-ends that Kay couldn’t totally explain, and it bothered me that I didn’t know all of the answers. I had finally come to grips with the situation, but realized for one of the first times in my life I had absolutely NO clue what to do next.

Tucker #15: Where We Gonna Go From Here?

2011-11-04T17:45:00.000-04:00

Geez, friends, it's been a minute! I hope everyone had a magnificent Thanksgiving and you're all caught up on everything you slacked off on at work last week.

Wheels have been turning over here at Tucker Diaries. We got a facelift! Whaddya think? Like it? Hate it? Don't care, just want me to quit fiddling with shit and get back to writing? Right. Heard that.

Big thanks to my main man Blake for popping over with a blog post of his own on Sunday! Believe it or not, he came up with that all on his own - funny words and everything. No wonder I love that kid.

I was debating about how to go forward with this whole thing. What do I talk about now that the cat's out of the bag and everyone knows I fell in love with a dude, who was actually a girl, who lived in Georgia? I feel like everything else is sort of anticlimactic after that little nugget was revealed, don't you? Once I shared with my small circle of in-the-know friends that Hannah was Tucker, it seemed as though it was a case-closed, move-on, get-over-it kind of deal. You would think that would be the way to go, but if you haven't figured it out already, I'm not exactly good at letting good enough be.

See, I had my "answers", more or less. I knew the culprit, and even met the man I thought I'd fallen in love with...nevermind the fact that he turned out to be engaged. I'd spoken with William about the situation, filled Megan in on the conclusion, and finally hunted Blake down to tell him the story. If there were a checklist of things to do and people to talk to after finding out you were the victim of a lesbian love affair, I'm pretty sure I completed it with flair. All that aside, though...I wasn't satisfied.

Anyone who knows me, which by now includes all of you, knows I can't rest on my laurels when there's something bugging me. If I want to know something, I'll find a way to piece it together - obviously because I started this whole manhunt in the first place. I didn't have a problem putting a plan into action and getting down to business when I needed to find some closure. The problem was...I wasn't even sure what exactly I was looking for now. Did I need more from Hannah? Was her confession and explanation not enough? Did I need to spend more time talking to William or Megan, discussing the thing to death until I felt like I'd come to terms with this? Did it have something to do with Blake? Did I need to talk to HIM more, and find out what he was thinking? Maybe I was searching for some sort of poetic justice to put a cap on this bottle of bullshit for good. Whatever it was, it was bugging me, and I couldn't shake the fact that there was some other stone still left unturned.

Once I'd revealed Tucker's true identity to my friends and family who were privy to the situation from the get-go, there was a resounding chorus of one single word that came from each and every person who found out the truth. WHY. Everyone wanted to know why. As you already gathered from my previous conversation with Hannah, immediately after her confession, I didn't have an answer for them. She wouldn't answer my questions, only gave me snippets here and there, but we never really discussed why this happened in the first place. What provoked her to start this crazy train? What happened to this girl to make her think that creating an entire fake life, and carrying it on for YEARS, would solve her problems? I knew I couldn't let this rest until I found out exactly why Hannah had begun her journey as Tucker, nearly four years ago.

On a cold Sunday night in Grand Rapids, I was hiding under the covers in my roommate's bed, watching Desperate Housewives and enjoying being blissfully ignorant of anything Tucker/Blake/Hannah related for the first time in days. My phone lit up, telling me I'd gotten a text from Hannah. I'd finally gotten around to changing her contact info in my phone, considering I had at least three people now who had, at one point, been Tucker on some level in my mind. Hannah asks if she can call me. I'm taken aback, and ask why, to which she responds she owes me a better apology, and would like to talk to me "in person", with a phone call. At first, I have no interest. Why would I want to speak to the person who lied to me the way she did? I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of hearing my voice. On the other hand, I knew this was my only shot at getting some semblance of a logical explanation, and with that in mind, I agreed.

I shut myself in my bedroom and climbed into bed, nervous for some reason about the impending conversation. Perhaps "nervous" isn't the correct word here, but I certainly was not looking forward to having the closest thing to a face-to-face confrontation with this girl that I'd likely ever get. When my phone began to buzz with her call, I took a deep breath and answered with a hello.

I don't know what I expected Hannah to sound like - it definitely wasn't something I'd put any thought into before. I was surprised, however, to hear a strong voice on the other end of the line. I suppose I anticipated a meakness - almost an afraid, weak voice greeting me when I answered her call, but instead I was presented with a firm, almost husky southern accent on the line.

Almost immediately, Hannah seemed relaxed with me. I, again, am unsure of how I expected this conversation to go, but it was much more calm and natural than I'd guessed. Hannah began to speak to me, confidently and sure of the words she was saying. She apologized again for her actions, repeatedly using phrases like "from the bottom of my heart" and "if I could take it all back I would". She acknowledged the stupidity of her internet escapades, describing them as though it was a childish joyride she'd dabbled in for a moment before getting caught. She talked to me - apologized to me - as if she were a close friend who tore my favorite sweater when she borrowed it. She was matter of fact, and direct, but not overly emotional. It was as though she were following a protocol, carefully laid out in front of her, and following it step by step to ensure she said precisely the correct words during our conversation.

At first, I didn't say much. I didn't know WHAT to say. I had already extended forgiveness to her, when I was gunning for more information about Blake. Though I was laying it on a little thick at the time, I really did mean what I said to her - I wasn't still angry with her for what happened, and I had forgiven her for her actions. What confused me, was Hannah's apparent lack of understanding of the depth and severity of what she'd done. She seeemed to truly believe that a verbal apology would wipe the slate clean, and she could carry about her life without any further repercussions of her dirty deed. She was confused as to why Megan refused to accept her apology, and wasn't quick to forgive her. She genuinely didn't understand why this was such a BIG deal to everyone involved. To her, it was a silly game that she'd gotten a little too caught up in, but now that the secret was out, everything was hunky dory again.

When Hannah was finished with her apology, I thanked her - truly, as I was grateful she was, at the very least, taking responsibility for what she did. She could have disappeared from the face of the earth, never to be heard from again, but at least she was owning up to her mistakes with me. I didn't know how to breach the "why" subject, so it sort of stumbled out of my mouth in an awkwardly direct fashion - par for the course if you've ever had a real-life conversation with me. Couth is not exactly my forte, folks. I blurted out "BUT WHY", in middle of her third go-round with "I wish I could take it all back". She seemed surprised, but paused to answer my question.

It was as though, with those two simple words, I'd immediately transformed a phone conversation into a shrink's office. Hannah took her place lying down on the leather chaise lounge, and I relaxed into my oversized club chair behind my mahogany desk, rested my bifocals on the glass top of the wooden fixture, folded my hands and asked her "How does that make you feel?" Suddenly Hannah was a loose cannon, relaying stories of her harrowed high school years and describing the lack of friends and bounty of rejection she felt as a young teen. She told me of her flirting with the wrong side of the law, socializing with the proverbial "wrong crowd", and the struggles she faced growing up as the "unpretty one". Confession after confession poured from her mouth like the wine from the bottle of malbec I was quickly consuming listening to her talk. It was abundantly evident that the situation in front of me was not malicious - not an attempt to attack or hurt anyone to make up for someone who had done Hannah wrong. When Tucker, the alias, was born, he was an escape - a way for her to feel wanted, NEEDED, to be sought after and pursued. Tucker was a euphoric alternate reality where the doldrums of a high school reject were put to rest, and the thrills and highs of being attractive and successful took the driver's seat in the tour bus to Happyville.

I immediately felt sorry for Hannah. I felt guilty for being so angry with her upon the discovery of her real identity. For the first time, I truly let go of the risidual anger and felt concern for the poor soul on the other end of my phone conversation. This was a person who was hurting - a girl who SO desperately needed someone to talk to, that she turned to fabricating her own alternate universe where she was loved and desired by people who hung from her every word. This was not a person who was out to rectify some vendetta she had against the good looking, popular, successful people of the world. Instead, she was a lonely soul begging for a friend, pleading with someone, ANYONE, to acknowledge her for the person she was on the inside, instead of the hollow shell she'd become on the outside.

I ended the conversation with Hannah, and sat alone in my dark bedroom with my bottle of wine, once again flooded with a river of emotions and thoughts. I was completely unsure of how I was supposed to feel after our chat. The cynical, and probably more rational side of me struggled to believe any of her story, chalking it all up as yet another lie in her pathological warpath. That part of me refused to believe this girl deserved even an ounce of forgiveness, let alone sympathy. The other half of me, though, argued that Hannah deserved a second chance. The compassionate, empathetic side of me remembered being a nerdy fifth grader with huge glasses and thick bangs, and pleaded with my logical side to just give the girl a break. I couldn't truly justify either side, and felt completely conflicted.

What was I supposed to do next? Did I accept the ending to my story for what it was: a sad tale of a lonely girl searching for someone to let her into their heart? Or, did I ignore the humanist in me, and pursue whatever sort of justice I hoped to receive in this battle of wills?

Did I let Hannah go, forget she existed and let her carry on her life, hoping this experience was enough to deter her from ever trying to deceive someone like she so extensively deceived me? Or, did I find some way to make absolutely sure she was punished for the hurt, the stress, and the anger she had caused me and so many other over the last months?

At what point was it time to throw in the towel and call it a day on this? At what point should I decide enough is enough, thank my lucky stars I found out the truth, and cross my fingers Hannah was through with her manipulation and lies?

I knew there was only one person to turn to who could help me figure out exactly what was the appropriate way to resolve the situation. There was only one person who knew enough about Hannah, her family, and her situation to offer any sort of help in my quest for the right path to take in this fork in the road.

I picked up my phone, cashing in my phone-a-friend and utilizing the only lifeline I had left in this garbled game of truth or dare.

"Blake...what the hell do we do now?"

Tucker #16: What's Going ON!?

2011-11-03T16:14:00.000-04:00

Sidenote, this is absolutely my go-to karaoke song. Why? Because you can essentially shout the entire song, and everyone knows all the words so they scream it right along with you. Everybody wins! Don't believe me? Try it sometimes. See you at Stella's on Sunday night.

It's quite troublesome when work and life try to get in the way of more important things, like blogging about girls pretending to be dudes. Rude, life...rude. Regardless, I'm back, and it feels so good to be behind the computer for something that's not required of me by a boss, a professor, or anyone else who thinks they own my life...except you guys, who kind of do own my life, but it's completely consentual so it's okay, right?

Warning:
We have reached the part of the story that is, more or less, my inner monologue. From here on out, it's less fact, more questions. It's confusion, struggle, and emotion. It doesn't make sense, and I'll probably end up being the bad guy before it's over...don't say I didn't warn you.

Last time we chatted, I was conflicted. I had reached the end of my journey with Hannah/Tucker, so to speak, but was still unsure of how I was supposed to proceed with my weird little conundrum. Part of me wanted to wash my hands of the situation entirely, freeing myself of the inexplicable grip this person, real or make believe, had on my heart and my life. I was ready to walk away, and never think about Hannah, or Tucker, ever again. Despite that urge, however, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted to know more. I investigated further, probed into the corners of Hannah's mind that convinced her this was the best option, and was left feeling awkwardly sympathetic for her apparent emotional retardation.

After I hung up with Hannah that day, I knew Blake was my only option for taking any sort of action - whatever that action might be. What I hoped to accomplish, I'm still not entirely sure, but I knew I was taking a shot in the dark without his help, and his connections to her family. At this point, William seemed to have stepped away from the situation completely - he knew the truth, and for him, that was enough. He didn't care to pursue it any further, and I didn't blame him. As far as he was concerned, it was finished, and I didn't want to pull him back into something he'd already long forgotten about. Blake's involvement was more on the level of mine, in the sense that we'd both been tangled up in this beyond just the use of a name. My emotions, and my heart got involved, which is certainly the reason I felt like I was owed some sort of "justice", whatever that meant. Blake's involvement was more than just stealing a picture or two - it was an impersonation of an entire life, for years. The more he tried to wrap his head around the situation, the more upset he got - there were girls all over the country that, for all practical purposes, had been in love with him. It wasn't simply a name, like in William's case - Hannah had carefully copied not only Blake's physical attributes, but duplicated his lifestyle, and his personality, when carrying on the relationships she had formed. He was my ally now. He was, perhaps, the only other person who really understood how big of an issue this truly was. He wasn't going to walk away, and I knew he was on my side.

Up until now, my conversations with Blake had been pretty minimal. They were strictly business - I informed him of the details, rehashed the story over and over, and tried to explain the interactions between Hannah and myself as best I could, to help him understand the situation completely. I knew he was engaged, and quickly eliminated any sort of fairy tale hope that perhaps we would come full circle, and ride off into the sunset together once we bonded over the ridiculousness of our story. From the very beginning, I made sure to be "professional", if you can call it that, any time I spoke to Blake, to make sure he never felt strange about talking to me, and to avoid creating any sort of awkwardness between us.

