The End: Part III

After only 2 weeks of dating my parents happen to be coming to town. Oops. A lot of pressure on a new relationship, but what the hell? It goes without saying my parents immediately love Derek. When he goes to buy a round of beers later that night, my dad turns to me and says “now there’s the kind of man you marry.” My dad has never said this about any of the men I’ve dated. EVER.  

Derek and I have spent almost every day together since our first marathon date. The way he cared for me after my shoulder surgery gave me the confidence he was in it for the good times and the bad. I’ve never let anyone (besides my mom) care for me like that. The truth is, I almost married a person I never trusted to actually be there for me. Joseph showed me on many occasions that I would have to fend for myself (or rely on my family to help). Now that I know what it feels like to have a true partner, I can’t believe I would’ve settled for less.

A year after our first date Derek proposes to me in front of the fountain where we had our first kiss. It is private and perfect – we spend the next hour just the two of us drinking whiskey and cuddling in a booth.  A year later we are married in front of our friends and family on a gorgeous farm in western Maryland.

Even though he’s an introvert and the thought of dancing in front of 150 people horrifies him, he learns a choreographed dance. ::swoooooooooon:: There's even a lift!

A month later we are whipping through the Scottish highlands on a motorcycle. Life is grand.

The End.

Haha. Just kidding. It’s just the beginning. We recently celebrated our two year anniversary and I have to say the whole marriage thing is pretty awesome. It’s not without its difficulties... there is no fairytale ending. Life is still confusing, people are still terrible sometimes and the world is nuts right now.

 

But to anyone reading this thinking you should settle because you’re “at that age” or you’ve been with the same person “for too long”, don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it. Don’t settle for the person who isn’t a true partner, doesn’t care for you when you’re sick or doesn’t make you feel comfortable in your home.  I’m on the other side and I can tell you it’s worth it. I hated my friends who told me “you’ll just know” when you meet the right person – I wanted to punch them in the face.

So now you’ll probably want to punch me in the face. Because I did “just know.” From the beginning it felt different and I’d say within 3 months I knew I wanted to spend my life with this man.

So that’s my story. From heartbreak to happily married. I will remind you that the path was not pretty and littered with jokers. But I survived it and so will you. Or you won't. And you'll adopt some old German shepherds who have aged out of their police duties or service-dog jobs and you'll spend your days caring for these magnificent creatures who gave so freely of themselves and they deserve to be pampered, damn it. The end.

The End: Part II

Fast forward to 2014 when (at a happy hour again, sheesh) Spencer attends my going away party from my job. I jokingly give him a hard time about never setting me up with nice guys when his eyes light up. “You know who’s single again? Derek.”

“C’mon, Spencer”, I say incredulously. “It’s been 3 years since that party… and I looked crazy that night. He doesn’t even know what I really look like. I had a blonde wig on!”

I pause. And then smile. Fuck it. “But whatever, show him a current picture of me and if he’s interested you can give him my number.”

At poker night soon thereafter, he shows Derek more recent pictures of me (He lets him stalk my facebook since he’s not on the facebook). I get a text from Spencer that simply says “Game on.” SCORE

He calls me. CALLS, people! He leaves a voicemail!! It’s super sweet and gives me the butterflies. Bad timing, though. I’m in California visiting my sister! Hmph.

So we did that thing where people actually talk on the phone. I call him while taking a walk and suddenly become very aware that I might be viciously attacked by mountain lions. Ha! (In case you’re curious, I am alive and well. No death by mountain lion) Our talks are easy. Comfortable. Fun.

I’m in California for Valentine’s Day and he sends me this:

So basically I have go go out with this guy. I mean... this is hilarious!

Once I get back Derek asks me to brunch. I remember what he looks like (and have pictures from the night we first met). But it’s been three years. Would I still think he’s cute?

I walk into Chadwicks where he’s sitting at the bar. The bartender nods in my direction and he turns around. My heart falls to the floor. He’s SO RIDICULOUSLY HANDSOME! All of the sudden I’m nervous and wondering if he thinks I’M cute as I walk upstairs to the table.

We are the obnoxious people who take 45 minutes to decide what to order since we’re too busy chatting. He finds ways throughout the meal to touch my arm and it’s like a jolt of electricity runs through me each time we touch. He puts me at ease telling me all of the bad things about him (an unfortunate middle name, some regrettable tattoos, etc). Says he just wants to get it all out in the open upfront. He’s handsome AND funny. ::Swoon::

That spark we both felt that first night is still there. Our brunch date at 11 am turns into an 8 hour adventure of looking at local art, walking around Old Town Alexandria and ending up at a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner.

