Tag Archives: relationships

How I Met Your Mother

Mom and Dad, how did you guys meet?

Ummm…. well…. uhhh…. we met at church.

But you guys don’t go to church.

Umm… uhhh… well we weren’t actually at church, we were near a church.

You were NEAR a church? I thought you met at college?

You’re right, we did meet in college. We met in a… uhhh… a poetry reading class… yeah… it was a poetry reading class…. poems about love and stuff like that…

C’mon, seriously… you did not! Besides, I thought you both studied completely different subjects, neither of which involved poetry.

Ummm… uhhh… yeah, well we did, you’re right, we only had a couple classes together in all the years we were there.  But I used to….ummmm… I used to write poems about Biology for your Mom and she….

Shut up… you’re so lying… so, how did you really meet?

Okay, look… I know we’ve portrayed this image that we are both very wholesome and righteous… but the truth is… let’s see, how do I say this… the truth is… maybe you should sit down.

Why should I sit down?

Just sit down… see… your parents met in college at a… at a…. at a…..

Okay, look, we met at a Toga Party… there I said it… it was a Toga Party… a drunken, hedonistic Toga Party.

Kim and I met at a Toga Party at Colby College in early Fall 1986.

The details are vague these days, but yes, this is a true story. I don’t remember if this was the first night we actually spoke to each other but it was one of our first experiences together while “courting” and it’s the story we tell when people ask “how did you meet?”

Please don’t think any less of us.

Some friends in the dorm I lived in were throwing a party and the theme was bed sheet togas and kegs of cheap, shitty beer, because that’s a surefire way to have a good time. I found myself, mid-way through the evening, sitting next to one of my close friends, both of us on chairs that were perched precariously high atop a small table so that we were way above the mob-scene below. Between us sat a keg of Budweiser and we were repeatedly filling up soggy, beer soaked paper cubs that the crowd of guests held up to us like we were rock stars signing autographs. That’s when I saw her, this beautiful girl, wrapped up in a twin bed sheet that was decorated with a kind of floral pattern that looked like wallpaper you’d see in your great-grandmother’s house. I instantly wanted nothing more than to peel off that wallpaper!

I’d seen Kim around our dorm before, she was a freshman and I was a sophomore but we had never made any serious connection. But this night was different, maybe it was the sexy bed sheets we were wearing, maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the rockin’ 80’s tunes shaking the walls, maybe it was the beer, maybe it was just karma… or maybe it was the beer.

I don’t know, but this would be the night that changed our lives.

I was wrapped in a dark blue sheet. In college, if you had dark colored sheets, you didn’t have to wash them that often which was good because washing stuff meant hauling a giant bag of laundry down to the washing machines in the depths of your dorm basement and hustling pockets full of quarters from everyone you knew.

Around my waist was a three inch wide black, spiked and studded belt that belonged to my brother, I think maybe picked up on a semester abroad in England. It looked like something straight out of a Clash band photo… or a really bad gay porno movie. Wrapped around my head, like a headband, was a thin gold mesh scarf and that was topped off with a pair of dark black sunglasses. I looked like a circa-1980’s Jim McMahon, except I was wearing a dark blue toga… and a gay porn belt.

You can see why she thought that was hot, right?

I don’t remember if we “hooked-up” that night. Maybe we passed out somewhere, it’s not really important. What’s important is that this is how Kim and I finally connected, on a fine evening of Greek culture and sophistication.

Our relationship is still going strong, 27 years later, with 20 of those years married and fifteen of those raising kids. We’ve got a good thing and we try not to take it for granted. It’s not always easy, but we make it work and when things are challenging, when the kids are driving us up a wall, it’s good to look back on those early days when life was more carefree.

The best thing about this story… there are no photographs… at least none that we are aware of!

How did you meet your spouse, boyfriend, girlfriend, pet? Please share your stories!

