I Like The Idea of Plural Marriage

I want a sister-wife.

I've always wanted a sister and how great would it be to divide the household chores with somebody? I mean, she could do all the cleaning and I could do all the shopping, for example. And while I don't want to go through pregnancy and c-section again, it would be fun to have another baby around. As long as my sister-wife had a lot of money, because we can't really afford another child. Yeah, I think it would be best if my sister-wife was independently wealthy. And funny. I couldn't live with someone who wasn't funny.

Like those women on the Sister-Wives reality show? They seem nice and I'm they're all much better about cleaning than I am. But they're all so earnest - I don't think any one of them has a sense of the absurd. Which is what you often find with people who cling to old-fashioned religious notions like plural marriage. So clearly I"m not going to find my future sister-wife in that community. Especially since my desire for plural marriage has nothing to do with religious conviction and everything to do with getting out of scrubbing the floor.  And having someone to watch "The Real Housewives of Wherever" with. And getting to be around a new baby without doing any of the tough stuff. And an infusion of cash.

I'm not sure how Hot Guy would feel about this. It's possible that I should have talked to Hot Guy about this before sharing it on the internet, but what man wouldn't want 2 wives? That's twice as much sex! Plus you get 2 anniversaries, 2 birthdays and 2 honey-do lists. And surely with 2 women complaining about leaving socks on the floor it will be easier to stop, right?

I know that I'll have to overcome my jealousy like those women on the show. But I'll have it easier since I'll be choosing my own sister-wife - it's not going to be Hot Guy coming home and telling me that he "fell in love with" (you ever notice how the hyper-religious all say that after like 2 dates? but it's so obviously lust and they're just afraid to admit it?) some new woman that I'll just have to get used to. Obviously I will choose someone that I like a lot and that Hot Guy finds slightly attractive. Emphasis on the "slightly". Also, he can't show her affection in front of me. In fact, it would be best if he only went near her when I wasn't in the mood. I think that would cure the whole jealousy thing. For me.

So, does anyone know a slightly attractive, expert cleaner, rich, single woman with a great sense of humor who could spend the rest of her life being second best without going all Lifetime Movie crazy and killing me?

Yeah, it's a good thing I like my 'single marriage'.

The Godless Heathen Heads to Bible School

This week I am volunteering at Vacation Bible School.

My kids' preschool is housed in a church and there's some crossover. Like VBS. We don't belong to the church, though. We don't belong to any church. We're a mix of secular humanism and Unitarian-Universalism; we  don't believe the Bible is the word of God.

I never went to Vacation Bible School. Or Sunday School. The first time I read the Bible was in college, as an history major who took everything regarded as historical fact with a grain of salt.

Although the first time I heard about the Bible was 9 or so years before,  from a neighbor whose family was EXTREMELY dysfunctional. She told me I was going to hell because I hadn't been baptized. I asked if her (extremely violent) brother would go to hell also since, you know, he was evil. She said no, he was baptized. (I realize that this was faulty, but I"m trying to explain my thinking)

I had no way of arguing with her, I barely knew what "baptized" meant. And that's exactly what I DON'T want for my children. I want them to understand what Christianity is so that it can't be used against them. When the time comes, I want them to make an informed choice about their religious and spiritual practices. (I would, of course, prefer that choice to be like mine, but I'll settle for anything short of Quiverfull, extremism of any kind or Satanism).

So, anyway. VBS.

Yesterday's lesson was that the Bible is the word of God. Fortunately, I am volunteering in the nursery so that I don't have to have a lot of theoretical discussions about the lessons. Or, really, any discussions about the lessons. Which is good, since I don't actually believe most of the lessons.

Ah, the lessons of VBS. They make me think of  cult indoctrinations. That and the songs of praise/dancing/clapping sessions twice a day. We don't take the nursery kids to those sessions, we just play the CD over and over and over. And over. Isn't that a part of an indoctrination methodology?

All of my children are having a grand time. They loooooove VBS.

The older two recount stories to me, and I repeat, "That's what some people believe". I wonder if they'll have VBS detention if they repeat that to all of the believers. I wonder if letting them go to VBS  just because it's fun, cheap and filled with friends makes me a total hypocrite.