There is a moment in front of a fountain; with the sun shining down on us that is absolutely perfect… His hazel eyes are staring deeply into mine and I get squirrelly and look away to break the tension. Just then a soft breeze blows my hair into my face. He pushes it back and gently kisses me. ::heart explodes:: 

The End: Part I

I’ve been meaning to write an ending for the Flingstress for a while now. As you can probably guess based on my absence, I am no longer flingstressing about. 

I have many stories of how I met men whether it was online, playing music, on the dancefloor, at bars and even airplanes (seriously – I have met multiple men on airplanes). But nothing compares to this story. It was years in the making.

In 2011, I go to a friend’s 30^th birthday party with then-boyfriend (not yet fiancé) Joseph. But this isn’t just any old normal birthday party. Spencer encourages guests to dress in funeral garb as they are celebrating the death of his wife’s youth. Ha! Most people show up in black shirts or dresses… but I am not most people. I show up to the party wearing a red and black floor-length gown, black opera gloves and a short blonde wig complete with black veil.

As soon as I walk in, a handsome dark-haired man approaches me… much like moth to a flame. I know immediately he is feeling the vibe I was laying down so I quickly mention that I am at the party with my boyfriend. Boyfriend, boyfriend... did I mention I have a boyfriend?

Derek handles it well and I offer to serve as his wing woman to meet a cute gal at the party. He hangs out that night with me and my friends and even lets us dress him up in a big floppy hat and sunglasses. (He would later tell me I didn’t introduce him to a single girl that night)

After the party Derek asks Spencer what my deal is… “is the boyfriend serious?”  Spencer replies “yeah, they’re living together and will probably get engaged soon.” Spencer conveys this story to me later and I remember being flattered but that’s as far as it went - because I was in a serious relationship. And I’m not an asshole. 

Fast forward a few months and Joseph and I DO get engaged. And then disengaged. I run into Spencer at a happy hour a couple of months later and inquire about the cute math teacher from the party who was totally into me. “Oh man, he just started seeing someone,” Spencer says sadly. I then promptly forget about Derek and proceed on my manpage. 

Seduce a Man With Your Eyes. And Crutches.

April and I are going to a concert in Baltimore to see an artist she likes.  We decide to make a trip out of it so I rent a cool room through Airbnb (check it if you don't know what that is) in a funky Victorian row house.

We assume that the concert will be at a coffee shop or art gallery... from the website it looks smallish and hip. We follow the iphone to the venue's address. Nothing. It's a residential street. No cafes, coffee shops, etc in sight. Hmmmm... We park, get out and ask a cop nearby about the concert. He smiles and points to the large synagogue behind him. Ha!

Apparently the synagogue hosts a music series. I'm highly amused. April feels badly since this isn't the "vibe" we were hoping for but I'm totally on board for a strange basement synagogue experience. Let's get weird, people!

The artist we are here to see, Toby Lightman, is a kickass female singer/songwriter. She rules:  

We go inside and find seats in the second row! It's a mix of people... mostly older folks with a few teenage girls. April gets me situated (I'm still on crutches and majorly a gimp) and then runs off to buy wine - thank GOD they're selling adult beverages here.

I see him immediately. He saunters in alone. He's tall. Handsome. Swarthy. He takes a seat at the end of our row. I glance at him a few times during the concert and wonder what's his story. Who comes to a synagogue on a Saturday night to watch an acoustic jam? And alone? Intriguing, indeed.

At the end of the show we are waiting in line to talk to Toby. Tall man appears and he and I exchange a quick, flirty glance. April catches it and rolls her eyes. "Seriously? I can't take you anywhere." What? I'm just smiling. Sheesh. She goes to the bathroom and leaves me propped up against a pillar.

It's so ON. Swarthy man doesn't miss a beat. "I'm Levi." Well hello, Levi. He has intense blue eyes and a mop of curly black hair. Trouble with a capital T.

We chat for a few minutes and he's in the middle of telling me why it's a mitzvah to have sex on the Shabbat when April returns from the bathroom. She throws me a knowing look and says to Levi "I can't ever leave her alone."

Our conversation turns serious when he mentions he's recently divorced. Ah okay. Yes. This makes sense now. Handsome men don't just go to concerts by themselves and approach women on crutches to tell them about sexual laws in Judaism.

