How I Met Your Father*

Today is Hot Guy's birthday. I wanted to do a post about him, but I didn't want to do a typical birthday post. This one is inspired by "How I Met Your Mother" and a blog post series/link up I wrote in 2007 called "Soap Opera Sunday". It could also be entitled, "Why I Call My Husband 'Hot Guy' On My Blog."

When I moved to Kansas City, I was 27 and newly separated. I moved to KC for three reasons: because I got what I thought was my ideal teaching job there, because my ex-husband wasn't too far away in case the separation didn't take and because I was afraid to move back into my parents' house in New Jersey. 

After the first four months, I realized how happy I was without my ex, so I suggested a divorce. Slowly I started to get my self-esteem back. I made some friends. I volunteered and joined the art museum's young members group. I even started pseudo dating.  The guy was also recently divorced. We were little more than good friends, really, but people assumed we were dating and that was okay with me. He was attractive and funny, but there was something missing between us. 

Not that I was in any rush to become romantically entangled with anyone again. Especially after my  friend T got dumped and went on a singles scene rampage. Suddenly the suburban bars weren't good enough for her and she dragged me to Kelly's in Westport - one of the biggest pick-up spots in the Western hemisphere. After buying our trough-like beers, we spotted an empty table. Then T needed to go to the bathroom and R went to find chairs for our table. My job was to guard the beers from Roofie spilling sickos. 

Naturally two seconds after the others left a sleazy older guy slid over to me and started talking. I panicked when I realized that my usual suburban bar tactics (escape to the bathroom, get an acquaintance to get rid of him) wouldn't work. I couldn't carry the three troughs of beer anywhere, and I didn't want to lose the table. I started dropping hints that I wasn't interested, but sleazy guy didn't notice. He even took a step closer and I couldn't move away because I had to stand between him and our beers. 

Then I looked up and saw a cute guy shuffling through the narrow aisle nearby. He was looking at me and I decided to take a chance. "Honey!" I called as I waved to him frantically. As he came closer, I realized that he was a very young cute guy. A possibly not even old enough to be in the bar cute guy. Would he get what was going on? 

Sleazy guy leaned over and said to my chest, "Is that your------" and then all of a sudden I was being kissed. 

Once I Was The Crazy Girl

You know you've been blogging a long time when you read a funny story on Aunt Becky's blog and that inspires you to write a story about one of your college roommates on your blog, and then you realize you've already written that story because you were inspired by another of Aunt Becky's college stories.

In other words, I just tried to tell a story on my blog that I have already told. It's like we're married.

I didn't have any other crazy roommates in college, but I did get to be the crazy person once. For most of my freshmen and sophomore years, I dated this one guy. We can call him Chris, because that was his name and it's pretty generic. Chris was called up to active duty during the first Gulf War, but all he did was work in a hospital in Philadelphia. While he was gone doing grown up things, he got really interested in us having a SERIOUS relationship.

I got really interested in being single. And in the guy down the hall from me. And in staying in Boston on the weekends.

So I dumped poor Chris while he was on active duty and started trying to entice the guy down the hall. There was much flirting. After I moved off campus the next year, there were phone calls and drives and make out sessions.

But the guy from down the hall, whom we should call Erik because that was his name, had some issues. One of which was that he didn't like me half as much as I liked him. But I persisted - without being direct about it - in trying to date this guy who didn't really want to date anyone.

One night he was supposed to take me out to dinner. He didn't call at the appointed time. Or an hour after that. So I called him and I went off. I just yelled about his mixed signals and the kissing and his drinking too much and whatever other bullshit I'd picked up from Cosmo. After a long pause, the guy on the phone said, "Hey Jen, sounds like you're pretty pissed at Erik. Should I get him so you can tell him?"*

I'd just spent several minutes yelling at his friend. I stammered something and hung up. I had never been so embarrassed in my entire life.

Until they called back a few minutes later, laughing. They asked me to do it again so they could record it. The friend offered to take me to dinner.

I unplugged the phone and spent the next month avoiding anywhere I thought I might run into either one of them.

*This is the kind of shit that happened before cell phones and caller i.d., kids. Be grateful.

Dating Insights from my Two Year Old

Today I saw the future.

And quite possibly the explanation for half the guys I dated.

It started on the playground at Ironflower's school, where I was following Hugmonkey. I usually follow Hugmonkey around her playground - not only is it not built for 2 year olds, the boy also has a habit of hitting strangers. Sometimes I kinda hope one will (gently) hit him back to teach him a lesson, but so far he has only attacked nice children who just look at me in horror. Anyway, today Hugmonkey was approached by one of Ironflower's classmates, a sweet girl who totally needs a baby sibling. He ran away from her.

Then he spotted the older sister of Ironflower's friend. He strutted in front of her a few times. When that didn't elicit a "Hi, cutie!" or other positive attention, he threw a rock at her. That, of course, got a response. A hugely negative one. I forced him to apologize and he walked away to regroup.

