Tag Archives: love

Valentine’s Mash Note for my Wife

In April of 2006, I was fairly well devoted to bachelor-hood. I had already done, at that point, the entire marriage thing with all of its pain and expense and failure, and dating had never been a significantly better experience for me. By 06, having just ended another rough relationship, I was determined to stop getting serious with women since I clearly chose them very poorly. Love was a load of bullshit that everyone opted to pretend was real.

Then I met a woman entirely unlike those with whom I typically found myself: self-possessed, smart, well-read, intellectual, strangely knowledgeable about dairy. In my mind she was a relatively safe friend because, while I was crazy attracted to her, she lived hours away from me and–a decade my junior–was far too young for me. We ultimately exchanged email addresses and proceeded to spend a couple of months falling in love by text and by voice.

I knew by the time we planned our first in-person date (which we couldn’t wait for, so we had an impromptu test-date shortly before) that my single status was not going to be a permanent thing: even were things with this new woman not to work out, I now knew that I was capable of falling in love and that a relationship could be a great experience.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to test that theory…in March of 2008, Geralyn agreed to marry me, and in May of 2009 became my wife. In the near-decade since we met, Ger and I have shared adventures as partners, as friends, and as a single unit against the rest of the world. She’s perfect for me, and I’m awfully glad to have her this Valentine’s Day…despite it being a stupid holiday in which I absolutely do not believe!

Still Crazy, After All These Years

In two hours, it will be Geralyn’s and my third anniversary. That means that three years ago today, I was putting the finishing touches on Penguicon 7 and on our wedding which was to take place immediately prior to the convention. There is a certain symmetry then in having this anniversary serve as a bookend to these three years of con.

When we first chose to celebrate our nuptials at the hotel immediately prior to the con it was, in part, recognition of the convention’s role in our meeting, dating, and our highly unlikely relationship. For me, it was paying tribute to whatever geek gods chose to bestow upon me a woman so out of my league& mdash;so unfathomable beyond the reach of a foul-mouthed misanthrope like myself—that all manner of superstitious rites seem warranted. What we failed to factor in was that it meant that each year, our anniversary would fall on or around this busy, social time.

On our first anniversary, it was still an adventure. How sweet was it that we could spend a few hours sequestered in our hotel room over chocolate covered strawberries (both of us), wine (her), and Monster (me). Even better, we could then spend time with our friends too! By last year, the shine was very clearly off the rose, and Geralyn proved what an amazing partner she was: she didn’t pitch a fit, and she didn’t remain silent, but she did point out that she would like for us to arrange to celebrate somewhere other than a convention. Our conversation coming midway through the second year of our marriage, I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a factor in our date selection.

It’s no secret that Ger has been having a rough time of it, lately. That didn’t stop her from being entirely supportive through these last few planning months. Without her, juggling work, school, other work, family, conventions, and a little time for fun would be far too difficult. I’ve proven time and again that I can’t manage the balancing act; I just sacrifice things like fun and family. Ger makes it possible, and she makes me actively happy when I’m going through it.

Well, she makes me less rage-filled; that’s pretty much my version of happy.

So Geralyn, please know that I love you. I appreciate everything you do for me and our family, and I could not be more happy that you are a part of it. I cannot wait to see what we are doing on our tenth anniversary and those beyond! (Spoiler alert: it rhymes with “blenguicon bleventeen”) Thank you for being you.

(Also, for the sex, but mostly the other stuff.)

Why I Don’t Date Often

Well, I went on a date with the waitress I’ve been flirting with recently, and I’m reminded why I don’t date often.

The plan for the date was to hit dinner then meet up with my friend, who was giving a lecture, so we could all hang out and play some poker. After I explained the details of the plan, she asked why I wasn’t going to see Bob’s lecture. I explained that it was because I had assumed she wouldn’t want to go, and she said she wanted to, and off we went.

A promising start, little did I know that this would be the last enjoyable part of the evening.

