Where was I? Oh yes, I was standing on the street corner watching Julie race away and seriously beginning to doubt what I felt. I was certain this girl was meant for me and that I was meant for her but if she couldn't even remember my name maybe things weren't as I had thought. And for eight or nine months I went on doubting the certainty of our eternal relationship. I dated other girls but none of whom made me feel the way Julie had on that very first encounter. We still lived near each other so we still saw each other at social activities.
Around Valentines Day there was a dance. To make a long story short we were basically assigned dates. (Don't ask me, it was weird.) Anyway, Julie was not my date, however, I did convince her to spare me a dance. Now, we have to go back in time a little bit because when I found out that Julie wasn't going to be my date I thought of a "line." Not some greasy pick-up line but something very classy that would show her just how special I knew her to be. The trick was going to be to say it in such a way that it would seem completely spontaneous, incredibly charming and overwhelmingly flattering. Fast forward back to the dance. We were dancing and the moment was right and I delivered my line: "So who is your date tonight?" She replied. "Oh, so that's who I've been jealous of all night." The delivery was superb and the effect better than expected. For just a second she was completely flattered and that smile that won my heart when I first met her returned. It was the second best dance of my life. (The first being much later when I danced with her at our wedding.)
Alas, the dance ended, we said goodnight and things went back to the way they were after the laundry incident; which can essentially be described as awkward. The school semester ended and Julie left to spend the summer on a study abroad in England. I went home for just a little and then came back to school to prepare for a new semester.
It is now September of 2005, Labor Day, the last hurrah before school starts again. A group of us headed over to a nearby park for some ultimate Frisbee; Julie happened to be included in the group. It was the first time I had seen her in a few months. Julie still looked great and for some reason she was flirting with me. (I learned later that she was flirting with me that day to let one of my roommates know that she was decidedly uninterested in him and not because she was overly interested in me. But at the time I didn't know that and suddenly I had renewed hope.) So later that day I decided I would ask her out. I had a plan: I would ask her if she wanted to make dinner together. It's the perfect date in my book. You get to spend time together in a non-formal, totally casual way and it's a lot cheaper than going out to a restaurant. I didn't plan out what I was going to say because I thought I was pretty charming. (I had forgotten all the preparation that went into the last charming line.) So when I thought the opportunity had presented itself I asked her out. Well, I thought I asked her out. What I said was "I have noodles." She gave me a confused look and I explained my plan for making dinner together. She agreed. Again I need to stress the fact that I thought I had made it clear that I was asking her out on a date. When I arrived at her door with noodles in hand she informed me that she had invited her roommates.
It was not a date.
She really wasn't interested in me. Surprisingly enough having my heart broken the second time wasn't quite as bad. Almost immediately I changed my plan. If I couldn't have a date with Julie then maybe I could I get a good meal at least once a week. So I suggested that we have "family dinner" every Wednesday. It was the perfect plan because Julie was a great cook and I, being a college-age guy living on his own, was not. She went for it and so did her roommates. Once a week I would come over and we would all make dinner together. That was the plan anyway. What actually happened was that Julie and I would make dinner together and sometimes her roommates would eat with us; sometimes they wouldn't. Over the course of a few months we grew close and one weekend she went home, talked to her sisters (as I understand it essentially bet them that she could be dating me within 48 hours) came back to school and 48 hours later we were together. We've been together ever since.
Do I regret any part of our story? No. It's a fun story to tell and the ending is the best part: They are currently living happily ever after.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
How I Met Your Mother
I am married to the most beautiful, wonderful wife that ever existed since the institution of the marriage covenant. Her name is Julie Fuller. My condolences to all you men out there who thought you had the most wonderful wife there ever was. This must be very disappointing news for you to hear. The only comfort I can offer you is this: It probably wouldn't have worked out between you and her anyway; it barely worked out for me. Here's the riveting story:
We met at a church social in January of 2005; one of those try-to-get-to-know-everyone-in-five-minutes kinds of things. Right away I found it incredibly easy to flirt with her. We shared the most interesting conversation I had had all that night. Today I couldn't tell you one thing we talked about but I remember the conversation being good. Real good. Anyway, we talked and then I playfully made some comment on remembering what apartment she lived in so I could stop in frequently. (The truth is that I was all talk. I could never get the courage to just go over and say "Hi, I'm here!" and I wasn't clever enough to figure out an excuse for stopping by either. But nonetheless, I made the comment and then it happened:) She smiled! She smiled and in that one moment I melted. Angels started singing in my ear, my heart began pounding, my palms began sweating and I knew that I was destined to marry her. It was a revelation from God. It was almost as if I heard His voice telling me "Here is your wife. Marry her." In fact it wouldn't have been more clear if I had heard that voice because the way I felt said it all. I went home that night knowing that she was the girl I would focus all my attention on. I figured that within a year of that day I would be happily married to the most beautiful girl I had ever met. All that was left to do was take her out and then propose. That night it was all that simple. In the coming months I would learn that things are never that simple.
