So you think you’re just gonna show up at a guy’s house in a slutty candy striper outfit and the craziest it’s gonna get is that you bust out the set of handcuffs you’re carrying in your purse.

Instead you end up carting a body off in a wheelbarrow while Beethoven’s 5th Symphony plays over and over in your head.

You see no good comes from meeting a man on the internet.

But you were bored and a little desperate and a little lonely so you said to yourself, “eh, what the heck?”

His name was Andrew. He told me he was a concert flautist for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and a certified pilot. The man owned a Cessna Skycatcher. Seriously how could I say no to a man who owned his own damn plane? He loved dogs, had a place downtown, could quote the entirety of Top Gun and he wasn’t a Sox fan.

He sounded like a freaking winner to me.

So we went out a few times.

We watched movies in Grant Park while drinking beer and eating Garret’s popcorn. We had bubble tea in Chinatown and samosas at that one place on Devon. We played tourists and went to Navy Pier and rode the ferris wheel and went on boat tours.

We were having so much fun!

After about a month I figured it was time to seal the deal. I mean what’s the worst that could happen, right?

The funny thing is that I can remember everything leading up to it. I remember leaving my house in Logan Square, hailing a cab on Milwaukee by the GAP, tripping in my heels as I was walking up to his building, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up because I needed to calm down a bit, walking in, getting in the elevator, getting off on his floor, knocking on his door and finally walking in.

His place was amazing.

Well it had to be. When you live in Marina City, paying that rent, your place better be freaking epic.

We ended up having sex in every single room.

At some point he brought out a bottle of wine and we finished it.

This is when my memory starts getting a little fuzzy.

I fell asleep.

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I woke up and Andrew wasn’t in bed with me. I figured he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and was about to go back to sleep when I realized I needed to go to the bathroom myself.

So I waited for him to come back.

And I waited.

He seemed to be taking a really long time. So I got up and called his name. No response. I walked out of the bedroom and my head was pounding and I’m still pretty drunk because I can barely handle one glass of wine, let alone half a bottle and I stumble in what I assumed was the direction of the bathroom.

My head was pounding.

I call his name again.

And I see him standing in the kitchen.

There’s a knife in his hand and a body on the floor and he starts telling me some story about an intruder and death threats and self defense and I don’t know what to do because I’m just standing there naked unable to make sense of what’s happening in front of me and all I can think is that I really have to pee.

“Help me,” he says.

“I have to pee,” I tell him.

He tells me something. It doesn’t make sense. Why does he have a wheelbarrow in a high rise apartment building?

Rooftop garden?

Something about gardening a lot on the rooftop garden.

Somehow I end up in my candy striper outfit again, barefoot on the roof with Andrew and the dead body.

I hadn’t looked at the person’s face but I happened to catch a glimpse of it as Andrew is pacing and freaking out. The man’s face didn’t even look real, eyes and mouth open in shock like some sort of Halloween mask. 

That’s when I started screaming. I wouldn’t stop screaming.

Andrew came over and tried to get me to calm down. I don’t think he could take the screaming and the body and he hit me hard.

I must’ve blacked out, I remember Andrew’s fist and next thing you know, you were there and I was on the floor holding a knife.

I bought a new phone on Sunday.

This was the first photo I took and sent to my guy friend.

I’m so sexy I could die.

Boys I know you’re all just falling all over yourselves to holla.