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

A couple of years ago (that's like a decade in web time, right?) I joined this thing called "Soap Opera Sunday", where every Sunday a bunch of bloggers wrote soap opera like posts on their blogs. It was started by Brillig and Kate.  Many were true stories, but there was some good fiction too. I decided to chronicle how I got from divorced at 27 to being Mrs. Hot Guy.

I don't know how many of you were reading my blog back then, so if this is a repeat to you, I'm sorry. But it is Sunday and I can't think of anything else to post.

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 and safe. I volunteered and joined the art museum's young members group. I even started pseudo dating. While his mixed signals gave him the nickname "Freakboy", he was a friend and a good way to step back into the world of romance.

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 (at least it was at the time). After buying our trough-like beers, we spotted an empty table. Then T. needed to go to the bathroom andour other friend 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 but the "sleazy" still fits) 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 told him 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.

That's the end of the first episode, which makes this post long enough. What I want to know is if you all would like me to resurrect Soap Opera Sunday and tell the rest of the story, or, um, not.

Yep, I'll Definitely Take Staying Home With The Kids

I seem to have forgotten to do a Christmas post.

Not wanting to dwell on past mistakes, I figured I'd make up for it with a New Year's post. But then, um, I had to think of something New Years-ish to post about. I'm not posting my resolutions again. Because even though I totally lowered my expectations last year, I still didn't stick with all of them. As I was desperately trying to think of a good topic reflecting on the holiday, I became distracted by the snow falling. At first, I was upset by the snow, as it might ruin the date night Hot Guy and I are having tonight (one where I get to DRINK ALCOHOL!). And then I realized then even if Hot Guy and I are stuck at my parents' house WITH (instead of somewhere fun WITHOUT) the children, I've had so many bad New Year's Eves that being snowbound at my parents' is really just fine. And then I realized - POST TOPIC!!!!!!!!!!

A sample of my bad New Year's Eves:

1986-1987:
A sophomore in high school, Jerseygirl leaves a fun party to accompany her best friend on a WALK across the ENTIRE town in FREEZING temperatures so that her best friend can be with her boyfriend at midnight. Upon arrival at the boyfriend's house, best friend and boyfriend disappear upstairs and leave Jerseygirl with the boyfriend's friends. While the guys are friends of Jerseygirl's too, this was supposed to be a guy's night. They are watching porn and have no interest in even talking to Jerseygirl. Jerseygirl spends night on the phone with other friends who are babysitting.

1992-1993
Visiting her new boyfriend (soon to be fiance, then husband, then evil ex-husband) in Seattle for the holiday, college senior Jerseygirl attends party with evil ex. Jerseygirl knows absolutely no one at the party and finds no one interested in knowing her. Jerseygirl smokes pot in pathetic attempt to fit in. Jerseygirl spends night curled in a ball on the host's bed, as pot always makes her sleepy and nauseous.

1999-2000
In one the other episodes of her life that drove her towards internet dating, Jerseygirl spends New Year's Eve at a club with her two other single friends, Tara and Rebecca. The trio meets a group of guys that are reasonably attractive and not total douchebags, so they all hang out together in a desperate attempt to stave of the feeling of loneliness that can happen at midnight when you have no one to kiss. Jerseygirl is the designated driver and Rebecca is not a big drinker so they quickly discover that the group of guys may, in fact, have douchebag qualities. While Rebecca and Jerseygirl are off dancing with less annoying guys, a drunken Tara decides that one of the douchebags is the man of her dreams. They disappear. The douchebags and our heroines search the club and the parking lot for Tara and man - er, boy, as it turns out he is only 19. Finally, it is discovered that Tara and the boy have gone back to the douchebags' hotel. The douchebags are worried about their little brother dealing with a drunk chick and Rebecca and Jerseygirl are worried about their friend and a dumb 19 year old. Everyone rushes to the hotel. Tara is passed out by the indoor pool and 19 year old is drinking beer, singing country love songs and half-heartedly trying to wake her up. The douchebags carry Tara to their hotel room so she can throw up in their bathroom and not the pool. Then the gang watches T.V. while Tara pukes and 19 year old cries about the future of their long distance relationship (which never happened). Jerseygirl promises herself that she will never go to a club on New Year's Eve again.

Soap Opera Sunday - College Five

To read this story from the beginning, start here. Then go here, here and here.