Speaking of awkwardness, can we talk about this for a second? When I first contacted Blake on Facebook, I didn't stop to think how incredibly strange it was going to be to have to reiterate all the details of this story to him. I didn't think about how strange it would be to describe to him, how I fell in love with...well...him. I didn't think about how UNBELIEVABLY AWKWARD it was going to be to tell a relative stranger that there was an internet clone of him, and he was my dream man. Awkward does not even begin to describe this - particularly when aforementioned stranger is engaged to another woman. For those of you in relationships -- imagine for a moment that you are Blake. Imagine a person you have NEVER heard of in your life confesses that he or she has been falling in love with you for the last two months. Um...what? One hundred points to Gryffindor/ Blake for even hearing me out in the first place, let alone ever speaking to me again. I can't even imagine how ridiculous I sounded, let alone how creepy and odd the whole situation must have been for him. Sweet Jesus.

Blake and I began talking more frequently as the days progressed. What actually only spanned about 24 hours, from the time I spoke to Blake initially, talked to Hannah on the phone, and talked to Blake a second time, felt like an eternity. I expected to never hear from him again, once we'd discussed the situation to death and he knew every last detail. I anticipated a random Facebook message or e-mail down the road, perhaps, asking for clarification or proof of something or another, should he ever decide to take any sort of action against Hannah - but I never expected to have much of a relationship with this poor soul I'd just dropped a bomb on.

When we had spoken a few days before, I'd told Blake about the blog. Mind you, I'm only writing this about two weeks behind now - the conversations I'm describing here are incredibly recent, and still unfolding. Case NOT closed, people...not closed. Anyway, I was apprehensive about disclosing the details of the Tucker Diaries to the man whose face was behind it all. I was terrified he would be irate that I was parading the story of his life around on the internet, even if it was only written to explain the details to some friends of mine. However, in the midst of my desperate attempts to convince Blake I wasn't bluffing about the story, I admitted I was writing here, and invited him to take a look to catch up on some of the details of the story. Bless his heart, he'd already found the blog -- little bastard is as good with Google as I am, apparently. He wasn't upset, found the Diaries highly entertaining, and became an avid fan right away.

When I heard from Blake again, after my conversation with Hannah, it was in the form of a text message early on Monday morning. His text was to inform me that I could expect a surge of blog readers coming from the Northwest Georgia area, thanks to his friends he'd eagerly spilled the beans to about our saga. I laughed as I read it, so relieved that he was taking this as I had -- shocked and appalled, but simultaneously so entertained by the whole thing that he forgot about the embarassment factor, and went straight for the entertainment value. Not only did he not care that I was sharing our story, but he wanted to spread the word, and soon I was getting Facebook friend requests from Georgia and watching my Southeast United States viewership skyrocket.

We joked back and forth throughout the day, still in a bit of a haze over the whole thing, and taking turns marveling at just how absurd the whole story was. I wrote the next Tucker post, and sent it to him for approval before I published it, feeling like we were now a team and he deserved a sign-off on the story we now shared. Of course, he loved it, and praised my writing, thrilled with the hilarity of our little journey. Before I knew it, I was crawling into bed, saying goodnight, and realizing I'd spent the entire day glued to my phone, engrossed in conversation with this man. While I laid in bed that night, I gave thought to what was unfolding for the first time that day. Was it strange that Blake and I had so quickly formed such a close bond? I shrugged off the thought, reminding myself that whether we liked it or not, we were forever bound by this incredible story, and it wasn't unusual for us to feel a strong connection because of it. Just like ABC likes to trick people into falling in "love" by sending Bachelor contestants on high-energy first dates like skydiving and ziplining, it made sense that Blake and I formed an instant relationship because of the extreme and unusual circumstances we found ourselves in together. Our insta-friendship was far from out of the ordinary, and instead of overthinking and overanalyzing that day's conversations, like I have a bad habit of doing, I smiled at the new friend I'd made, and drifted off to sleep.

The next day began just like the last. Morning hellos, lunch time phone chat, texting back and forth throughout the day. I couldn't stop talking to Blake, even when I tried....which I actually didn't, let's be real. There was something about this man that magnetized me, and I couldn't look away from my phone long enough to accomplish a damn thing, because I knew there'd be a message waiting for me. Not only was this stranger-turned-friend my partner in crime in the Hannah drama, he was this intriguing new being - someone I couldn't get enough of day in and day out. I expected the attraction to fizzle - the novelty to wear off, the honeymoon stage to be over, etcetera. I figured the allure of the new and exciting would wane, we'd slowly quit talking, and we would eventually both put Tucker to rest and go about our merry way. I don't often admit that I'm wrong, but in this case, I was.

The closet psychiatrist in me has an easy explanation for connection between Blake and I. Blake is the personification of the "idea" of Tucker. He is the person that my ficticious love was based on, so naturally I was drawn to to the real-life version just as intensely, and perhaps even moreso, than the version I'd initially gotten to know. Here, right in front of me, was the person I thought I'd fallen for -- why wouldn't I be unable to pull myself away? What I couldn't figure out, was how the feeling was mutual. Why couldn't Blake leave this alone either? Why was this incredible bond SO quickly formed, and so determined to grow? Neither of us could put down the phone. Neither of us could step away from the other. We were both so incredibly fascinated by the other, desperate to know everything about the stranger we were talking to.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I got to know so much about my new Georgian compadre. We talked daily - if it wasn't texting, it was Facebook chat, if it wasn't Facebook, it was HeyTell. If it wasn't HeyTell, it was on the phone, or on GChat, or smoke signals and carrier pigeons. Blake really was everything I expected Tucker to be...and then some. All the aspects of Tucker's personality that Hannah made shine through were exactly as she portrayed them. Blake was kind, he was smart, he was a hard worker and passionate about the things he loved...namely tennis, golf, and True Blood. The part of him that drew me in the most was, of course, his sense of humor. Few people can make me laugh when I'm in the sourest of moods, but this man had an incredible way of cracking my shit up no matter how bitchy I felt. Everything he said made me laugh. Our five minute lunch break phone calls brightened my day, because he'd ring me just to tell me a story of how he cursed out a woman in the parking lot at the grocery store, then promptly apologized when he realized he was a giant douchebag. I couldn't get enough of that hilarious, quirky goofball.

Blake consistently made remarks about how excited he was to make such a great new friend, and that's always how I was dubbed..."friend". Of course, because he isn't single. The man I was talking to day in and day out was engaged. He had a girl, put a ring on it, end of story, game over. So why was I certain there was more to it than that? Was I completely fabricating this connection in my head? Was he really just a super friendly guy who made friends with everyone and I was no exception? Did he really just think I was some super cool chick with a great sense of humor and a penchant for telling stories (duh), so he enjoyed our conversation, and that's as far as it went? Was I SERIOUSLY the only one who thought there had to be a reason why we were talking nonstop, every day, for hours on end, about everything?!

The struggle with my feelings about Blake stressed me out a fair amount, to say the least. I didn't know if I was imagining a connection that wasn't there, just because I wanted it to be. I didn't know if I even cared about HIM, or if I was trying to live out the relationship I'd expected to have with Tucker. I couldn't help but struggle with the "whys" of the entire thing. I'm a fairly realistic person, I like to think. The reality of this situation, is that Blake is not an available man. He lives in Georgia, I live in Michigan. We have two completely separate lives, that happened to intersect by one outlandish tale that just so happened to rope both of us in. We both have lives, jobs, families and friends in our respective locations. We were both carrying about our merry ways when Hannah stepped in and shook things up a bit. I struggled with where to draw the line between chance and happenstance, and that whole idea of fate.

I don't live my life like one big romantic comedy, expecting the handsome stranger is going to bust out of the woodwork at the most inopportune moment to steal me away and live happily ever after. I don't walk around thinking I'm Drew Barrymore and the guy who's way out of my league is going to think my weird lisp is sexy and want to marry me. (Editor's Note: I do not, in fact, have a lisp. Drew does, though.) That doesn't happen in real life. But, neither do stories like mine. Like ours. I've never been a huge proponent of "fate", per se. I believe in God, and believe He has a plan for everyone, 110%, yes. I believe everything does happen for a reason, but I also believe many people, myself included at times, mistake "fate" for coincidence. It's easy to assume that, because something played out in a specific manner, there was some sort of grand reasoning behind it all, and it all centers around me and my own happiness. Things happen for a reason, yes. Is that reason always for everyone's benefit? No sir.

The fact of the matter is, Blake and I are on the same team now. We have a common goal: finding the best way to resolve the Hannah situation. We have a common problem: I may or may not be in love with some form of his identity, or some strange hybrid of Blake and Tucker. We have a common bond: regardless of the outcome, we've found our long lost best friend - the male/female version of each other.

Per usual, I'm faced with a multitude of questions. I don't know what to do - what's right, what's wrong.

Where does fate step in? Does fate even exist?

I know there's a reason for the way our story played out...but what is it?

Why did I meet this person who is, in so many ways, absolutely perfect...when he's unattainable?

Why are we still not on Ellen?

How do I know if I'm supposed to walk away from Blake, or hold onto hope that maybe, just maybe, this is somehow supposed to be?

What. Now?

Tucker #17: I'm Moving On.

2011-11-02T16:08:00.000-04:00

Nothing about the Tucker Saga came easily. Nothing was as simple as a black and white explanation, and nothing made perfect, logical sense from the beginning. Nothing about this story was normal, nothing was clear, nothing was plainly right or wrong. I was caught in this catch twenty two between chasing this "what-if" and believing that this was part of some grander plan...and accepting the reality that this man was unavailable, unattainable, and this was the end of the road. Clearly, stepping away is not my forte - but can you blame me? Thus far, in this story, everything that happened had lead to something else. There was always a next step, another twist in the story, something else to pursue. I found it hard to believe that this was the end...that after all of this, it really was for nothing.

The weeks went by. I didn't stop talking to Blake. I still haven't, in fact. There's a part of me that still wonders, and probably will always wonder, what would have happened, had I solved this mystery only two weeks sooner - before he'd proposed to his girlfriend. Would one of us hopped a plane, bound for either the far north or the deep south, throwing caution to the wind and letting chance and fate take over? Would things have fizzled out anyway, and we'd go about our separate ways, forgetting this whole debacle ever happened? Maybe we'd have handled things the same way we did in reality - becoming great friends, close friends, but nothing more. I have a terrible habit of constantly chasing the could have beens, and what ifs, and forgetting that the reality of our situation had already played out - there was no place for hypotheticals and questions anymore.

The weeks that I spent talking to Blake daily, were wonderful. I learned everything I could about him. He told me about his family, his friends, his life in Georgia. I learned about his past relationships - the great loves and the painful heartbreaks. He told me story after story of hilarious loves-gone-wrong, and we bonded over our shared tendencies to find ourselves mixed up in the strangest of situations. We spent endless hours laughing over the ridiculous stories of crazy exes, clingy significant others, and those moments where you discover the person you're dating is certifiably batshit crazy. We spent those weeks learning about each other, swapping stories and offering each other a listening ear when we needed it. In between marveling about the details of our own, shared drama with the Tucker story, enlightening each other with tales of our individual dating histories, and one upping each other with accounts of the stupid things we've done for "love", Blake and I formed a friendship. While we were busy laughing at each other, and ourselves, and questioning why neither of us has ever written a book on our hilarious escapades in the dating arena, we forged a bond that I will cherish forever.

My friends questioned me regularly about the nature of my relationship with Blake. Was I going to fly to Georgia, show up at his wedding in a grand, Julia Roberts movie-esque fashion and proclaim my undying love, only to have my best friend hand me a white dress and take his fiance's place at the alter? Absolutely not. I'm not a homewrecker, first of all, and more importantly, I don't think that was ever the point of our conversations. Did I ever think about that possibility? Of course I did. Did I ever daydream about the day that this perfect southern stranger would tell me he loved me, that he left he fiancee, and that he was on his way to the mitten to whisk me away to marry him in the sunset? Sure. What girl wouldn't? In the first few days of talking with Blake, I thought a lot about those things. I was still the haze of confusion following the Tucker story, and as I've mentioned before, I was torn between what was right, and what was destined to happen.

It didn't take long to realize the reality of our situation, and instead, embrace it for what it was. Blake could have never responded to my Facebook message. He could have taken note of the details, confronted Hannah on his own, and never even acknowledge that he read my e-mail. He could have simply thanked me for the information, and never speak to me again. He could have been upset about the blog, and begged me to stop writing (which I would have ignored, but you know, it could have happened). Instead, he was understanding, thankful, and lighthearted about our situation. He was apologetic to me - expressing how sorry he was that this happened, and was genuinely concerned that I was okay after the whole ordeal was over. He became a great friend - someone I could talk to about the Tucker saga without worrying that he was annoyed, or judgmental, or angry.

