Thursday, September 25, 2008

How I Met My Husband Part 1

You all wanted to know how I met my husband. I will tell you, but I'm afraid it might be boring.


The summer of 2002 I half-assedly dated a guy who was a total fucking asshole and I knew it. I've already written about it and you may read it here. In fact, go refresh your memory with that story which tells how I dumped the idiot. I like that story.

So I was on a bit of a sabbatical from dating. I also had The Psychologist. For nearly two years The Psychologist and I had been going round and round and round. I met him on Jdate. He was cute and made great mix cds and played the guitar not that well but enough to impress girls. For far too long The Psychologist and I carried out a charade in which he said we were "friends with benefits" and I believed we were pretty much a couple except for the fact that he would not call us a couple. We were dating in everything except name. I had even met his family multiple times and he took me out at least twice a week and I slept over regularly and seriously, everything about us was a relationship except that he didn't call it one. I loved this. I loved this because it was agonizing and filled me with angst and woe and drama and because it provided me with a perfect arena to play out my whole saga of "I WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH!!!" If I had had any sense I would have dumped him the very first time he told me I couldn't be his girlfriend and that I wasn't his soulmate. My dumb, sorry ass thought I could change his mind if I worked hard enough and if I did everything right he would stop dating other girls and realize that he was truly madly in love with me. This never happened but I definitely gave the fantasy that it would a thorough work out. By the time Labor Day of '02 rolled around and I had about had it with both The Psychologist and The Asshole (whom I had really only dated to make the Psychologist jealous, which only kinda worked) I decided to swear off any further contact with men for a good long while.

I was busy with school. I hadn't been going for very long. The main reason I was going at all was because The Psychologist pissed me off by saying that part of the reason I couldn't be his girlfriend was because I was uneducated. Sometimes I hope The Psychologist knows about this blog and is reading it because I'd very much like him to know that in a few short months I will be just as educated as he is. At least comparatively, in my own field. In some ways I will be more educated. And this pleases me more than you can know because I have worked for six long, difficult years to prove him wrong. I'm crazy like that. If someone says something about me I take it as a challenge. When he told me I was uneducated I was so hurt and ashamed but at the same time I took it as a challenge. I was like "Oh yeah motherfucker. I'll show your ass some education. It may take me six years but by God I'll show you." And I did. Because I am that nuts.

But I'm digressing as bad as my grandmothers here. Anyway I was busy with school and swore off men and their games. Everyone who knew me felt that this was a bad idea. I was getting older after all. I wasn't getting any better looking. I needed to "Get Myself Out There." I heard this ten thousand times.

"You'll never meet anyone unless you put yourself out there. You've got to get out there!" everyone said.

I didn't even know where "out there" was. Wherever it might be, I didn't want to go. I had been on Jdate for the past 2 1/2 years and it hadn't resulted in anything but some consistent and emotionally painful sex with The Psychologist and about seventy five funny stories (which is something I admit). Dating had been exhausting and grueling and often depressing. I felt terribly about myself because I had been rejected a lot and often with a great deal of callousness. So many men lack compassion. I will never ever forget the guy who told me I didn't have the body type he preferred. But still everyone said I needed to "Get Out There!"

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, "Except to school."

Looking back this was one of the smartest decisions I have ever made.

"You're never going to meet anyone sitting in the house all the time," everyone told me.

"The perfect man isn't going to come walking through the front door, you know. You have to go find him."

I didn't really care.

One day I was sad and lonely and I sat down and made a very long and detailed list of all the qualities of my perfect man. I envisioned him so completely that I felt like I knew him and I did this because it made me feel less lonely. It was like I was Dr. Frankenstein, creating a real person to make myself feel better. I became very absorbed in creating my fantasy man so I included everything on the list, right down to his eye color (green) and the fact that he wore glasses and would speak more than one language. He would also like cats and have good taste in music and have traveled. He would be smart and kind and not a player. I wanted him to have a nice family and parents who were still married. I went on and on. The list was several pages. When I finished I put the list away and stopped thinking about it.

Labor Day weekend came and The Asshole came over looking for a free meal. We called him Free Food Larry. Another friend of mine, The Jamaican, was in town. At this time I lived at Casa Azul with my parents and The Jamaican stayed there. He is the friend who named Bomboclaat. The Jamaican said he would cook us an authentic Jamaican meal and he made a ton of food - jerked chicken, callaloo, peas and rice, escabeche fish and every yummy spicy, coconutty island food you can imagine. It was wonderful.

My parents decided to call Abe Kirchener who lived down the street at the time and had yet to marry Gabriella the Brazilian gold digging whore who has since cleaned out his accounts and financially ruined him. They invited Abe over for dinner and he said his friend's son was in town from San Francisco and wanted to know if he could bring him too. Of course that was fine.

