Fish Tale - a prelude

Introduction

As a blog writer, I've often found myself afraid that I might run out of "crazy" to report. Seriously. And as a result, I sometimes hang onto stories for a while, just to keep that from happening. Maybe that's the pessimistic way of looking at things. I mean, perhaps it's just the way that I keep the well of crazy half-full?

At one time I promised that I'd write a book. A few folks got to read some chapters of that proposition, but I knew from the start that it felt like it was the wrong approach. You see, I was using the book idea as a reason to stay in a very messed up relationship. Well, technically, there was nothing wrong with the relationship as a concept... it was more that it was a relationship involving a very messed up guy... an eternal prepubescent.*

But first, I'd like to go back a little ways... long before the relationship, back to a time when I'd just been freed from another jail sentence: my marriage.

I knew coming out of that marriage that I wanted another chance... not with the man who'd made me miserable for 7 years, but with a better match. Unlike many divorcees I've met in years since (mostly male), I didn't blame the problems of my marriage on the institution itself. That's stupid. I knew exactly where I'd gone wrong and exactly what I wanted to avoid in the future. But more than that, I also knew exactly what I wanted... what would make for the right match for me... and I was willing to wait until he presented himself. It was everyone else who had doubts, however.

When the ink wasn't even dry on the divorce papers, everyone began asking me "When are you going to get back on that horse and start dating again?" Their point was that I needed to "get over it" and "move on," with sleeping with someone else as the apparent only way to do so. I told everyone that I wasn't ready, but inside I started doubting myself... and when my therapist at the time suggested that I needed to be dating as well, everyone else's opinions really took sway over mine.

To keep the Doubting Thomas's at bay, and too keep myself tickled pink and too busy to care, I got another dog... a puppy (Queequeg)... my canine 4, at the time. That's when everyone began to fear that I'd gone off the deep-end and would forever be the "crazy cat lady all covered in hairballs," only my cats would all be dogs... but the idea was still the same. My ex-husband, having already well-established relationship with his then future wife 2, rather smugly remarked to me, "The only reason you got another puppy is because you don't have a boyfriend." Nothing can rankle a single woman-scorned more than being reminding that she is loveless by the very person responsible for anointing her with that undesirable status in the first place.

It was shortly after that salt was rubbed into my wounds when I decided to throw my hat in the dating arena and subject myself to the online meat-market. Although I believed it to be very much contrary to my original plan, I began to think that perhaps that plan was slightly flawed, as it contained no actual suggestion or means of meeting new people. The year was 2000 and I was 6 months post-divorce... and completely clueless about how to meet anyone outside of my academic life.

What's that, you ask? What was my original plan? It is a good, albeit obvious question, sure. After repeating it to a few people 7 years ago, and being told that I was "too picky," I decided to keep my wishes close to the breast... treating it all very much like a secret wish that, if repeated to anyone, it would never come true. Silly, huh? Yeah, you're right. Seems like repeating it would only strengthen the resolve. Perhaps that's where I've gone wrong.

Mind you, this was my idealized mate... the one I pictured when I thought of what I'd like in my future. I wasn't sure that he even existed, and I often joked that he'd been hit by a bus or perhaps had just recently gotten married, but that in 5-7 years, he'd finally be available.

What I believed back then --and still believe today, for that matter-- was that, first and foremost, whomever he may be, he would be patient. I believed it to be important that everything would go very slow in the beginning, so not to miss a thing... that although I knew that we would sync up very well together from the first moment we spoke, there would still be no rush to intimacy. There should be a courtship phase... almost old-fashioned and unheard of in today's instant gratification world of fast food and faster connections... everyone and everything having the attention- and life-span of a gnat. I wanted the gentle nuances that had been missed in the past, when youthful indiscretions led to impetuous, hormone-fueled partnering. I wanted there to be kind of talk that goes on for hours without the notice of time passing... a sharing of minds, before a sharing of hearts... and a sharing of hearts, before a sharing of any other organs. I wanted there to be intellect and humor and honesty and respect and compassion and gratitude. And of course, there would be passion... well timed, not rushed. I believed there would be ease from the first moment... not imagined ease where one deceives oneself into thinking it's there, but truly awe-inspiring and refreshing ease. And finally although any relationship is work, I knew that it would never leave us feeling too exhausted to extend ourselves... to one another, or to anyone else beyond us.