In my desperate attempt to rationalize my connection with Blake, I overlooked a very important aspect of our relationship. Prior to my extensive conversations with Blake, I hadn't had the closure I so desperately craved from this situation. I wasn't okay with the ending - I wasn't ready to move on from it and I wasn't satisfied with the answers and explanations (or lack thereof) that I'd received. Before we'd began our journey from strangers to friends, I still had a void left by Tucker/Hannah that remained unfilled, and I didn't know how to remedy the situation. Talking to Blake gave me an outlet. He made me feel less awkward about the situation. He made me feel less embarrassed, less completely idiotic for falling for Tucker. The more I got to know him, the more I realized that the person I fell for was real. I didn't fall for Hannah - she wasn't acting as herself when I was talking to her. The more I knew Blake, the more I realized just how much of him she had emulated. The more I knew about him, the less I felt like I'd fallen for a girl, and the less traumatized I felt by the situation. The more I knew Blake, the more I knew I wasn't totally losing it - the more I realized she had crafted this persona right down to the smallest of details, and I felt more and more at ease about my role in the whole thing. The more I knew Blake, the less I cared about Hannah. The less I felt the urge to be vengeful and angry. The less I wanted to make her pay for what I did, to counteract the shame and discomfort about feeling like I had fallen in love with a woman.

This whole time, I'd been grasping at straws, trying to rationalize the relationship between Blake and I, in terms of some divine intervention. I was trying, so hard, to believe that the reason we'd met was because we were supposed to be together. I ignored the pieces of our puzzle that made it uncomfortable -- the distance, the fact that I barely knew him, and the small detail of that girl who's wearing his rock on her finger. I ignored all of it, because there HAD to be a reason we found each other, and despite my better judgment, I was certain that reason involved a Georgian plantation house, an ivory lace dress, and men in grey linen JCrew suits dancing to a live band in the yard. What I didn't stop to think of, what that maybe there was, in fact, a very important reason I met Blake. That reason, however, wasn't because we were two souls, destined for forever, who missed each other in some strange case of bad timing and parallel universes. That wasn't the reason at all. Not even close.

Talking to Blake was healing. It was therapeutic, for both of us. I'd talked to William, and to Megan, extensively about the situation - I never felt, though, that they understood where I was coming from exactly. Blake's involvement was, of course, very different than my own - but throughout our conversations, I discovered he was just as troubled as I was. In a strange sort of way, he had been in false relationships too. He didn't know it, but he was dating strangers around the country as well. Our relationship grew, because we listened to each other. We talked through the situation time and again, because we experienced the same flip-flopping emotions of anger, confusion, fear and sadness. Without having each other to vent, to unload, and to ultimately laugh it off, we may have never been able to to come to terms with our situation and move forward. Without each other, we would probably still be fighting those feelings, instead of being able to smile about it and share it with our friends, for them to laugh at our expense and poke fun of our ridiculous misfortune. Without each other, we couldn't have come to the place we are now - ready to help Hannah, and encourage her to get well.

We haven't taken any further action against Hannah, at this point. While both of us, at one point or another, felt the urge to fight for some sort of punishment for the girl who manipulated us both so terribly, we both recognize the more pressing issue is a girl who needs to be helped. Blake is far more directly involved than I am, due to his friendships with members of Hannah's family. This, of course, presents a whole new challenge in terms of how to handle the situation. Imagine YOUR best friend's sibling was using your face and personality for years - how would you proceed? The situation was so delicate - so many people involved, so many relationships and friendships and connections - it was nearly impossible for us to come to a solution that made sense, and didn't harm any more people. I spoke with Hannah's sister, and explained everything. I've also talked to William's mother, and she knows the story as well. Blake has talked to Hannah's other sister and brother in law. The people close to her -- the people who can help -- are fully aware of the situation.

I've been asked time and time again why I never called the police, or got authorities involved. I'll be honest - I seriously considered it multiple times. Those thoughts, though, were born out of anger and frustration. When it comes down to it, I was lied to on the internet. While there may be a law against that somewhere, it's not a situation where I was endangered, or my financial or personal information was stolen with the intent to steal anything from me. While Blake and William have more of a case, perhaps, I had nothing. It wasn't worth my time and energy to create a lawsuit, particularly once I realized the reality behind Hannah's motives. What we were looking at wasn't a case of malicious intent, but a case of a lonely soul searching for someone to love her. What she needs is not a lawsuit, but someone to listen to her. She needs someone to talk to - a professional - that can help her sort through whatever issues are hurting her. What's important is that she heals, so she can move forward and stop hurting others in an effort to fill a void in her own heart.

I don't excuse Hannah's actions. I'm not defending her, or pretending it was even in the slightest bit acceptable for her to do what she did to me, to Megan, to William and Blake, and to the other girls she lied to along the way. I've been asked how I can forgive her, how I can let it go, and to that, I'll tell you it wasn't easy. The bottom line is, though, it's over. I didn't get physically harmed, I wasn't raped in an alley and chopped to bits, and I didn't have my bank account drained and identity stolen. Hannah was wrong. So very wrong on so many levels I can't even begin to explain them. What I learned, though, was that being angry about the situation got me nowhere. I needed to talk it out, to discuss it to death, to marvel over the intricacies and detail of it all. I needed to talk to William, Megan, and Blake to truly come to terms with it and move on. I needed to know why she did it, and to hear her say she was sorry.

Hannah's close family and friends know the truth. They are the people who love and care about her, and it's up to them, not the once-vengeful victims, to get her the help she needs. I speak for Blake and I both, when I say we truly hope she gets the assistance she so clearly, so desperately needs. Our part in the story, in relation to the "what now", is complete. We have done everything we can, and everything we should, without crossing boundaries and risking driving Hannah even further into the depths of whatever is bothering her so deeply. We can only hope that her family and friends take this as seriously as we have, and that they can see to it that their sister and friend gets well.

So, what now? What's the aftermath of all of this? It feels so strange to be nearly finished with all of this, after so many weeks and months of clawing for the truth and begging for answers. William seems to be getting along just fine, saving the world one Toys for Tots appearance at a time :) Megan is busy being a first grade teacher rockstar, molding the minds of Florida's youth and being, hands down, the funniest first grade teacher I've ever met. Blake is still engaged (I know, I know), and still as obnoxious and goofy as ever. Me? I'm not jumping on a plane to Georgia any time soon, though I wouldn't rule out a trip to Seattle in my somewhat near future...but more on that later.

Strangely enough, I feel like I owe Hannah a thank-you. Yes, I'm deranged. Why do I say that? Over the last few months, I've met some of the coolest sons of bitches on the planet. I will forever be bonded to a few above average individuals, because they shared in this unbelievable journey with me. I will be forever thankful to the real Tucker, for helping me find Hannah in the first place, and ya know, for fighting for our country and being the superbadass that he is. Someday when I venture to Florida, I'm crashing on Megan's couch and we'll probably drink margaritas and talk about that time we were friends with/in love with a chick. When Ellen finally reads all this and invites me to be on her show, I'll meet my long-lost best friend Blake, and we'll have a good laugh over the situation that created a lifelong friendship.

I've made new friends right here in Grand Rapids - people who have heard the story, and become hopelessly addicted to the better-than-Lifetime story unfolding on the internet. Without this, I never would have posted a status all those weeks ago, that warranted a comment, then a wall post, then a phone call, and a month later a rekindled connection from college that I never would have expected - this connection, in fact, from the person who insisted I start this blog in the first place...you can all thank him later. I've gotten numerous Facebook messages from friends and strangers alike, sharing their shockingly similar stories, which has been SUCH a blessing. When I began this blog, I was SO nervous to share the details of the story - so afraid of admitting to everyone that I was even on a dating website in the first place, let alone that I fell for someone who lied to me in quite the dramatic fashion. Hearing the stories of other "normal" people like me, who'd fallen prey to a smooth talker on the other side of a computer, has been such a great blessing. It's so good to know you're not alone - and I'm so glad that I've extended that relief to those of you who've shared your stories with me. I feel like we should have t-shirts...start a club...thoughts? Therapy sessions with vino and margs? Excellent.

It's been a wild, WILD ride. I've had a lot of crazy things happen to me, particularly related to my dating life, but this clearly takes the cake. At the end of the day, though, I look back and just laugh. I should have seen it coming. It's absolutely, 100% par for the course. My life WOULD work this way. This WOULD happen to me. Tucker WOULD be a girl, and I WOULD be the one to figure it out.

In fact, if you ask any of my good friends, they'll tell you the same thing. None of them are surprised. I mean, sure, the shock factor's there, because honestly who knew it was a broad? But, aside from that, none of them are in the least bit surprised that I was the one this happened to. I have a strange ability to attract the crazies.

Don't believe me?

Perhaps I should tell you about the time I dated three very closely related guys, within about three months of each other. All without knowing they were, in any way, connected.

Or, I'll tell you about the time I cried through my entire birthday party over a guy in an Affliction t-shirt, and tried to drown my goldfish in Captain Morgan.

Or, maybe the time I met the man of my dreams in Nashville...but found out he'd been bluffing about a few little details.

How about the time I met my best friend because she was....friends.....with my ex?

The time I was in the wedding of a guy I met online, had a crush on for years, and my parents are STILL pissed I didn't marry him?

Nobody was surprised about Tucker. My life is a series of unfortunate dating disasters, folks. Luckily, I've survived them all...and I think I'm finally ready to start spilling the beans.

Welcome to The Tucker Diaries...Chapter Two.

Tucker #18: Tell Me More, Tell Me More!

2011-11-01T17:24:00.000-04:00

Does anyone other than me remember the first time they saw Grease? My mom made me leave the room when they had sex in the car...as if I didn't know what was happening. Christ, Mom.

I also vividly remember my sophomore year in high school, our school had Spirit Week. Did you guys do that? You know, that whole week leading up to homecoming, which we actually didn't have because we don't have a football team, because there were 15 (yes, 1-5) people in my graduating class. Anyway, Spirit Week. Every year, there was a theme - sophomore year, it was "Decades". Each class chose a Class Theme, within the general theme, and the week was spent decorating hallways, crafting lip sync dances, and competing against other classes to win ridiculous contests like obstacle courses and beach towel volleyball.

Sophomore year, my class chose the 50's. Being in charge of our choreography for the Lip Sync Contest, I naturally wanted nothing more than to use Grease Lightning. Slight problem: in order to use a song, you had to submit the lyrics to the governing powers, to be sure it was appropriate for our Christian School crowd. Turns out, even when you fudge the lyrics a little (she's a real pussy wagon? come on, Travolta), your beloved English teacher knows the REAL words and turns you down.   It's okay, Mrs. Tyink...Burnin' Love turned out just fine ;)

Moving forward.

A good friend and avid Tucker reader suggested that, before I venture off into airing my dirty laundry about all the poor schmucks who who've been on dates with me, I give the general public a chance to ask all the questions they want about the Tucker Saga. I'm certain that, despite my tendency to describe things to "an autistically vivid level" (thanks, Blake), I've managed to leave out important explanations about things. Of course, everything I write makes sense to me...I was there, I remember it. To you, though, there might be a few head scratchers remaining - a few blanks I forgot to fill in along the way.   Many of these questions I've answered in some form or another throughout the blog, but this is a chance to have all the how's, why's, and wtf's in one place, and a little more concise.

Have a question? Leave a comment. Tweet me. Leave it on Facebook. Ask away - I'm an oversharing open book, ready to answer any Tucker inquiries you've got. Confused about the timeline? Not sure you're following a few details? Really just want to know what the fuck I was thinking about something/everything? Hit me with your best shot: no question left behind.

I'll start the ball rolling with a few of the questions I've gotten repeatedly - from the blog, from friends, from complete strangers who add me on Facebook and question my sanity. As the questions come in, I'll update this post, so for the love of all things Tucker, give me something to work with!

How long did all of this drag on?
It's been almost three months since I first laid eyes on that sexy southern boy. It took a week or two to really get the ball rolling with conversation between us, and we all know once that started, the rest is (internet documented) history.

Why do you put songs at the beginning of every post?
Because I like to jam while I write, damnit. Sometimes. Sometimes I need total silence or I can't focus on a goddamn thing. It actually started accidentally - I happened to be listening to a song that fit perfectly, so I put a video in the post...then it just sort of continued.   By the time this is a Lifetime movie, I'll have the whole soundtrack already complete. Boom.

