The Night I Met My Husband

On this November the first, I celebrate my husband’s and my 4 year wedding anniversary and 14 years as a couple. It’s weird to think about how much time we’ve been together, yet here we are. And what’s most peculiar is how we were introduced purely by accident.

I have told the story numerous times on my blog, but I will do so yet again because it is one of those tales that intrigues me for the utter random happenstance of the whole thing.

Picture it, it was the height of AOL days, 2004. I would spend my late-teen evenings chatting with my friends online through IM or through a typical chatroom known as BakersfieldM4M. My friends and I would log on and broadcast one large conversation in the room, while simultaneously having our own individual private chats. This is where my now husband, then unknown, logged into the room and happen to see my username: MelancholysChaos. (Yeah, I’m rolling my eyes too.) He then confused me with someone else and decided to message and inform me that indeed he and Diego were still together. Being the sarcastic almost-eighteen-year-old I was, I acted as though I knew what he was referring to and carried on a conversation until I got bored and flat out asked him who he was. He told me his name, Charlie, and I added him to my buddylist after I learned that my very recent ex, Travis, had been a big fan of his. However, Charlie had not been attracted to my ex in the slightest, which brought me joy. (And when I say recent here, I mean a week to a couple days.)

For whatever reason, I would message this stranger whenever he came online, which wasn’t that often. Almost a week after letting me know he and Diego were still a thing, he let me know they weren’t. To which he proceeded to ask me out on a late night date to Denny’s.

It should be noted that I was still living at home and attending high school, in my senior year. So, for me to do a late night date I had to sneak out of my bedroom window and “borrow” the station wagon. To give the illusion that I was still in my bedroom, and not out galavanting around town, I put a coat hanger on my door-knob to where it slid in between the crack of my dresser and the wall. It was the most white-trash lock I could concoct but it served its purpose. To add to the illusion of my presence, I put on one of my favorite Disney movies, Sleeping Beauty. I quietly backed out of the driveway, started my car on the street, and made my way across town to Denny’s.

Again, for whatever reason, that night I chose to wear a pair of kahki’s and a red polo shirt with blue stripes. I tell you this because it was VERY out of character for me at this stage in my life. I was very much “goth” at the time. I wore nothing but black t-shirts, black dickie’s, black converse, and black eye-liner. I even dyed my hair black to match how I felt on the inside. (I was going through a phase.) Like I said, for some reason I did not wear any of that. As I later learned, if I had our relationship would very much have ended that evening. My husband liked him some preppy boys. Anything that remotely deviated from that path was shunned.

I pulled into a spot facing the empty street and as I got out of my shaggin-wagon I saw this white mustang drive by and turn into the same shopping center. Somehow I knew that was this dude. He hadn’t even told me what kind of car he drove but I was certain of it. (Those are the kind of thoughts one has when they encounter fate.) And I turned out to be correct.

For the next hour we sat in a booth having lame conversation as we attempted to get to know each other. He had a silver Motorola flip-phone that he kept spinning nervously in between his other facial tics. He kept rubbing the middle knuckle of his index finger along the side of mouth, like someone does when they have a goatee. Later I found out that he had briefly had one and developed the habit. My husband also has a tendency to twitch his nose in the most adorable way when he’s nervous and that night it didn’t stop.

As the evening wore on, neither of us having eaten anything at Denny’s, (I imagine he got a diet soda, his drug of choice) we decided to go back to his place.

I don’t remember if I messaged a friend to say I was going over to a stranger’s house in the wee hours of the morning. I want to think that I did, but more than likely not because I was (and still am) an idiot that thinks nothing of potential dangers.

He lived in this old brick face building downtown that had once been an elder care facility back in the day. It was also located across the street from a former morgue-funeral home (which is where we would later hold our wedding reception.) He lived on the second floor, at the front of the building with a beautiful view of downtown. Bakersfield isn’t much, but the view he had was wonderful.

He fancied himself a collector of DVDs at the time and was showing me the small tower he had amassed. The film he chose that night for us to watch had been decided at Denny’s when I told him that I had never seen “Philadelphia.” Now, he claims he had never seen it too, but I distinctly remember him saying that it was one of Hanks’s best roles. He popped the disc into the tray and we watched the 2 hour long movie about a man dying of AIDS. How romantic.

A remnant of my former relationship with Travis, some thin rubber wrist bands, chose that evening to break and I ended up throwing them away. I think they split when he discovered that I was ticklish and I was wrestling to get away. What a surreal picture to make a romantic connection with someone as we watched a man waste away from a deadly disease at the height of its terror.

When the movie ended he walked me to my car, like a gentleman, and I kissed him. I was annoyed that, that was all we ended up doing, but he wanted to wait until I turned 18, which was only a few weeks away.

I drove away that night thinking I would probably never hear from him again. Oh, how wrong I was. The dude blew up my phone. He was an over-the-road trucker at the time and had looooong hours of nothing to do, so he would call me and keep me on the phone late into the evening.

Looking back, I was so young and stupid. I had no idea what I wanted or who I was. Yet, we seemed to work. It is true that our lives have gone up and down over the past fourteen years. Nothing is ever perfect. For a brief year we ended our relationship yet continued to live together and sleep in the same bed. We were crazy and confused. But, there is truly no one else I would want to go through this with than Charlie. He is perfect in the strangest ways and we compliment each other like a broken window pane. Apart we are two jagged pieces of glass, but together we make the other whole. It’s sappy, but it’s true.


