Love Stinks… How Helen came to be

“If you don’t like someone, the way he holds his spoon will make you furious; if you do like him, he can turn his plate over into your lap and won’t mind”. This quote by Irving Becker explains it all, doesn’t it? It is funny because it is true. I am left with something that I think will remain a mystery forever: why is it that the nice men are always those whom I can’t stand, and the jerks are those whom I haven’t minded them turning their plates over in my lap? In the end, I am always left wondering, “How did I let this happen again? Why can’t I just for once have a spark with a guy who is wonderful and sweet?” Inevitably, things have ended in tears, with me wondering how in the world I have the luck to find every jerk in the world.

“Shopping for a mate” hasn’t always seemed this hard. As teenagers, my sister and I would have men standing in our wake waiting to talk to us. We either had men chasing after us or men who were too intimidated to go up and start a conversation with two tall, blonde-haired, blue eyed twins that modeled to put themselves through school. I, however, didn’t date much and concentrated on sports and staying focused on school. Sure, I had my dates here and there when my sister needed someone to go out with, but mostly it was happy solitude for me and waiting to go to college.

At the tender age of eighteen, I began a relationship with a man who would haunt me for the rest of my life. I don’t mean haunt in a bad way, but haunt in a way that they are in the back of your mind when you go certain places, hear certain songs and smell certain smells. Haunt in a way that you compare every single future love that you have to them. Haunt as in: the first love that will remain there in my heart forever. However, I digress, as he is coming in a future chapter all his own.
Through college, after the break up of my first love, I dated here and there and even got engaged to a teacher’s assistant, Stan. That was a mistake from the beginning. However, it, like many mistakes people make in love, seemed to be a good idea at the time. He was the assistant professor of one of my classes and I was drawn to him because he was very good at explaining child psychology. He was successful, nice and sort of good looking.

We began dating and after a certain amount of time went by, things just sort of happened because they were supposed to happen. You know what I am talking about… the timeline which everyone falls slave to at one point in their life or another. You date for awhile, get engaged, married, and then after a year or two, you have a baby, and on and on…

Because things were decent with Stan and I was pretty happy, I just continued on my timeline. My girlfriends from college were all getting engaged and I wanted to be at that point in life as well. I was almost done with my student teaching and Stan was well into his career. He was responsible, sweet and loved me. However, the “spark” wasn’t there. You know what I am talking about. That spark that makes everything in the world with that person seem right. Where every moment that you are together seems like a dream and you stay up talking through the wee hours of the morning.

Stan was a great guy, but unfortunately, he was not the type, as I described in the beginning of this chapter, who could have turned his plate over in my lap and I would have thought it adorable. He was the type that loved to shop (I hate to shop), he loved to gab and gossip and had more girlfriends than I did. He would stand in such ways with his wrists just so that even I would question his effeminite ways sometimes. When we were out places, I would watch as people would tilt their heads, as he would excitedly explain something, while waving his hands for emphasis, as they pondered which “team” he played for. Did he like men or women? One was not quite sure and I sure didn’t want to be the one to find out one day. (His own mother compared him to Jack from Will and Grace!) Over time, even the little things about Stan came to annoy me (even the way he chewed) and I knew a break up was inevitably in the future.

Even though there were red flags standing boldly, waving in the wind trying to warn me to halt my plans to rush to building a “perfect” future, I did as we all do from time to time. I ignored them. I pushed those flags aside, excused my doubts as ridiculous attempts to sabotage my own happiness, and continued on. The day Stan proposed to me, I actually had the word, “no” lodged in my throat, but out came a resounding, “Yes!“ as I heard myself in disbelief, agreeing to marry this man.

So, we went on with the plans and things moved forward like a steam engine nearing its final leg of a trip. I didn’t know what to do and actually fooled myself for quite awhile into thinking that I was crazy and I was going to be happy if I would just calm down and let it happen. Before I knew it, our entire wedding was planned, dresses for the bridesmaids were bought, plane tickets for out of state relatives were bought, honeymoon tickets were bought, and invitations were sent. Part of me was tempted to just go through with the marriage, as it would have been easier at the time. However, I didn’t view marriage as just something that was taken lightly. I viewed it as a commitment for life. I began to panic as the day rushed forward and I didn’t know what I was going to do.

I will never forget the exact moment of truth when it hit me that I had to call off my wedding. I was standing on the dance floor of the huge reception hall at my twin sister’s wedding that never should have taken place. My poor sister, she is a whole other book all in her own. Anyway, it was one of those weddings where everyone is looking around, just waiting for a witness to stop the wedding, expecting it to happen… and no one does.

