Taking a break from the psychopath’s guide series, I decided to recount the tale of how I met my wife. I hope that someday my children will find this blog, hidden in the dusty archives of the internet, and will come across this story. Also, I’m getting older and I fear that I may forget details if I don’t start writing them down.
Many moons ago, during the summer before senior year in high school, I was in a funk. I had been in a pretty longer term relationship, about two years or so, and we had recently broken up. Rather we were forced to break up by the girl’s father, who also happened to be the superintendent at our school. I decided I would drown my worries in alcohol and then cloud them with as much pot as I could get my hands on (which was a lot).
On a rare occasion (for that summer anyway) I was at a friend’s house hanging out when he suggested we head to a club that night. I declined, and he persisted. Eventually I agreed on the grounds that we get as wasted as we possibly could before getting there (being minors, we couldn’t drink there). he agreed, and the blur begins. At the club, I wasn’t much of a wing man for him. We were sitting near a table that had two girls at it. He was trying to talk me into going to their table to flirt with them. I told him i was too depressed for that but he dragged me over anyway. He began joking around while I started chain smoking. The smoke, combined with the alcohol, combined with depression led to me feeling REALLY sick. I laid my head down on the table and mumbled something about needing to get to a bathroom. I never made it to the bathroom but fortunately didn’t puke that night either. The two girls asked us to dance, and so I did. While depressed, drunk, and somewhat high, I was still a horny high school kid and these were girls. I was powerless.
While dancing, I asked the girl what her name was, realizing that we had been at the same table for 20 minutes without actually asking this before. She says her name, but it’s drown out by the music. I ask again, she says it again, same problem. I ask one more time leaning in so close my ear was almost touching her lips. She said her name again, NOTHING!!! At this point I have two options. One is that I accept that I don’t know her name and just hope for the best, or keep asking and feel like a bigger ass and risk frustrating her to the point of “no-sex time.” I opted for acceptance and continued the night without her first name. Through a very specific and unfortunate series of events, i would not learn her name for another two weeks! Eventually my friend was able to get someone to address her by name, and the mystery was solved. Her name was jenny. If you’re reading this, and know me, you may be wondering who the fuck jenny is.
I had been dating her for a little over a month when she told me that her friend was having a party at her parent’s house. I said I’d be there and decided to take a few friends along as well. We kicked off the night with the obligatory binge drinking and massive amounts of weed. This was followed by a Jackass inspired session of cart rolling. For those of you unfamiliar with the pass-time, you get inside of a shopping cart, sometimes a few at a time, while friends push the cart from behind. You do this until you hit a curb at which point the cart flips and sends you flying through the air. When wasted, this is actually a great time! Sober, not so much. So after a few rounds of this, we show up at the party. I walk down into the basement where everyone is and see a gorgeous girl sitting on a couch. Sidenote: I was not exactly a faithful guy back then and had already cheated on jenny many times at this point.
I decide that “girl on couch” is my prey for the evening and I will see her naked. In my clouded mind, the best way that I can come up with to do this is to go sit on her lap. I walk in, go straight up to her and sit down on her lap. She gives me a weird look, and then I look over to see my girlfriend walk in. She looks confused and explains that this is the girl who lives at this house, and tells her that I’m her boyfriend. That’s when “girl on couch” says her name is Lindsay. Hello future wife. My girlfriend, apparently pissed about the lap sitting incident, goes upstairs in tears. My friends convince me that I need to go calm her down, and I realize that my best shot at sex that night will be found with her, not with “girl on couch” who seems slightly scared of me. I go upstairs, somehow I end up having sex, life goes on.
Fast forward many months, to the summer after graduation, and I finally get tired of cheating on this girl so I decide to simply break up with her. Tears follow, she tells me how big of an asshole I am for having cheated on her (which is true) and I leave. I get very high, and she’s already out of my mind. The following Tuesday I’m back at the same old club and see “girl on couch.” My friend points her out and asks if that is “girl on couch.” Why yes it is. She’s still hot, and so I decide to give it another shot. We talk briefly, nothing happens, and she leaves. Nothing unpleasant, but unsuccessful to say the least. Through a series of random encounters, and chance sightings this girl and I run into each other several more times (including discovering that we are both working at the same factory over the summer). I finally decide to just ask her out, but the trouble is how. I don’t have her number, and we work opposite shifts at the factory. Who do I know that would have her number? I could only think of one person, my ex-girlfriend. 1 joint later and I’m dialing my ex’s number. She’s pissed, but gives me the number. I call “girl on couch” and ask her to come hang out with me.
Doorbell rings, I open it, she looks hot, I’m wearing a Backstreet Boys t-shirt (part of a running joke with a bandmate and I). That’s it. 9 years later and here we are, still married, two kids deep, and with countless stories to tell, but that’s the one that started them all. If I hadn’t been a drunken, stoned, cheating, asshole I would have never met the love of my life.