Why did you decide to start writing this anyway?
This is a complicated answer, but there are four main reasons:

1) I was tired of trying to relay the ENTIRE story, all one hour+ of it, to everyone who'd heard it and asked me about it. This seemed like a better way to share the story without having to verbalize it every time, and for all my friends, who were obsessed with my misfortunes (assholes), to tell THEIR friends about this disaster.

2) It was therapeutic. Getting all the details out on "paper" made the whole thing a little more tolerable. When I wrote it out, and saw it laid in front of me, I realized just how funny the whole thing was. It was healing to put all the little details out of my head, and onto the interwebs. I don't have a shrink at my disposal, so spilling my guts, including the embarrassing, my-heart-hurts details, felt good.

3) Because David Ringnalda told me to.
4) I like hearing myself talk, and I'm obviously an attention whore, so any chance for me to make you look at me was a chance worth taking. Sometimes I can be funny, too, so making you laugh (even if it's AT me), is always a plus.

How did you fall in love with someone you'd never met?
I tend to use the phrase "fall in love" pretty loosely. I've been in love, for real, once. MAYBE twice, but the first time I was far too young to even know what being in love meant. Even the one time that I do count, is questionable. I'm not sure anyone really knows what it's like to be in love, until you find the one person that you love forever. But, that's just me.

Anyway, if we're getting technical, I wouldn't say I necessarily fell in love with Tucker. I fell in lust, absolutely. I loved lots of things about him - his personality was exactly what I was looking for, and a lot of his characteristics and qualities were perfect for my future match. I did have a serious connection with him, though.

I think it's hard to explain this to someone who's never had an online dating experience before - good or bad. It's hard to describe how you can form a bond with someone you've never met - particularly in terms of a romantic relationship. I won't try to explain it, because it's impossible, but know this: it's very, very possible to develop REAL feelings for someone, even if you're only communication is via written words. It's a scary thing, because it's very easy to manipulate your words to convey an idea or a persona that you want to show - obviously, regardless of whether or not that's who you are. For me, Tucker did just that - he perfectly embodied every aspect of my "perfect mate", and that's what I fell in love with. An idea, I suppose, more than a person. Meh.

Looking back, were there any clues it was a girl?
Honestly, no. I SEARCHED for this, once I found out who Hannah was. Clearly, there were clues that Tucker was not who he claimed to be - but not once, not a SINGLE time, did I think for a moment that a woman would be behind the whole thing. Hannah didn't talk to me like a woman, she never dropped little hints that she was a female. She was...manly? Never once did I think Tucker seemed the least bit femanine. When things like this happen - big shocker moments in your life - you can usually look back and pinpoint those telltale signs when you're all OHHHH yup, there it is. Yeah, not here. Girl was good at what she did...but as you know, she was at this for years. She had plenty of time to fine tune her dudeness.

What did your friends/family say about Tucker, before you realized something was wrong?
I really only told a few of my closest friends about Tucker. Three or four of my girlfriends knew about this perfect stranger - I certainly wasn't running around waving a banner about my newfound love for the world to see. I'm typically pretty slow to tell the world about a man in my life anyway - mostly because I have such a history with finding the crazies, or dumping a guy after a week, that it's not worth even sharing the details until he's been around for a significant amount of time. That, and before this blog, only a handful of my friends knew about my online dating account - I hadn't had time to craft a story about how Tucker and I met, so most of my friends hadn't heard about him yet.

Now, the girls who DID know about this mystery man, were excited to meet him. To the ones I did tell, I gushed. I couldn't shut up about how perfect he was, couldn't stop making them listen to the songs he'd send me, couldn't stop telling them how they were going to have to come to Georgia for my wedding in a year. I tend to get overly excited in situations like this, though, so none of them were booking plane tickets just yet...God bless them. They loved hearing the details, but didn't start picking out their JCrew bridesmaid dresses until they saw the man in the flesh. My friends are so smart.

Did anyone see the red flags before you did?
You know, they probably did. I don't recall much skepticism from the peanut gallery, but even if there was any, I wouldn't have listened. If you've ever been blinded by lust at first sight, you know how easy it is to overlook those glaring details that tell you something is, without a doubt, seriously fucked up. For the most part, my friends were just excited for me, eager to hear the latest details about this perfect man I stumbled upon.

.....except for Sar. My best friend is brilliant. She can read people like nobody I've ever met, except for Dennis. They should both work for the CIA, no lie. Sara told me, from DAY ONE...day one people...that Tucker was fake. Not that he was "too good to be true", or that he was bluffing about some of his amazing qualities on his profile. No sir. Sara informed me, matter of factly, that he was not a real person. Now, we've established that he technically was real, due to the whole Blake thing...but man, I wish I'd listened to her.   Instead, I told her to shut up and stop being jealous of my perfect southern boyfriend and just be happy for me. Sar...IloveyouI'msorry.

Why internet dating in the first place?
I've been asked this question for years! There are a lot of reasons. It's entertaining. It's different. It's the allure of the new and exciting. It's the refreshment of talking to people outside my usual social circle. It's the difference in getting to know someone's personality, instead of scoping them out at a crowded, dimly lit bar. It's expanding horizons. It's being able to fully creep on someone and stalk out every aspect of their appearance, lifestyle, work and education, and grammar, prior to sashaying past them at McFadden's, hoping he'll hand you a shot of rumple and ask you to join him during the Cupid Shuffle...not that I do that.

Also, please let me tell you how endlessly entertaining it is when your best friend also has an account, you are both messaged by the same person, and see how long it takes for him to realize he's simultaneously chatting up two girls who are next to each other on the couch. Or, when you and said best friend are at HopCat, and watch that guy walk in, clearly on a first date he nabbed from the 'net, and spend the entire evening laughing hysterically at how awkward he is in real life. Entertainment, folks. First class entertainment.

You say the OkCupid profile for "Tucker" was incredibly accurate for Blake...was anything different?
Actually, yes. It was very accurate in terms of the "about me" descriptions and such - Blake is totally a family guy, super sweet and down to earth, and a whole shit load of fun. All of that was absolutely true - and that was the part that I was most drawn to. The "stats", per se, were not the most important part. Yes, I love tall guys, so I didn't hate the 6'1 thing, and the fact that he was educated and had a good job was also a plus. A lot of that, though, was false.

Blake DID go to Auburn, but graduated from Shorter College where he played golf, not baseball. He doesn't work in pharmaceuticals, and doesn't have those two dogs. He's not 6'1, so it never would have worked out anyway. He can't carry a tune in a bucket, and I still don't know who that was singing songs to me, but it wasn't Blake.

All in all, the "essence", if you will, of Tucker came directly from Blake. The personality, the way he talked, the things he said...even identical Facebook statuses, stolen straight from Blakes page, were all just alike. The other details were exaggerated or made up, but for the most part, she nailed it.

Why did you keep talking to him, even though you knew he was lying?
Ah, this question. It's a favorite of my friends and family. I honestly don't have a good answer for this. I have about seven different reasons. At first, I kept talking to him, because though I knew he wasn't being entirely truthful, I couldn't PROVE he was lying, and I hadn't ruled out extreme coincidences yet. Once I determined he was certainly lying about his identity, I still thought that perhaps there were a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe he had a legitimate reason for needing to keep his identity a secret...you know, in case he was the Prince of Malta or something and wanted me to fall for HIM, not his royalty, a la Gossip Girl. I eventually ruled that out too, and came to the conclusion that he was most definitely full of shit, but even THEN I couldn't let it go. Partially, I think, because something in me just couldn't let go of the hope that there was an explanation. I wanted so badly to believe that he was the person I thought he was - the person I fell for. Because of that, despite the fact that I knew he was lying to me, something in me kept trying to convince the logical, sane part of me that an explanation would come along.

Ultimately, I couldn't stop, because I'd gotten too far in to just turn away. Had I felt endangered whatsoever, I would have left it alone. I knew, by the time I got far enough in to truly know I was being completely fooled, that the person I was talking to was nowhere near Michigan. He knew none of my personal information, didn't ask me strange questions like my mother's maiden name or my social security number, or try to entice me into a dark alley. It was clear that whoever was lying to me, was just desperate for attention. By then, I was too set on finding out the person behind it all, and uncovering the mystery. I watch far too much CSI and Criminal Minds to turn my back on my own little mini-episode -- I had to find out the truth.

By now, you've all read through the crazy twists and turns, and know what a process it was -- I didn't have that luxury. As I was going, I repeatedly thought I was just around the corner from the end, and from finally putting all the pieces together - I couldn't give it up. Of course, that was rarely the case, as I kept encountering twist after twist. I was just so engrossed in my own story, I couldn't let it go. Couldn't just call it day - couldn't chalk it up to a poor life decision and walk away.  Maybe it was foolish to keep it up...but you wouldn't be reading this if I hadn't been out of my mind crazy and followed it to the end ;)

Did you ever develop feelings for Blake?
It's hard to answer this question. Yes and no. I did, but I'm not sure the reasons I did were fair. I think, because I'd fallen so hard for Tucker, those feelings reappeared when I "met" Blake. Because he was, essentially, Tucker in the flesh, the feelings I'd felt for Tucker immediately came back. I love talking to Blake, just like I loved talking to Tucker. When Blake and I spoke, my head (and heart, I suppose), equated our conversations with the ones I had with Tucker months before. It was almost as if Blake was that explanation I'd been searching for before, when I was certain there was a logical reason Tucker was hiding his identity. So, in short, yes. I did have feelings for Blake when we began to talk every day. It was hard not to - anyone who knows him will attest to his fun loving personality, great sense of humor, and irresistable southern charm. Those feelings, though, turned into a deep appreciation for a wonderful friendship that we were so fortunate to have created. Had our personal circumstances (read: relationship statuses) been different, perhaps this would be an entirely different conversation. The fact is, though, Blake is marrying a beautiful southern girl next summer, and by then I likely will have had at least half a dozen new dating disasters to share with my cyber family. Cheers?

Do you still want to meet Blake?
Absolutely! Blake is a GREAT guy, and I love chatting with him every day. We have so much in common, and I'm certain if we lived near each other, we'd have a riot together. I'm so lucky to have met him, and consider him a great friend. I certainly hope that we'll have the opportunity to rehash this crazy story over a few beers someday!

Would you ever want to meet Hannah?
Ehhhhhh. I don't think so. I was hesitant to even talk to her on the phone, to be honest. I was, and still am, considerably creeped out by the situation. To know that, on whatever level, she pursued a relationship with me, weirds me out. I've come to terms with the situation, call a spade a spade, whatever. However, I don't think meeting her would accomplish anything. I don't have any desire to chew her out in person, to get in her face and yell at her for wasting three months of my life, or anything of that nature. I don't have anything to discuss with her - she already gave me an explanation, apologized, told me her life story, etcetera. There isn't anything left for us to talk about, and I think meeting her in person would just be incredibly awkward and probably would make me throw up.

Why didn't you pursue the marine?
I've gotten this question a LOT. Haha. I owe a lot to Tucker (William, Tucker). Without his help, I wouldn't have been able to figure out who Hannah was...or if I did, it would have taken a lot longer, and a lot more detective work that I was running out of energy to do. Tucker was absolutely phenomenal through this whole ordeal. He listened to me ramble on at 2am about this crazy story, and volunteered to jump in head first and help me figure out who was behind the lie. After all was said and done, I think Tucker was ready to forget it all happened, and go back to living his life - free of anything related to our dramatic connection. He IS adorable, and single, though...if your Facebook stalking skills are any good, ladies, you can find him there ;)

Why do you still have your online dating account active?
I've gotten this question in a few different forms, but I can sum all of them up here. As you'll find out, once the Diaries start unfolding into Chapter Two, this was not my first online dating rodeo. Been there, done that, and I've got some hilarious stories of the outcomes. It's still active now, mostly so everyone reading the Diaries for the first time can check out the scenario where I met Tucker. My profile helps those of you who don't know me in real life, get an idea of my personality and who I am. I'll take it down, eventually, but for now it'll stay.

Why did I keep doing it? To put it bluntly, it's addicting. It's incredibly fascinating to have thousands of new strangers at your fingertips, with the possibility of your soulmate, next first date, or future best friend being one of them. It's so fun to get messages from people who loved your profile and think you're super freaking awesome. It's entertaining to browse profiles and send a message to an attractive stranger, and wait to see if he actually responds. The whole thing is just wildly fascinating, and if you're single and tired of the same dating pool, I highly suggest paying OkCupid a visit.

Are you going to write a book?
Well, I sort of have now, huh? Will I ever actively pursue a publishing deal? Doubtful. I didn't write the Diaries to knock John Grisham off the best sellers list. If someone with the power to turn my blog into a book approached me and offered me the opportunity, I certainly would listen to what they had to say. I'm not sure my stories are unique enough to warrant my own space on the shelf at your neighborhood Barnes and Noble, but I suppose the possibility is always there!