I wonder if I can listen to that CD for 3 more mornings straight.

I wonder what your thoughts are on sending your kids to religious education classes or camps. Do you expect your kids to believe what you believe or to make their own decisions?

Also, do you think I"m a total hypocrite?

True Confession Tuesday VIII: The Party

You can catch up by reading TCT: Special 2 Part Episode, TCT: Relationship and TCT: The Sheep.

The party was on a very hot Saturday night in July. It was meant to be a simple backyard barbecue, but between the alcohol and the huge crowd it had a bit more in common with a frat party.  I felt it somehow appropriate that I was acting like a college kid on my 30th birthday.

Martin was the first of "my boys" (as Mimi and my other girlfriends took to calling them) to arrive. And even though I had specified no gifts, he brought me a mix CD he had made. Which was sweet, because the whole time we were dating he always seemed to be making CDs, but never for me. Pleased, I read the friendly message inside and glanced over the songs. Most of them were songs he knew I liked (Abba, the Sopranos theme). Some seemed odd, but I was quickly distracted by the bright, shiny beer bottle someone handed me.

As the other boys arrived (MG the most recent ex, Foster the almost, John the new potential, Scott's friends the flirts), I began to find the whole situation incredibly amusing (okay, a few more bright, shiny bottles may have helped. Also, vodka.). The guys nodded to each other and then gravitated toward whichever one of my friends they had liked best. MG had an advantage because some of his own female friends were at the party too. I cheerfully circulated, when not doing birthday shots.

I mostly ignored the boys, dancing around the patio and cheering on the volleyball players.

MG and I spent a lot of time staring at each other, though. The night before he had taken me out to dinner and declared his feelings and regrets over breaking up. He had said things like, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known," and "I'll never hurt you again." I had said I needed to think about it. I had just turned 30, but I think romantically I was more like 19. So while I drank and laughed and danced, I assessed my romantic options.

At one point I wound up sitting next to John. We made small talk. Martin drifted to a seat nearby. Then Foster did. Finally, MG sat in the chair on my other side. We were all basically in a circle. Two of my friends walked by, glanced around the circle and then walked away giggling. No help from that front. The five of us had an awkward conversation. Foster thought the situation was hysterical, so he kept saying semi-inappropriate things to me just to watch the others react. John thought he was simply hitting on the birthday girl and couldn't seem to understand why these other guys were cock-blocking. Martin made snide comments that could have been construed as insults but weren't obviously rude. MG was quiet but attentive - getting me more beer without being asked, etc.

John soon moved on to greener pastures (which was good, as his obsession with his pet snake had begun to disturb me). Then Foster spotted a young blond and moved on as well. Martin left the party right after that, claiming that he was tired. He hugged me good-bye and reminded me to enjoy the CD. I paused and looked at him, giving him a chance to mention the significance of the songs. He didn't.

So I was left with MG. He was so sincere and sweet. I was weak (and drunk). We got back together.

That time it lasted for three months.

True Confession Tuesday VI and VII: A Special 2 Part Episode

In which our heroine gets into a lot more trouble. . . .

Read previous confessions here, here and here.

Martin and I sat down on his couch to talk. He began by saying that he though we'd always be one of those couples that was okay. I had no idea what he meant.

"I mean, we'll always be content. We'd never make each other extremely happy or extremely unhappy," he explained.

"Um, I guess, " I said cautiously, not sure where he was going with this.

"But that's not what I want. I want the extremes. I think we should break up and just be friends. I think you're a terrific person but I want a grand passion.. . " he tried to explain. He had a lot more to say, much of it very kind about me.

But I was not in the mood to hear about his feelings. "You've got to be fucking kidding me! Stop talking to me about this now. I'm too upset. You just dumped me, for God's sake!!!!!!" I had almost stormed out the door when I remembered that my laundry was in his laundry room (it was so nice dating someone with a washer and dryer). So instead of a grand, dramatic, stomping exit, I had to walk out with an armload of laundry and Martin following me, picking up my trail of stray socks.