Standing in a black velvet gown with matching gloves, on the most beautifully lit dance floor that night, alone, in an atmosphere of very expensive, gorgeous decorations and food, I realized something. It didn’t matter the amount of money that was spent, how beautiful the decorations were or how pretty the wedding dress was. I looked around to see my relatives, who were normally upbeat and happy, looking very worried and quiet.

As I surveyed the room and came full circle, I saw my sister, who looked every bit a princess in her dazzling, beaded gown that seemed to go on for miles, looking utterly miserable. Although her tiara was sparkling in the lights of the dance floor, she was almost in tears as she and her new husband argued fervently. No one could quite hear what they were saying, but people became uncomfortable and actually began leaving.

Although I am sorry to say that my sister’s special day had to go as such, and did indeed end as we all knew it would, in divorce, it was a valuable day for me. I learned something quickly that day. Even though I thought I was at the stage of my life where I wanted to get married, have the big, white wedding and dance the night away with a husband, I didn’t want to be that girl. I didn’t want to be the one that everyone was tight-lipped about, not speaking up because they were afraid to hurt my feelings. I knew the truth and I knew what I had to do.

So, that night, I pulled Stan aside and I broke up with him. Although our wedding was only a month away, I called it all off. Telling my family was probably the hardest part, as my mother was furious that we weren’t going to get the security deposits back, and she still has six periwinkle bridesmaid dresses hanging in the spare bedroom closet. (To this day, I am still teased about them. She is wondering when I will at least make curtains out of the ghastly things)… God bless my parents…

The break up was not pretty, and we lost a lot of money. I then had to find a new place to live despite not having a job, and I was incessantly teased by my brothers. However, I knew I had done the right thing. Mainly because although Stan and I had dated for quite some time, lived together, and almost got married, there isn’t much to tell about him. Well, there is something, actually. He will either make someone very happy and be an excellent, attentive husband who shops for his wife and can gab with her girlfriends. Or, he will “come out of the closet” one day in his mid-forties or so. Either way, I pray that he finds happiness.

After Stan, I took a long break from dating and from even thinking about the prospect of marriage. What a mess I had let myself fall into, and this time, I dragged my family right along with me! I took a step back and realized the magnitude of what had just happened and realized that I needed to examine myself and who I was. I found a very crappy, old apartment in an area that was not as safe as I would have liked (this was solely out of not having money), got a boring desk job working for the government, and got a cat. I lived alone for quite awhile, being scared out of my wits at every little sound in my tiny apartment. I was scared, poor and lonely. It is times like these that truly suck; but times like these when you can finally find your true self.

After a year of living in solitude and peace with my cat, I was bored, but happy. As I sat at my little, grey cubicle one day at work, I opened up my email to find (this was still a time when the internet wasn’t quite as relied upon to communicate with people as it is now) a message from my ex-boyfriend, Andres.

Andres was a lost soul from Colombia whom I had met through a German exchange student we had living in our house. I was very fortunate to grow up in a household that hosted a different exchange student from foreign countries each year. I felt like this made me more open-minded to cultural diversity, sparked my love for languages and gave me an attraction for foreign men.

When I met Andres, I was sixteen and he was eighteen and we ended up dating for about five months out of his year here in the United States. With Andres, it was the kind of foolish, young feeling of what you think is love, but then realize in later years after actually having experienced it, that it really wasn’t. It was merely what people call, “puppy love”. The day Andres left on that big, Greyhound bus to go to the airport and return to Colombia, I thought my very heart was going to break in two. I wondered why life could ever be so cruel, to let him and me find each other, but then rip us apart so barbarically. The day he left, I cried in my pillow for days and refused, much to my parents’ dismay to leave my room. (How dramatic I can be at times.)

But, as time ticked on, we lost touch as most people in long distance relationships eventually do. We never officially ever broke up, we just stopped communicating. As the years went by, I thought that he would forever stay a memory in my mind rather than an experience in my adult life.

Flash forward ten years from meeting Andres, and there you will find me, sitting at my computer, bored, alone and just waiting. Waiting for the planets to finally align and bring me a sign of what was yet to come in my life. When I opened my email that day, it was like the heavens had opened up and the clouds were pushed away. There, sitting in my inbox was a message from Andres, whom I had assumed was married already and living happily with five children in Colombia. However, once we began emailing back and forth and updating each other on our lives, we saw that we were both still very much available.

