How I Met Your Father*

Today is Hot Guy's birthday. I wanted to do a post about him, but I didn't want to do a typical birthday post. This one is inspired by "How I Met Your Mother" and a blog post series/link up I wrote in 2007 called "Soap Opera Sunday". It could also be entitled, "Why I Call My Husband 'Hot Guy' On My Blog."

When I moved to Kansas City, I was 27 and newly separated. I moved to KC for three reasons: because I got what I thought was my ideal teaching job there, because my ex-husband wasn't too far away in case the separation didn't take and because I was afraid to move back into my parents' house in New Jersey. 

After the first four months, I realized how happy I was without my ex, so I suggested a divorce. Slowly I started to get my self-esteem back. I made some friends. I volunteered and joined the art museum's young members group. I even started pseudo dating.  The guy was also recently divorced. We were little more than good friends, really, but people assumed we were dating and that was okay with me. He was attractive and funny, but there was something missing between us. 

Not that I was in any rush to become romantically entangled with anyone again. Especially after my  friend T got dumped and went on a singles scene rampage. Suddenly the suburban bars weren't good enough for her and she dragged me to Kelly's in Westport - one of the biggest pick-up spots in the Western hemisphere. After buying our trough-like beers, we spotted an empty table. Then T needed to go to the bathroom and R went to find chairs for our table. My job was to guard the beers from Roofie spilling sickos. 

Naturally two seconds after the others left a sleazy older guy slid over to me and started talking. I panicked when I realized that my usual suburban bar tactics (escape to the bathroom, get an acquaintance to get rid of him) wouldn't work. I couldn't carry the three troughs of beer anywhere, and I didn't want to lose the table. I started dropping hints that I wasn't interested, but sleazy guy didn't notice. He even took a step closer and I couldn't move away because I had to stand between him and our beers. 

Then I looked up and saw a cute guy shuffling through the narrow aisle nearby. He was looking at me and I decided to take a chance. "Honey!" I called as I waved to him frantically. As he came closer, I realized that he was a very young cute guy. A possibly not even old enough to be in the bar cute guy. Would he get what was going on? 

Sleazy guy leaned over and said to my chest, "Is that your------" and then all of a sudden I was being kissed. 


Cute young guy had swooped in and grabbed me like I was a heroine in a romance novel. I hadn't been kissed like that in years. By the time we came up for air, sleazy guy was gone. "I think you owe me a favor," said cute young guy.

Because I was so flummoxed by the kiss, I did not respond, "What kind of favor?" in a sexy voice. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have been able to be flirtatious like that even if I hadn't been flummoxed. But I do blame the kiss on my next comment, which was "How old are you, anyway?" 

Cute young guy laughed and said that he'd be 21 the following week. I would be 28 a few weeks later. I told him he was too young for me and he claimed that I "at least" owed him my phone number. I only gave it in the spirit of thanks and the Nine Rule (my friend Mimi and I had deduced that for every 9 guys who ask for your number, only 1 will actually call). 

But of course, young guy (heretofore known as "21-year-old, which is what my friends dubbed him) called. The next day. He persuaded me to go out to dinner with him. I found him attractive, after all. But at dinner I discovered that 21-year-old did not read books. Ever. We were clearly not meant to be. 

When I got home from the dinner, still a little stunned from the passionate kiss good-bye, Divorced Guy called. I was still trying to figure out why I had been kissing a 21-year-old with whom I had no intention of dating when Divorced Guy asked me what I'd been up to. So I told him.

Well, not the kissing part, but the date part. Divorced Guy and I, after all, were just casual. More friends than anything else. I knew he had a crush on the waitress at Tanner's, for God's sake. Yet when I said I'd been out to dinner with a guy I'd met at Kelly's, he got upset. 

"Geez, Jen, I thought WE were dating," he said plaintively. "I know we're not exclusive or anything, but I didn't think you'd actually date other people and TELL me about it." 

"So is it the dating other people or the telling you that's the problem? Because I'm pretty sure I have to hear all about the waitress whenever we go to Tanner's," I replied snottily. Not that I cared, of course. Suddenly the simplicity of 21-year-old flashed before my eyes - he'd declared what he'd wanted so simply. HE wanted to be my boyfriend. So what if he was kind of an idiot. What did Divorced Guy want? Did he even know?

And for that matter, what did I want?

I decided to tell the whole saga to Anthony, the older, happily married custodian at the school where I taught first grade. After my fifteen minute long diatribe, during which Anthony could have being doing better things like leaving for the day, he was kind enough to smile. And then he said, "Do you mean to tell me that an attractive, educated woman such as yourself can't do better than a freak and a child?" 

