The Google

A friend of mine recently expressed regret about heading online to find out information on exes. You know we all have done it, typing various forms of a name into The Google to try and see what kind of information we can find. Of course, this is immediately preceded or followed by a search on our own name to see what people are finding out about us.

Anyways, once I heard someone say they wanted to stop doing this kind of thing, I immediately started trying to figure out whose name I could search when I got the time. That doesn't mean I have an extensive list of exes to stalk online. In fact, the list is quite short, which made it difficult for me to try and figure out who to check up on that night.

And I don't think stalk is the right term. After all, maps on The Google can only zoom in so far, especially if people live in the sticks. I got accused of stalking once and that's no fun. I only called her house a bunch of times one day because I was bored shitless.

I decided to try and find this one chick my buddies set me up with for my fraternity's winter formal. It was my senior year, and I didn't want a date. I just wanted to go get hammered. I wasn't seeing anyone so didn't feel like going through the motions.

My friends refused to let me go to the formal stag and set out to fix me up with a blind date the night before the formal. I couldn't stop them because I was out getting loaded at another party. I had to stand in for my best friend as his girlfriend's date at something because he was in the Peace Corps helping to save the world by drinking, playing soccer and teaching kids math - in that order - in the Carribean. I ended up ditching her so her brother and I could get thrown out of the all-girl's dorm trying to score him some tail, so it was a pretty good night.

When I woke up the day of the formal, I was a little pissed my friends set me up, but got over it when I saw her picture in the freshman directory. They told me she was even prettier than the picture, but I didn't believe them. We were 21 and they were my friends. Why would they tell me the truth when it came to chicks?

When I picked her up, my jaw dropped. She was really hot. Really, really hot. I felt like Cliff and Norm from from Cheers when they saw a pretty lady. I could hardly form words. This didn't even get into the fact that she was taller than me and had on heels. I could just gaze up at her hotness. Or straight ahead at her chest. Either was fine.

By the end of the night, my friends were making bets on whether I would hook up. I should have told them that I wouldn't have even bet on me. I had no rap whatsoever. I was completely intimidated. I managed to sneak in a kiss when I took her back to her room, but I was back at the fraternity house, sitting on the basement bar and making a fool out of myself before long. My chance with the hot chick had disappeared.

Or so I thought. A couple of weeks later, I was invited to her sorority formal by some other chick. The girl who invited me and I had gone out a few times, but nothing really happened. To this day, I have no idea why she invited me to this because she utterly and completely blew me off. Which was fine because I got to hang with my friends and drink. Then I saw the tall hot chick.

I hated the guy she came with, just like pretty much everyone else I knew. At one point, he was leading her by the hand through a crowd of people. As they passed by, I swore I felt her grab my hand or my leg or something. I looked up and she smiled or said something. I was drunk so the details are fuzzy. I didn't see her the rest of the night. I called and asked her out a few weeks later, but we never got together. I hadn't thought of her in years when I decided to The Google her the other week. I found a magazine story about her - she's a semi-kinda, sorta hippy artist. That's when I remembered that she started hanging out with the crew that loved Edie Brickell and New Bohemians later that year. The story had a picture of her. She didn't look bad, but I had a hard time finding the face of the girl from that night. I went home and found a pic from that night. I liked that pic much better.

I think I might quit checking people on Google.

Brian Shea is probably enjoying a beer in his basement right now. You can contact him at columns@regularguycolumn.com.