A First Date: My Introduction to Mr. Wonderful

I know I kinda sprung being in an official relationship on everyone with very little warning, my apologies.  I didn't even write about our first few dates at all. Why?  Because those dates were, simply put, freaking awesome.  There was nothing to write about except rainbows, hearts, unicorns and googly eyes and I wanted to spare you the gushing.

I usually write about traumatic things that happen to me for comedic effect, mainly because if I wasn't laughing, I would be crying profusely and often.  The first date with Mr. Wonderful was simple, easy and, honestly, the best first date I'd ever gone on.  I even came to a great realization during the date.  Here is a little of how it went:

We had been texting for a little bit and he asked me to go to dinner.  He didn't ask me to "hang out," he actually asked me on a big kid date.  The day of the date, I wrote a blog about failing at dates (it's here, in case you missed it) because I was so exceptionally nervous.  I spent most of the morning deciding what to wear (a dress) and spent a fair part of the late afternoon deciding what to do with my unruly hair (it still looked like a hot mess).  After a day spent thinking about all the possible ways I could/was probably going to screw this date up, it was time to actually go out with him. *gulp* 

I drove over to the place we were having dinner and I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.  What I mean by this is my heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears and I LITERALLY THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE.  I sat in my car for a minute and tried to compose myself, while he texted to ask me if I was there yet. My next thought was, "Ahhhhh! This is happening. I can't breath! I'm actually going to pass out. I'm going to throw up, pass out and he's going to find me in this car, unconscious with puke all over my lap. Awesome."

After getting myself together, I walked up toward the door of the restaurant and he was standing outside.  My hands started sweating - 'at what point in my life did I get sweaty palms?!?!' - and it felt like my knees were going to start shaking.  I managed to plaster on what was probably a really awful, "Help me, I'm scared" smile and he, not missing a beat, hugged me hello.  After that hug, all my awkward, dorky nervousness disappeared and I was able to be my regular, still semi-dorky, self.

I did spend a little bit of the first part of dinner intensely studying the menu, but eventually looked up and engaged him in actual conversation.  "Hey, I can do this!  I can talk face to face to a real guy without being an idiot!"  After dinner, we hung out and kept talking, about a little of everything.  It was so comfortable, it felt like he and I had been friends for a long time.  I was enjoying myself.

At some point toward the end of the evening, he was talking and I was able to really look at him.  I have to admit, I zoned out on what he was saying (am I a boy, or what?) and just looked at him. "Huh, this guy is cute.  Have I thought that yet or was I too focused on my eyeliner running to take notice?  I think I might actually like him..."

See, what I did before this thought was something that lots of girls do: I was so caught up in getting him to like me, I didn't stop to think if I liked him.  Shouldn't it be about figuring out if the other person is good for us, not the other way around?  Why did it take me nearly 30 years to figure that out?  Life would have been way simpler if I had learned that lesson before.

Anyway, you all know how the end of the story goes - a few more dates, a week away and then I have a real, live boyfriend.  If only everything was this easy.

~j


   

How I Met His Mother

Things with Mr. Wonderful are pretty good, thanks for asking! We're still in that early relationship phase where everything is hearts, rainbows and unicorn farts, which smell like roses and happy btw, yet we're not suffocating one another.  There is a comfortability (not a word, I know, but allow me some poetic licence) to this relationship that I don't quite understand, but I like it.  There is a lot of laughing, some weird faces and accents (on my part, natch) and an easiness that I'm enjoying. 

Everything was great...

and then came the day were I met his mother.

Now, this is not a story about how she was horribly nasty and made me cry; it was quite the opposite actually.  She is really delightful, pretty, kind, easy-going, she laughs at my jokes AND SHE MADE ME THE MOST AMAZING SPAGHETTI.  She's pretty much awesome. 

Instead, this is a story about how I am complete mess and need help.

They invited me over for dinner on Sunday and since I was in a carb-loading mood --
I'm training for watching the Olympics -- she was making spaghetti. FOR ME. (A mother who cooks is always impressive to me.)  Anyway, I was supposed to come around to her place about 4:00 on Sunday.  I said, for some unknown reason, that I would make a dessert.  Great!  Easy!

I was little nervous about meeting her, as most people would be, but I'm fairly charming and parents typically like me because I have gentile southern manners (please save your scoffing and retort for texts and/or emails, thank you). 

I had the dessert all planned out.  I had my outfit picked.  I was ready.      

And then, it all went to poop.

First off, I was late.  BY AN HOUR AND A HALF.  For some of you, this is no surprise, as you already know I'm not really punctual, but this was bad.  They hadn't eaten all day and were waiting on me to start. It wasn't my fault really, but golly, was this not a good impression.

I also forgot to bring the dessert.  Then I bumped into a table, knocking my entire drink onto the carpeted floor.  At some point, I also thought I broke the toilet, but I managed to fix it somehow.  I did my dorky laugh.  I was totally winning at life.

She had no choice but to hate me now.  She was going to hate me and with all the reasons I gave her, I couldn't blame her at all.  And yet, she didn't.  She was gracious and took it all in stride.  The next time I saw her, she gave me a fudge pop.  If that's not liking me, I dunno what is.
 
Now, she could secretly loathe me, but at least I have opportunities to win her over later.  And this time, I'm not going to forget the dessert.