Before dinner was served Free Food Larry the fucking asshole got sick from taking Vicodin and passed out in my bed. I was in my room trying to get Free Food Larry up and coherent enough to drive so he could leave when I heard a bunch of people talking outside my bedroom window. I peeked out and there was Abe with his friend's son who was sitting on a lawn chair with my mom smoking a cigarette. He looked to be about my age and he was wearing a God awful outfit of red shorts and a strange Hawaiian shirt with clogs and Buddy Holly glasses. He was the weirdest looking boy I had ever seen. I didn't know he could see me peeking out the window at him smoking cigarettes with my mom.

Although he was dressed peculiarly there was something really kind of cute and naughty about him. He looked eccentric and this appealed to me.

At dinner (Free Food Larry ironically missed the free food because he was still passed out) Hawaiian Shirt and I sat at opposite ends of the table and only shared a very brief exchange regarding music and then San Francisco. I thought I should get to be friends with him, whoever he was, because it's always good to have friends who live in cool cities. Also he was cute.

He's probably gay or a freak or something, I thought.

Abe had to leave early because he had to take Mr. Hawaiian Shirt to the airport in Miami and by then I had kind of dismissed him. He hadn't seemed interested in me and he didn't make any other gestures of wanting to know more about me so I was all like "Whatever, he dresses funny anyway."

Then I ended up having to drive Free Food Fucking Larry home and get him back in his apartment. And really I did this not out of any real kindness but merely to get him out of my damned bed.

I couldn't stop thinking about the guy in the ugly Hawaiian Shirt. I had no idea why. I was probably desperate. I didn't know anything about him. I could barely remember his name.

A few weeks later I asked Abe about him. Abe was from California and had been friends with this guy's parents just like he was friends with my parents.

"How old is he?" I asked.

"Your age I guess," Abe said.

That didn't really help because to someone who's sixty anyone younger than that is the same age. I feared Hawaiian Shirt might be too young for me.

"He's a great guy," Abe said, "I've known him since he was in kindergarten."

Then he told me all about how he had been a snowboarder and was in magazines and how he spoke three languages fluently and liked to cook and how he had moved to San Francisco a few years ago after college and had gotten a really good job.

"He just called me up and said he'd be in town and we could get together. How many kids do you know who'd remember their parents' friend and make the time in their vacation to come see them? He's a great guy."

"Tell him to come back," I said, "Can you call him and ask what he thought about me and if he might want to come back and visit again?"

"He gave me his number. I'll see if I can do that," Abe said.

"Don't forget!" I said.

"You interested in him?"

"Maybe."

"All right. I'll call him soon as I can."

A month or so later, maybe a little more Abe said that the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had called him.

To Be Continued....

26 comments:

mysecondjournal said...

OH SHIT..To Be Continued...are you kidding me..

Yes, I read Part 1..but I thought it would at least get to the part where the sparks begin..wait, is the snowboarder even your husband or is it the snowboarder, smoker, Hawaiian shirt guy's brother..or servent?

Uhhh..I'll wait.

blurberry said...

In the third grade everyone's book report ended, "If you wnat to know if (main character) really did (whatever), you'll have to read the book. I didn't like it then, and I don't like it now. But I think you're fantastic

Twinx said...

Very good post... can't wait to read more!

Anonymous said...

YOU ARE EVIL. How can you leave us hanging like that?

feefifoto said...

To be continued? TO BE CONTINUED!!!

You're diabolical.

wilksl said...

Arrrgggh! That was cruel!

stljoie said...

When my boyfriend of 7 years left town I decided I would live the rest of my life alone, I was after all in my 40's, but then I also started thinking about what I would want in a man. I started volunteering in a homeless shelter and met a much younger than me man who worked there. I watched him deal with all sorts of people and conflicts and was so impressed with his genuine care of people who had reached a point of helplessness...especially mental illness. Long story short...we're married 18 years and I have never regreted a moment. Last year he recieved a lifetime achievement award from the Agency that grew out of that shelter.

Jess said...

Don't leave us hanging too long!

NeekoalinAZ said...

That was not right...

I tear my clothes...your dead to me...OK, not really. But I REALLY want to hear the rest.

Jennifer said...

I always love these "I made a list and then got everything I wanted" stories, but how come I am the only person this trick has never worked for?!

(Had to ask.)

(Will be waiting for the next one.)

Anonymous said...

When you started writing about your list I thought "wow" because it was a few months after I made my list that I ran into my husband to be. I didn't recognize it at the time because it slipped my mind, but when it clicked I checked and it was him.
This almost reminds me of Confessions of a Pioneer Woman's blog and her 20+ chapters of meeting her husband 'From Black heels to tractor wheels'.

Mattie said...

Totally NOT boring!

Ambitious Blonde said...

"Oh yeah motherfucker. I'll show your ass some education. It may take me six years but by God I'll show you." And I did. Because I am that nuts.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with revenge education. My first degree and a half was obtained under similar circumstances. ;)

Also, you're evil for leaving us hanging like this.

Dayna said...

stljoie,

when I got to the part that said I started volunteering at the homeless shelter I said "oh Shit"
I guess as long as you would have cleaned him up it would have been okay to fall for a homeless guy.
Actually that could be a good book.