He asks if he can walk us to the car since we are in a questionable part of Baltimore. He helps me into the car and I know he wants to ask for my number. In a very un-Jamie-like fashion I say "okay, thanks! BYE!" and shut the door. April, wide-eyed, asks me what just happened. She quickly follows it by saying "don't get me wrong... that man is pure trouble. But I'm surprised you didn't go for it."

What can I say? I got a super naughty vibe from him (he was talking about sex IN the synagogue) and I don't want to be a recently divorced man's rebound.

Oh. But apparently it IS a mitzvah (command) for *married* couples to have sex on the sabbath. So Levi was right about that.

Screw You, Hindsight! You're the WORST.

It’s Saturday night. I’m tired. I’m still using a crutch after my soccer injury.  Even still, I’m not *quite* ready to go home after dinner with April. So I text my roommate, Vinny, and ask him if he wants to get ONE drink in Old Town. Famous last words, I know.

We head to Murphy’s and, because I’m still a gimp, we take a seat near the stage instead of posting up at the bar. The tables are close together and we soon make friends with the people sitting next to us. Brad and Carrie are a nice, slightly older couple (late 30s, early 40s maybe) from Texas. We chitchat about college football, their children, and their seething hatred of liberals. Um. Okay. Whatevs.

Brad seems to have that quality that few married men possess – the ability to be complimentary toward other women without being skeevy. He makes a few comments in front of his wife about how pretty I am. And because his wife is sitting right there, I don’t get a creepy vibe at all. Let’s call this EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT 1.

I get on stage to sing a song with the Irish musician and I notice that Brad has his phone out and is taking a video of my performance. Weird. But still – Carrie is sitting there unperturbed so again, I don’t think anything of it. Enter into EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT B.

Vinny is bored and wants a more lively crowd. Married folks and manly marines aren’t cutting it for him. We decide to go to the Bayou Room. It’s the late-night dance spot in Old Town, Alexandria. My other roommate, Padraig, described it as “the drain at the bottom of the bathtub that is Old Town… all of the scum eventually ends up there.” Carrie and Brad ask to join us… and hey, why not?  

Carrie walks with Vinny out ahead and Brad stays back to help me as I gimp along. Huh. That’s awfully nice of him. For your consideration, EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT C.

As soon as we walk into the Bayou Room Vinny heads to the bathroom and Carrie bounces off to the bar. A split second later Brad’s hands are everywhere. HOLY SHIT: EXHIBIT D. What. The. Fuck. I’m confused.  A couple of thoughts run through my head. “Ewww” “Wait – you’re married!” “Your wife is tall and buxom and I’m on a crutch… I can’t run away from her.” As soon as Vinny returns I tell him quickly that we’re leaving. The urgency in my voice means he doesn’t stop to question me. We leave.

My awesome roommate says he’ll go get the car so I don’t have to hobble myself the 10 blocks there.  Brad and Carrie emerge and I stiffen. Yikes. They get into a cab. Whew. But the cab doesn’t leave. And then a second later Brad gets back out.

I am not upset that they asked. I can’t judge – they are both obviously into it. Arguably she is more interested than he is. Everything else aside, I get angry after he asks the second time. I’m alone. On a crutch. Waiting for my roommate to come get me. Brad says “Oh Vinny? He’s not coming back for you… he said he was heading home.” SERIOUSLY?! You think my only options are a. wait for my roommate or b. go home with swingers? I’m sorry, buddy, but there are MANY options besides those two. And now I’m just pissed off.  

As they drive off I wonder how I could be so naive. I swear to you I didn’t see this coming. That’s why hindsight is a motherfucker. Did I accidentally stumble onto an obscure word that swingers use? Was it because I mentioned playing ice hockey in college? Did my offer to babysit imply some darker, deviant behavior?

Vinny is even more upset than I am when I tell him about our swinging friends. “What the hell? I wasn’t part of the package? What am I… chopped liver?” Don’t get me wrong – Vinny didn’t want to go to the party either. But he would’ve at least appreciated an invite.

Men - A Biological Clock: You Has One.

This is a Public Service Announcement brought to you by the Flingstress.

Friends, recently I learned, to my amazement, that men also have a biological clock. And that mother fucker is ticking.  