After a few weeks of being an absolute scaredy chicken and not going over to see her and confess my undying love I finally got up the nerve to ask if I could do my laundry at her apartment. (Her complex had a washer and dryer in the apartment itself whereas mine had one of those weird communal laundry rooms where you either have to sit there and guard your clothes or later you wonder who might have been trying on your underwear. Consequently, as you sit there guarding your clothes and watching other people's clothes tumble round and round you begin to ponder whose underwear you might be able to fit into. Wanting to avoid that whole situation as well as save a stack of quarters) I asked her if she wouldn't mind me doing my laundry over at her place. She graciously consented, and I could tell by her nonchalant "Sure...I guess...whatever," that she was way into me. My plan was working perfectly. Laundry would take at least an hour and a half which would give me just enough time for me to express my love and propose, for her to agree and then for us to plan out the rest of our lives. So on the appointed day I showed up with two loads of laundry (figured an extra load would give us more time to talk) and an anxious heart. She welcomed me, help me put on the first load and then we sat down to talk. I learned a lot during that conversation. First and foremost I learned that we didn't really have all that much to talk about. After about 15 minutes we completely ran out of things to talk about. And we still had two full loads of laundry to get through. Another thing I learned was that she wasn't very interested in me. "Not at all" are the words I would use to describe how much she was interested in me. So we had a very awkward time ahead of us. The last, and most unfortunate thing I learned that day was that her dryer wasn't the greatest in the world and took two runs just to dry one load of laundry. So what happened? Well, pretty much the most awkward forced conversation that has ever taken place. Never has a friendly conversation ever been so much like torture for two people. Julie was painfully uninterested in me and slightly annoyed with my presence and I felt horrible that it was taking so long to rid her of my company. After 3 of the most painstaking hours I've ever endured I said "Thank you," took my laundry and kissed my dreams goodbye.
A few days later I saw her again across the street at an intersection. Imagining a slight possibility of saving face after the disastrous results of our last encounter I waited when the light changed for her to cross the street. As she walked toward me I quickly practiced some opening lines to start a conversation. "How's it going?" Too simple. "How 'bout this weather?" To generic. "You're beautiful!" Too forward. Whatever it was that I did come up with didn't matter because just as she got across the street and I started to open my mouth she cut me off with "Sorry Josh, can't talk. Gotta run." And then she was gone; almost running up the street with me standing stupidly at the corner smiling, waving and thinking to myself "My name is not Josh."
And that's how I met your mother. Well, my wife anyway. She seems to believe that I embellish the story but that is exactly what happened. I swear. So how did I finally win her over, you ask? Well, at the risk of sounding really cheesy, that's another story.
We met at a church social in January of 2005; one of those try-to-get-to-know-everyone-in-five-minutes kinds of things. Right away I found it incredibly easy to flirt with her. We shared the most interesting conversation I had had all that night. Today I couldn't tell you one thing we talked about but I remember the conversation being good. Real good. Anyway, we talked and then I playfully made some comment on remembering what apartment she lived in so I could stop in frequently. (The truth is that I was all talk. I could never get the courage to just go over and say "Hi, I'm here!" and I wasn't clever enough to figure out an excuse for stopping by either. But nonetheless, I made the comment and then it happened:) She smiled! She smiled and in that one moment I melted. Angels started singing in my ear, my heart began pounding, my palms began sweating and I knew that I was destined to marry her. It was a revelation from God. It was almost as if I heard His voice telling me "Here is your wife. Marry her." In fact it wouldn't have been more clear if I had heard that voice because the way I felt said it all. I went home that night knowing that she was the girl I would focus all my attention on. I figured that within a year of that day I would be happily married to the most beautiful girl I had ever met. All that was left to do was take her out and then propose. That night it was all that simple. In the coming months I would learn that things are never that simple.
After a few weeks of being an absolute scaredy chicken and not going over to see her and confess my undying love I finally got up the nerve to ask if I could do my laundry at her apartment. (Her complex had a washer and dryer in the apartment itself whereas mine had one of those weird communal laundry rooms where you either have to sit there and guard your clothes or later you wonder who might have been trying on your underwear. Consequently, as you sit there guarding your clothes and watching other people's clothes tumble round and round you begin to ponder whose underwear you might be able to fit into. Wanting to avoid that whole situation as well as save a stack of quarters) I asked her if she wouldn't mind me doing my laundry over at her place. She graciously consented, and I could tell by her nonchalant "Sure...I guess...whatever," that she was way into me. My plan was working perfectly. Laundry would take at least an hour and a half which would give me just enough time for me to express my love and propose, for her to agree and then for us to plan out the rest of our lives. So on the appointed day I showed up with two loads of laundry (figured an extra load would give us more time to talk) and an anxious heart. She welcomed me, help me put on the first load and then we sat down to talk. I learned a lot during that conversation. First and foremost I learned that we didn't really have all that much to talk about. After about 15 minutes we completely ran out of things to talk about. And we still had two full loads of laundry to get through. Another thing I learned was that she wasn't very interested in me. "Not at all" are the words I would use to describe how much she was interested in me. So we had a very awkward time ahead of us. The last, and most unfortunate thing I learned that day was that her dryer wasn't the greatest in the world and took two runs just to dry one load of laundry. So what happened? Well, pretty much the most awkward forced conversation that has ever taken place. Never has a friendly conversation ever been so much like torture for two people. Julie was painfully uninterested in me and slightly annoyed with my presence and I felt horrible that it was taking so long to rid her of my company. After 3 of the most painstaking hours I've ever endured I said "Thank you," took my laundry and kissed my dreams goodbye.
A few days later I saw her again across the street at an intersection. Imagining a slight possibility of saving face after the disastrous results of our last encounter I waited when the light changed for her to cross the street. As she walked toward me I quickly practiced some opening lines to start a conversation. "How's it going?" Too simple. "How 'bout this weather?" To generic. "You're beautiful!" Too forward. Whatever it was that I did come up with didn't matter because just as she got across the street and I started to open my mouth she cut me off with "Sorry Josh, can't talk. Gotta run." And then she was gone; almost running up the street with me standing stupidly at the corner smiling, waving and thinking to myself "My name is not Josh."
And that's how I met your mother. Well, my wife anyway. She seems to believe that I embellish the story but that is exactly what happened. I swear. So how did I finally win her over, you ask? Well, at the risk of sounding really cheesy, that's another story.
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