We chose to play Texas hold’em because she said how much she loves playing. I purchased her $20 buy-in, and away we went. Things started to get weird almost immediately when it became clear that she didn’t have the slightest clue how to play poker. I’m not talking about a general lack of understanding of the strategy behind the game…I, personally, have no CLUE about how to effectively play poker. No, I’m referring to a lack of understanding that these flat rectangular things are cards, and the flat round things are chips that represent money. In short, I think she might have sustained a closed head injury that prevented her from understanding concepts that involved 2D objects.

Throughout the course of the game, she fielded or initiated several phone calls, during which she referred to me as her “boyfriend” and us as a “couple”. When did this happen? Why wasn’t I informed? Don’t I get a say in this? My friends, sensing my discomfort, did an admirable job of easing my pain using a mixture of barely restrained laughter and pointed questions like “is Jer a good boyfriend?”

I hate my friends.

I got tired and really wanted to end the date, so as she lost the end of her chips I went all in, called, and sunk my chips into the pot.  I started to get up, assuming we were preparing to go, and she asked if I would buy her back in. For some reason, I did.

What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment.

An hour or so later, she managed to cook that $20 and it was now about 1 AM. I asked if she was ready to go and she looked confused. She said that she had told her parents (with whom, apparently, she lives) that she wouldn’t be home that night, so she wouldn’t be able to get into her house until at least 8 AM, and, couldn’t she just stay with me at my place?

I said that I wasn’t going to drive home, and she could crash on Bob’s spare bed while I—ever the gentleman—slept on the couch. She agreed and left the room while I reclined on the couch to watch the remainder of the game and talk shit (mostly, truth be told, about her). A few short minutes later, she returned to the room in a scant amount of clothing that apparently passed as her pajamas for the evening asking if she could sleep on the other end of the sectional couch with me. Grudgingly, I agreed. Since my trash-talk was summarily interrupted, I put my head back and started to drift to sleep.

“Jer!”, Scott shouted, waking me from my near slumber.

I looked up and glared at Scott, which is when I noticed that Shaina had changed her position to lie on my lap with her head in my crotch. I’m a fairly light sleeper, so she must have moved like a ninja. Accepting the inevitable, I started to go back to sleep.

“Jer!”, Scott shouted, halting my drift toward sleep.

Glaring at Scott again, I noted that my pants were unzipped, and Shaina, “in her sleep” had rested her hand dangerously close to my now open zipper. In a room full of people. I made a point of re-zipping my pants and going back to sleep.

Only to have Scott jar me from sleep again; and again; and again. More than a half dozen times, Scott would yell at me for drifting off and, upon waking, I’d see evidence of Shaina’s attempts to get, literally, into my pants. It was only after the fourth or fifth time that I realized that the whole reason Scott was even waking me was to stop her onslaught.

I suppose that I should be flattered, but, no means no, right?

The next morning, I prepared to drop her off early before my softball game. Seemingly dejected that the date was to be over, she expressed an interest in watching the game, so—for reasons that I cannot fully fathom—I brought her along. At softball, she tried to join in several conversations with my friends and I and came off as so immature and uneducated that I wanted to crawl under a rock FOR her. In order to avoid further cringe-inducing conversation, I skip post-game lunch and drop her off at her home around 2pm. It wasn’t the worst date that I’ve been on, but it certainly wasn’t in the running for best either…at least it was over.

Or was it?

Today, when she calls, I explain that I’m too busy for dating, and, frankly, I don’t think it’s going to work out anyways, so I don’t want to see her again. She says that she understands…then says that I should call her tomorrow so we can meet up and hang out…then hangs up before I can correct her.

Umm…is that an option? This would have changed my dating prospects considerably in the past had I known!

I feel like I have to change my phone number, move, burn my clothes, put garlic cloves over all my doorways, and pour a ring of salt around my bed…but maybe I’ll have sex with her first, just in case…