Today is the seventh anniversary of my first date with Sparky.
We were introduced by a co-worker of mine. When I met him I was in a very special place in my life. I was uh… VERY happy being single, working hard, partying a bit harder. I had plenty of company and commitment was NOT something I was looking for.
When I met Sparky, I was blown away by his ass. Sorry, girls, but Sparky has the best ass I have seen to date. In and out of clothes. He was also something of an asshole. You know those cocky jerks that just beg to be dropped a notch or two? You know the kinda guy that your family has to hate because they really are not good for you, but maaan can they be good for you. Know what I mean… wink, wink??
Well that was Sparky. And I was smitten. Before our date I had plans for us. It didn’t include anything long-term. It didn’t include meeting my parents or even talking very much. I really just wanted to… Well, I think you probably get the picture.
So I picked him up that Saturday seven years ago for an afternoon at MoMA. We went and it was fun. I actually liked what he had to say. So we went for coffee after. We talked more. He asked me about the phases of the moon as if I, a practicing Wiccan, would not know what phase we were in. He says he just didn’t know the correct English for waxing and waning.
Then on the way back to his house, where I was to drop him off because I had other plans for the remainder of the day (I had another date), we decided to go to dinner. He had a great French seafood place. I called and cancelled my plans. (We had our wedding dinner at this place. The mussels in a white wine garlic broth are to die for.)
He wanted to change his clothes. I sat on his bed and he stripped down to his tiny bikini panties. We’re talking International Male type panties. Now, I had been around the block a time or two, but I was shocked. It was a first date, alcohol had not been procured and yet here he was stripping! I awkwardly looked around the room while casually, non-chalantly checking out the goods.
He took much longer than necessary to put those jeans on, let me tell you. That pretty much firmed up my resolve to uh… reach my goals.
We went to dinner. The food was fabulous and the waitress flirted outrageously with “The Rotter” as I was fond of calling him at the time. And not in the give me a big tip kind of way, but more of the “I want the big tip” kinda way.
A little competition always gets my blood going. I’m Italian and Irish. It really doesn’t take all that much to get my blood going.
After dinner, we got another coffee while we waited for a midnight movie. We talked for hours, laughed and had a really good time. He was still cocky, he was still kind of an asshole, but we had good friction thing going. He rubbed me the right way. Not a Genie in the Bottle kind of way, but he got my goat, his opinion about things was just so outrageously wrong, I just couldn’t get enough.
We saw our movie, “Freeway”, at The Clay. We had a great time and then I took him home. And when I say I took him home, I mean to his house where he kissed my forehead and hopped out of the car. Alone. Without me.
And I kid you not, girls. I called my cousin to let her know I wasn’t chained up in some room (a good idea for you single girls, Miranda, Anna, Sarah!! And leave a message on your own voicemail if you are going somewhere with a guy that isn’t on your schedule.) I told her that Sparky was an asshole, but I really liked him and weirdly, in a tingly way, I could actually see marrying him
Now we have broken up a thousand times and a thousand more. In fact, we broke up for good in 2002 and I sent him out of the country because I knew if he was anywhere near me, I’d be back with him in weeks and things had to change, he had to change. I moved here in 2003. The joke was on me, huh. But with us, we are rocky road type of people, extreme in our love. We gladly pay for the incredible highs with the devastating lows. We’ve had horrible, horrible fights and hurt each other immeasurably at times. But it has always been worth it. He has always stepped up to the plate. It might have to be broken over his head to see that it’s a plate he has to step up to, but he never fails to try. And I always come back.
I love you, Rotter. Thanks for the dinner and coffee.
For me, the most interesting part is how the whole date was pulled together. See, there was really no colleague actually “introducing” us. In fact, the only thing poor Peter had to do with the ensuing romance was leaving his phone lying around in his car, where a slightly boozed Jennifer confused it with her own. She picked it up and pressed “redial”, apparently trying to call her brother.
Guess who the person was that Peter had called before that? Right, that was me. So my cell phone rang – the Caller-ID showing that it’s my friend and gym buddy Peter. However, when I accepted the call, I was surprised to have some… ummm… HAPPY chick on the other end, asking for a guy called Jeffy. I politely explained that she must have dialed the wrong number, since “there is no Jeffy here”. And how come she shows up as my friend Peter? Mumbling something incomprehensible under her breath, she cancelled the call.
Only to ring me up a few seconds later. This time, I asked her for Peter when she asked for Jeffy. She clumsily lolled something about not being able to connect me to Peter, but asking me to introduce myself. I apparently sounded charming. Who was I? I politely declined to talk, since I was low on time. I had to finish up something for work and then I wanted to surf for porn on the Internet. Of course, I did not tell her the latter.
Shortly after I cancelled the call, the phone rang again. This time, I got angry when I picked up. “Quit calling me!”, I whined, “you’re wasting my minutes!”. Had she not been inebriated, I’m sure that would have been her first clue what a miserly, bean-counting German I was.
Fortunately, she missed the hint and was still interested in getting to know “that cell phone dude” when she sobered up. Peter made sure we met – under the guise of her knowing about interior design (a complete lie!), so she could counsel us on furnishing the loft we were looking at to make my office space. She did have some interesting ideas (a fluke, as it later turned out when we were talking about furnishing our very own loft), we agreed on a date to discuss the matter further, and the evening unfolded as described above.
You know what, Jen? Today is Saturday, just like it was seven years ago.
Let’s go out and have some dinner and coffee. It’s going to be an amazing day.
I love you, cupcake.
As it’s my blog I get the last word.
That is so not how that first conversation went. Yes, I was a bit tipsy, but I was so not charmed. And it was my phone Peter had used, not the other way around, hence my confusion as to why I couldn’t get a hold of my brother. And I do know about interior design as demonstrated by the better part of our loft, Mr. “I want an Advertiser’s kitchen, not a Lawyer’s kitchen. Wah.” xoxox