Whatever Happened to Ned?

Who's that boy? That's Ned, the college boyfriend I mentioned in my last post.


This was me. GOD, were we cute or WHAT?

A couple of people have asked me, Whatever happened to Ned?

Before I start, you know that my 17 year old daughter reads my blog. I KNOW. This explains why my blog isn't as juicy as some others. It also explains why it's taken my days to figure out how to write this post in a way that won't squick my dear daughter out.

First, the rather complex yet fascinating backstory. I'd been studying (HA!) at this nice little Midwestern college for a year and a half when I learned that my mother, who lived alone, had just suffered a series of five heart attacks needed me to come home, which was 500 miles away. Not just to visit: She was in very bad shape, would be bedridden for a full year and needed someone to take care of her. I dropped out of college and cared for her for nearly three years.

Skipping over a million events, I moved back to Chicago and re-enrolled in that nice little Midwestern college three years later. As all of my friends had either transferred or graduated, I knew absolutely nobody there. Fortunately, an old friend suggested I look up this guy named Ned, who was reportedly a nice guy and was in my class.

I did. I fell HARD for him immediately. He liked me, too. Whee! Instant college boyfriend!

Ned was sweet, shy and GORGEOUS. His family lived in a freaking mansion in Chicago's richest suburb. AND Ned played guitar, very well, mind you, in a decent band.

Everybody laughed that Ned and I appeared to be more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend. We agreed. He was like the little brother I never had, I was like the big sister he always wanted. Honestly, we adored each other like siblings. What's not to love?

Well, lots. Ned had his weaker points. His politics? Somewhere to the right of Ann Coulter. His brain? Somewhere in the vicinity of Britney Spears. His interests? Guitars. That's it. OK, guitar pickups and amps fascinated him as well.

Everyone thought of us as The Odd Couple.

Ned had cash but spent it all on guitar stuff. Seriously, in the two years we dated while in college, he never ONCE spent a dime on me. This was not good because I had zero money except what I made from my campus job. I somewhat admire frugality but do not suffer stinginess gladly.

Oh yeah, he often reminded me that he really liked rich girls, which I was not. He told me that if I got a nose job, I'd look richer.

He smoked an awful lot of pot.

PLUS, he spent an awful lot of evenings with his guy friends. And his guy friends were creeps.

His dad liked me, but his mom? The only times she talked to me were when she hired me for $3 an hour to clean her house. And to tell me that Ned was not ready for marriage. Which was clearly the case but wow, you've got nerve, lady!

So why did I put up with Ned?

Here's the squicky part: He was cuddly.

And ugh, he was all the family I had. Mine was not the largest family, my father was off somewhere doing something (I wouldn't know because I hadn't seen him since I was four) and my mother was now something of an invalid and her mind wasn't working so well either. Don't worry, she'd moved to a complex for people with her needs. She was getting care.

So, it was like that joke that Woody Allen told at the end of Annie Hall:

This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know, they're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us... need the eggs.

And I was starving.  You know, college girls can be a bit dramatically emotional and junk.  So much sturm and drang!

So. We graduated, I started a career and moved to a roach infested apartment (I discovered this after I moved in, thank you very much) and Ned cleaned carpets and moved back to the family manse just a few miles away. We didn't see each other that much but we were still dating, sorta. I hung on to Ned but actively looked for a new boyfriend, to no avail. But that's another story.

After a few months of this, Ned actually took me to a pizza and beer joint and he actually paid! Then he told me that he'd committed to join a band in... L.A. Two thousand miles away. He'd be leaving in three days. Oh yeah, I wasn't invited.

OUCH. Oh, yeah, but he didn't want to break up. Ha ha.

A few months later, one of his bandmates invited me to visit them in L.A. I did. Ned LOVED the L.A. scene. I HATED the L.A. scene. I'd never meet so many despicable, shallow, back stabbing overdressed and underbrained people in my life. Ned reveled in the scene. Hoo boy, that was IT. I was so ready to let my little bro go his own way.

Anyhoo, I started dating Mr. Lemony and that was that. Ned did call me - collect - from time to time. Ned didn't come home to visit so I eventually had to officially break up with him over the phone. He was upset. He wailed, "But I just finished making you earrings made from guitar picks!"

A few years later I heard my first Ned update. Although his band really did nearly make it (again, that's a whole 'nother story), they didn't. Ned came limping back to the family manse on his 30th birthday, less than a month after I married Mr. Lemony.

I learned from a mutual friend that, in a period of 10 months, Ned had moved back in with his parents, married their immigrant live-in housekeeper and they had a son. Wow, that must have been one awkward year.

A while ago I looked him up on the internet. He and Svetlana or whatever are still married and live in a bungalow suburb. Their son, their only child, must be about 21 by now. I think Ned does mortgage lending.

I'm curious to know what he looks like now. Is he still the beautiful blond boy? Is he bald? Did he get fat? Is he still a stoner?

Then again, what is life without a little mystery?

Oh and Emily, my dear daughter... If you need eggs, just call home. We'll always have all the eggs you need. But it's OK to have a better-than-Ned boyfriend, too.