I drove to a local park and cried my eyes out. I wrote a nasty email, an attempt at persuasion email and then suddenly I felt better.

It was the weirdest thing. All of a sudden I was just over it. I suppose I realized that he was right. Martin and I became friends. He still came over and hooked up my DVR. We didn't hang out, but we talked on the phone and emailed. And I was fine. Half of my friends thought this meant we'd get back together, the other half thought that the meant Martin had done the right thing.

I, of course, agree with the latter. But breaking up with Martin did totally screw me up dating-wise. I had finally dated a nice, semi-sane person and then he dumped me unequivocally.  I rejected every guy who wasn't nice and semi-sane, but I also didn't want to risk getting permanently dumped again.

Meeting MG was the answer to my fucked up prayers.

VII:

In which our heroine gets into even more trouble. . . .

I met MG about six months after Martin dumped me. I was sure I was happy being single. I didn't miss Martin (who was usually only a phone call away), but I had missed being a part of a couple. I had had high hopes when I finally met Foster, the other guy from Match.com. But unfortunately, by the time we met we had become such good buddies that I couldn't develop any romantic feelings for him. I knew about too many of his commitment issues to even think about dating him. But we also remained friends. So after I few attempts at dating, I accepted my single status. I accepted my male friends as they were and I finally realized I could be happy on my own.

And then I went to watch Monday Night Football with Mimi. After a debate about who had claimed the last open table in the bar, MG, his two friends, Mimi and I all shared the table. MG was not my usual type. He was quiet. He was a bit shy. But I was smitten anyway.

Apparently the feeling was mutual. We began dating, then dating exclusively, fairly quickly. I had never really had the sweet, romantic first love sort of thing in high school. But that was what dating MG was like at first. All sweet and romantic and without a lot of substance.

MG hadn't had a girlfriend since he was seventeen. I think that was part of it. And like a lot of seventeen year old boys, he would clam up when something bothered him. And these things would build up and then he'd break up with me. The second time we broke up was a month before I turned thirty. Within a 24 hour period, MG broke up with me, I requested a transfer to teach another school for the following year and I closed on my house (the one that MG was supposed to help me fix up).

Martin, Foster and basically all of my friends told me to forget about MG right then. But I didn't, exactly. We stayed friends. And he did help with my house. So when my friend Mimi offered to throw me a huge birthday bash (because if I was going to turn 30 single, dammit, I was going to have a good time) I invited MG. And Martin. And Foster. And Mimi invited John, a cute single guy that she knew. And her boyfriend Scott invited all of his friends. One (or two, I can't really remember) of whom I loved flirting with.

Mimi also got a lot of alcohol. It was going to be one hell of a party.

True Confession Tuesday: Relationship

In which our heroine discovers what it's like with a nice, normal person. . .

(catch up on I, II, III and IV . Or not. Totally up to you.)

While Martin and I had been talking, my friends had taken a vote. They all thought that Martin should join us. Not one of them was especially fond of Tony, plus they were all concerned that this nice guy might be freaked out by our bar behavior. They thought it better to know if Martin was easily embarrassed as soon as possible. (We had a habit of dancing at this bar, even though there was no dance floor. Regulars just got out of our way. We also sang very loudly along with the jukebox, which we usually commandeered upon our arrival. We may also have played spin the bottle. I’m sure we were supremely annoying but we had a lot of fun.)

So Martin arrived and immediately bought everyone shots (in retrospect, I’m not sure that this was a good idea, but it sure charmed all of my friends). Our antics made him laugh. No matter how much attention we inadvertently drew to ourselves, he remained calm and laughing. I was starting to find him more attractive by the minute. Things were going so well that we were holding hands. . .when gorgeous Tony walked in.

He arrived at the table and said “Hey” to everybody. His eyes flicked to my hand and Martin’s, entwined on the table. He grinned at me and nodded. When Martin went to the bathroom, I waited for Tony to say something. When I went to the bar, I waited for Tony to follow me. I waited for a look when we all walked to our cars. I waited for a phone call after I got home.

I got nothing from Tony, except that grin and nod.