Hmm. That certainly put things in perspective. And after he told me that six or seven more times, as Divorced Guy turned into a Freakboy who acted like a boyfriend one day and a pal the next and 21 year old showed himself to have both the personality and IQ of a Labrador, I finally realized he was right. Freakboy and I became STRICTLY friends and I only talked to 21 year old on the phone when he called me. As summer school ended, Anthony made me promise that I would use my time off wisely. 

Hehe. Thus began the season of dreadful dates. There was Devin, cute and intelligent, his only flaw being his obsession with his ex-wife. Then there was Mark, who did not ask me one question all evening and then complained that I didn't talk enough. There was also Joe, so sweet and thoughtful it was like going on a date with my best friend. My best girl friend. 

I gave up when football season started, spending my weekends watching games with my friend Mimi, flirting with her boyfriend's friends (who were all married or alcoholics) in a desultory way. I did some volunteer work and some tutoring after school. I began going dancing a lot (which, by the by, is not really a good way to meet straight men). I was content.

And that's when my friend T decided we should harness the power of the internet to improve our dating lives.

Now, when T first suggested that we join Match.com, I was reluctant. I was pretty happy with my life, after all. I didn't need a boyfriend. I still wasn't even sure that I wanted one. And I busily assured everyone (because T had mentioned our new activity to everyone we worked with) that I was perfectly capable of meeting men on my own. I had, I'm embarrassed to say, a rather snotty attitude about Match.com. Sure, it was fine for other people, but I didn't need any HELP meeting people.

Karma for this attitude showed up in the form of Kenny. 

The school I taught at was one the few remaining schools that had a working kitchen. The "lunch ladies" actually cooked the food. I always got along with them, but I was really surprised when one of them came down to my classroom during my planning time. Especially since she was giggling. I didn't think she'd be giggling if she was worried about one of my students, but I couldn't figure out why she'd come to my room otherwise.

"Do you know the milk man?" she asked. 

"The guy who delivers the school's milk?" I questioned, because I was expecting a report about one of my students. Or a solicitation for buying Girl Scout cookies from her daughter.

"He wants to go out with you. I promised him I'd ask you for your number because he's too afraid to ask you himself." She giggled some more. 

"Are you serious? I don't even know who he is," I replied.

"Well, his crush on you brightens my whole day. I've been trying to convince him to make a move for months." She giggled again at the cuteness of it all. 

Two thoughts occurred to me: One, I could meet men without even trying. Two, what kind of loser would find me intimidating? I had to know. I gave her my phone number.

The milk man called that night. He seemed to have me confused with Drew Barrymore, for all the compliments he heaped on me. I asked him, sort of jokingly, if he had me confused with one of the other teachers. He described my outfit that day perfectly. Too bad I hadn't noticed him at all. Still, I agreed to go out with him. He seemed nice, more grown up than 21 year old and more sure of his feelings than Freakboy. 

So we went out. He lived WAY out in the country and drove for two hours to take me out. That was pretty flattering. And he paid for everything. That was pretty nice. But his two topics of conversation were my attractiveness (boring, even for someone like me who's not used to such things) and his daughter (which would have been fine, except that I found out that the three year old's mother was 20 and milk man was a few years older than I was and the situation just seemed skeevy). That was pretty awful. And then he tried to insist that we go on a carriage ride on the Plaza, even though I feel so bad for the horses. He actually seemed to be pissed that I didn't want to go on the carriage ride. Alarm bells went off in my head. Finally I escaped to the bathroom and called my friend Mimi, and she and her boyfriend "accidentally" ran into us. Thank God. 

It was the worst date ever. The following Monday, I received roses from Kenny thanking me for the BEST date ever. I filled out my Match.com profile at lunch. 

(Kenny recovered. He now delivers 7Up. He was living with someone the last time he called me.)

Hours after joining Match.com, I had twelve messages from apparently normal men in the Kansas City area.

So in between avoiding phone calls from Kenny the milk man and 21 year old, I began checking out the men of Match.com. It didn't take me long to learn to weed out the married guys, the guys just looking for sex (often, but not always, the same thing) and the truly weird (no dude, I don't think farms are a turn on). By January, I was corresponding with Martin and Foster (those are very thinly veiled pseudonyms). Neither was married, both wanted to get to know me and neither one had ever mentioned farms, sheep or hay. I was psyched. 

Foster was working in California at the time, even though he lived in KC. But I was perfectly content to have a flirtatious email friendship with him, he was funny and smart and I thought he had POTENTIAL. 

