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PHOTO: True love is stealing your sister’s child together to take her on a ride in a rickety African safari jeep.

Guys, it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. I got engaged. But don’t worry, this blog is not going to turn into a wedding blog (maybe something else I should have added to my list of “Wedding What Not To-Do’s).  So instead of boring with you with the minutia of my wedding planning (spoiler alert: haven’t started and generally avoiding), let me regale you with the story of how I met my betrothed, Anthony (name NOT changed because when you marry a writer/comic, everything is fair game for material). It may be my favorite story to tell, because it never lives up to people’s romantic expectations when they ask “so how’d you two meet?”

I had been doing stand-up comedy for about 2 years. I started after I took a class at “The World Famous Comic Strip,” (which now isn’t so famous and smells like stale beer and forgotten dreams. But they like to remind you it’s where comedy legends Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock started, so you forgive them for the “C” Health Code rating). Since then, I often performed on their “new talent nights,” which was mostly people who also took the class, and there were always new faces coming in. One night, a particularly cute face walked in: Anthony.  He was super Italian looking, albeit a little short. My immediate thoughts were:

1. That’s cool he’s really Italian, because I’m 25% Italian, but tell people I’m 50%, so dating someone really Italian would help raise my authenticity.

2. He’s a little short, but when I casually walked next to him to measure our  height difference, I could tell he had at least an 1.5” on me, which was enough.

3. There’s no else remotely attractive in this comedy club.

I decided then that I would have a crush on him. Playing it cool (for probably the first time in my life), I introduced myself and then hosted the show. I think I introduced him as starring in “In The Mix” with Usher, which embarrassed him, but absolutely tickled me, because…it’s a movie starring Usher.

A few days later, I got a Facebook message (seriously, if you’re waiting for any hint of romance, just stop now. This is dating in the 2010s. Although a Facebook message is exponentially better than a Tinder swipe, so let’s keep things in perspective), saying something like: “You’re really funny, I can tell you’ve been on this tip for a minute. Maybe you can help me with my jokes some time, and I’ll buy you food or booze.” I read it and immediately got excited, because HE ASKED ME ON A DATE! Now before you judge me for my immediate excitement for what really wasn’t even a real dinner invitation, it was a long dry spell dating in the city, okay? I’m from Wisconsin and I did (okay, do) not have one ounce of NYC swag. I didn’t even last on Match.com longer than the trial membership period. I quickly responded I’d love to help him, and gave him my number.

[Fun side note here: I found out much later that when Anthony saw me perform onstage, his first thoughts were:

1. She’s brilliantly funny (I may have jazzed that up a bit.)

2. She’s wearing flannel. She might be a lesbian.

3. If she’s not a lesbian, I want to date her seriously, not just do a pounce-and-bounce.]

Perhaps I should  have played it a littler cooler, because a year went by and he never called me or sent me another lame Facebook message about our “date.” I started to think this was not a “date,” but just a plea for joke writing help, because he was telling jokes about wearing adult diapers (yes. Really.).  At that point, I wasn’t just mad that we didn’t go out, he didn’t even follow through on getting help for his stand up material?! Probably the worst part of this rejection was, for that year, I’d see him at least every other week when we performed on the same shows. We never spoke about meeting up, and I fluctuated between ignoring him and being chatty & finding opportunities to hug him.

Just about a year later, we both got invited to a fellow comic’s Passover Seder dinner (neither of us are Jewish, but feel that we’ve celebrated enough Jewish holidays with friends we should be considered at least 30% Jewish). That night I decided I’d ignore him. But Anthony decided he’d flirt hard. I tried to act like a total dick and called him names other than “Anthony” ( Andy, Albert, Andre, Anders, etc). He did not pick up on this, or perhaps just wasn’t phased, and pushed on. I left the dinner with a group of 3 other male comics to record our podcast (although he has since told me he thought I was just leaving with 3 guys for what could have been group sex), and made sure NOT to say goodbye to Anthony. He caught me at the elevator and asked me out. Again. Then asked for my number. Again. Like a damn fool, I gave it to him, and he discovered he already had me in his phone, under “Jordan Comic.” The slaps in the face just kept coming. Not only did he have my number and chose not to use it for a year – even for a booty call – but he saved me under the “First Name-How I Know You Because I’ll Forget” name? Now I was livid. I pressed the “door close” button and yelled “bye, Antonio!!!!”

Anthony texted me the next night, and to my dismay (but really, delight), he was very charming and my crush was back on. I coincidentally had tickets to the Tribeca Film Festival that Friday night, so I invited him to go. It was a date.

Cut to Friday afternoon and he texted me that he “had the flu” and wanted to “reschedule when he was feeling 100%.” This fuckin’ guy. Continuing to act like damn desperate fool, I said I also had tickets for Saturday, so if he was feeling better, we could go then. [Another fun side note: Anthony claims he feigned an illness because he “wasn’t ready for a real relationship” and “knew I was the marrying type.” Well done, sir, because playing with my emotions is definitely the right way to treat your next serious girlfriend.] Luckily, I did not listen to anyone’s advice, and went on the date.

Long story short, we saw some avant-garde film that was all the color red and I think a woman cut her own fingers off at one point. I still don’t know what the fuck it was about. I was worried the date was a dud because of the self-mutilation, until Anthony stood up during the Q&A and asked the director when we could expect a wide release and “if he smelled an Oscar.” I’ve never laughed so hard while simultaneously being afraid of getting beat up. He didn’t kiss me until he walked me home (okay, extra points for actually taking the train with me, and walking me to my door. Who does that? Besides date rapists, I mean.) I then questioned if he was, in fact, a date rapist, because he asked to come into my apartment “to check out the architecture.” Don’t you fret, readers. I still was acting like a moron and let him right in. Luckily, he only assaulted me with an aggressive kiss, then I swiftly bid him adieu, because I think at that point, even I knew how many poor decisions I was making. Minutes after he left, I got a text saying “Sorry if that was too much tongue. I swear I’m a better kisser than that. I think that movie got into my head.” By that point, I was already a smitten kitten with mittens, so I was not swayed by some overly-curious tongue action.

I think we’d all know I’d be a huge liar to say “and it’s been smooth sailing since.” But I will tell you, I did finally help him write better jokes and the adult diaper bit is banned from seeing the light of day again. He’s still the person that can make an awkward situation hilarious by asking stupid questions, and he always makes sure I get to where I’m going safely. And when I’m angry, that guy can still win me back with a well-placed, adorable text message. As for our wedding, I’m 92% sure he won’t text me the night before to reschedule.