I was at the college fair with my children's theater group, trying to recruit enthusiastic freshmen to our unglamorous world of performing at children's hospitals and preschools. All we really wanted to recruit was another guy or two, it was very difficult for Lewis to do every guy's part and keep up with his engineering studies. Anyway, while chatting with the approximately twenty (female) freshmen who stopped by our table, I kept trying to watch John. He seemed to be manning a table.

Finally I dragged Lewis to get a drink with me so that we could walk past John's table. He gave me a big hug and told me that he was the new freshmen sailing coach. I congratulated him without asking why the heck he hadn't called me. I had my pride, if not any knowledge.

He called a few days later and we chatted. He talked about how busy he had been and how so many things were unsettled in his life. I pretended to be breezy and cool while secretly hoping he would say something about missing me or wanting to date again. But all that happened was he promised to call again.

He did a few weeks later. Again all was smiles and friendliness. . . . .and no dates. Meanwhile I had developed a thing for a guy in my creative writing class. Who also called - except when creative writing guy called, we talked for eight hours AND he asked me out on a date. Creative writing guy and I fell in love the way only college kids can - ignorantly and passionately. By the time John called to ask me out again (finally!), I was secretly engaged to creative writing guy. Or not so secretly - I blurted it out when John asked me out.

It was the last time I talked to John for six years.

I called him a few months after I separated from creative writing guy (who, honestly, wasn't that much of a writer).

Please check out the wonderful CanadianFlake for more soapy stories,  and check out founders Brillig and Kate.

Soap Opera Sunday - College Four

You can catch up with this story here, here and here.

And the kiss was good.

Not sloppy, not aggressive and not a peck, either.

I was happy.

More dancing and kissing ensued. Then the dinner dance was over and we went back to the chalet. Everyone took turns changing into sweats - I suppose to make it easier to imbibe copious amounts of alcohol. Which they did. Okay, we did.

There was some goodnight kissing and then much needed sleep. The next day we headed back to Dartmouth, then John drove me back to Boston. More kissing.

Then back to real life. John and I talked on the phone every few days (this was before cell phones, kids - John shared the frat phone with twenty other guys and I had to pay extra for long distance). I think we had one more date (a museum, dinner, much kissing) before we declared that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Which didn't really change how (not) often we saw each other.

After about two months, it was my birthday. I was 21. John was sailing in some big regatta and thus unavailable the entire weekend. Not that I let that bother me. My birthday is July 2nd (I stayed in Boston that summer to work as a camp counselor and take a class. . ..and party with my best friend), so I went out with my best friend on the first (because cool bars would let me in). I don't remember much, though I do remember thinking it would be cool to stand on Commonwealth Avenue and show my friend the dance I was teaching my campers. At midnight. While singing off-key.

The next day we drove to New Jersey for the huge party my mom was throwing for my dad and me (his birthday is also the 2nd and he was turning 50). The party was fun, though there was some teasing from (male) friends about my apparently imaginary boyfriend. The next night my friend Todd took me on my first trip to a gay bar, thus ensuring a lifetime of faghagdom. On the fourth, a bunch of us went to Hoboken (like partying in NYC, but cheaper and less intimidating) to see the fireworks. And drink.

(What stamina I had back in the day!)

And while drinking and looking at cute boys with Todd it occurred to me that even if one of the cute boys approached me, I couldn't do anything about it. Because I had a boyfriend. Who I never saw.

Soon after getting back to Boston, I broke up with John. We agreed that our timing was off and left things open. I was a bit sad, but mostly I felt free again. And I really thought I'd hear from John if he wound up moving to Boston (he had just graduated and didn't know what he wanted to do).

When school started again, I nearly fell over when I saw him at the huge (seriously, football field sized huge) club recruitment fest. You know the one, where all the upperclassmen try to recruit the freshmen for their clubs and intramural teams?

What the hell was he doing on my campus and why hadn't he called me?

Please go to Abish's blog for my soapy goodness, and check out founders Brillig's and Kate's blogs!

Soap Opera Sunday - College Three

Part One is here. Part Two is here.

I wasn't sure what to think of the date. Did not kissing me mean that he wasn't attracted to me? But why drive two hours to go on a date with someone you don't find attractive? Or maybe he realized on the date that he didn't find me attractive? I was so confused that I called my best friend, even though it was late. She was asleep, but her little brother was eager to counsel me. And even though I'd known K. since he was in middle school, AND he was still in high school, I told him the whole saga anyway.

Keith's interpretation was that John liked me a lot, though if he didn't kiss me on the next date something odd was going on. I liked that interpretation and hung up happy. John called a few times to talk, then he asked me out again. To his fraternity formal. Which was being held at a ski resort in Vermont. I said yes. After hanging up, though, I realized that I'd just agreed to spend a night in Vermont with a fraternity. And that I only knew one person in the fraternity. That one person being someone I'd gone on exactly one date with. I called my best friend immediately.