Martin and I met for drinks. He was funny, smart and very sweet but I didn't feel very attracted to him. He was somewhat nerdy, and even though I am a total nerd I didn't know if I could date one. Also, I had recently met Tony, who was HOT (and not that bright or funny but did I mention HOT?). My friend Mimi urged me to give Martin a chance, so I went on another date with him. We had a really good time. I was torn.

Not that I was getting an offers of exclusivity, but the whole situation felt weird to me. I even told Foster all about it, but he was kind of cagey. Though he did mention that he was seeing someone at the California office. I shrugged that off, I had enough problems with guys who were local. 

One night I was out drinking with my girlfriends. Tony was supposed to join us, but he hadn't show up yet. Then Martin called me. He had been out with his friends. Could he join us?

While Martin and I had been talking, my friends had taken a vote. They all thought that Martin should join us. Not one of them was especially fond of Tony, plus they were all concerned that this nice guy might be freaked out by our bar behavior. They thought it better to know if Martin was easily embarrassed as soon as possible. (We had a habit of dancing at this bar, even though there was no dance floor. Regulars just got out of our way. We also sang very loudly along with the jukebox, which we usually commandeered upon our arrival. We may also have played spin the bottle. I'm sure we were supremely annoying but we had a lot of fun.)

So Martin arrived and immediately bought everyone shots (in retrospect, I'm not sure that this was a good idea, but it sure charmed all of my friends). Our antics made him laugh. No matter how much attention we inadvertently drew to ourselves, he remained calm and laughing. I was starting to find him more attractive by the minute. Things were going so well that we were holding hands. . .when gorgeous Tony walked in. 

He arrived at the table and said "Hey" to everybody. His eyes flicked to my hand and Martin's, entwined on the table. He grinned at me and nodded. When Martin went to the bathroom, I waited for Tony to say something. When I went to the bar, I waited for Tony to follow me. I waited for a look when we all walked to our cars. I waited for a phone call after I got home. 

I got nothing from Tony, except that grin and nod. 

I concluded that he probably had a cell phone full of women on speed dial and thus focused my romantic attentions on Martin. We spent a lot of time together and I liked him more and more. We never disagreed or argued. There was no new relationship angst. Our friends got along. Meetings with parents went okay. We fell into a routine fairly quickly. At the beginning of May, Martin started talking about summer plans. Our summer plans. I took this as a good sign. 

I was very content. It was so different from life with my ex-husband, or life trying to date a bunch of crazy people. So when he said he wanted to talk, I was merely curious.

Martin and I sat down on his couch to talk. He began by saying that he though we'd always be one of those couples that was okay. I had no idea what he meant. 

"I mean, we'll always be content. We'd never make each other extremely happy or extremely unhappy," he explained. 

"Um, I guess, " I said cautiously, not sure where he was going with this.

"But that's not what I want. I want the extremes. I think we should break up and just be friends. I think you're a terrific person but I want a grand passion. . . " he tried to explain.

But I was not in the mood to hear about his feelings. "You've got to be fucking kidding me! Stop talking to me about this now. I'm too upset. You just dumped me, for God's sake!!!!!!" I had almost stormed out the door when I remembered that my laundry was in his laundry room (yes, I did my laundry at his house because I didn't have a washer or dryer). So instead of a grand exit, I had to walk out with an armload of laundry and Martin following me, picking up my trail of stray socks. 

That night I wrote him a nasty email. The next day I wrote him a persuasive email. I had a big long cry. And two days later I was better.

It was the weirdest thing. All of a sudden I was just over it. Martin and I became friends. He still came over and hooked up my DVR. We didn't hang out, but we talked on the phone and emailed. And I was fine. Half of my friends thought this meant we'd get back together, the other half thought that Martin had done the right thing.

And when I met MG the following winter, I was sure that Martin had done the right thing.

I met MG about six months after Martin dumped me. I had finally become happy with being single. I didn't miss Martin (who was usually only a phone call away), but I had missed being a part of a couple. I had had high hopes when I finally met Foster, the other guy from Match.com. But unfortunately, by the time we met we had become such good buddies that I couldn't develop any romantic feelings for him. I knew about too many of his commitment issues to even think about dating him. But we also remained friends. So after I few attempts at dating, I accepted my single status. I accepted my male friends as they were and I finally realized I could be happy on my own. 

And then I went to watch Monday Night Football with Mimi. After a debate about who had claimed the last open table in the bar, MG, his two friends, Mimi and I all shared the table. MG was not my usual type. He was quiet. He was a bit shy. But I was smitten anyway.