Do you actually think you'll go on Ellen?
DUH. I mean I hope so. Have you requested our story to Ellen? There's a link on the right hand side bar...check it out :)

What does Blake's fiance think of this situation?
From what Blake has told me, his fiance doesn't care much about the situation. When I first messaged him, he had shared my concerns with her, and they were both worried about safety issues, and the extent of the whole situation. Once it became apparent that Hannah was not a threat to them, she put it in the past and, for all practical purposes, forgot about it. Does she know how often Blake and I talk? I'm not sure. Does she read the blog? I doubt it. To her, I'm sure, this is all a bunch of silly nonsense that was an annoyance, but not an issue that deserves her attention. If I were her, I'd probably treat it the same way.

How did Hannah pick Grand Rapids as her dating profile location?
When I asked Hannah about this, her response was a little vague. Essentially, what I gathered from her, was that she met someone at college (in Georgia), who was from the area. She also mentioned, at one point, a friend from home who went to Michigan State, so I wonder if she'd heard of Grand Rapids from that person as well? Part of what was so convincing about her, was her knowledge of GR. However, I have to remind myself that, thanks to Google, she could tell me the color of the awning outside Tavern if she wanted to. It's simple to look up "Apartments in Grand Rapids", or search for bar and restaurant listings to make it seem like she knew a place. Hell, I've satellite searched Rome, GA and could tell you the mom and pop shops on Main Street, just because I clicked a few buttons. It's still pretty crazy to me that she just happened to pick Grand Rapids, but I'm glad she did - had she chosen elsewhere, she'd probably still be screwing with the minds of girls all over the country.

Have more questions? Send 'em my way -- I'm ready.

I'm Hell On Heels, and Baby, I'm Coming For You.

2011-10-28T17:31:00.000-04:00

Last night, I received a text message.

It was a picture.

It was from a guy I dated, once upon a time...

...of the guy I dated before him.

Reporting the local news.

In a God-awful ugly Christmas sweater.

...I can't think of anything to better sum up my dating life.

It took a bit of pondering for me to decide what was going to happen to The Tucker Diaries after the story wrapped up. When I began the blog, I didn't give much thought to the "what now" portion - partially because I was still amidst the unraveling tale, and was particularly certain it was never going to end.   Miraculously enough, it did come to a conclusion, and now I'm left with choices. Call it a day, leave this blog as an honorarium to the crazy twists and turns I endured while discovering Tucker and the truth behind his lie? Keep talking about it, even though, for the most part, it's reached a peaceful conclusion? Share some of the similar stories I've gathered from readers over the last month? Or, take the popular demand route, and start sharing the nitty gritty about the rest of my dating-gone-wrong disasters from years gone by?

Part of me wants to leave Tucker Diaries alone - it deserves its own little place in the cyber world. It's such a crazy and (sort of) unique tale, that I don't want to taint it with anything else. That said, so much of my dating history is exactly what brought me to Tucker in the first place. Without the back story, the history, the behind the scenes...Tucker never would have come to fruition. Without the 3+ years of prior dating disasters, this is just an isolated incident. If I don't tell you what got me to this point, you might never understand how I fell for Tucker, or you might not comprehend just how relieved I was to FINALLY reach the end of my long, long journey. Part of me wants to leave the Tucker Diaries alone. A bigger part of me, though, can't wait to tell you the hilarity that has been consuming my love life since roughly the summer of 2008.

There's so much...SO much. A week or so I ago, I set out to come up with a list of potential stories to tell you about. I filled pages upon pages of my legal pad, jotting down stories as I remembered them: some fondly, some with a twinge of regret, others with a bit of sadness and still others with head-shake-inducing chuckles. The hardest part, now, is where to begin. Do I start chronologically? Work my way from my high school days of dairy farmers and pickup trucks, through my college love, to the turmoils of my first real heartbreak and the subsequent misconstrued ideas of how to repair a shattered heart? Or, do I jump around...leaving out the happy times and focusing on the tragic, the ridiculous, and the just plan unbelievable?

I suppose chronology would be in my favor here, if for no other reason than to keep things organized and logical. It seems strange to revisit my dating life so many years back, but in order to properly set the stage for some of the funniest, most ridiculous stories I'll eventually tell you, we should probably start at the begining. If you follow along, you'll be able to best understand why some relationships were just doomed to fail before they even began. You'll be able to detect those red flags before I even get to the punch line - groaning as I drudge through another matchmaking mishap, because even YOU can see where this is going to go terribly awry.

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Once upon a time, I took a little roadtrip. A handful of people piled into my aunt's minivan, and we set out for the great land of Cedar Springs, to watch the local basketball team take on their opponant in some regional playoff game or something of the sort. It was a blustery winter day, and I do believe at one point, there was a white minivan full of high school students driving backwards down US-131, thanks to an icy road and an overeagerness to get "the good seats" at the opponents' home turf.

On that particular trip, I was accompanied by my favorite cousin, a close friend, and a handful of strangers from the other high school in town. Being the only girl, I entered the situation with a certain air of confidence, particularly because my cousin's friends were not exactly known for being the hottest, most popular guys in school. I knew, without a doubt, that I would queen of the roost in that minivan. Those boys would be drooling all over me, and would be hanging on my every word. It was fun being Brett's "hot cousin" - even if it wasn't necessarily true by most standards, to this crowd, I was the bee's knees.

Long story short, I fell in love that night.   A skinny, dark haired, dairy farming soccer player rode next to me as we made our way through the tundra to cheer our team to victory. He shared his coat with me, when I was freezing during our obligatory pre-game tailgate in the parking lot...but his chivelrous display was not what sealed the deal. What was it, you ask, that instantly made me certain I would spend the rest of my high school days dating this soccer stud?   Simple. As we walked into the gymnasium that day, he hiked up his American Eagle thermal, loosened his belt, and showed me the crimson-on-ivory line on his backside from his overstayed welcome in the tanning bed the day before. Sexy, right?

I dated Dairy Boy for the rest of my high school career, and then some. We had the time of our lives, back then. Growing up in a little farm town, we were blissfully unaware of the big bad world outside of our homegrown West Michigan bubble. For us, pickup trucks and barn parties were as good as it got. Bonfires with buddies, truck pulls and county fairs, and the annual farm pig roast were the only things we knew. Occasionally we'd round up our best friends and venture to the "city", to catch a movie and eat at a chain restaurant. I'll never forget the time we got hopelessly lost, trying to get to The Melting Pot for our pre-prom dinner. It's funny how small Grand Rapids seems now, but back then, for two farm kids in a diesel truck, it was a metropolis.

Dairy Boy was my very best friend. We did everything together, and I loved that boy as much as you can love someone when you're not even old enough to buy a scratch off ticket. I was a part of his family and he was a fixture in mine. We grew up discovering the world and each other, the good and the bad of both. He'd come visit me at work - covered in dirt and dust from being in the hot sun at the farm all day, and I'd sneak him a chocolate malt (gratis, of course), at the ice cream store where I spent my summer days. After work we'd jump in the pool, and spend our nights cuddled up on the couch watching movies and talking about the future. We'd take long drives on rough dirt roads, holding hands in the front seat of his truck like we were the stars of some country music video. I learned how to milk a cow, how to drive a tractor, and how to outrun the local cops. I learned how to properly kill a deer with a truck...intentionally...by hitting it in the back legs as to not disrupt the meat in the body. I learned how to go "bowling" for seagulls at the lake - scattering McDonald's french fries throughout the parking lot, then gunning it and not letting up on the gas. He taught me what it meant to be a best friend, to love someone unconditionally, and what it meant to be selfless.

I have so many fond memories of him - summers on the lake, taking my little sisters tubing on his parents' speedboat. The Christmas we snuck away to the Double J resort for a night away, and our parents were none the wiser (ehh...sorry mom!). That Labor Day so many years ago, laying in the bed of his truck in the middle of a cornfield, planning our futures together and hiding from the world. The days we would do absolutely nothing but camp out on the couch in our pajamas, making our way through an entire season of The O.C.   As far as high school sweethearts go, Dairy Boy was the best. I couldn't have asked for a better friend, a better first love, and a better person to introduce to me what it meant to love somebody.

Obviously, DB and I didn't last. I went away to college, and found myself in the midst of this brand new world. I was surrounded by strangers - new people everywhere I turned. I was away from home for the first time in my life, completely on my own without rules or restrictions. I could stay out as late as I wanted. I could go to IHOP at three in the morning with my new dormmates, and steal a shopping cart from the Meijer close by, then ride around campus in it when we got back. For the first time, I could be whoever I wanted to be...and the freedom got the best of me.

I ended it with Dairy Boy, about a month after college began. The taste of that newfound independence was all I needed to start craving it in much larger doses. I loved DB - I always would. He was that perfect love from my teenage years, and I'd always thank him for that - but I needed something new. I didn't want to spend my life back in that little farm town like he did. I never pictured my future involving a farmhouse and six babies running around in the yard. I loved the city, and now that I'd had a glimpse of it, I needed more. I was at the point in my young life, where I knew I was on the verge of breaking free into something much bigger and better than the sleepy small town I'd known my whole life. Unfortunately, sad as it was, Dairy Boy was a part of the world I was so eager to leave behind.

I still have a very special place in my heart for that boy. If there was ever a person who completely embodied what it means to be a good person, it's him. To this day, I know without a doubt that he would drop everything to help me if I needed it. Less than a year ago, I lost my dear pup to what we think was a brain tumor/stroke 1-2 punch. I hadn't spoken to Dairy Boy in months, maybe a year or so - but I picked up the phone and dialed his cell number like it had only been yesterday. It was a Sunday, and the vet was closed, but Maggie was in so much pain, we couldn't stand to not let her pass away from her misery. DB picked up the phone, and came through in seconds with the number of a friend, who was a vet, and could help us let our sweet Maggie go. Later that day, he listened to my sobs as I called to tell him she was gone, comforting me and simply letting me cry - letting me get it all out. He'd known Maggie, and I knew he understood that my heart was hurting.

He is a good man. A great man. I can't wait to see the blessings that will make their way into his life someday. Without him, I would have missed out on such a big part of my time as a teenager in that small town. I look back, so fondly, on my memories of high school, and know he was integral to that happiness. He was the perfect example of that fabled high school romance that a girl just never forgets. I broke his heart, once upon a time, and I hate that our paths were just not destined to cross forever. Someday, he'll make someone so lucky, and so happy, just like he did for me so long ago.

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After I said goodbye to DB, I experienced the strange phenomenon of being a single college girl. Now, this may not seem like much of a momentous occasion, but coming from a girl who hadn't been single more than a week since she was fourteen...it was a bit of a big deal. Suddenly I was free. Free to flirt with whoever the hell I damn well pleased. That cute guy in my English class? Yes, I'll spend countless hours in the library with you because you suck at writing but you're sexy so I'll edit (/rewrite) your paper. Hottie on the third floor of my dorm? You bet your sweet ass I'll go to the homecoming dance with you, you fox. Tall, adorable boy in my First Year Seminar with a penchant for Jack's Mannequin and wearing six layered shirts at a time? Of course I'll secretly have a crush on you but never talk to you because you strike me as the Frat Boy type and it scares me.   Suddenly, I was responsible to no one. I could work my game, get my flirt on, and fraternize with all of Hope College's finest, without feeling guilty about my "long distance boyfriend" (I was an hour from home, by the way...it's not like he lived in Seattle or something.)

Okay, let's be real. I didn't have the first clue how to flirt. I was awkward and weird, and didn't really know how to approach a guy without looking like a Grade A Doofus. Funny how not much has changed, eh? About this time, a fellow dorm resident invited my roommate and I to join him for a night of "clubbing" in big, bad Grand Rapids.   For those of you from the area, we went to The Margarita Grille. To those of you who aren't familiar, Margarita Grille was basically a giant cesspool of scantily clad 18 year olds grinding on greasy, balding 30 year olds. It was not pleasant. Mind you, this was my first real introduction to the world of "dating" and being a free, independent woman. THIS is what I was up against? In order to find a boyfriend I had to let my vagina hang out of a tube dress, teeter around in stilettos and hope the only guy in the bar under 25 might throw me a bone? Christ. If this is what it was like to be single, I was ready to crawl back into my small-town-dairy-wife hole and call it a day. I. Was. Terrified.

Now, the parts about my potential flirt targets above were actually true -- there WAS a super cutie from my English class who was my most favorite library buddy ever. I made out with him once but that's another story for later...chronology, remember? There was a guy who lived in my dorm, who I was set to go to the homecoming dance with. There was also an adorable sweetheart in my FYS class that really did love him some Jack's Mannequin, but I was always too shy to talk to. There were options EVERYWHERE, but for the most part, I didn't know how to be single. I had never really been on a date...at least, not one that didn't result in dating the guy for years after. I didn't know how to just "hang out" with a guy, because I was so used to being in long term relationships. I was totally new to this, and to be honest, I was totally freaked out by it all.