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Ten Sensitive Ways to Break-Up with Another Blogger

An unfortunate dynamic of blogging is that sometimes we have to break-up with another blogger with whom we have developed a blogging relationship. I’ve broken up with several bloggers in the last few years and many more have broken up with me. The usual technique that bloggers employ is the Vanish Method – just stop reading, stop leaving comments on posts and stop clicking the “like” button.  In extreme cases, the blogger might even spend three to four hours digging through their WordPress Dashboard trying to actually figure out how to un-follow a blogger that they are no longer interested in following. But this method is very boorish and inconsiderate and leaves the “victim” of the break-up sadly wondering where their friend has gone and if it was something that they wrote that might have caused this animosity in the relationship.

So, with that in mind, here’s ten sensitive break-up lines you can use to end your relationship with another fellow blogger without leaving him or her hanging in limbo…

10. Sorry… but the excessively large number of subscribers you have is making me feel inadequate.

9. Sorry… it’s really been so great getting to know you and learning about your failed relationships but I think I want to focus on some other blogs for a while.

8. Sorry… but the frequency of your writing is making me feel a little bit uncomfortable.   I really love that I’m getting three to four posts a day from you but I just can’t keep up with that.

7. Sorry… I still love your blog. I really do! It’s really great, even the soy and tofu recipes and the posts about your kid’s poopy pants. I just really need some time to focus on my own writing right now.

6. Sorry… I guess I just moved too fast when I followed you when you were Freshly Pressed. At the time I knew it would be the start of a wonderful blog relationship. But then you didn’t follow me back and I really don’t feel like this is a two-way relationship.

5. Sorry… but your posts just aren’t keeping me satisfied.  It’s not that they’re too short or even too long. They’re really the perfect length. I just find myself fantasizing about other blogger’s posts while I’m reading your posts.

4. Sorry… really, it’s not your blog’s fault, it’s my “WordPress Reader’s” fault. It’s very full and it just needs some personal space.

3. Sorry… but I think you love my blog more than I love your blog and I don’t want to hurt you by not leaving comments on your posts.

2. Sorry… I think we’d be better off just being Facebook friends.

1. Sorry… I “like” your posts… I just don’t “like like” your posts.

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Roadkill Stew

This is the tale of Billy O’Hill.
Who lived all his life in the town of Saville.
In a lil ‘ol cabin, he’d made his abode.
At the end of the dirtiest, dirty, dirt road.

Now Billy O’Hill had been married a time.
To a girl named Pearl, a lady sublime.
But Pearl’d got sick, dun gone up to heaven.
Ten long years ago, or maybe eleven.

So he kept to hisself, stayed mostly alone.
‘Cept for his pooch who he called Al Capone.
And a few of his friends that he’d see now’n then.
Down at the coffee shop now’n again.

The Hill Top Cafe is what it been named.
Cornbread and Johnny Cakes what they was famed.
They’d sit there fer hours not talkin’ ‘bout much.
‘Cept for some gossip and weather and such.

And on his way yonder he’d pass by the house.
Of the purtiest lady, as cute as a mouse.
She’d sit on her porch, a-sippin’ her tea.
In the shade of a giant magnolia tree.

See Billy O’Hill had a crush on this lady.
A purty ol’ girl named Myrtle O’Grady.
She lived in a house in the center of town.
Where them wealthy folks lived, the rich and renown.

But he never could git up the nerve to suggest,
“Wouldya meet me for coffee, I’d surely be blessed?”
‘Cuz what would a girl so swanky and chic,
See in a guy “from the hills”, so to speak?

So Billy would wave as he briskly walked by.
He wouldn’t say nuthin’, cuz he was right shy.
When Myrtle would smile her purtiest smile.
Billy’d be floatin’ on air for awhile.

Then one day he asked for some friendly advice.
From his closest of friends, named Earl Versluice.
‘Cuz everyone privy knew Earl could charm.
Like a rooster that woos all them hens on a farm.