I concluded that he probably had a cell phone of women on speed dial and thus focused my romantic attentions on Martin. We spent a lot of time together and I liked him more and more. We never disagreed or argued. There was no new relationship angst. Our friends got along. Meetings with parents went okay. We fell into a routine fairly quickly. At the beginning of May, Martin started talking about summer plans. Our summer plans. I took this as a good sign.

I was very content. It was so different from life with my ex-husband, or life trying to date a bunch of crazy people. So when he said he wanted to talk, I was merely curious

True Confession Tuesday IV: The Sheep

To catch up, go here.

In which our heroine learns about fetishes and complications. . . .

So in between avoiding phone calls from Kenny the milk man and 21 year old, I began checking out the men of Match.com. It didn't take me long to learn to weed out the married guys and the guys merely looking for sex partners (often, but not always the same thing).  I next spent time exhanging emails with several guys. I learned that it usually took about 4 exchanges for the crazy to come out. For example, one nice accountant turned out to be really, really into sheep. He wanted to know if I would consider dressing up as one.  That was our last exchange. By January, I was corresponding with Martin and Foster (those are very thinly veiled pseudonyms). Neither was married, both wanted to get to know me and neither one had ever mentioned sheep. I was psyched.

Foster was working in California at the time, even though he lived in KC. But I was perfectly content to have a flirtatious email friendship with him, he was funny and smart and I thought he had POTENTIAL.

Martin and I met for drinks. He was funny, smart and very sweet but I didn't feel very attracted to him. He was somewhat nerdy, and even though I am a total nerd I didn't know if I could date one. Also, I had recently met Tony, who was HOT (and not that bright or funny or nice but did I mention HOT?). My friend Mimi urged me to give Martin a chance, so I went on another date with him. We had a really good time. I was torn.

Not that I was getting an offers of exclusivity, but the whole situation felt weird to me. It was one thing to play the field, but when someone mentioned my "herd" of men, I freaked out a little. I even told Foster all about it, but he was kind of cagey. Though he did mention that he was seeing someone at the California office. I shrugged that off, I had enough problems with guys who were local.

One night I was out drinking with my girlfriends. Tony was supposed to join us, but he hadn't show up yet. Then Martin called me. He had been out with his friends. Could he join us? I just turned the damn phone off when 21 year old's number flashed on the screen.

True Confession Tuesday III

In which our heroine learns a valuable lesson. . . .

(  TCT 0, TCT I, TCT II)

Now, when T. first suggested that we join Match.com, I was reluctant. I was pretty happy with my life, after all. I didn't need a boyfriend. I still wasn't even sure that I wanted one. And I busily assured everyone (because T. had mentioned our new activity to everyone we worked with) that I was perfectly capable of meeting men on my own. I had, I'm embarrassed to say, a rather snotty attitude about Match.com. Sure, it was fine for other people, but I didn't need any HELP meeting people.

Karma for this attitude showed up in the form of Kenny.

The school I taught at was one the few remaining schools that had a working kitchen. The "lunch ladies" actually cooked the food. I always got along with them, but I was really surprised when one of them came down to my classroom during my planning time. Especially since she was giggling. A single mom with two kids and three jobs, S. wasn't much of a giggler.

"Do you know the milk man?" she asked.

I was really, really, confused about this apparent set-up for a bad joke. I'd been expecting to hear that one of my students had gotten into a fight in the lunch line, or that her daughter was selling Girl Scout cookies. "Do you mean the guy who delivers the milk to the school?" I clarified.

"He wants to go out with you. I promised him I'd ask you for your number because he's too afraid to ask you himself." She giggled some more.

"Are you serious? I don't even know who he is," I replied. I thought I knew, because there was a kinda cute guy that I saw in the delivery area often, but I wasn't sure.. Turns out the cute guy delivered the food.

"Well, his crush on you brightens my whole day. I've been trying to convince him to make a move for months." She giggled again at the cuteness of it all.

Two thoughts occurred to me: One, I could meet men without even trying. Two, what kind of loser would find me intimidating? I had to know. I gave S. my phone number.

