Alas, I'm beginning to think there's no getting around it: I'm increasingly certain I've fallen in love with someone who -- this seems to be a recurring pattern with me, my friends -- doesn't (or can't) feel the same way in return. I'm in, as my dear friend Ryan Reynolds would say, "the Friend Zone."
I've been trying to get myself right with the fact that this man -- we'll call him Waiter Boy -- was never going to be anything more than a good friend. I mean, it makes sense. He lives 269.1 degrees west of me, has a nice full life, dates local men, doesn't drive, and is (if we're going to be perfectly frank about it) out of my league, physically. Refer, if you will, to the Hierarchy of Homos.
So. I left at the end of my long stint of work in Pittsburgh fairly convinced that I had to settle for having a great new friend. I thought that'd be enough.
The problem is that I've come back for Thanksgiving with my family, and I got to see him tonight (well, yesterday, now), and there's just no getting around it: I still dig him way more than I should.
If only he weren't so nice and dreamy. It makes my chest hurt, dammit.
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