Happily ever after

And now we’re married. Life is good.

Engaged

Oh yeah, T. and I are engaged.

I tried on wedding dresses the other day. The woman who helped me followed up with a handwritten note calling me a “beautiful” bride. And yes, she included scare-quotes around “beautiful” 🙂

By now

PS – The ex I had coffee with yesterday mentioned that he thought I’d have a couple kids by now. Oops. Guess I’m behind schedule.

Rawr

Had coffee with an ex today.

Him: Did I tell you about getting bitten by a tiger?

Me: A tiger?

Him (pulling up shirt and pointing to side): Here’s the scar from the canine, and here’s the scar from the incisor.

Me: Wow, you should totally put that in your dating profile.

Him: Already did. I have to say, I got pretty lucky. The cat didn’t maul my face, but the scar is still easily accessible.

Me: So you can show people your badass scar without dropping trou?

Him: Exactly.

Go ‘way, come back

It’s been nearly a year since my last post, so I think we’re overdue for an update.

Things are going well for T and me in the happily-ever-after department.

In the past year, we’ve traveled quite a bit, including trips to visit old friends, meet his family, and enjoy Hawaii–where he got me to abandon a book and step into the ocean for the first time in years. Briefly.

We’ve also enjoyed the mundane moments and seen more of each other’s quirky habits since moving in together, like leaving half-eaten bananas on the counter (him) or starting the day with a diet soda, falling asleep at parties, misplacing cars in parking lots, feeling unsettled around lines neither parallel nor perpendicular, or being unable to keep peanut butter in the house (me).

My recurring mantra is “go ‘way, come back,” a reminder that I welcome his trips into the big, wide world while I’m cocooned at home, and I welcome his return.

I think we should go out on a second date

A friend sent me an investment banker’s cover letter for a second date, saying it reminded her of me.

First, read it. It’s…it’s special.

Second, yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Or two times, anyway. Two men (both engineers) have asked me out on a second date again after I said no, and two men (an economist and an engineer) have asked me for feedback as to why I said no.

Breathe.

So, I’ve gone on enough dates that I don’t get nervous anymore. It would be like getting nervous about brushing my teeth.

But good lord, am I nervous now.

A few days ago I woke up to an email I was CC’d on, written by my dear, hyperconnected friend D. It started “Dear Erin.”

And that’s how I got set up on a coffee date with Erin McKean.

Now I have to decide whether to read her new book over the weekend. Is it better to be a fanboy who knows too much, or too little?

Also, I have to remember how to breathe.

Swoon

So, things with T are really great. The other day over dinner, he made this admission:

Him: So, I tried to get you a date, but it didn’t work out.

Me: Huh?

Him: I know you have a total nerdcrush on Erin McKean. So I was reading up on her, saw that she works on Wordnik in San Mateo, and asked her out to lunch for you.

Me: Oh. Wow.

Him: But she said no.

Me: Wellllll, that makes sense. I mean, she lives in Chicago and everything. But wow. That would have been so amazing. Seriously amazing. That’s, like, a proposal-level stunt. ::pause:: But you know, you couldn’t just spring that on me! I’d, like, need to do homework first!

Him: Oh, I know! That’s why I’m telling you now–in case she ever changes her mind.

So Erin McKean, if I ever see you (in your tetris dress?), I’ll start looking around desperately for T., my family, and all the other makings of a proposal scene 😉

On gravity and international men of mystery

Last night I met up with my female friend A. for dinner and we went to Three Seasons. I’d been there on several dates, including one with a Ph.D. candidate from Stanford who hypothesized that hot air rises “because hot air is lighter than gravity.”

I shit you not.

Anyway, this female friend has also struggled with the world of online dating. She quoted the last message she had bothered to read:

Shalom.

More if you write back.

Namaste.

“Is he a Hin-Jew?” I asked.

In reply, she shook her head–communicating 1 part ‘probably not’ and 9 parts ‘I give up.’

The handshake problem

Last night I hiked up to the city to hang out with J., my most recent ex. As we were walking to sushi, I thought I saw D., my college ex and BFF. I called out his name, he turned around, and soon we were chatting with him and his new girlfriend about pork donuts. A couple minutes later we parted ways.

“Did you date him?” J. asked.

“Yeah, but a million years ago–freshman year of college. Why?”

“Because the four of us have explored all possible dating combinations.”

::quizzical look::

“Well, you dated both guys, and he dated both girls, and then I had an awkward date with her, too. At Hog & Rocks, actually.”

“Oh, the restaurant where I cried in public?”

“Yup.”

After dinner, J. teased me by bringing up the far-too-young guy whom I briefly dated, and with whom J. now works. “Y’know, I had a good conversation with your 20-year-old today.”

“Shut up. He was, like, 22 at the time.”

At the end of the night, I came home to an email from the 22-year-old. We’re not really in touch, but I had emailed him earlier in the day upon realizing we had a bizarre six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon type connection. In his reply, he mentioned “I’ve enjoyed chatting with J. in our little nerd club. He’s a cool dude (even complemented my comic books today).”

Oh, my men.