A Gay ‘ol Anniversary

It’s strange to think that I’ve been out of the closet for the past 12 years.  It’s really not that long, but looking at how much I struggled with my sexuality prior to my admission it is astounding that I ever came out at all.  I guess all it took was a pretty face.

In retrospect the face I thought was “handsome” was in fact not at all.  Looking at the pictures now I have NO IDEA what I was thinking at the time.  The dude is hideous.  But in that moment I was smitten and only two days after telling my friend, at her bowling birthday party, that I liked guys and her friend, I went on my first date.

The friend I had made my admission to was someone I had at once had a “crush on.”  She was a buxom 12 year old with a mouth like a sailor.  We could make each other laugh.  I think we went on one “date” that comprised of us walking the length of the mall.  Our relationship was a flash in the pan.  After that we never spoke again until her 17th birthday when I told her a part of myself no one in the world (and in reality myself) knew. It’s a strange bit of kismet when I think back on it now.

I had originally left my friend Becky’s birthday without saying a word.  I had no intention of telling anyone, in fact.  But when I went out to my car the battery was cold dead.  I don’t know if it just bit the dust cause it had run it’s last or because I left the lights on.  Either way, while waiting for AAA to give me a jump or a tow, I went back inside and told her.

The thought has crossed my mind so many times before, what if I had gone out to my car and it had worked.  Where would I be?  Would I have driven home and never-ever-ever made that admission to anyone? Would I have married some poor girl and forced myself into a life I didn’t want at all?  Or would I have told someone some day… At this point it’s all speculation.

Like I said, I don’t’ even know how I admitted it to her.  Seriously.  I was still struggling with myself.  Even the day after I had I mentally berated myself for saying anything.  How could I!?  I’m not gay!

Whatever caused that spur of courage I am grateful for it every day.  My life has turned out wonderfully because of it.  Even though it ultimately resulted in a ton of heartbreak, I eventually met the man I’ve spent the last 11 years with and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

My mental hampsters have been hitting the pipe

I want to write but I don’t know what about.  I have the beginnings of some thoughts but nothing that could or would warrant an entire blog entry.  Maybe a tweet, a pathetic tweet, but something that doesn’t require any further explanation.  I’m curious if it has to do with the run I went on this evening.

My husband and I have been doing weight watchers for a year and half.  The first year we made good progress.  We were more active then and really took into consideration what we ate.  But then our trip to London rolled around and that’s when it all started to go down hill.  I think after London, thanksgiving, and Christmas I ended up gaining back 20 lbs of the 30 I had lost.  It was soul crushing.  I suppose one could say that it’s not really that I gained the weight back but how I handled it.  Both my husband and I got right back on the program. 

He’s obsessed with numbers.  He wants large numbers and massive amounts of progress.  Basically he’s impatient.  He wants the results now, not a year or so down the line.  He has a way of discounting any milestones he makes.  For instance, tonight he lost 5 lbs in one week.  That’s amazing.  But instead of just accepting it and his accomplishment he has to pick it apart and figure out what’s wrong with him.  Just take the damn thing, Charles. Jesus.  The man is frustrating.

It should be noted that he is now the weight I was when we started.  And by started I mean the year and a half ago.  Not when we actively restarted.  Since that time I have successfully lost the 11 I had regained.  Much like my husband I’m not really happy with my progress as of late, but that’s not the programs fault.  Every miniscule weight loss or pound gained is my own doing.  I just haven’t been working it as hard as I could and should have. To put it plainly i’m fucking lazy.

Knowing that my husband is only 26 lbs away from me has lit a fire under my ass.  Well… sort of.  It’s a weird thing to have in my mind but I feel that it’s mandatory for me to weigh less than him.  He’s never stated that’s what he wants but that’s just how I feel.  I think it has to do with my self esteem issues.  I think that if he weighs less than me he’ll find someone and ditch me, because I weigh more than him.  It’s a silly thing to think, especially since we’re married, but it’s a fear none-the-less.

I believe part of his big numbers from this weeks weigh in is due in part to his not touching his allocated 49 weekly points AND going for a a jog two nights last week. I know that doesn’t seem like very much, but when you take into consideration that he and I tend to live a very, VERY, sedentary life it becomes more of an accomplishment.  Also, I’m very proud of him for doing it without me.  (I was playing D&D with my friends, so I have an excuse.  Don’t judge.)

Envious of his accomplishments I downloaded the same app he used last week.  It’s called C25K or couch to 5k. Basically it’s a program laid out that gets someone, who tends to sit mostly on the couch, to have the ability to run a 5k in 30 days or some amount of time. (I’m not selling the damn thing.) And If my husband can do all rounds of running then I sure as shit can. So tonight I went for a run and I think that’s why I feel so inclined to write.  I’m just too pumped. Well, that and I was listening to the Erin Brockovich soundtrack by Thomas Newman.  I don’t know what it is about his music…

I hope that this week I can stick to the program.  I too had had the intentions of not dipping into my weeklies but I tossed that baby out with the bathwater.  It just wasn’t going to work.  Even more so due to the fact that I have a tendency of eating my emotions away.  And for the third attempt with mood stabilizers I have come to the same result, I’m an emotional nut case.