Hope College is an interesting place to find yourself single for the first time. Think of it as an extension of high school, really. You have the jocks, the popular girls, the nerds, the Jesus freaks. Greek Life ran rampant at Hope, and divided the student body distinctly into Greek and non-Greek sectors. Thankfully I steered clear of my pledging brethren, and found friends without having to pay for them. So much of the campus was divided up into these little cliques, that it became difficult to mix and mingle, and make new friends without joining some sort of group or club. Luckily, the housing department helped me out freshman year by placing me in a giant room with two other girls who became my soulmates. My roommates were like my sisters, and the three of us were inseparable, which I thank God for every day - I may not have survived freshman year without them.  We lived in a smaller dorm, on the outskirts of campus, which led to a closeness amongst my dormmates that was hard to explain to anyone who didn't live there. We had a co-ed dorm, and my roommates and neighbors quickly bonded with a few roomfuls of guys from the floor above us, and we forged a beautiful group of friends that feel so blessed to have been a part of.

One particular guy from this group, who we'll call Junior (he was a ____, Jr.) quickly became a regular in 221 Voorhees Hall. He developed a crush on my roommate from the very first day we moved in, and before we knew it, it because strange to come home and NOT find him lounging on our futon. He was that quintessential "buddy" to Sarah and I, all while he was pining away for Betsy, who had a boyfriend back home and friend-zoned Junior so fast he didn't know what to do. He might as well have been gay, as far as I was concerned - he was interested in my roommate, was like a brother to me by then, and had seen me at my very worst - Cleveland Browns boxers, ponytail, glasses, no makeup, and all.

One fall day, I was posted up on the futon in sweats, watching a Michigan State football game, dreading the part of the afternoon where I needed to start getting ready for the night's homecoming dance. I was attending with a guy from upstairs, who I'd started to develop a bit of a crush on. Junior was going with my roommate, and we were all excited for a night of fun with friends. Betsy came home, informing me she felt sick and was going to stay home from the dance. Shortly afterward, I received an IM from upstairs, notifying me that Nick wasn't able to go either. My first instinct, of course, was to be super thrilled that now I could spend the night in my sweats watching football...but Junior had other plans. He asked if I wanted to go with him - we already had tickets, our other friends were all going...we might as well just go together and enjoy the night, right?

You can guess how this went, can't you? We left the dance, twenty minutes in, in favor of a coffee run to Lemonjello's and a drive to the beach. In October, this is not the most brilliant of moves, mind you. Strangely, though, I remember nothing about the frigid weather, and everything about falling in love on some private beach (no, we didn't know the people, we just...invited ourselves to go for a stroll), sipping coffee and talking til four in the morning. The next few days were a haze. Many of you can probably relate to that foggy period of time when you first fall madly in love with someone. It's that feeling that you can't remember what day it is, any school or work obligations go out the window because you can't focus, and you keep replaying the part where he kissed you, over and over again in your head.  He got me, and he got me good. He was the shit, and I was knee deep in it - and I loved it so much, I didn't try to escape.

I dated Junior for the next couple of years. So much for being single, right? It's a wonder I've been single this long since him, and haven't spontaneously combusted - I honestly didn't know it was possible. I was a goddamn magnet for commitment and long term relationships...perhaps this explains my commitmentphobeness these days, you think? Anyway, Junior was the first time I feel like I can say I loved someone, in the "grown up" sense of being in love. Dairy Boy was my high school love...but then, I'm not sure I really understood what it meant to love someone. When I loved Junior, I loved him. It was a different kind of feeling - those of you who are nodding your heads in understanding, get what I mean by this. It was a more mature kind of love. It was a love with understanding, and rationality. It wasn't naive, throwing all caution to the wind and believing we could do anything because damnit we loved each other and the Notebook says that's how it works. With him, it was slow, and gradual - not an instantaneous love. We knew each other as friends, first. He'd seen me in my pajamas, and first thing in the morning with my hair a mess and (god forbid) no mascara. He'd been there when I broke up with Dairy Boy, and spent the night crying on the futon. We fell in love in a different way than I'd fallen for Dairy Boy, or the handful of prepubescent loves before him. You'd think that now, five years later, I'd look back and realize I hadn't actually loved him, but only thought I had...but that's not the case. What we had was real, and it was beautiful, and I'll cherish it always.

Junior was a blast and a half. We had so much FUN together - I'm certain that was the reason we worked so well as a team. We rarely argued, because neither of us ever tried to make too much of a situation. We spent our weekends going home to one of our hometowns, hanging out with family and friends together. We took weekend trips to Chicago, went on shopping extravaganzas to IKEA with his mom, or spent a weekend at Cedar Point with the fam. We were always busy, always trying new things and seeing new places. We were on the go a lot, but we also enjoyed plenty of nights doing nothing on the couch. We were the perfect balance to each other - the ideal compliment to the other's personality.

The first day he took me home to meet his mama, he dropped me off, and informed me he'd be back in a few hours. He was going to pick up a treadmill for his mom, with his best friend, in another town. I was to stay home and meet Mom, and get to know her. Please stop for a moment and process with me how OUT OF MY MIND nervous I was. This woman was going to come home to a stranger in her house...nevermind the fact that this stranger was dating her precious baby boy. FML doesn't begin to describe it. Two coffees and a lasagna lesson later, I was in love. Junior's mom is, aside from my own mother, my favorite woman on the planet. To this day, we still meet up for coffee when we're in the same town, and catch up on each other's lives when we can. I'm confident I was so in love with him, because he was raised by such a fantastic woman. His siblings became like my own family, and I still keep in touch with his sisters. Spending those years with his family was so fantastic - they were the kind of family every girls prays her in-laws end up being like. I still miss them every day...every goddamn day.

Years went by, and Junior and I came to our fork in the road, as most couples eventually do. I wanted to leave Hope College. He wanted me to stay. He thought about going to school in Iowa. I didn't want to move there. We had finally hit the roadblock that we knew would ultimately find us. At 20 years old, we had a decision to make. Did we chase the love we had, blindly following it and praying that what we thought was so true and so real would ultimately uphold us and guide us to a future together? Or, did we go our separate ways, each pursuing our dreams and following our hearts, and praying that we our paths would reunite once we established ourselves individually? We chose the latter option, obviously.

Even at 20 and deeply in love, I was a bullheaded, stubborn asshole who refused to back down and compromise on what I wanted for my life. Some days, I wish I'd given a little. Most days, I'm so glad I didn't. Love is a compromise - yes. I can't imagine what my life may have turned out like, though, had I never taken the leap on my own.  I never would have moved to Grand Rapids. Never would have had an internship that changed my life. Never would have gone to Calvin College. Never would have made the incredible friends I have now. Never would have been so excited for 2012, because I know it holds the biggest and best things I've yet to see.

Junior and I don't talk anymore. In fact, he's one of the only relationships I've ever had, that I'm not still good friends with. After we broke up, our differences got the better of us. Our breakup wasn't easy, it wasn't simple, it wasn't a clean break. It was rough, it was raw, it was as tragic as a college breakup can be. He started seeing someone else - I was devastated. He cheated on her with me for months. I'm not proud of it, but it happened, and it made me feel like I still had power over him in some way. There finally came a time when we were forced to omit each other from our lives completely, in order to finally move on and heal, but that point didn't come without months of struggle and heartache. He's happy now, as far as I can tell. I've heard he lives down south with the same girl he began seeing shortly after we split. He's a good person - he has a good heart, and he cares so deeply for others. I wish we hadn't ended so unfortunately...I would love to still be friends with him, like I am with so many others I've said goodbye to in the past. It didn't work out that way, and I suppose it's for the best. I still wish him all the best. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that I wasted those two years at Hope on a relationship that didn't last...but at the same time, I'll never regret it.

The summer after Junior and I finally parted ways was the begining of a new era...corny as that sounds. It took me awhile to even be able to consider the thought of dating again. However, I eventually got back on that proverbial horse - and holy hell. What a ride.

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If you would have told me, in the Fall of 2008, that I'd be writing this blog three years later, I'd have laughed at you. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that I could suck THIS BAD at dating. I assumed I'd go on a few dates, meet a nice guy, and settle into yet another long term relationship. Mmmm...not so much. Instead, I've become the reigning queen of first dates in Grand Rapids - a professional at where to go, what to say, what NOT to say, and exactly how to make a guy swoon. Clearly my tactics fall drastically short after the first date, but hey...you can't be good at everything, right?

Now that the stage is set, we can embark on the real journey: how I went from two long term relationships, to the Duchess of Dating (self appointed, shutthefuckup) in just over three years. The rollercoaster ride between Dairy Boy and Junior, and Tucker Evans, is one that even I have a hard time believing sometimes...and I'm the one who's responsible.

Stay tuned. We'll cover all sorts of things in the posts to come. Why you should never date a Calvin College student/grad. The categories of men you'll find in Grand Rapids. The proper way to write a message to a man on an online dating site. That time my new boyfriend poisoned the goldfish from my ex-boyfriend. The time I accidentally dated a married guy. Why you should never date a man who wears Affliction or Ed Hardy. The list goes on.

The Tucker Diaries is FAR from over. Welcome to Chapter Two.

The Trouble With Love Is...

2011-10-25T03:25:00.000-04:00

Oh, hey friends. Remember me? Just your friendly neighborhood hopeless romantic turned jaded spinster turned scorned woman turned wistful blogger. I'm still here! Thanks to all of you who've threatened my life if I didn't come back to the blogosphere...I know you meant it with love.

Shoot. So much has happened since I last overshared my life with you.

I fell in love again.

I know, I know. Quick, right? It just sorta snuck up on me - I promise I wasn't looking for it. I know you're all cursing your computer screens now, but a girl just can't help who she falls in love with! If I steered clear of every smooth talking Casanova that came my way, I'd have no juicy stories to tell you about the dickbags who tried to ruin my life. This one's a fun story though. It's actually an awesome story, with a spectacularly magnificent ending. I'll go back and revisit the loves lost of the past, and fill in the gaps between college and high school boyfriends and the Tucker disaster - trust me, there are plenty of "OH NO HE DIDN'T"s and "you did WHAT?"s in between the two ends of the dating spectrum. Now, though, I feel like I owe you an explanation of why I've been so absent from my online diary.

This is actually a hard post to write, hence the huge pause in between now and the last story I told you. The only way to tell it, I suppose, is to start from the beginning.

Way back in Octoberish, I was deep in the throes of a battle royale with the sonofabitch Georgian broad who thought it would be fun to mess with my head. I'd done a fairly good job of keeping the drama away from my personal Facebook page. I've never been the girl who dumps all her emotions into her Facebook status, via cryptic song lyrics and vague pity party statuses that are clearly begging for someone to ask "OMGZZZ WHATS WRONG BBY???"   No thanks. My personal shit's for me to agonize over, not for Facebookland to talk about. Kthanksbye. Anyway, after one night of particularly mindboggling revelations (remember the time Tucker "confessed" to being the Marine, when I already knew "he" wasn't? yeah, that night), I let loose online. My close friends were in on the craziness of the story, so they knew exactly what I meant when I posted "Things just reached a whole new level of what the fucktitude". As I expected, my girlfriends who were privvy to the drama "liked" the status, and a few of them added a knowing winky face comment or a supportive HAHAHAHA. What I wasn't expecting, was a comment from a long lost college friend, inquiring about the story behind my status. Clearly there was something he had missed, and he decided now was as good a time as ever to pop back into my life and give a friendly wassup?!.

Not wanting to reveal the embarassing details of the Tucker story (my, how things have changed), I sent him a message, trying to explain the very basics. Quickly it became apparent that a Facebook message outline could not sufficiently explain the details of this nonsense, and he convinced me to give him a call, and rehash the entire saga. It was strange - I hadn't talked to him since he'd moved to the West Coast a few years before, and here we were talking and laughing like no time at all had passed. I finished the story, and he was in awe of it - as you can all relate to. It was he who pushed me to start the blog, in fact. He was so amused by the story, and by the way I told it, that he insisted I had to start writing it down, and sharing it with the world. I was adament that I could never tell everyone I knew all the horrifying details - I didn't want to admit I was on a dating site in the first place, let alone that I'd fallen for the biggest liar on the web! He was so sure, though - so enthralled with the story, and so supportive of me getting it all out on virtual paper, that I succumbed to the idea, and decided to start blogging. You're welcome, America.

