Mitch.  Such a stupid simple name.  The name of a bro-dude.  Someone who wears button up shirts with embroidery on the back.  Someone who was probably in a frat in college, who drunkenly threw up in peoples kitchen sinks.  Someone who was clearly not in love with me.

I would have done anything for him.  It was all I could do not to reach out and stroke the back of his beautiful head while he was talking to our co-workers.  Mitch, why are you such a loveable ass?  Is it your tough guy stance?  Your ways of making people feel good about themselves?  Your way of making me feel like I’m the only one you want to be with? Your voice?  Your eyes?  Your really cool Bruce Springsteen shirt that you bought off of Melrose?

It all started when our production company traveled to Italy for two months to shoot a bachelor-esque dating show. Our desks faced each other, which let me introduce Mitch to my favorite bands and my over the top synopsis’s of our day-to-day life.  We bonded over nutella flavored gelato and negronis.  He talked about his impending divorce and his love for his children.  On my end, I did my best to make him laugh.  I never really talked about my own endless issues or myself.  It might have been the Zoloft, or the proximity of where we sat 16 hrs a day or it might have been just the inherent “ew” inducing amore in the Italian air, but I had fallen hard…for a married man, 10 years older than me.  And I truly believed he had fallen for me.

Which is why it came as such a shock to my system the first Monday we got back to the office.  He was wearing his wedding ring, a sign of fidelity that he did not wear during our drunken days in the Tuscan villa paid for by FOX.

What was earnest love on my part turned into obsession when he became less and less accessible to me.  That’s when I turned into a shady lady.  I wasn’t myself.  I was a naïve girl in love.  I found myself doing the unforgivable. While sitting behind his work computer while he was at lunch one day, I began searching through his web history for clues as to what or who he had been doing.  Invading his privacy not only hurt him, it hurt me a thousand times more.

I sat focused for 45 minutes browsing through his personal internet searches.  He’d gone to something called “stub hub,” a porno site for stubs and their owners.  He had gone to Adultfriendfinder.com, where he was clearly looking for some kind of recreational activity (and yes, I looked at what his handle was, which was a terrible lyric from a terrible Creed song).  He had ordered sex toys of the gynelogical torture sort, off of some site called “For Her Pleasure.”  But worst of all, the thing that was a kick to the gut, the thing that really flipped my mind and sent me into a hole of self pitying doom, was the discovery of his frequent visits to Hannity.com.  I was in love with a jerk off.  A fucking republican jerk off.

As I let this settle in my mind, an IM request popped up on his computer, shaking me out of my stupor. It was from a girl who Mitch had been rumored to be messing around with in the office (this IM just proved it!) I should have  gotten up and walked away right then.  Scot free.  But because I was upset and wanted someone else to be upset, I answered the IM.

Other Girl:  Hey

Me (as Mitch):  Hey

Other Girl:  How are you doing?

Me (as Mitch):  Hey Other Girl!  This is Sarah actually.

Silence

Other Girl: What are you doing on Mitch’s computer?

Me (as me, trying to piss the other girl off):  Oh, we’re just working in here together today lol

Before the conversation could go any further, Mitch came in to see me sitting at his computer.

Mitch: What’s going on?

Me:  Nothing.  I had to use your computer to look something up.  Other Girl just IM’d you.

And with my head held high, I left his office in a huff.  I obviously like to earn the description of “crazy.” That said, there was a little shame and embarrassment on my part for Nancy Drewing.  But not the kind you have if you’re a conservative, Republican who likes Creed.