dating

The One That Got Away…Thank God.

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Everyone – except those Mid-westerners/Southerners who adorably married their high school sweetheart – has a story about a love lost that could have been the greatest love they’d ever known. Which I think is kind of bullshit.

It’s easy to highly romanticize every relationship you have, because we expect the flowers, the dinners, the gifts and the proposal that can only happen when the producers of the “The Bachelor” orchestrate the whole thing. If we’re being honest with ourselves, the real romance is sitting at home, sharing a box of Trader Joe’s wine and a plastic container of olives, watching “Couples Therapy” on VH1 and getting through an evening without bickering. But just like we strive to create this false sense of elated euphoria in the relationship we have, we create the same gauzy-filtered idea of a lost love.

My “lost love” was my college boyfriend. He was my first real boyfriend (I’m not counting Joey, my 7th grade beau, whom I fell desperately in love with during our run as Mr. and Mrs. Zubritski in a 7th grade production of Neil Simon’s “Fools.” After a double date to see “Titanic,” it somehow all fell apart. It was probably because my boobs hadn’t come in yet and I couldn’t compete “I want you to draw me” Kate Winslet. I was still trying to work up the nerve to kiss him.) We met at the college TV station, where we both spent 5 nights a week pretending we were delivering news that our peers actually watched. We dated for 2 years, then it was that delicate time where he graduated and I had one more year. But obviously, we were meant to be, so he did what every dumb-ass college kid would: he got a job at a sporting goods store to wait for me.

After about 9 months of peddling reasonably priced jockstraps and camping tents, he had enough and started applying for jobs with minor league baseball teams to operate the jumbotron (very flashy, I know). As he applied for jobs, I abandoned all my dreams of becoming a TV personality, and started telling myself I’d be happy being the game-day reporter for whatever team he landed with. I mean…running through the stands asking fans trivia questions and leading “Roll Out The Barrel” is almost as good as being the face of E! News, right? No ma’am. But we had already decided we were going to get married, so what choice did I have? This was my first wifely-duty: stand by your man.

If I may digress for a second and give you youngsters some advice: do not discuss marriage while in college, you are doing both of yourselves a disservice. It not only puts pressure on you to do something that you’re probably not ready for, but forcing yourself to make decisions based on an idea will only lead to resentment. Which leads me to…

He got a job in a small town in Michigan, where the only two things they had were a nuclear power plant, and a minor league baseball team. I visited him a couple times, he came back to Wisconsin to see me. At first, we both believed I would move there to be with him. Then I started applying for internships in New York, and the plan changed to him moving to NY and working for the Mets. I think we both knew at that point no one was going to move. We were both starting out, and both found our own – very different – lives in – very different – separate places. We clung to each other for about 8 months, then had a teary breakup over the phone. At the time, I thought we’d take a few months off to “find ourselves” as adults, then get back together. We still texted often and he echoed my sentiments that we’d get back together eventually. I ate it up, in all of it’s “The Notebook-esque” glory (I guess living in Michigan next to a power plant is kind of like being shipped to WWII?).

Then 2-months later, I saw on Facebook he was dating his chubby, skunk-striped-highlights coworker – even though he had once claimed he “would never” when I expressed concern over his close friendship with a female colleague. He gained about 50 lbs and a year later, they were engaged (which…is really all you hope for when an ex moves on, so that was kinda fun for me). I was on a work trip and my sister called to break the news to me. I immediately burst into tears. He was the one that got away. I would never love again. No one would ever love me the way he did. Then I saw their engagement photos and realized a dodged a horrifying, plus-sized bullet. Choice photos included: them on a bridge…on a children’s playground; frolicking in the leaves; and my personal favorite: them facing each other in 3-point position, like they were 2 offensive linemen facing off.

Was it a good first love? Absolutely. Was he the one that got away? No. In no alternate universe would we have been happy together. We want different lives. He wants to get radiation poisoning while running a giant screen, I want to live in NYC and become a writer and performer. He wanted to flirt with Type II diabetes, I wanted to flirt with handsome men with dreams bigger than mine, and hopefully an apartment bigger than mine.

Maybe the one that got away from you has a glossier life that you think you could fit into. But, in reality, I think there’s a reason they get away. Maybe the love you had was great and right at the time. But you broke up; they didn’t slip away in a “he went to jail for 20 years after he accidentally killed someone while trying to protect you” plot line. You didn’t fit into each other’s lives and that’s okay. I think looking back through that gauzy, romantic filter only makes future relationships harder. You should look back on previous relationships the way they were: flawed. So it’s not “the one that got away,” it’s the one that didn’t work out. To quote my man Jigga, “on to the next one.” Hopefully one that doesn’t go to jail before you can trick him into marrying you.

Prom Date, Revisited

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I don’t have a terribly embarrassing high school yearbook photo, and I never skipped outdoor recess to play Dungeons and Dragons in the library. I was witty and got along better with adults. Cute, but didn’t have any interest in wearing full makeup to school, slash…ever. I didn’t even known how to use it, as evidenced by the one day I DID attempt to use some concealer to cover the dark under-eye circles my father so generously passed down; my mom politely informed me that it wasn’t supposed to look like a nude-hued football player’s eye black.