She called a friend of hers who went to Dartmouth. I waited anxiously. When she called back, she was so excited. Our old classmate had explained that the fraternity in question was filled with the nicest guys on campus, that my date was a wonderful guy and that she had been to the same formal the year before. She even said that if I felt weird for even a minute to call her and I could sleep at her sorority.

So, fears of gang rape assuaged, all I had to worry about was finding a dress. And making small talk with a bunch of people I didn't know. And appropriate sleepwear. And whether John would kiss me. No problem.

John and two of his friends drove down to pick me up. The ride to Dartmouth was fun and not half as awkward as I'd feared. I got a brief tour of the campus (can we just say beautiful?) and then it was time to get ready to go to the formal. John went into his bathroom (uh, yeah, turns out he had the best room in the frat house and his own half-bath because he was the president of the fraternity. Which felt a little awkward because I'd spent some time making Greek jokes. Ooops.) and dressed quickly. Then he went out into the hall with his friends while I got ready.

The drive to the resort was actually pretty short. We arrived at our chalet (which we were sharing with six other couples) and I tried not to be TOO impressed. It's not that I hadn't stayed in lovely hotels before, but never without my parents. I tried to remain cool. Even when John calmly put our bags into one of the bedrooms. Though I did notice that it had twin beds. I took a deep breath as we all assembled in the living area.

There was a huge dining room table and it was COVERED with booze and mixers. I think there were fifty bottles of liquor on it. And I'd already seen a keg in the kitchen. I counted the people present. Fourteen. I asked John if the rest of the fraternity would be coming over for an afterparty or something. Nope. Everyone had their own set-up in their own chalet.

Now, it's not like I was any stranger to drinking. I'd been going to booze laden parties since I was 14. But I'd never seen that much liquor for so few people in my entire life. But I let them make me a cocktail anyway (not only did they seem to like lots of booze, they sure knew their cocktails - it was tasty and something I'd never had before. They all seemed to be able to make any cocktails - it was like hanging out with a bunch of bartenders instead of pre-med students).

After the cocktail hour we went up to the resort dining room for dinner and dancing. There were roses for all the girls, as well as commemorative glasses - it was like a prom. But with lots more alcohol.

John and I slow danced for a while. I had still not been kissed and the cocktails emboldened me. I leaned back and looked at him. I tried to convey a "Come, Hither" look but I probably just looked dizzy.

Finally, he leaned in.

To find more soapy stories, click on Brillig's brilliant blog.  Heck, you can even join in.

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 - College One

Welcome to Soap Opera Sunday! Check out more soapy stories from fab founders Brillig and Kate or find even more great stories here. That last link is also where you can link if you'd like to write your own soapy story. Which I totally think you should.

I went to college in Boston, the mecca of college towns. Because the city is so full of college students, bars have extremely high I.D. standards. The only people I knew who got into bars underage were people who had used a sibling's birth certificate to get an actual driver's license and members of college hockey teams. Oh, and those of us who had a friend who worked at a bar. I didn't fall into the last category until my junior year, but I tried to make up for lost time. The bar my friend worked at was about three blocks from my apartment, filled with comfy couches and cute boys from my college and our rival (if you too went to college in Boston, it was Our House and I went to BU). It was perfect.

Not being 21 yet and only able to take the 18 and over clubs one night a week, I went to Our House a lot. One night I saw an exceptionally cute boy there. Now, I believed that boys who were interested would approach me - I never, ever approached a guy. Being 20 and blond (at the time), this approach worked rather well. So when I noticed exceptionally cute boy staring at me, I smiled and waited for him to approach. And waited. And waited. I walked past him, just in case he was the lazy type. He grinned and said nothing.

I had my friend Sherry make sure that he was, in fact, staring at me. Sherry, to her credit, was understanding about my reluctance to just go up and talk to him. We made one more circuit past him and STILL he didn't say anything. I don't know why I couldn't just give up. Or make my own move. I downed my beer and went and got another. I eyed him cautiously. He was dressed like a serious college preppy. He seemed quieter than his friends. Could he possibly be shy?

I decided to make one final attempt. If it didn't work, I would go join Sherry and the frat boys in the corner. I walked by exceptionally cute boy one more time . . .and stepped on his foot. "Oh, sorry!" I exclaimed. (I don't think I would recommend this move unless you are completely positive the guy has been smiling at you for the last hour or so).