Just as Gigi had done, I also got caught in the whirlpool of nostalgia and decided to begin dating him. As I said, at the time, I was working for the government and had way too much time to dawdle on the internet. I am convinced that a trained monkey could have done the job that I did and everyday, I would watch the clock tick mercilessly on, until I finally got to run to my car to drive home to my boring life. Yes, just as Gigi had done, I had also let the internet drag me into its devilish land. The main difference was, I wasn’t married and was probably about fifteen years younger than Gigi. Soon, Andres and I were talking again and since he had moved to Connecticut, we decided we would see if age made a difference in the fate of our togetherness. He came to visit me once, but it wasn’t until I visited him that I found out what a jerk he truly was. His ultimatum of “either you sleep with me or I drive you to the airport” sent me over the edge and I ended up sitting at the airport several hours earlier than I needed to.

Just like Gigi, I am a natural flirt. I don’t even realize that I am flirting until someone points it out. So, as I sat at the airport that day, I soon struck up a conversation with a guy name Michael who looked to be my age. He was cute, dark haired, tall, wearing glasses and looked as if he had his life together. We found, coincidentally, that we were on the same flight and continued talking so much during the flight that the poor girl who was sitting in between us switched seats with him. She was very annoyed, but he and I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

We made a date to go out the following week as I imagined myself flipping the bird to my ex-Colombian boyfriend through the window of the plane. I was delighted to find out that Michael only lived a half hour away! The week flew by and finally it was time to go on my date. I was excited at the possibility of something new. The date began perfectly, with me driving to meet him (hey, I had just met the guy) and us going out to dinner. All through dinner we talked and laughed just as we had done on the plane.

Afterward, we went out to a movie. To this day, I could not tell you the movie we saw because the action that was yet to come was the only thing that stands out vividly in my mind. He sweetly grabbed my hand as the lights went down. I happily held his hand, as we laughed at the screen. After about an hour of sitting in the same position, I needed to move. Let me just tell you, if you ever met me in person, you would understand that I need to move. I have a lot of energy and have a difficult time sitting still; hence, why I teach. Anyway, after an hour, I whispered in his ear, “I have to shift, hang on a second”. I wiggled and crossed my legs the other way, as I re-situated myself and looked up to see him looking at me in horror. He had a repulsed look on his face and wouldn’t hold my hand after that. After the movie, he dropped me off at my car with no mention of another date or calling again. I was utterly baffled as my mind whirled at what could’ve gone wrong.

I drove away that night in a stupor. I drove and sang that night until I abruptly turned the music off and began to laugh. As I was replaying the night in my head over and over, I realized what had happened with my date and why he had become so repulsed and re-coiled his hand after I said, “I need to shift”. Perhaps you have already guessed it. I am convinced to this day that he thought I said,“ I need to shit”. Now his reaction made sense, as I laughed and laughed until tears streamed down my face. They stopped, however, the moment my car broke down on the highway that night. Yes, to top it all off, my car broke down and I had to wait for a Good Samaritan to drive me to the nearest gas station. After this, the last thing I felt like doing the following night was going out to the bar and trolling for men. However, a girl’s best friend can be very persuasive at times and I ended up having a night that would change my life forever.

After the previous night and being fed up with people’s lack of communication (my date could have just asked me to repeat what I had said) I saw the hopelessness of dating. I never wanted to date again and laughed repeatedly at my luck and experiences of the past. As I stood there that night nursing my beer and being very negative, I saw him. There he was, shy looking, dark-haired, tall and cute. He was laughing with a group of my really good friends from college. I was clueless that night, as I flirted mercilessly with a man who would one day end up my husband. Jonah and I began dating and even moved in together after a year.

After a year of blissfully living together in tiny cabin, we got married. We had the perfect life that everyone around us envied. As I stated in the beginning, however, we all know how it ended. He, having an affair with a student of his, whom he still lives with; and me alone, crying, terrified and eight months pregnant on the steps of the house that we had saved up to buy.
After one gains this type of life experience and perspective, it is hard not to find humor in unimportant situations such as dating. Thank God I eventually climbed out of the depths of hell that my ex-husband had left me in. Thank God I didn’t marry Stan and thank God I said goodbye to Andres when I did. I am even thankful of where I am now, even if it is finding myself alone, sitting home with an infant and looking online for a decent man.

After seeing what has made me tick, hopefully my actions in my stories will make more sense to you. No, I am not perfect. I am very far from it, actually. I know there are hearts out there that I have broken and for that, I am sorry. However, as I live and learn, I realize how very precious love can be and I aim to never be careless with it again. I also realize how funny things can be, which saves me a lot of tears when things don’t always turn out the way that they should. I am, as many people say, a work in progress. Take it all in, dear readers… there are many more chapters to come!

To read Gigi’s Part VIII, see The Adventures of a Thoroughly Confused Gigi – Part VIII