So when it came to being asked to the Prom, let’s be honest here, I didn’t have any real prospects. There was one boy. We’ll call him Spencer. He was in my AP Biology class, got better grades than I did, and wrestled for the school in the Under-132 lbs category. By no means a “catch” by high school standards, I was pretty sure he was going to grow up to be one of those Maury Povich “Nerds to Knockout” success stories. So I felt pretty good about getting in on the ground floor of a future hottie. Plus he was way smart and I knew hot jocks grow up to own used car dealerships and nerds grow up to invent things like Facebook or Spanx. So enlisted my friends to not-so subtly encourage him (OK, fine, make him) ask me to Prom. But I also offered to go Dutch because I’m not a total sociopath.

The night was fine.  We went with a group of other unlikely couples. We got our awkward photo, where his hand is placed precariously just below my left breast and we both look sufficiently uncomfortable standing butt-to-crotchal region (My dress was also handmade by my crafty mother. Later shortened to attend some other function in college. Let’s here it for Midwestern thriftiness!) I think we went out to dinner, then piled in Ben’s car (i.e. his mother’s Subaru) to get to the venue downtown. I danced the whole night to Eminem and Britney’s greatest hits, and Spencer…well I don’t know what he did the whole time, because he had no interest in “grinding” on me, as the other sweaty youths were doing.

He later dropped me off at my friend Kaitlin’s house where the gals were having a sleepover. Spencer bid me goodnight with a half-hearted wave and a “That was fun.” Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the recreation of “A Walk to Remember” I was hoping for (I didn’t become mysteriously ill and no one proposed!!??), but I went to my Senior Prom, had fun with my friends, and my date was definitely going to be a real catch in 5-10 years. And since I was his Senior Prom date, that gave my precedence over any other 2-bit whore he meets in college who tries to marry him.

Flash forward 5 years. I was home visiting my parents and as luck would have it, my high school bestie, Carolyn Ashe, was also home. So we met at a local watering hole for a drink, to gossip about people who gained weight, dropped out of college already, accidentally got pregnant…as you do. All of a sudden Carolyn said, “ohmigod, is that Spencer?” It was! And, spoiler alert! I was totally right. He was tall, well built and totally adorable. (Lesson to high school girls: meeting men is a marathon, not a sprint. Put in the work early and hope for the big payoff. The hottest guy in school, by that time, married his high school girlfriend and they already had 2 kids. “Friday Night Lights” isn’t just a TV show, it’s a cautionary tale, kids). Carolyn confirmed that he did, indeed, grow into his looks and gave me the green light to flirt.

Spencer saw that Carolyn and I are blatantly pointing and rubber-necking to get a better look at him, and being the more mature one (which I knew he would be! Totally nailing it!), he walked over to greet us. We exchanged hellos, how-are-yous, why-are-you-in-town-because-it’s-not-a-holidays, all while I’m thinking of the best way to slyly sneak in “Listen, I know we never hooked up on Prom night but I can make it up to you, tonight.” While I was thinking of ways to not sound like a date-rapist, I suddenly heard my future husband say “…finished seminary school and now I’m at a parish in Minnesota.” Umm what? Seminary school? In my good ear??? It sounded like you said you said the only wedding ring you will ever wear is to signify your marriage to God. Without much to commiserate on that one, Carolyn and I quickly wrapped up the conversation and he sauntered back to his table that I can only imagine was full of other do-gooders.

A Priest?!?! My mind reeled as Carolyn and I laugh, but I couldn’t help but think: this is my fault, right? I broke the cardinal (no pun intended) rule of Prom! I didn’t even kiss him, and now he’s gone and joined the cloth. One lousy Prom night with me and this man gave his life over to Jesus? I wasn’t a cool, self-aware kid at all! How could I have missed this glaring mistake? Were there signs? Did he offer to turn my water at Applebee’s that night into a wine cooler? I can’t remember!

So my plan didn’t exactly “work out,” but I still think the most important take away here is that I was totally right! Take that, more popular girl whose date still works at the Sendeck’s super market! My guy might be a priest, but that’s better than bagging groceries when you’re flirting with 30!!! Granted, I should have done more Facebook stalking to see who got cute, but didn’t come out of the closet or dedicate their life to Jesus. Thank God I was such a prude in high school and, more importantly, didn’t ask him to hookup in my mom’s minivan that night. I can sleep soundly knowing he didn’t have to do 5 Hail Mary’s to save my slut soul.

“Today I Marry My Best Friend” and Other Wedding Cliches to Avoid

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I’m going to be upfront and start by saying, no, I am not engaged. But my boyfriend recently told me – whilst shoving fistfuls of Craisins into his mouth – that he wants to impregnate me. Safe to say that my fairy tale is imminent, so I better start planning ahead.
 