"Don't worry about it! What's your name?" he replied quickly.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 12

Please check out SOS founder Brillig's blog. Check other SOS founder Kate's blog for other great soapy stories, too. To catch up on my stories, go here Episode 10 and here for Episode 11.

So I kept dancing and enjoying being watched by a hot guy. But he never approached me. I couldn't get over that. I could see how attracted he was. I knew we enjoyed talking to one another. Why didn't he make a move?

And then I did something that still surprises me to this day. And I wasn't even drunk. I approached him. Not in my usual, subtle "go-stand-nearby-and-smile-so-he-knows-it's safe-to-approach-me" way, either. I walked straight up to him, stood closer than is  appropriate for people who are friendly acquaintances and said, "Hi".

We spent the rest of the evening on the verge of kissing. Then we walked to our cars and made out for a while. And then I went home and had a panic attack.

I didn't want a boyfriend and even if I did, this guy was not boyfriend material. He was still emotionally extricating himself from his ex-girlfriend. He didn't have a real job. He was too open. I resolved to ignore the whole episode.

Except that he gave me the nicest shoulder massage at rehearsal a few days later. And he left a rose on my car. We had an after-rehearsal drink the next night. He was so damn kind and sincerely interested in me as a person. It freaked me out.

A few nights later, I told the whole saga to my friend Mimi. We were at Happy Hour, and, knowing that she would be going home early to her fiance, the night loomed ahead of me. After a few drinks (too many), Mimi suggested that I call Hot Guy and invite him over.

I did. And despite the fact that Hot Guy was at his normally sacrosanct "Guys' Game Night", he came right over.

And so we began dating.

We got engaged a year later. Two weeks after we got engaged we found out we were pregnant with Ironflower. So Hot Guy is now Hubby, although I think he'd prefer it if I were to continue to call him "Hot Guy". Maybe I'll switch.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 11

Please check out the other soapy stories at Brillig's great blog. To catch up on my stories, go here.

So after giving up on dating and becoming a full-time fag hag, I let the gang talk me doing their next community theater show. I had been quite the actress in high school and did a few things in college, but it had been ten years. I auditioned anyway, though I was completely out of practice and nervous. Though it did help that I'd gotten drunk with most of the people who were casting the show. And so I was in - a few lines, but a lot of scenes as parts of crowds and customers and what have you. In suited me perfectly.

The show itself, not so much. Did you know there is a stage version of A Clockwork Orange? There is. And it's easier to read the script of the play that to read the novel or to sit through the movie, FYI. The stage version is not quite a musical, more like a play with music. And it's just as violent as the movie. (The director of. . .let's call it ME Theater was really into to doing edgy shows)

So as rehearsals started, we did a LOT of trust games and exercises. We also hung out a lot - even the people who hadn't previously been a part of the ME Theater/Kathy Griffin (not the real one) gay mafia in crowd started hanging out. Naturally, the four of us straight girls in the cast discussed the attributes of the four straight males in the cast (there were about 30 people in the cast and 10 on crew). We agreed that two were too young to contemplate (being 16 and 20), that one was odd (if you know the book/movie/play, he played Alex) and they thought the fourth one was cute. I didn't - he had too much hair. I hate long hair on guys. Especially when it grows up and out - like Napoleon Dynamite.

Naturally I was paired with Long Hair for one scene. We had to dance together. Well, it was actually that he was supposed to thrown me around a lot and I was supposed to look graceful while remaining uninjured. My friend C., the only other single straight girl in the cast, had hit on Long Hair the night before. She discovered that he lived with his ex-girlfriend (until their lease ran out in two months), that he was 27 and had returned to college to finish his BA in theater and that he was extraordinarily open. Too open for C. As he and I began dancing together, I decided that even though he was weird (sure, I loved history, but he was a Civil War re-enactor!) he was really sweet.

Long Hair was different from most theater guys - especially the straight ones. He was so open and outgoing and relentlessly honest that he freaked people out on occasion. Me included. C. and a few of the crew girls had crushes on him, despite his oddness. Even I liked his blue eyes.

As the opening of the show drew near, there came a night when all the Droogs (the gang of guys that perpetuates much horror throughout the show) had to get their heads shaved. Long Hair was one of those guys.

Without his hair, he was HOT. HOT in a totally bad boy way. I reminded myself that I had sworn off dating. And kissing. And anything else that might happen around a hot guy. All was fine until the night the cast went to the gay bar together (ME Theater was very popular in the gay community and often did showcases at gay bars, trying to entice patrons to attend the actual shows).