Now Earl had fetchin’ advice to impart.
“The stomach’s the way to a good woman’s heart!”
“Let’s throw a party like we used to do.”
“Invite all our friends, we’ll serve roadkill stew.”

“Every-un brings somethin’ fresh that they’ve found.”
“From the side of the road, just plain dead on the ground.”
“Squirrel or coon or rabbit or beaver.”
“We’ll slice ‘em all up with a very large cleaver!”

“We’ll mix in some collards and veggies and rice.”
“Add in some ‘shine to give it some spice.”
“We’ll invite Ms. O’Grady to join us that day.”
“Then you can dun meet her, whatdaya say?”

So Billy went home, started makin’ a list.
Of who’d be invited and who could be missed.
At the end of the list he penned really neat.
“Myrtle O’Grady”, the list was complete.

He wrote out the invites, said R.S.V.P.
We’re throwin’ a party on Sunday ‘bout three.
We’ll serve roadkill stew and plenty-a ‘shine.
I’ll break outta jug of my dandelion wine.

Then he mailed ‘em all out and dun prayed for the best.
Would Myrtle O’Grady show up for this fest?
When the day dun arrived, his friends all came through.
They’d all brung some roadkill to add to the stew.

Ms. Blossom brung possum…

June brung raccoon…

Mr. Monk brung a skunk…

Mr. Babbitt brung rabbit…

Jake brung some snake…

Mr. Weaver brung Beaver…

And his best friend Earl? Well, Earl, he dun brung lots of Squirrel…

Then Myrtle arrived and the place got real quiet.
What had she brung, would anyone try it?
Every’un watched as she walked through the door.
She carried a bag from a fancy clothes store!

She handed that bag to Billy O’Hill.
Who opened ‘er up with the most gracious skill.
And Billy looked in and dun said with a grin.
I reckon Ms. Myrtle O’Grady fits in!

‘Cuz Myrtle…

Well… Myrtle… she brung Turtle.

In fact… she dun brung the freshest, most purtiest turtle, bigger’n any of ’em had ever seen!

So they cooked up the stew ‘n that party was grand!
And Billy’n Myrtle hit it off just as planned.
And the rest be dun history, them guests they all knew.
That Billy and Myrtle fell in love over stew!

Listen to the Audio Version!

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Fall in Love Again

One of my blogging friends, Robyn at Love vs. Goliath wrote this post the other day about investing in her relationship with her husband.  These two (and her kids) tell an amazing love story about being reunited after a long immigration battle. I’d encourage you to visit the site and poke around, it’s very interesting and uplifting.

Her post reminded me that it is so important to make time for your spouse or partner, to find time away from kids and jobs and all the stressful and time-consuming things that envelope our lives, and find ways to rekindle those incredible feelings that people feel when they first start falling in love. My wife preaches this to me sometimes, and while I have to admit she is pretty good at it, frankly, me being a guy and all… I am not always very good at it.

Reading Robyn’s post hit home for me and I sat down and wrote a little song. I’m not much for New Year’s Resolutions, but perhaps this year I’ll try to make more time for my relationship with my amazing wife.

You can listen to the song on Grooveshark here:  Fall in Love Again

and here are the words:

Baby, let’s fall in love again.
Head over heels in love again.
It’s much too easy just being in love with you.
I want to fall in love again.

Baby, let’s fall in love again.
Head over heels in love again.
It’s not enough just being in love with you.
I want to fall in love again.

Let’s climb to the roof and stare at the sky and watch shooting stars go by.
Let’s jump in the car and go for a drive with nowhere to go in mind.
Let’s lie in the sand, grab hold of my hand and know that the world is right.
Baby, let’s feel that way again.

Baby, let’s fall in love again.
Head over heels in love again.
It’s much too easy just being in love with you.
I want to fall in love again.

I’m looking forward to reading what you all have to say this year. Wishing you a happy, healthy 2012!

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Shave and a Haircut? No thanks, I’m having commitment issues!