The other details were more like personal preferences. He'd be taller than me... he'd have brown eyes... he'd have dark hair (if he had hair, that is) and hopefully it would be curly with touches of gray here and there... he'd like movies and music, in wide variety and largely over-lapping my tastes (though not necessarily wholly the same)... he'd be close in age to me, so that we'd have had similar experiences growing up in the same era... he'd love animals and actually have his own, proving that he could make room in his busy life to care for another being outside of himself... he would have been married once before, like myself... and like myself, he would have children - hopefully more than one (not that I was hoping for the Brady Bunch, but experience with multiple kids would be needed in my house).

I was told that I was being too narcissistic and basically looking for a male-me... the therapist had wanted me to consider that maybe I was scared and a bit scarred from my marriage, and that I was thus making myself "too picky," a statement that friends and family alike repeated later when they'd ask me to describe what I found attractive. But what's wrong with being too picky, I wondered?

Finally, I knew that I wanted to be married again someday. It's not for religious or moral reasons, mind you... and definitely not for legal ones... but simply because I thought that I had cheated myself out of the experience with my first marriage. (A) I got pregnant 3 months into a relationship and decided to keep it and raise it with him, without knowing anything about him, really. (B) We didn't get married until all after 3 of our children were born, and it was purely for health insurance reasons... he never asked, I asked him... no one attended as a witness or to celebrate, we just went to a courthouse... it was utterly without ceremony. (C) I now see the reason to celebrate a good union... why you invite your loved ones to be part of the event... why you invest a day of your life in the affair... not for all the trappings and financial distractions that are sold in bridal magazines, but for sheer joy of the union itself and the investment of others in its continued happiness. I experienced none of that and really hadn't understood the reasons behind weddings, until I missed out on my own. Now granted, mine would have been more quirky and odd than traditional, but it still would have included all of the people I love.

The other part of this equation was that I was willing to wait... however long it took to meet him, I'd wait. And I was determined not to go through dating a sea of Mr. Wrongs, but rather just be alone until he happened along. Mostly, I didn't want to be married too soon... I figured it would take me somewhere around 3-5 years to be ready, at least. I wasn't wrong, though there were moments before when I thought I might be ready sooner. My choices and approaches to relationships, on the other hand, proved that I wasn't ready, because they were sabotaged from the get-go simply by not following my first promise to myself: he must be patient (and so should I). So I allowed myself to be pushed into dating, before I was ready... and thus began a long line of misguided adventures in dating, many of which you've had the pleasure of reading about later.

The "fish tale" I'm about to tell is the one I've been promising to tell for a while now... the story of the salesman who promised the moon, but only provided headaches and heartache and hives. He was not entirely what I wanted, and I knew it... and definitely not what I needed, but I didn't realize it. So although he was certainly no "catch" and I really should have thrown him back, I strayed from my hopes and dreams yet again. Ultimately, though, the experience strengthened my resolve to stick to that original ideal of mine… and in so doing, renewed faith in myself as well.

There's enough to this tale to fill a few entries, which I may have to break it into chunks of crazy... but this is just the introduction, so I'm stopping here for now.

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*Author's note:

Part of me is hesitant to write any of this - despite the abundance of laughs it may bring some readers - but not because I care if the subject finds out. Ironically, he was first attracted to me because of my blogs, but little did he or I know he'd provide so much fodder for them. No, what gives me pause is that I do not wish to give more thought to this past mistake. I've chalked up my losses, shrugged, regrouped and moved on. Moreover, I do not wish to give it more significance that it deserves, nor do I wish to attract more of its kind: the kind filled with perpetual frustration, regardless of its comedic value. If I write of my personal life in the future, it will still likely be when I find comedy, but I am looking forward to it being pleasantly surprising, rather than increasingly bewildering.