Worst Date Ever

I came home in the summer of 2001 to find that my brother had driven all the way from Chicago to Atlanta to pick up my car.  I hadn't been home a full day before my sister-in-law called me outside to see my new ride - a maroon '91 Plymouth Sundance.  I stood in my front yard and cried.  I was elated to have this car. I didn't care that the inside of the car paint was still blue, that there was no air conditioning and the car continued to stop for no apparent reason at lights. It. Was. Mine.  I got all the essentials I needed and made sure that my friends knew that they could count on me for a ride anywhere. I loved to drive and I wanted to cruise around in my car every chance I got.  The same summer that I got my car, I started conversing with a guy I'll refer to as Expo.  Expo was the CEO of a music company who threw parties at a club in Chicago.  We both loved hip-hop and reggae so it was normal to find the two of us conversing on the computer about that topic, as well as others.  He invited me to a club to see him and the first time I saw him, I was elated that he looked like his photo.  He didn't know who I was though...there were photos of me, but my hair had grown longer and I was thinner at the time.  He danced with a friend of mine and chatted with me for a second but still didn't realize I was the one who he'd chatted with everyday for over a month.