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. 

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 4

Welcome to Soap Opera Sunday, a collection of wonderful stories being hosted by Jenn in Holland this week. Founded by Brillig and Kateastrophe, Soap Opera Sunday is my favorite bloggy activity. To catch up on my story, read Episode 1, Episode 2 and Episode 3.

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. I didn't think she'd be giggling if she was worried about one of my students, but I couldn't figure out why she'd come to my room otherwise.

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

"The guy who delivers the school's milk?" I questioned, because I was expecting a report about one of my students. Or a solicitation for buying Girl Scout cookies from her daughter.

"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.

"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 her 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 bad I hadn't noticed him at all. 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.

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

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

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 3

This week Soap Opera Sunday is graciously being hosted by Thalia's Child. Head over to her blog to check out the other entries, especially S.O.S founders Brillig and Kateastrophe. You can also go here for episode one and here for episode two.

I decided to tell the whole saga to Anthony, the older, happily married custodian at the school where I taught first grade. After my fifteen minute long diatribe, during which Anthony 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 Brad turned into a Freakboy who 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, Anthony made me promise that I would use my time off wisely.

Hehe. Thus began the season of dreadful dates. There was Devin, cute and intelligent, his only flaw being his obsession with his ex-wife. 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.

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.

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?

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 1

The whole entire idea for this post is from Brillig. She and Kateastrophe do this wonderful thing on Sundays called Soap Opera Sundays, where they post about dramas from their pasts. Lots of other great bloggers do it too, so it's really addictive. I'd been toying with the idea of joining in, but something would always distract me. But this week Brillig posed a question that reminded me of the following story, so I knew it was time for me to brave the waters.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 1

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 and had two suburban sports bars where I felt comfortable. I volunteered and joined the art museum's young members group. I even started pseudo dating. His name was Brad and he too was 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 (I thought of him as "older" then, he probably wasn't actually much over forty, which doesn't seem so old now) 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.

Cute young guy had swooped in and grabbed me like I was a heroine in a romance novel. I hadn't been kissed like that in years. By the time we came up for air, sleazy guy was gone. "I think you owe me a favor," said cute young guy.