Hot Guy kept STARING at me. And I started STARING back. I was on the dance floor and he was on the sidelines but it felt like we were dancing together, you know?

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 10

I'm so excited that SOS is back on. You can read the other soapy stories at founder Brillig's blog (also check out other founder Kate's blog). There are lots of great stories and most of them are not LONG sagas like mine. To catch up quickly, go here:

Episode 9

To learn everything possible about the poor woman's Bridget Jones. . er. .me, go these places:

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

By the time Martin came over, I was done crying. But I couldn't even have explained if I was crying over the break up or my own stupidity. Martin listened patiently while I ranted and raved about MG's perfidy (how could he keep changing his mind like that? HOW?) and my own stupidity (I knew better, didn't I). He rubbed my back. He gave me a hug. I started to wonder.. . . .

I mean, things were so easy with Martin. I was so calm and comfortable around him.

And he was awfully sweet for an ex-boyfriend.

I felt so safe when he hugged me.

But I didn't feel anything else.

Martin left soon after and I never saw him again. We still talked on the phone, but that was it.

Foster had disappeared into a relationship with a crazy nurse. He would resurface and ask me out while I was pregnant with Ironflower.

MG and I dated and broke up two more times. The only way I can explain it is to say that we kept falling in love with each other, but we never learned to love each other - or even be good friends. I was the one who finally broke it off for good. We're actually MySpace friends now.

After the final MG break up, I half-heartedly tried speed dating. I met a few decent guys while out and about. I seriously contemplated dating P., an attractive guy I knew with the personality of a wet noodle. We had mutual friends, all of whom were married. By dating P., my life would be easy and predictable. . . .

And then I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "What the FUCK are you thinking?"

I didn't even like P. Was I so desperate that I would date anybody? The idea made me nauseous. I decided to take a few months off from the dating world. It had gone from a fun post-divorce activity to a search for a relationship and I didn't want to be so attached to having a relationship that I would contemplate guys like P.

I began spending a lot more time at my friend Kathy Griffin's house. (Not the real Kathy Griffin. But a friend of mine who pretty much stole her personality from KG and was the queen of the local gay prom, if you know what I mean). There was always a party filled with hot, young gay boys, funny gay men, sweet lesbians and bitterly funny breeders. I fit right in.

You could say that the Kansas City gay scene became my new boyfriend. I got compliments and massages and hugs and companionship. I got to go dancing and to the theater. The first flaw in the relationship came on New Year's Eve, when my midnight kissing options included an angry and recently dumped drag queen, a straight girlfriend or an eccentric alcoholic who already had an erection. I kissed my straight friend, which was just like kissing anyone else you're not remotely attracted to.

The second flaw came when they talked me into doing community theater.

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 8

Yay! It's Soap Opera Sunday! You can find more soapy stories at co-founder Kate's blog. Many thanks to other Soapy founder Brillig 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

I met MG about six months after Martin dumped me. I had finally become happy with 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.

(I was originally going to start SOS with this party. But then I realized it wouldn't be nearly as interesting without the backstory. And I promise that I will get SOS done earlier next week.)

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 7

Yay! It's Soap Opera Sunday! You can find more soapy stories at Kimberley's blog. Many thanks to Brillig and Kate 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

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.

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 (yes, I did my laundry at his house because I didn't have a washer or dryer). So instead of a grand exit, I had to walk out with an armload of laundry and Martin following me, picking up my trail of stray socks.

That night I wrote him a nasty email. The next day I wrote him a persuasive email. I had a big long cry. And two days later I was better.

It was the weirdest thing. All of a sudden I was just over it. 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 Martin had done the right thing.

And when I met MG the following winter, I was sure that Martin had done the right thing.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 6

Yay! It's Soap Opera Sunday! You can find more soapy stories here at Brillig's fab blog. To catch up on my previous episodes, check out the following links:

Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5

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.

Soap Opera Sunday, Episode 5

(I know, I know. I didn't post yesterday and failed at NaBloPoMo. But I did post twice on Friday, so I don't feel bad. Well, not that bad.)



This week Soap Opera Sunday is being hosted by the fantastic women at Anonymous Soapiness, also known as Brillig and Kate. Check out their posts, as well as all the other exciting soap opera stories. You can find my previous soaps (which are sequential, by the way), here,
here,
here
and here.

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, the guys just looking for sex (often, but not always, the same thing) and the truly weird (no dude, I don't think farms are a turn on). 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 farms, sheep or hay. 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 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. 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?

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.