The milk man called that night. He seemed to have me confused with Drew Barrymore, for all the compliments he heaped on me. I asked him, sort of jokingly, if he had me confused with one of the other teachers. He described my outfit that day perfectly. Too I didn't remember seeing the cute guy that day. Still, I agreed to go out with him. He seemed nice, more grown up than 21 year old and more sure of his feelings than Freakboy.

So we went out. He lived WAY out in the country and drove for two hours to take me out. That was pretty flattering. And he paid for everything. That was pretty nice. But his two topics of conversation were my attractiveness (boring, even for someone like me who's not used to such things) and his daughter (which would have been fine, except that I found out that the three year old's mother was 20 and milk man was a few years older than I was and the situation just seemed skeevy). That was pretty awful. And then he tried to insist that we go on a carriage ride on the Plaza, even though I find the horses depressing. He actually seemed to be pissed that I didn't want to go on the carriage ride. Alarm bells went off in my head. Finally I escaped to the bathroom and called my friend Mimi, and she and her boyfriend "accidentally" ran into us. Thank God.

It was the worst date ever. The following Monday, I received roses from Kenny thanking me for the BEST date ever. I filled out my Match.com profile at lunch.

Hours after joining Match.com, I had twelve messages from apparently normal men in the Kansas City area.

I thanked Kenny for the flowers and told him I didn't think it would work. He begged me for another chance. It still didn't work. I played the friends card and began replying to Match.com messages.

(Kenny recovered. He now delivers 7Up. He was living with someone the last time he called me.)

True Confession Tuesday: Books

(Welcome to a break in our regularly scheduled programming. I just realized that this post is due today - because I have forgotten all of my organization skills - so while it does involve a confession of sorts, it doesn't exactly continue the story of how I became Mrs. Hot Guy. That will continue next week. Unless I've forgotten something else. Sorry.)

So one of the other pleasures of writing for the SVMoms Group is that there's a book club. If you're in the book club, you can sign up to read and write about new books. Last month I signed up for a particular book. I didn't sign up for another book, because I thought it would upset me.

Look, I used to read deeply intellectual books for pleasure. I used to read searing stories of pain and loss, of history, of life. Then I started teaching in a neighborhood where there was already a lot of pain and loss. My book choices turned quickly to mysteries and chick lit. Which is where they remain, because if I am reading to relax I don't want to get confused or upset. Sue me.

Of course, I also got the book that I thought would upset me. But I felt compelled to read it, because taking it was like a promise. And so I stuffed "I Am Nujood, Aged 10 and Divorced" into my purse.

I got divorced at 27 - it seems like a lifetime ago now. I had gotten engaged at 21 (after a month), married at 23. . . I know some people who married that young, or even younger, and are still happy. I think it's fantastic that they made such smart decisions at such young ages. I, however, was not smart at that age. Or in any way mature enough to choose well. I chose poorly and suffered for it. And still it was hard to leave.

I had a career, parents and friends who were more than supportive of my decision,  and still I had moments of doubt. I didn't know anyone who was my age and divorced.

As I read the words of a 10 year old, with little education, who was violated and abused by the sadistic beast of a husband who'd chosen her, I teared up. Our situations were nothing alike, of course, but when she talked about the relief she felt when it was over , I remembered my first day in my first solo apartment. Choosing pictures I loved for the walls, knowing I'd never again have to look at his "art" (collages of magazine cut-outs of naked models - I wonder what his current art history students would think of them?). Knowing that no one was there to complain about what I ate, what I read, what I watched, what I said and what I wore. Feeling relieved.

Divorce has such negative connotations, even in our divorce-friendly country. We feel sorry for people when they get divorced. And I'm sure there are plenty of divorced people who deserve our sympathy. But I think the rest of us deserve a party grander than our weddings.

True Confession Tuesday II

Like the Roman Numerals? I'm going to see how many I can remember before I have to Google them. Also, even though I'm on the third installment of how I (eventually) became Mrs. Hot Guy, this is only the second time I've done it on a Tuesday. If you'd like to join in, write a post on your own blog and leave a comment so I can link to it. Or you can just confess in the comments.