Apparently the feeling was mutual. We began dating, then dating exclusively, fairly quickly. I had never really had the sweet, romantic first love sort of thing in high school. But that was what dating MG was like at first. All sweet and romantic and without a lot of substance. 

MG hadn't had a girlfriend since he was seventeen. I think that was part of it. And like a lot of seventeen year old boys, he would clam up when something bothered him. And these things would build up and then he'd break up with me. The second time we broke up was a month before I turned thirty. Within a 24 hour period, MG broke up with me, I requested a transfer to teach another school for the following year and I closed on my house (the one that MG was supposed to help me fix up). 

Martin, Foster and basically all of my friends told me to forget about MG right then. But I didn't, exactly. We stayed friends. And he did help with my house. So when my friend Mimi offered to throw me a huge birthday bash (because if I was going to turn 30 single, dammit, I was going to have a good time) I invited MG. And Martin. And Foster. And Mimi invited John, a cute single guy that she knew. And her boyfriend Scott invited all of his friends. One (or two, I can't really remember) of whom I loved flirting with. 

Mimi also got a lot of alcohol. It was going to be one hell of a party. 

The party was on a very hot Saturday night in July. It was meant to be a simple backyard barbecue, but between the alcohol and the huge crowd it had a bit more in common with a frat party. Which was fine with me, acting completely immature on my thirtieth birthday seemed somehow appropriate. 

Martin was the first of "my boys" (as Mimi and my other girlfriends took to calling them) to arrive. And even though I had specified no gifts, he brought me a mix CD he had made. Which was sweet, because the whole time we were dating he always seemed to be making CDs, but never for me. 

As the other boys arrived (MG the most recent ex, Foster the almost, John the new potential, Scott's friends the flirts), I began to find the whole situation incredibly amusing (okay, a few beers may have helped). The guys nodded to each other and then gravitated toward whichever one of my friends they had liked best. MG had an advantage because some of his own female friends were at the party too. I cheerfully circulated, when not doing birthday shots. 

I mostly ignored the boys, dancing around the patio and cheering on the volleyball players. 

The night before MG had taken me out to dinner and declared his feelings and regrets over breaking up. He had said things like, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known," and "I'll never hurt you again." I had said I needed to think about it. So while I drank and laughed and danced, I assessed my romantic options. 

At one point I wound up sitting next to John. We made small talk. Martin drifted to a seat nearby. Then Foster did. Finally, MG sat in the chair on my other side. We were all basically in a circle. Two of my friends walked by, glanced around the circle and then walked away giggling. No help from that front. The five of us had an awkward conversation. Foster thought the situation was hysterical, so he kept saying semi-inappropriate things to me just to watch the others react. John thought he was hitting on the birthday girl and couldn't seem to understand why these other guys were hanging around. Martin made snide comments that could have been construed as insults but weren't obviously rude. MG was quite but attentive - getting me more beer without being asked, etc. 

John soon moved on to greener pastures (which was good, as his obsession with his pet snake had begun to disturb me). Then Foster spotted a young blond and moved on as well. Martin left the party right after that.

So I was left with MG. He was so sincere and sweet. I was weak (and drunk). We got back together. 

That time it lasted for three months. 

Foster disappeared into a relationship with a crazy nurse. He would resurface and ask me out while I was pregnant with Ironflower. Martin finally managed to snag the woman he is now married to. 

MG and I dated and broke up two more times. The only way I can explain it is to say that we kept falling in like with each other, but we never learned to like each other - or even be good friends. I was the one who finally broke it off for good. I'm not proud of how long this took. 

After the final MG break up, I half-heartedly tried speed dating. I met a few decent guys while out and about. I seriously contemplated dating P., an attractive guy I knew with the personality of a wet noodle. We had mutual friends, all of whom were married. By dating P., my life would be easy and predictable. . . .

And then I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "What the FUCK are you thinking?"

I didn't even like P. Was I so desperate that I would date anybody? The idea made me nauseous. I decided to take a few months off from the dating world. It had gone from a fun post-divorce activity to a search for a relationship and I didn't want to be so attached to having a relationship that I would contemplate guys like P. 

I began spending a lot more time at my friend Kathy Griffin's house. (Not the real Kathy Griffin. But a friend of mine who was the queen of the local gay prom, if you know what I mean). There was always a party filled with hot, young gay boys, funny gay men, sweet lesbians and bitterly funny breeders. I fit right in.

You could say that the Kansas City gay scene became my new boyfriend. I got compliments and massages and hugs and companionship. I got to go dancing and to the theater. The first flaw in the relationship came on New Year's Eve, when my midnight kissing options included an angry and recently dumped drag queen, a straight girlfriend or an eccentric alcoholic who already had an erection. I kissed my straight friend, which was just like kissing anyone else you're not remotely attracted to. 

