L.A. Affairs: Waking from daydreams of blogger guy

I hate meeting guys on the Internet. It’s weird. It’s creepy. It’s not safe.

But I liked blogger guy.

I didn’t meet blogger guy on Match, JDate or Tinder. I didn’t meet him on Facebook or even on Twitter. He was an avid reader of my blog and often commented on my posts. He too was a twentysomething blogger, and he just seemed to get me.

His comments led to emails. His emails led to instant messaging. And the instant messaging led to being Facebook friends. I enjoyed everything he had to say. He seemed so genuine. So honest. So real.

We would talk for hours about our families, friends, love lives, favorite TV shows and movies. We talked about our goals and our dreams. Blogger guy ended up knowing more about me than some of my best friends.

That was when my friends started asking me: Who is blogger guy? After all, he now regularly commented on my Facebook photos and status updates. Not to mention, he was devilishly handsome in his profile picture. I mean, blogger guy could have easily been mistaken for David Beckham. And even though he only had one photo on his blog and social media outlets, I never thought twice.

“Oh, him? That’s just blogger guy,” I would tell my girlfriends, ashamed of even having such a friendship and not really thinking about what could come of this, er, whatever you’d call it. Sure, we talked online every day, but not once did we talk on the phone, Skype or try to meet in person. Which was kind of strange since he lived in Manhattan and I lived in Queens.

I guess I enjoyed daydreaming about this 21st century fairy-tale romance. Because if this was meant to be, perhaps we would meet someday, somewhere. We’d fall in love and live happily whatever after. We’d have kids who would grow up to be bloggers, and our love story would end up being a cheesy rom-com starring Kate Hudson and Josh Duhamel.

A few years later, I moved to Los Angeles with my best friend, Samantha. I was pursuing a career in writing; she was trying to make it as an actress. Blogger guy was happy for me but also was sad that I was moving so far away.

Wait, what? Why was he sad that I was leaving New York? We’d never even met! But he said I was doing the worst thing a New Yorker could do by moving to “the city of Narcissism, where it never rains and people actually think that they are going to make it.”

On our first night out in L.A., Samantha and I went to a club. We were drinking, dancing and having the time of our lives when a guy approached her.

Brody was about our age with dark hair and blue eyes. He was beautiful, the kind of guy you’d see in the movies and swear doesn’t exist in real life. But something was strange about him. He seemed oddly familiar.

“You’ve probably seen him on TV or in a movie or something,” Samantha said.

“He sort of looks like — no, it couldn’t be.” I shrugged it off.

“David Beckham?” Samantha exclaimed.

The next day, Samantha told me about her evening with Brody. Not only was he incredibly good-looking, he was an actor and a model and was in a band. While she was telling me about her amazing time with Brody, she was friend-requesting him on Facebook.

Suddenly, she screamed.

She showed me Brody’s profile picture. And it turned out I had been right; I did know this guy.

It was blogger guy!

Was Brody blogger guy? Or did blogger guy steal Brody’s pretty profile picture? I felt sick. Whom was I talking to every day online?

Samantha called Brody and asked if he was blogger guy. But Brody said he was not a writer or a blogger. I believed him.

I sent blogger guy an instant message. “Who are you? I know this isn’t you,” I typed. Within seconds, blogger guy came back with, “What are you talking about?”

“I know that this isn’t you. This isn’t your photo. Who are you?” I wrote. I even sent him Brody’s Facebook page. But blogger guy simply told me that I was a crazy girl and that none of it was true.

Not long after that, blogger guy wrote on his blog that he would be taking some time off and pulled down the photo. I felt humiliated. Disgusted. I deleted him from my Facebook and Twitter accounts. It was as if he had been a figment of my imagination.

I never spoke to blogger guy again. I don’t think I’ll ever find out who he was. Instead, I will forever live with the fact that my 21st century fairy tale didn’t end happily whatever after.

And that, my friends, is why I hate meeting guys on the Internet.

Kucsak is a writer who lives in Los Angeles.

L.A. Affairs chronicles romance and relationships. Past columns and submission guidelines are at latimes.com/laaffairs. If you have comments to share or a story to tell, write us at home@latimes.com.