Episode 1

Episode 2

I decided to tell the whole saga to A, the older, happily married custodian at the school where I taught first grade. After my fifteen minute long diatribe, during which A. could have being doing better things like leaving for the day, he was kind enough to smile. And then he said, "Do you mean to tell me that an attractive, educated woman such as yourself can't do better than a freak and a child?"

Hmm. That certainly put things in perspective. And after he told me that six or seven more times, as Freakboy  acted like a boyfriend one day and a pal the next and 21 year old showed himself to have both the personality and IQ of a Labrador, I finally realized he was right. Freakboy and I became STRICTLY friends and I only talked to 21 year old on the phone when he called me. As summer school ended, A. made me promise that I would use my time off wisely.

Hehe. Thus began the season of dreadful dates. There was D., cute and intelligent, his only flaw being his obsession with his ex-wife. I realized it was getting to me when spending the night watching Law and Order seemed preferable to going out on a second date. Then there was Mark, who did not ask me one question all evening and then complained that I didn't talk enough. There was also Joe, so sweet and thoughtful it was like going on a date with my best friend. My best girl friend. From fourth grade.

I gave up when football season started, spending my weekends watching games with my friend Mimi, flirting with her boyfriend's friends (who were all married or alcoholics) in a desultory way. I did some volunteer work and some tutoring after school. I began going dancing a lot (which, by the by, is not really a good way to meet straight men). I was content.

And that's when my friend T. decided we should harness the power of the internet to improve our dating lives.

True Confession Tuesday

Okay, like 2 weeks ago I resurrected Soap Opera Sunday, but then I felt guilty about it because it wasn't my idea originally, I just participated. But I still wanted to share those stories, because most of you reading now weren't reading me back then. And those of you that were probably don't remember anyway.

Uh. . .what was I talking about? Oh yeah, so this is my post for True Confession Tuesday. If you want to participate, leave your link in the comments OR email me (jen@jerseygirl89.com) with a link to your post and I will add it to this post. Or you can just planning on letting me know for next week. If there seems to be interest, I will do the Mr. Linky thing, but I will get depressed if I see an empty Mr.Linky every time I look at my page.

True Confession Tuesday, Part Deux

Part 1

Because I was so flummoxed by the kiss, I did not respond, "What kind of favor?" in a sexy voice. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have been able to be flirtatious like that even if I hadn't been flummoxed. But I do blame the kiss on my next comment, which was "How old are you, anyway?"

Cute young guy laughed and said that he'd be 21 the following week. I would be 28 a few weeks later. I told him he was too young for me and he claimed that I "at least" owed him my phone number. I only gave it in the spirit of thanks and the Nine Rule (my friend M. and I had deduced that for every 9 guys who ask for your number, only 1 will actually call).

But of course, young guy (heretofore known as "21-year-old, which is what my friends dubbed him) called. The next day. He persuaded me to go out to dinner with him. I found him attractive, after all. But at dinner I discovered that 21-year-old did not read books. Ever. He had no goals, other than affording a big screen TV and a new truck. We were clearly not meant to be.

When I got home from the dinner, still a little stunned from the passionate kiss good-bye, Freakboy called. I was still trying to figure out why I had been kissing a 21-year-old  whom I had no intention of dating when Freakboy asked me what I'd been up to. So I told him.

Well, not the kissing part, but the date part. Freakboy and I, after all, were just casual. More friends than anything else. I knew he had a crush on the waitress at Tanner's, for God's sake. Yet when I said I'd been out to dinner with a guy I'd met at Kelly's, Freakboy . . .kind of freaked out.

"Geez, Jerseygirl, I thought WE were dating," he said plaintively. "I know we're not exclusive or anything, but I didn't think you'd actually date other people and TELL me about it."

"So is it the dating other people or the telling you that's the problem? Because I'm pretty sure I have to hear all about the waitress whenever we go to Tanner's," I replied snottily. Not that I cared, of course. Suddenly the simplicity of 21-year-old flashed before my eyes - he'd declared what he'd wanted so simply. HE wanted to be my boyfriend. So what if he was kind of an idiot. What did Freakboy want? Did he even know?

And for that matter, what did I want?