I’m in my late twenties, which means in the past 7 years I’ve gone to about a hundred weddings and spent so much money on gifts I could have put up a down payment on a nice little condo. But at said hundreds of weddings, I have also witnessed a few wedding cliches that I would like to avoid like Mexican tap water:
 
1. Overly Creative Engagement Photos
I understand you want your “Save the Date” card to be so fucking adorable and original that every guest will feel honored to be invited to your gala. But let’s remember that your Save the Date will be thrown away immediately. So don’t waste your money on a 3-day photo shoot and photoshopping the Millennium Falcon in the background. And we already know you’re nerds. We’ll come to your wedding anyways. (Use the money to buy yourself that $600 pasta maker you nonsensically registered for. No one else will.) But we WILL 100% text you the day before your wedding for that venue information.
 
2. Flash Mobs and Choreographed Dances
I think this goes for proposals, entrances and receptions. It was cool in 2004, but at this point, it’s really no longer a “surprise” or original. It’s actually really annoying. And no matter how supportive your friends are, no one wants to participate in 5 hours of mandatory dance rehearsal to learn the hand jive. And the ones that do? They’re just trying to steal your thunder. Leave them in a gross coral bridesmaid’s dress and just relish the attention you’ll get regardless of your showmanship.
 
3. Saying “I’d Die Without You”
So maybe no one says this verbatim in their vows, but I’ve heard many a-couple say this. Usually of the child-bride variety. You may think this is very Romeo-and-Juliet-romantic, but I think most psychologists would agree that it’s more like a serious codependency issue that should be addressed toute-suite. Let us remember from freshman english that Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy. Some friendly neighborhood priest sold a couple of kids poison in the name of a love-suicide pact, and that’s what we should all aspire to? I don’t think so. I think a weird tattoo, or a simple “love ya, boo” would suffice as far as proclamations of love go.
 
4. “Today I Marry My Best Friend…”
Perhaps on EVERY wedding program ever. It goes without saying you have to be friends with your spouse otherwise you wouldn’t want to binge on “House of Cards” in-between scheduled sex nights. Plus, your sig-other is the one you’re allowed to tell the secrets that you were sworn to secrecy not to tell. This, by default, makes them your bestie/Road Dog. Although if I were really marrying my best friend, it would be a lesbian wedding and my mother would have won that bet she had with my father. 
 
5. That Wedding Photo of Just Your Left Hands
To show off your rings, of course! Ugh, I get it! You’re hitched. This is what binds us, blah blah blah. Who honestly wants a picture of their hands? I have my father’s large knuckles and a big wood-carving-accident scar on my left paw. I do not need these facts further immortalized. Please don’t tell me you’ve actually hang that up in your home, either. You look at your own hands a thousand times a day, I don’t understand why you need a photo of them hanging in your foyer to remind yourself what your ring looks like. And if it’s hung up next to your “Save the Date” card, then just don’t ever invite me over. It’s the best for everyone.
 
6. Arms-Up Cheering When You’re Announced
I know you’re excited to walk into your awesome reception. (For the record, if it’s not open bar, it’s not awesome. Ditto for post-dinner drunk snackies). But you didn’t just win the Super Bowl. You won an eternity of picking up someone’s boxer briefs with questionable stains on them. Just walk in like you have a shred of dignity. 
 
7. Mother/Son & Father/Daughter Dance
I just think it’s awkward to sit and watch normal people (i.e., not cast members of “Dancing With the Stars”) sway side to side for 4 minutes and act like it’s the most touching thing you’ve ever witnessed. And if you’re doing it to that Hawaiian ukulele version of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” you officially have the most generic, boring 4 minutes of your guests’ lives. No one even likes the ukulele, unless you live in Williamsburg and own one. And then no one likes you, anyways.
 
8. Playing “YMCA” Like It’s 1987
I would say any “group dance” kind of song is a big N-O. But this song, in particular, is over. Please stop acting like that stupid arm thing is fun. It’s really not. And even if you think it is, what do you do for the 12 verses in between? It’s not like you know the words. So, no thank you. 
 
9. Throwing the Bouquet
I almost didn’t include this one because everyone already knows this is embarrassing for everyone. No need to draw attention to your single friends. Everyone will know how to find them, anyways. They’re the ones alternately drunk-sobbing in the bathroom and grinding on any man who looks under the age of 65. Unless you have a rich uncle, then age be damned. Mama’s too pretty to work full-time. 
 
10. The “Find the Garter” Game
The man-version of the bouquet but arguably worse. Why must we all watch the groom climb up his new wife’s dress and pull off a purely ornamental garter? Unless she’s wearing stockings, a garter is ridiculous and probably itchy as hell. Besides, we all know you’re boning later and we’re already playing along with the “for the first time” charade. Spare me this uncomfortable display of foreplay. There are children here.
 
 
So, when my personal prince charming stops audibly farting long enough to propose with a diamond he probably bought from a sad divorcee on eBay…I will know what I want to avoid on my big day. My game plan? Do it quick and dirty and just get to the part where my dad does Jaeger-bombs and my Aunt Helen tries to booty-pop all over my husband’s friends. Oh and collect a shit-ton of gifts. You bitches owe me.