TK said...

Please don't make us wait too long!

I love that you did a list, but I wonder if you aren't going to come up with a twist on this!

Anonymous said...

"Oh yeah motherfucker. I'll show your ass some education. It may take me six years but by God I'll show you." And I did. Because I am that nuts.
I completely agree. Works well in other self improvement areas too.

blckbuster said...

YAY waiting for part 2

I remembered asking ya how you met your husband.

Milesly said...

dayna,

way to be harsh! there are some really incredible people living on the streets for various reasons, from financial problems to actual choice. don't be a classist, that's not cool.

Karen said...

To all the frantic commenters who ask, "What happened next?!?!"

They got married.

So relax and enjoy the story. Just WAIT for it. And then LOVE it. On this blog, the more leisurely and digressive the story, the better.

Books & BS said...

By any chance, did the Asshole move to the Northeast? I think I may have just dated him. Why this never dawned on me before as i am a loyal reader of your blog. This was a criminal defense lawyer also. He was fine for the majority of the time we dated and then the bad things started coming out and he disappeared (I assume because he had someone else) and then broke up with me saying he could never find out if he could get the girl he deserved and dreamed of if he kept dating me...Apparently someone 5 ft 6 and a size 8 who runs an hour a day and eats healthy is fat...Such an asshole...

Anonymous said...

I just read this blog. I love your writing, but this was my favorite to date. I apologize for not teaching husband to dress better, however, since you've taken over, all is well on the sartorial homefront.

Lots of love, father of Hawaiian ugly shirt

P.S. Can't wait for Part 2.

Anonymous said...

I thought this was an awesome post. I swear I think you are the Faulkner of South Florida and it is your Yoknapatawpha County. What a strange and interesting live you have!

Anonymous said...

I really think we should do a story about what is considered fat today. Daughter is 5 ft 6 and a size 6 dress. She is absolutely stunningly gorgeous, can stop a clock and when she enters a room there is not a soul that doesn't stare at her. I am her Mom and believe me I know gorgeous when I see it. I am prejudice but I have seen the best of the best. Daughter takes the cake. Someday you will all see her and you will be shocked! The most wonderful thing about her is her heart. She is nice, decent and kind. These traits are so much more important than what she looks like. I love how she cares, I love how dedicated she is to her students, I love her dreams. She's acomplished. Worked very hard to become what she is. She is a force and one day she will get what she deserves. Her Moma is proud. What an inspiration she truly is. I can't believe she belongs to me. I thank God for her every single day. She always brings a smile to my face.

Wide Lawns said...

Aww thanks. I think we need a story about what is fat too. Because I am 5'6" and a size 6. When this story was taking place I was an 8. Neither of those sizes are fat, yet many a man told me I needed to lose weight and that I was fat or "not the body type they preferred." It's outrageous and it's so strange that at the same time we do have a very real obesity epidemic. So what's going on here? Are our perceptions of women's bodies that screwed up that we can't distinguish what's healthy anymore? It confuses me.

When I went to France I expected all the women there to be really skinny because of the whole "French Women Don't Get Fat." Well they weren't fat, that's true for the most part, but they weren't skinny either. I think most of them would have been considered voluptuous by American standards. But they were healthy and medium sized. I didn't find the same obsession with body size and weight over there that we have here at all. They were so much more relaxed and comfortable in their own skin than we Americans are. It was really nice and not what I had expected. I kind of wanted to stay.

nandy said...

Not a boring story at all so far. It's sweet.

And I agree with your mother. "Fat phobia" in this society is destroying our women's health. Just as it's bad for your health to be obese, underweight does serious damage to your body, too. More to the point, however, is that the "right weight" is foisted on women by men who want (or feel they deserve) some kind of distorted physical beauty in their consorts. While a man may not put a gun to their head and say, "Your breast are too small. You need to have breast implants, " or "You should have a 21" waist," the message is subtly implied with offers to pay for cosmetic work, roving eyes that compare their consort to other women (or worse, to totally unattainable retouched photos of models in magazines), or put-downs of the assets that the male distains.

If you never read about the Ophelia Complex, it's an awakening to do so.

Anonymous said...

I'm going to give my opinion on men who love women that weigh 80 lbs and I know a few. Matter of fact more than I care to talk about. To me it is the worst sickness I've seen. I think men that love these sick women truly are pedophiles in the closet. They like the look of a little girl 10 years old. If you have ever looked at a wasted away women she looks like a child. Really no boobs can remain. They lose their periods. Naked and shaven they look like babies. I think most of these men have a tiny penis or think they do. This whole child image fascinates them and in their sick minds a tiny little woman must equate to a very young overly tight vagina. Of course this is far from true but again a sick mind is just that. The man can control a tiny creature and be stronger than life and taller than a skyscraper. I call this the most insecure person you would ever want to be associated. RUN! RED FLAGS. A real man who is truly interested in you will never care about your boobs or your weight. Always pay attention to red flags. Do not date sick men!

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