We'll call him Washington - since you know I love me a good nickname, and somewhat concealing the identity of my blogging subjects.   Let's back track a second. I met Washington my very first day of college, back in 2006. We had a class together, and I thought he was super cute...except for the part where he struck me as that annoying frat boy type who was totally a womanizer and had to be everybody's best friend. Obviously y'all know by now that I'm as outgoing as they come, but back then I was certainly not the one to walk around making friends with every person I saw. I didn't want to be part of Greek Life, or intramurals, or any sort of club on campus. I had my roommates, and had already bonded with my fellow dorm dwellers - I didn't need to get my party rock on all over campus to enjoy college. Soon enough, I was dating my college boyfriend, so my mini-crush on Washington was long forgotten.

After a few years, I'd given up on Hope College and thought I'd try my luck at the big bad world of Grand Rapids. Some random Facebooking told me that, lo and behold, Washington had done the same. I'd broken up with college boy, and Washington and I took to flirtaciously commenting on each other's statuses here and there, and sporadically making plans to grab a beer downtown that never actually came into fruition. It wasn't until he had decided to enlish in the Marines, that he insisted I stop by his going away party to finally have that beer and catch up. Mind you, at this party, he was too busy being Mr. McFlirtypants with every girl in the house to even notice me, but I went, nonetheless :)

A few years passed between that night, and the Tucker recap phonecall. We'd continued to keep in touch, if you can call it that, via the errant Facebook comment. The night he demanded to know the Tucker story, was the begining of something I never would have expected. After that night, it started small - a Facebook message here, a text message there. He accused me of being the worst texter ever - anyone who's ever texted me before knows that I'm glued to my phone, so if I don't respond in a timely manner, it's because I'm probably ignoring you. It wasn't that I meant to ignore him - it was just that I didn't see him as someone I was eager to respond to. That sounds terrible, I know. He was a buddy - if he texted me "what's up?", it didn't bother me to respond a few hours later if I was in the middle of something. Had he been someone I was lusting over like mad, you could bet your sweet ass I'd have a clever response fired off within 24 seconds of receiving a message. It wasn't like that, though - not at first. I've got to hand it to him - Washington was persistent. He charmed his way into my heart one sweet little text at a time. Why am I such a sucker for the sweet game? Cripes.

It wasn't long until we were texting non-stop, and Facebook messaging novels that could give this blog a run for its money. It was as though we'd never missed a beat - like we'd become the best of friends when we'd first met back in Holland more than five years before, and nothing had changed - no time had elapsed between then and now. No matter how sweet he was, though - I was on the defensive. You can't blame me for having my guard up, right? I mean, COME ON. I'd just lived through this whole Tucker ordeal - you can't honestly think I was ready to dive head first into another opportunity for me to be lied to, taken advantage of, heartbroken and embarrassed. Hell no. I let him know, from the very beginning, that a relationship wasn't in the cards for me - particularly one that involved a partner who was 2000+ miles across the country from me. I wasn't looking to give my heart away again. It had hurt too badly, and scarred me too deeply the last time - I wasn't exactly giddy at the chance to invite the pain I'd experienced with Tucker back into my life.

Try as I might, I couldn't keep Washington out of my head. Here was this perfect specimen right in front of my face. He said all the right things, and not just the "you're pretty"s and the "I really like you"s. We had real conversations, about real life things. We were open and honest, and not afraid of talking about the reality of our long distance situation. He wanted to know about me - the real me - what made me tick, what pissed me off, what I was passionate about. He bonded with my sister immediately - albeit via Facebook, they were instant best friends, which is an accomplishment considering my youngest sister rarely approves of a guy I like. We talked about religion, politics, past relationships, social issues, our families, how we wanted to raise our children - everything under the sun. The sweet things were there - we were obviously physically attracted to each other, and felt that romantic connection in a big way...but it was more than that. I felt like with him, he was a friend first and foremost. We had a foundation to begin something on - and I began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to let him in.

Life with Washington was a whirlwind. Before I knew it, I was thinking about him day in and day out. I was mailing him cutesy little packages wrapped up in cutesy little paper. I was telling my family about this incredible person who loved Jesus and his mama and was a rockstar at his job and had a killer bod. Slowly but surely, I was coming around to the idea of being with him - REALLY being with him. It was scary - he was two thousand miles away, and we'd get to see each other maybe four times a year, for the forseeable future. I even had a MAJOR freakout moment, and tried to run away, attempting to walk out from everything we'd started to build. I told him I was scared, and I couldn't do it. I tried to make every excuse in the book. I even told him I still had feelings for someone else, which wasn't even true, but I was trying everything I could to make him walk away from me so I didn't feel the pain of the inevitable failure that I was certain we were destined to find. He was patient. He listened. He never walked away. Instead, he told me quit my whining, put my big girl panties on, and decide what I wanted. He gave me the option to walk, but firmly insisted that when I did, he would not be waiting for me to come crawling back. He assured me I wouldn't find anyone who cared for me as deeply as he did. Who had a great career, was in excellent shape, had a solid family, lived his faith, and wanted a future with me like he did.

I snapped to attention.

No one had ever done that to me before. I've pulled my fair share of disappearing acts on guys. The second I realize I'm in control of the situation - that I'm the one who can call it quits whenever I want, and I'm the one who can walk all over him - I'm out. I lose interest. I can't help it, it's just how it is. The moment I realized that Washington would do anything for me - anything - but wouldn't put up with my bullshit? THAT, folks, was the moment I knew I loved this man. He was exactly what I needed. Those of you who know me well, know this. I need a man who will draw the line, and won't put up with me crossing it just to test the waters. I need someone who will love me unconditionally, but will not allow me to walk in and out of his life as I please. I don't need a pushover, or someone I can convince to do what I want, when I want. I need strength. I need confidence. I needed Washington.

After my moment of weakness, our relationship was stronger than ever. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my whole heart belonged to this person. I knew that we could perservere through the inconvenience of being separated by thousands of miles. I knew I could make it through the stress of not being able to see him more than about eight total weeks per year. I knew that together we could handle the uncertainty of where his job would take him in the next year, the next five years, and beyond. I knew that my love, combined with his strength, was unstoppable.

By early December, we were anxiously counting down the days until his return to Michigan for two weeks in January. He had specifically tailored his visit around my birthday - something that meant more to me than I could explain. I'm a birthday lover. Some of you probably don't give a rat's ass about your day of birth but let me tell you I celebrate it like it's the end of the god damn world every year. Birthday week? You betcha. Wear a tiara all day at work? Don't mind if I do. I love my birthday, and when he told me he wanted to be here to celebrate with me, I couldn't have been happier. Early on, I'd been hesitant about even talking about him around friends and family. Now, I couldn't wait for him to celebrate my birthday week with all my closest compadres. Every day that passed was tortuous - I couldn't stand the thought of being apart for much longer. We had decided that when he came home, I would finally get the puppy I'd been contemplating for months - even before rekindling our friendship-turned romance. I promised to wait until he came home, so he could pick out my little furball with me - thus making it "our" dog, and my substitute cuddle buddy for when he had to jet off to the West Coast and leave me lonely in the mitten again. I couldn't wait for the moment I could finally look at his face and tell him I loved him. I couldn't wait to spend lazy Saturdays on the couch watching football. I couldn't wait for him to meet all the people I love so much, and get to see the parts of my life that I value more than anything. Mostly, I was so excited to get to be a "normal" couple. It was the same sort of anxiety I'd felt with Tucker - that being apart was so strenuous - the desire to just be next to each other physically is so strong and so painstaking. I couldn't wait to simply hang out with my best friend, and the man I'd fallen so hard for.

Christmas came and went, as did New Years. Holidays were hard - admittedly, I'd struggled through them, fighting to be okay with the fact that the person I cared so much about was across the country from me. It was hard to see family and friends celebrating holidays with the people they loved, and knowing I couldn't share in that same luxury. It was harder, almost, than being single during the holidays - knowing I had that other half, but being forced to be separated...it wasn't simple. Those of you reading who are in military relationships know how hard this is - and I apologize for whining about it after only a few months. Those months gave me a glimpse into what my near future was going to be like - spending holidays alone, spending time thousands of miles apart, and seeing each other for a few precious weeks at a time. It scared me, but ultimately we pulled through it, and each day that we spent talking through the sadness of being apart, was another day that brought me closer to him, and another day that reminded me how strong I was, and how strong WE were.

Life kicked back into overdrive once the hustle and bustle of the holidays came to a close. Work launched into overdrive, friends returned from visiting homes and our social lives resumed our normal routine. I was surrounded by a buzz of activity that kept me from having a total spaz attack during those last few weeks before my love was FINALLY in the same state as me - let alone right in front of me for the first time in two years. I became increasingly nervous - the reality of the situation was sinking in, and the inevitable nervous breakdown was creeping in. I felt an awful sense of familiarity, as my mind crept back to my encounters with Tucker. In those early weeks, we'd spent so much time talking and learning about each other, then the time came when we were supposed to rid ourselves of the hypotheticals and face our relationship head on (nevermind the fact that it never actually happened) - suddenly I realized there were no more what-ifs and no more when's...it was now. It was show time, people, and I was a nervous fucking wreck. What if he came home and didn't like me anymore? What if I didn't feel that spark with him? What if something wasn't right, and all this time we'd spent over the last three months was for nothing? What if we'd let ourselves get so wrapped up in the overwhelming feeling of being in love, but when it was game time, we were left standing in an airport, staring at person we didn't feel the same passionate love for that we thought we'd shared over the last quarter of a year?   I forced myself to push those thoughts aside, and let Washington reassure me over and over again that we weren't going to face that problem, that everything would be fine, and I just needed to chill the fuck out. I tried. It didn't really work - but I tried.

I was days away from being ready to pack up and drive to Chicago to fetch my strapping young lad from the airport. I was retrieving his younger brother on the way, which was a huge relief to me, as I was terrified to go alone. We spent the days leading up to his return talking nonstop, exchanging "I can't waits" and "OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE IT'S ALMOST HEREs". This was becoming real. I was about to come face to face with the person I could spend a significant portion, if not the rest of my life with. Holy. Shit. In other news, this was NOT the first time I'd been in this kind of situation...but more on Wisconsin later.

The love of my life (/of the week) was on his way to me in DAYS.

DAYS PEOPLE.

Keep in mind, this was less than a month ago. You with me?

My life was about to be changed for the better.

I. COULD. NOT. WAIT.

Why You Gotta Be So Mean?

2011-10-23T03:34:00.000-04:00

I just want all of you to know that I'm drinking my roommate's wine and eating pizza rolls with ceasar dressing, because there is no ranch in my house.

Well folks, it's Tuesday night (or, Wednesday morning), and I suppose there's no time like the present to finish the beautiful love story of myself and Washington. By beautiful love story, I of course mean tragic but yet not surprising terribly ending story...but you should have guessed that by now. If you didn't, you haven't been paying attention, so head on back to Tucker Post #1 and let me know when you've figured out that my love life is a giant joke and nothing EVER ends properly.

When I last left you hanging (sorry...but not really), I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my Prince Charming. In a matter of days, the love of my life would be making his way from the West Coast to the Midwest, and I could not be more amped. I'd gone through my pre-future-husband checklist: clean house, get a tan, get a brazilian (sorry mom), get a pedicure...the whole bit. If anyone could be more prepared than I was for his arrival, I'd like to meet them. I had this whole "welcome home" thing on lock down. Bring it on: I was ready.

The week of D-Day was here. Finally. I was so many things. Amped. Nervous. Impatient. Terrified. Hopeful. In love. Sick to my stomach. Monday morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing with a text from my boyfriendbutnotofficially. Just like he did every morning, around 5:30am my time, he sent me a good morning text. I'd typically wake up, groggily read the message, and fall back asleep until I woke up at a sane person hour. Per usual, I followed my routine, and crawled out of bed around 9am, a few hours later. I responded to his text, wishing him a good day and sending my love. I wandered downstairs, made myself a cup of coffee, and settled in for a morning of puppy snuggles while I enjoyed a day off, house sitting for my parents. I turned the tv on, cozied up to my sweet black lab boy, and checked in with Facebook.

I noticed I had a message in my inbox, from Washington. It wasn't unusual that he'd send me a message if things were slow at work, so I clicked the icon without giving a second thought to the matter. When I started to read the words on the screen, my stomach dropped. "Hey. We need to talk for real."

Well...fuck.

I mean, let's be honest. Those words are never a sign of happy things to come. They almost always mean that whatever you think is going on in your life, is a big joke, and you're the only one who wasn't in on it. They almost always mean that you're about to have the proverbial rug pulled from underneath you, at a moment when you least expected it. Those words are the words that provoke the sickening feeling that you're about to lose everything you thought you held dear - everything you thought meant the world to you. Those words are the beginning of the end, and everyone - including me that Monday morning - knows it.

I read his message fully.

"Hey.