He then began performing for her. There was jumping, a recent accomplishment that involves both feet actually leaving the ground. There was dancing, a perennial standby that always elicits cries of adoration from the family. There was grinning and cocking his head, which is pretty much how he gets out of all the trouble he causes. After proving his adorableness, he sidled up to her again. "Hi!" he said loudly.

She said hi back. He took that as an invitation to start trying to play with the Pokemon cards she had. When she expressed dismay, he picked one up and handed it to her, grinning. She grinned back and started to pay attention to him.

He promptly ran away.

All I could think was, "Holy crap, I dated someone exactly like that - more than once!" I suppose that's an odd thing to consider when watching your toddler at play, but trust me, he was totally trying to woo her. At the beginning anyway.

"I guess he's over me, " said the little girl cheerfully. She started to play with a friend. Hugmonkey's response was to coming running back, I kid you not. This time he skipped over rock throwing and went right for the dance moves.

When I was dating guys like that - and finally realized that they were indeed guys like that - I always assumed that they had mommy issues. Or terrible childhoods. Or some other reason to fear commitment. It never occurred to me that they were born that way. But Hugmonkey and I have a normal relationship, his childhood is not so terrible and it's not like he's had his heart broken or anything.

So either there's a gene responsible for this behavior, or the adult men who act this way haven't evolved beyond the age of 2. I'm hoping for the latter, otherwise I'm going to feel compelled to write a warning letter to every woman Hugmonkey eventually dates.

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 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?

Soap Opera Sunday - College Two

So there I was, finally talking to cute boy. (Part one is here.) After all of his reluctance to approach me, I had been prepared to engineer the conversation. To keep it going. To make sure there were no awkward silences. I was ready to sparkle, dammit.

But I didn't have to. John and I had a lot to talk about, it seemed. Or maybe we were just exceptionally good at flirting with one another. Anyway, I discovered that he was a senior at Dartmouth and was in Boston for a sailing meet (match? All I know was that it hadn't been a big regatta). When the lights came on, we strolled out into the street. He asked if he could walk me home. After signaling to Sherry that she and Karen and Bill should keep an eye out for me, I let John walk me the three blocks home (not as dangerous as it sounds, the two streets we had to walk on were literally filled with other students, my friends would be watching while they walked home and my gut said he was harmless).

When we got to my stoop, I waited for him to try and kiss me. (Believe it or not, my college dating experiences were rather limited. After having the same boyfriend for freshman and sophomore years, I had spent most of my junior year having crushes. And getting hit on by way too aggressive guys at clubs and parties. Mostly I flirted with my friend Lewis and slightly encouraged Monos - who, it turns out, was an actual Greek shipping heir - without ever actually going on a date with him. John was the first boy I'd ever let walk me home that I didn't already know. And the first one I'd actually wanted to kiss.)

But John was a perfect gentleman. When he didn't at least ask for my phone number, I was depressed. I assumed that I'd misinterpreted all the signals. I ate ice cream for breakfast the next morning.

I was completely shocked when John called me two days later. Apparently he'd had a friend who went to BU look me up in the directory (ah, those days before the internet). He was such a preppie that asking me for number was too tacky for him. Or something. Whatever - I was totally thrilled.

He asked me out for the weekend after next and I said yes. When I told my roommate about it, she exclaimed, "You mean he's borrowing a car and driving two hours just take you out?" I hadn't thought about it that way - I was just thrilled to have a date. I nodded. "That is wicked cool! He must really like you."

The date was very nice. We went out to dinner and to see the movie The Player (if you've never seen it, it was Robert Altman's best movie, I think). There was some hand-holding. We talked about politics (we were both neo-hippie liberals) and music (grunge - it was 1992). He drove me home.

And still he didn't even try to kiss me.

For more soapy goodness, please check out brilliant Brillig's blog.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 9

Yay! It's Soap Opera Sunday! You can find more soapy stories at the fabulous Thalia's Child. Many thanks to Soapy founders Brillig and Kateastrophe for starting this great tradition. To catch up on my previous episodes, check out the following links:

Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5
Episode 6
Episode 7
Episode 8

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. Which was fine with me, acting completely immature on my thirtieth birthday seemed somehow appropriate.

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) but some seemed to be about unrequited love. I remember thinking, that's strange. What an odd choice. Then I got distracted by other people and forgot about it.

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 beers may have helped). 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. 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 hitting on the birthday girl and couldn't seem to understand why these other guys were hanging around. Martin made snide comments that could have been construed as insults but weren't obviously rude. MG was quite 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.

Martin came over to console me the day after.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 2

And now we go back in time to 1999, when TripleZmom was single and her life was soap opera-like.  To read episode 1, go here.

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 Mimi 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. We were clearly not meant to be.

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

Well, not the kissing part, but the date part. Brad 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, Brad got upset.

"Geez, Jen, 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 Brad want? Did he even know?

And for that matter, what did I want?