I got my hair cut yesterday.  Not a very exciting event in my overly exciting life but a necessity nonetheless.  I like getting my hair cut and us guys with short hair need to have it groomed quite frequently, lest we start looking like Tom Brady or Justin Beiber! 

(Sidenote: people often tell me I look like Tom Brady, what do you think?  I only wish I had his athletic skills and money).

Will the real Tom Brady please stand up!

I’ve never really had a barber or a hair stylist that I’ve frequented for a long time.  Often I’ll patronize the same place for a few years, but I never really care about who is actually doing the cutting.  My hair always seems to look okay when they’re done so I haven’t spent too much time courting a relationship with someone.  In hindsight maybe I have “barber” commitment issues!  I can only imagine building up this magnificent, wonderful relationship with a barber (we’ll call him Gus) only to one day, on a whim, decide I want to get my hair cut somewhere else.  How do you break off a relationship with a barber or a hair stylist?  Could that possibly be harder than breaking up with a girlfriend or boyfriend?  I don’t know.  I guess you just stop showing up… but I live in a small town, what if I bump into Gus in the grocery store or at a school function?

Gus:  Hey Steve, how’s it going?

Steve:  Uh, great, things have been really busy!

Gus:  Great, haven’t seen you in a while.

Steve:  Yeah I’ve been really busy with work, haven’t had much time to get my hair cut.

Gus:  Oh… well it looks pretty short right now.

Steve:  Yeah… uh… well… um… uh, well you know I’ve been trying out a new diet, kind of a vegan thing, sort of, but where I can still eat some meat… and uh, well… uh… I think it is affecting my hair growth.

Gus:  Okay, well good luck with that diet.  If it starts to grow again, well you know where to find me.

Steve:  Okay, see you around Gus.

Wow… see how uncomfortable that would be.  I’ve worked up a sweat just thinking about it!

Lately I have been getting my hair cut in one of the larger suburban towns nearby at a place called SportsClips.  If you’re not familiar with SportsClips it’s a chain-style hair salon for GUYS ONLY and its all full of SPORTS themed paraphernalia, TV’s showing SPORTING EVENTS, and CUTE STYLISTS wearing black and white REFEREE style clothing.  I have to admit they do a nice job so that’s been my latest “hair cut” fling.

I don’t mind getting my hair cut by women.  I’m a pretty stylish guy and somehow I feel they know better how to make my hair look… well, you know… FABULOSO!  A little buzz here, a little snip-snip here, a handful of sticky hair-gel and VOILA… $20.00 and I’m outta here.  Plus, since us macho guys can’t be running around frequenting massage salons and getting our toenails done, getting our haircut is the closest thing to having a “tryst” with a pedicurist and getting a foot rub, and having a cute stylist dressed as a referee is (at least for now) better than some old guy with shaky hands and stale coffee breath.

But I also hope someday to find a great barber shop, where I can go and get a haircut and maybe a straight razor shave and a shot or two of single-malt whiskey and feel like the men of the first 60-70 or so years of the 20th century… before men started, well you know, putting gel in their hair.  The old-fashioned barber shop, with it’s spinning red and white barber pole, is really a lost art and a diminishing cultural institution in this country.  Barbers in the early days used to do all kinds of crazy medical treatments like bleeding people when they had diseases.  In fact, I read somewhere that the red and white barber pole stems from a representation of the bandages used during a bleeding treatment.  Thankfully most barbers are only cutting hair now and even the straight razor shave has been eliminated from most shops because of the liabilities involved with disease transmission if someone were to get cut.  But there are still a lot of great barber shops out there and hopefully that profession will continue to survive as a valued service in small and large towns and cities across the country.

For now though, I’ll continue to drive up to the “burbs” and get my hair cut at SportsClips.  At least until I start to get that relationship “itch” and feel like those “referees” are starting to know me a little too well.   Then, once again, I’ll have to break-up with my barber shop and go out into the world as a “hair bachelor” searching for that elusive stylist who can keep me groomed for a few more years.

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