The second flaw came when they talked me into doing community theater.

 I had been a total theater geek in high school and did a few things in college, but it had been ten years. I auditioned anyway, though I was completely out of practice and nervous. Though it did help that I'd gotten drunk with most of the people who were casting the show. And so I was in - a few lines, but a lot of scenes as parts of crowds and customers and what have you. In suited me perfectly. 

The show itself, not so much. Did you know there is a stage version of A Clockwork Orange? There is. And it's easier to read the script of the play that to read the novel or to sit through the movie, FYI. The stage version is not quite a musical, more like a play with music. And it's just as violent as the movie. (The director of. . .let's call it ME Theater was really into to doing edgy shows)

So as rehearsals started, we did a LOT of trust games and exercises. We also hung out a lot - even the people who hadn't previously been a part of the ME Theater/Kathy Griffin gay mafia in crowd started hanging out. Naturally, the four of us straight girls in the cast discussed the attributes of the four straight males in the cast (there were about 30 people in the cast and 10 on crew). We agreed that two were too young to contemplate (being 16 and 20), that one was odd (if you know the book/movie/play, he played Alex) and they thought the fourth one was hot. I didn't - he had too much hair. I hate long hair on guys. Especially when it grows up and out - like Napoleon Dynamite. And there was his huge beard. I didn't think he was hot at all. 

Naturally I was paired with Long Hair for one scene. We had to dance together. Well, it was actually that he was supposed to thrown me around a lot and I was supposed to look graceful while remaining uninjured. My friend C., the only other single straight girl in the cast, had hit on Long Hair the night before. She discovered that he lived with his ex-girlfriend (until their lease ran out in two months), that he was 27 and had returned to college to finish his BA in theater and that he was extraordinarily open. Too open for C. As he and I began dancing together, I decided that even though he was weird (sure, I loved history, but he was a Civil War re-enactor!) he was really sweet. 

Long Hair was different from most theater guys - especially the straight ones. He was so open and outgoing and relentlessly honest that he freaked people out on occasion. Me included. C. and a few of the crew girls had crushes on him. I did like his blue eyes. 

As the opening of the show drew near, there came a night when all the Droogs (the gang of guys that perpetuates much horror throughout the show) had to get their heads shaved. Long Hair was one of those guys. 

Without his hair, he was HOT. HOT in a totally bad boy way. I reminded myself that I had sworn off dating. And kissing. And anything else that might happen around a hot guy. All was fine until the night the cast went to the gay bar together (ME Theater was very popular in the gay community and often did showcases at gay bars, trying to entice patrons to attend the actual shows). 

Hot Guy kept STARING at me. And I started STARING back. I was on the dance floor and he was on the sidelines but it felt like we were dancing together, you know?

So I kept dancing and enjoying being watched by a hot guy. But he never approached me. I couldn't get over that. I could see how attracted he was. I knew we enjoyed talking to one another. Why didn't he make a move?

And then I did something that still surprises me to this day. And I wasn't even drunk. I approached him. Not in my usual, subtle "go-stand-nearby-and-smile-so-he-knows-it's safe-to-approach-me" way, either. I walked straight up to him, stood closer than is  appropriate for people who are friendly acquaintances and said, "Hi".

We spent the rest of the evening on the verge of kissing. Then we walked to our cars and made out for a while. And then I went home and had a panic attack.

I didn't want a boyfriend and even if I did, this guy was not boyfriend material. He was still emotionally extricating himself from his ex-girlfriend. He didn't have a real job. He was too open. Funny and smart and kind and hot are nice qualities, but I just couldn't get involved with this guy. It would never work. I resolved to ignore the whole episode.

Except that he gave me the nicest shoulder massage at rehearsal a few days later. And he left a rose on my car. We had an after-rehearsal drink the next night. He was so damn kind and sincerely interested in me as a person. It freaked me out.

A few nights later, I told the whole saga to my friend Mimi. We were at Happy Hour, and, knowing that she would be going home early to her fiance, the night loomed ahead of me. After a few drinks (too many), Mimi suggested that I call Hot Guy and invite him over.

I did. And despite the fact that Hot Guy was at his normally sacrosanct "Guys' Game Night", he came right over.

And so we began dating.

We got engaged a year later. Two weeks after we got engaged we found out we were pregnant with Ironflower.

And that's how I met your father, kids.

And why my husband is called "Hot Guy", dear readers.

Also, now I even think he's hot when he has a beard.

*There is no "Aunt Robin" in this story. Also, no one is dead.