In Which He's Just Not That In To Me

We all remember that first unrequited love. Mine was Stephen Lebay -- a 7th grade hottie. For months I stared at him in home room, imagining what it would be like to be his girlfriend. I would go home and daydream about him while listening to Stevie Nicks belt out "Sarah" in her most excellent gravelly voice on my FM clock radio. I'd just mentally replace "SueB" for all the Sarah parts ... "SueB, you're the poet of my heart -- never change, and don't you ever start ..."

Our young love was one of endless possibility, if only Stephen had an inkling that I was alive. Each morning I would make meticulous preparations to be irresistible. I'd spritz on the Love's Baby Soft, curl my bangs, apply my most delicious flavor of Bonnie Bell lip smacker and don my matching Levi corduroys and tabbed sleeve sparkle shirt that buttoned at the elbows. For added pizzazz, I might even add my piece-de-la resistance ... rainbow "Mork from Ork" suspenders -- Nanoo Nanoo, meowwwww!

I'd make my classroom entrance, dropping my pencil near his desk or finding an excuse to ask some ridiculous question about homework or bus schedules. Stephen was always pleasant and even made eye-contact (rare in 7th grade boys). Clearly he was smitten with me. He just didn't know how to make the first move.

I was sympathetic to his awkwardness and so concocted elaborate plots and situations to make it easier for him to ask me out. I learned his class schedule and placed myself in his path wherever possible. I executed the umpteen chess moves to be seated at his lunch table and I schemed to bump into him outside of school -- not easy.

Stephen lived on the opposite side of town from me, and so one day I hatched a plan with my friend Laurie Peterson to "study at the town library". Instead, we took Stephen's bus to his neighborhood. She and I walked his block about 40 times before he rode by on his bike and said hello.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

Spying a house for sale, I answered "Oh, my parents are thinking of buying that house and I just wanted to come by to check it out myself."

"Really?" he asked.

"Well, um yeah." I replied, chewing on my hair.

"Oh, how big is your family?" He asked. "That house only has one bedroom and won't sell."

"Oh yeah totally, I know." I said "We're totally planning to add on."

"Ok, good luck!" he called as he sped off. I felt like a jerk.

About three weeks later, my friend Laurie decided we should take the direct route and offered to pass Stephen a note, telling him how much I liked him. Her plan was to pass this to him the day before Christmas recess.

On the big day, I was giddy with nerves and anticipation. Laurie and Stephen shared a class right before lunch and I raced to meet Laurie afterwards at my locker.

"What did he say?!" I squealed, getting ready for the best Christmas ever.

"Um, he likes you ... just not that way. He likes you more like just a friend." Her reply sank in my stomach like a cold stone.

"Oh, OK." I said, at a loss for words since "whatever" wouldn't be invented for another decade.

In that moment, as I was marinating in disappointment, I realized (at some level) that I knew Stephen wasn't into me all along. I just hoped that if I made myself fetching enough, available enough, if I executed all the right text book moves -- I could create interest and affection where there was none. I thought that with enough hard work, creativity and sparkly lip gloss I might be able to control the outcome. Wrong. Wanting it does not always make it so.

It's a lesson worth remembering 27 years later. Last night I auditioned for America's Funniest Mom for the 5th time in 3 states over 3 years. I looked my best, had great material and performed a really solid set. The audience loved me. The producer could not have cared less. As he made his way through the crowd to tap a few of the moms for post-set interviews, he gave me only a passing glance; looking through me with that vague unseeing stare I remember too well from 7th grade. I had that same cold stone in the belly feeling. I have been here before.

All the hours I have spent strategizing hilarious parenting jokes, clever essay answers, wardrobe, timing and even peeling with a banana with my feet don't matter. I am just not what he is looking for. This is another outcome I can't control with preparation and hard work. It's time to move on before I just seem (more) pathetic.

I know I'll get over it, but today is my day to feel rotten. Right now I'm going to go think about people who have no legs so I can stir up some gratitude. That and I'm going to go buy "Sarah" on I-Tunes. Maybe I'll find Stevie Nicks doesn't have a gravelly voice at all & it was just my clock radio all the time. You learn something every day -- except on the days you don't.