Let’s look for a moment at the section just before men hit the big 4-0. Washington, DC is one of the drunkest cities in the country. Our happy hour culture is unrivaled. So men (and admittedly women) booze their way through their 20s and 30s. It’s uncommon to know people under the age of 25 who are married in DC. Your 30s are touted as your 20s only with money. So now you have the ability to buy bottle service, top shelf liquor and wine older than you are. BAM.

Something happens, though. At some point it inevitably hits you. Maybe it’s the nieces and nephews that start appearing or the last single buddy getting hitched or the receding hairline that unfailingly greets you in the morning.  Oh shit. I’m 40. Time to get serious! And you still have time, right? If you date a woman under the age of 35?

You sign up for online dating. You write to women in their late 20s and early 30s saying that you’re “young at heart” and “still looking to start a family.” You unfortunately use the term late bloomer a little too often.
 

Here’s the thing… Men looking for love over the age of 40 is NOT the problem. I applaud you. HOWEVER, if you are only willing to date a woman MUCH younger than you, I perceive that as unjust.  One way I preserve my sanity is by only dating men who are willing to date a woman their own age. Men think, erroneously, that they do NOT have an expiration date because “hey, that one dude had kids when he was 65.” It is my duty, folks, to inform you otherwise. Anything less would be irresponsible.

Check out my reputable resources:

The Biological Clock, Ticking for Men Too

 

http://www.nytimes.com/ref/health/healthguide/esn-maleinfertility-expert.html

“For men over 40, there’s almost a six-fold increase in autism disorders in their children compared with men under 25.”

The Best Age to Have Kids

 

http://www.menshealth.com/health/when-should-you-have-kids

“Once you hit 30, he says, testosterone levels begin to drop by one percent each year. By your mid-30s, mutations begin to occur within the DNA.” 

THIS is what happens as you age. That’s right. Your sperm is DYING!!!  

So guys, if you don’t care about decomposing sperm or DNA mutation-riddled children, by all means… continue fucking around. But don’t say you weren't warned.

I'll Meet You at the Dragon's Lair, M'lord

Promise not to judge. I meet Biff on Hinge. It’s not quite as bad as Tinder (the dating app that’s known for hookups) but it’s almost as bad. Hinge operates like this: You have facebook. Your friends have facebook. Some of those friends are single. Hinge shows me YOUR friend’s picture and not much else. I click “yes” or “no.” If he also clicks “yes” then BAM. Game on. Guess what? You may be unknowingly hooking your friends up. So thanks!

We meet and he seems nice. Normal. Goes to church. Loves horses and America too. Wait. That’s a Tom Petty song. But mostly correct. In an extremely un-Jamie-like-fashion I invite him to join me and my friends at the Renaissance Faire the following day.

He asks if I’ll be in costume. I respond with “I refuse to answer such a preposterous question!” (Of COURSE I dress up and am in full renaissance attire. Duh.) Biff comes in a t-shirt. And shorts. LAME. But whatever. Not everyone wants to be a fun person. He brings his roommate and another chick. They don’t bring much to this story so I won’t go into further detail about them.

We are having a grand ol’ time drinking beer out of leather mugs, eating steak on a stick and watching an angry wench meet an unfortunate fate in the “drench a wench” or “soak a bloke” dunk tank. Then we head to the Dragon’s Lair. Let me say this…  it’s not for the faint of heart. The Dragon’s Lair is where all of the serious Renn Faire goers gather. It’s a place to see and be seen.  It’s filled with people who spend thousands of dollars on their costumes and have only time-period appropriate clothes, hats and accessories. Strangely enough, it’s also where all of the bikers go. You read that right. Motorcycle-driving, leather-jacket-wearing, I-love-mom-tattoo-showing, big-black-boot-sporting  bikers. For some reason bikers LOVE the Renn Faire. Irrelevant? Perhaps.

We are in line for more grog when I strike up a conversation with the middle-aged man in front of us.

WTF?! Who is this guy? And better question: why am I here with him? Thank goodness that this kind soul has the ability to respond graciously to big, bad bully Biff and his awfulness. I am fuming. In a queen's veil. It's not a pleasant sight.

Biff is on extremely thin ice when religion comes up. Oh great. I am starting to zone out when he mentions that homosexuals are like criminals. Sigh.

I learn an important lesson from Biff.  Someone may check off your “boxes,” but it does NOT mean they are a good match. Similarly, just because someone goes to church on Sundays doesn't mean they treat people with the golden rule. Sorry dude, but Jesus would NOT have been a jerk to nerds at the Renn Faire. No way in HE double hockey sticks.