We need to talk for real. I woke up last night with this lingering in my mind of my job and us and where things are headed. If we can do me in the military long term and stuff. I know we've "talked" about it - but not if I stay in long term and what that would mean for us. I don't know - it made me start thinking about things and I can't just act like its not there.

I would call you to talk to you about it but of course I'm out here all day.

I guess write me for now if you can."

Mind you, this is following my everyday, 5:30ish a.m. text of "Good morning, babe! Off to work - text you when I can. I love you! xoxo"

I stared at the screen in front of me for a few minutes, trying to comprehend what was written in his message. Of course, at first, I panicked. What was he trying to say? Was this an exit strategy? Was this a freakout moment, similar to the one I'd had myself not too long ago? Was this a cry for help - a desperate attempt for some sort of comfort that he needed from me - a plea for an assurance that everything would be okay when he came home? I wasn't sure what it was, but I hoped for the best. I remembered that it wasn't so very long ago that I'd had my own moment of panic, where I doubted everything we had and tried to run away, to avoid the pain of heartbreak I was certain was on our horizon. I mustered up the strength and composure it took to respond to his message, choosing my words carefully and praying that by giving him the calm, confident reassurance he needed, I could shoo away any doubts or fears he had lingering in his mind before he returned home.

I reminded him how much I cared for him. That I understood our geographical situation wasn't ideal, but we had a friendship that our relationship was founded on, first and foremost - and beyond that, we had developed such a deep love and respect for each other - a connection that was so far beyond a physical chemistry, or a convience of being nearby and accessible. The feelings we had developed for each other were not born of a cheapened physical encounter, or even that of a flirtacious friendship that conveniently allowed us to become enamored with each other. Instead, these feelings had arose as a result of hours long conversation, novel length e-mails, and a slow progression of the discovery of each other.   I reminded him of our commitment to caring for each other, despite our physical separation. I reminded him that I care for him on a level beyond simple being able to be next to each other. I reminded him that he had pushed so earnestly for our relationship to reach this level - constantly being the one to give me the strength I needed to persevere through the hardest times of loving someone so very far away from me. I was certain that by patiently reminding him of all the reasons we had been able to make it to this point - so close to his return - he would be able to take a deep breath and rid himself of the last minute jitters that seemed to be plaguing him.

Unfortunately for me, this effort failed miserably.

Instead, he was mean. There was no gentle let down. No "I'm sorry, but my feelings changed". Not an ounce of remorse, nor a flicker of feeling whatsoever infiltrated his stoney response to my heartfelt attempt at calming his nerves. Clearly, nerves were not the issue. Instead, the man I had let my guard down for - the one who so determinedly rallied for my affections - turned a deaf ear to my tries for reassurance, and walked away from me like we'd never been so much as friends.

In the beginning, I was sad. It was providential that I had the day off work, and was house sitting for my parents that day. Without my oversized bed, built-into-the-wall instant coffee maker, and three canine snuggle buddies, I may not have made it through that day as in-tact as I did. I was hurt, confused, angry, and embarrassed. I wanted to hand myself a big ole "I told you so", as I was the one who had so diligently reminded myself what a terrible idea this had been from the beginning. I sat alone that morning, numb and discouraged. A part of me still hoped he was experiencing the same wretched doubt that I'd gone through myself a few months prior. No matter how badly I wanted to believe this, though, I couldn't ignore the icy tone in his cold, rigid messages. He was done. This was over. I had no clue what I'd done wrong.

After my initial pity party came to a close, I began to feel a wave of anger take over. Who the hell did he think he was, breaking my heart this way? It was his prompting that encouraged this blog in the first place - which meant he knew, better than anyone, how completely broken I was after the Tucker ordeal.   He knew, better than anyone, how hesitant I was to let myself trust a man again, let alone one thousands of miles away. He knew I was guarded, knew I was jaded, and yet he pursued me with a reckless abandon that eventually caused me to give in. How DARE he take advantage of me like that? How dare he push so hard to form a relationship, knowing our less than favorable circumstances, when he knew I was already so fragile?

Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I let him have it. I fired questions at him with no concern as to whether or not his feelings or ego were bruised. Why did he waste the last three or four months of my life, when he knew the uncertainty of his job the entire time? If that was the main concern, why would he work SO hard to wear down my resolve, to break through my wall, and to get me to succumb to the relationship he so desperately wanted?

Did he simply want someone to talk to? Was the loneliness of his job too much for him to handle, and he craved the kind and loving words of a woman so badly that he was willing to hurt someone in the process, just to feel loved? Did he so badly want someone to "come home to" that he ignored the inevitable blow to the gut when he informed me he wasn't as emotionally involved as I'd become?   Was he just bored, and wanted the satisfaction of knowing he had the prowess to woo a woman and make her love him? Was he jaded by the ex-girlfriend who left him in the dust when the distance became too much for her, and he was making some sort of twisted effort to get revenge on the gender who left him broken hearted months before? Had he begun a relationship with someone else, and needed a quick-fix breakup with me to free his conscience so he could pursue a relationship with his new suitor?

I was so angry that he had pushed this relationship on me, when I'd been insistent, from the beginning, that I wasn't interested. He had been a flirty mother fucker from the very get-go, and it took me weeks to come around to the idea that he might be worth investing my heart in. I told him I hated distance. I told him I didn't want a relationship. I ignored his blatant and pathetic attempts at flirting with me via text message fifteen times per day. Time and again I pushed him away, but he never let that stop him. He pursued me, when I didn't want him - and now HE had the audacity to make it seem like I was the one who was too serious? Who the hell did this guy think he was?

Questions plagued me, but asking them yielded few results. Denial here, anger there, "how dare you's" everywhere. I haven't seen someone go on the defensive as quickly as Washington fought to save his own reputation the moment I suggested there may be more to the story than the simple fact that his feelings had changed.

Cliche as it may be, the hours seemed like days, that dreary Monday. By the time night fell, I'd gone over the situation time and again, rehashing the details and grasping for any sort of straw I could find that might help me piece together the reason for our demise. At the end of the day, I was lost.

What had I done to drive away the man I thought I would spend the next leg of my life journey with?

At what point had I lost control of the relationship, and given him the power to decide our fate, and ultimately destroy my heart?

What was I supposed to do now? Now that my friends and family were all anxiously awaiting the arrival of the man I'd been gushing about for months. Now that I'd planned an entire two weeks around the arrival and departure of this man. Now that I'd spent the last three months preparing myself for a moment that was no longer about to come.

What was I supposed to do now?

You're So Vain. You Probably Think This Post Is About You, Don't You?

2011-10-21T02:52:00.000-04:00

When Washington Hiroshima'd me with an atomic bomb like I never would have expected, I was caught so off guard - left with my head spinning and a slew of "what nows" to sort through in the days that followed. I'd made so many plans. Not future plans, not marriage and babies plans - let's not forget I freak out at the very mention of the word "marriage". I'd made plans for the ten precious days I was about to spend with the person I cared so very deeply for. My family was ready to meet him, after I'd finally given in and gushed about how wonderfully perfect for me this man was. My friends couldn't wait to meet the man who had tamed their wild and carefree friend. There were places I wanted to go - experiences I wanted to share - memories I couldn't wait to make.

When I came face to face with the reality that this man had suddenly pulled a 180, for reasons I could not seem to pinpoint, I was left with handfuls of unfulfilled expectations and empty memories. I was left alone to admit defeat to all those to whom I'd assured I knew what I was doing this time - that this man was the one worth trusting my entire heart to. I was left grasping at straws to piece together what I did wrong - how I failed...again. This was perhaps the hardest part - not rearranging my birthday plans or telling my boss I no longer needed the day off to drive to Chicago and retrieve my love from the airport. No - the hardest part was facing myself and admitting I somehow let this situation, and this person, get the better of me. I had to admit I hadn't been good enough - the distance, the pressure, something was too strong and too overpowering to justify being with me. That...that hurt. Here I was - back where I started. How had I been so sure of something that was never what I had thought it was? How had I given in to him, knowing I didn't want to let my heart go back to this place again - and in turn allow him to prove me right, yet again? How on earth was it that this man that I DIDN'T EVEN WANT found a way into my psyche, into my head, and into my very soul - then turned around and destroyed me? How did I let that happen?

It took me about two and a half minutes to get over Washington.

Okay, that's a stretch. I had my day-long pout, complete with a good cry and healthy dose of red wine. After that? I put my big girl panties on, and decided to kick the rebound into high gear and leave any lingering feelings for the asswipe who made me cry in the dust. It took me about two and a half minutes to realize I needed a giant slap in the face, to wake me up and put me back into motion. I needed to quit bitching, quit whining, and get up and carry on. Life is a real bitch sometimes, and this certainly ain't my first rodeo - and this poor excuse for a man was CERTAINLY no reason to waste another moment grieving over a relationship that should never have happened in the first place.

Despite the extraordinary level of douchebaggery displayed by Washington, I wanted things to be okay. I've never had a relationship that ended poorly. I suppose I have - but we always came around. I'm still friends with (almost - save for one) every guy I've ever dated, no matter how serious the relationship. I'm not the sort to be bitter and scorned, remove a person from my life and carry a grudge because a budding love didn't blossom like I'd hoped. I have always been the type to remain friends with the men in my life. This makes sense to me, because I would never date someone I wouldn't want to call my best friend. Simply because we didn't ride off into the sunset doesn't mean he or I is a bad person, right? Perhaps it's strange that I view things this way, but that's how the cookie crumbles.

I expected things to be the same with Washington. Sure, he was a giant dickbag who played me like a fiddle to fill whatever gaping void he was experiencing in his life, but at the end of the day, we were friends first. I tried to remember the best of him - the reasons I fell for him, and the reasons I was so magnetically drawn to him even as an eighteen year old when we first met. I reasoned with myself, justifying his actions by rationalizing our situation in my head. I gave him the benefit of the doubt - assuming he was being practical, that this wouldn't have worked out long term anyway, and he was just trying to spare us the inevitable heartbreak of a long distance military relationship. I wanted to still be his friend. I wanted to carry on as we had before we ventured down this road together. Only problem? He wasn't having it.

Now, listen. I'm a pretty easy going person. If you piss me off, I'll generally get over it in a timely manner. Sure, you can pull a few stunts to really chap my ass, and in that case, I might be a closed book for awhile while I silently stew over how mad I am. Eventually, though, even the worst offenses fade into the abyss, and life goes on. When you're a blatant douchelord to me, in the wake of something YOU did to hurt ME? Oh, honey. It's on.

Rational conversations with Washington were not a possibility. He claimed he didn't want to be friends anymore, less than 24 hours after professing his love to me. What the what?! Unless we were dealing with a pod person invasion of the other worldly variety, or you're a raging bi-polar, this is not normal. Do not tell me you love me, then break it off with me, and declare I have been so disrespectful to YOU, that we cannot be friends. Sorry I asked you if you started drinking again, Mr. Holier Than Thou StraightEdge Man. You haven't acted this oddly, or this rudely, since you were a heavy drinker, so FORGIVE ME for thinking this was the only logical explanation for your behavior. Perhaps if you made a lick of sense, I wouldn't be left wondering why on earth you pulled a Dr. Jekyl on me three days before you were supposed to come home.

So this? This is for you, Washington.

Dear David,

You sir, are an asshole. A conceited, self-absorbed, positively delusional asshole. I hope you enjoy your giant lion tattoo - I know my friend Angela does! It reminds her of her Lisa Frank trapper keeper from the third grade. Know that I tried. I wanted to be friends with you, even after your magnificent display of douchebaggery. Now that I think of it, I presume this is exactly what you wanted. You wanted people to talk. You wanted to be the hard ass. You wanted control. Congratulations - you've received it. You've also managed to bring together three (and counting!) girls who've experienced eerily similar encounters with you over the last few years. But hey - ten points for consistency, right? I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for. I hope you find the girl who loves and adores you for who you are. The girl who is willing to accomodate her own dreams and goals to mesh with yours. The girl who is so proud of you for everything you have accomplished, and tells you daily how much you inspire her. The girl who would do, and give everything for you.

Oh. But you had her. That must suck for you.

In that case, I hope you find a self righteous, bible quoting, annoying metal music listening, tattooed texting buddy. Maybe then you'll finally get those dirty cell phone videos you absolutely begged for, but never got. Oops...that doesn't really mesh with your perfectly crafted, squeaky clean image, now does it? You know what they say about a woman scorned ;)

Best of luck!

Love,
The bitch who wouldn't send you dirty videos - just loved the shit out of you.

Oh, and for the rest of you? Remind me to tell you about the hot date I had last week. And the hot second date. With a real man. A doctor, actually. A ridiculously good looking, incredibly sweet, genuine, good hearted man. Believe it or not, they do still exist - and I'm a pretty lucky girl ;)

Til next time-
Kay