The JAO Chronicles

Yesterday was a horrible day as far as my head was concerned -- migraines are miserable things. However, it was a great day as far as my marriage was concerned. JAO was such a great husband and father! He took care of the kids, did some laundry, cooked, cleaned the kitchen -- he even had some of Lily's friends over to play! All while I languished upstairs willing my head to stop pounding and my stomach to stop rejecting anything I attempted to put into it.

And, after the kids were in bed, he went out and got me some Ginger Ale and the cheese and peanut-butter crackers that have ultra stomach-healing powers.

Sigh. What a man. Since I have a tendancy to only report the bad things that happend in life -- because, well, let's face it, badder is funnier -- I really wanted everyone (and him) to know how much I love and appreciate my husband.

See? That's not funny at all!

Okay, back to the funny...

While I was keeping up this online diary, JAO and I began (re-began) the relationship that would lead to our marriage. Lucky for him, I was able to document some of our finer moments. Heh, heh.

Before we began dating seriously, I was the queen of first-dates. I was a commitment-phobe who invented Seinfeldian reasons for rejecting men and had no clue how to behave normally in a stable, loving relationship.

So when an obsessive-compulsive, neurotic, red-hot-mess of a girl meets a calm, dependable, has-it-all-together boy...well...you can see what happens...



The Coolness Factor
May 10, 2001

Last night I went to the Mario Andretti Speed Lab. Named such, because they have made a science of racing. (This is just a guess.) It is an indoor racetrack where you can suit up and race like the pros. Well, if the pros only went twenty-miles-an-hour, that is. I didn't actually get to race, however. Being a silly little girl, I left the house in fashionably clunky open-toed sandals. And while my feet looked fabulous, these sandals are not accepted race wear. So I just had to sit and watch while the boys (wearing their less-fashionable, yet more-race-friendly sneakers) pretended they were Mario (or one of the other Andrettis) for seven, action-packed minutes.

I was there with The New Guy and some of his colleagues. This was a big deal as these colleagues were also good friends of his and I was meeting them for the first time. Since he and I have known each other since high school (therefore, not really making him all that "new" I suppose), we've already met the families. But we haven’t really ventured into the "meeting the friends" arena. So, because I choose to put pressure on myself for the stupidest reasons, I was slightly nervous about the evening.

However, I can now say with arrogant pride -- I performed magnificently.

When I excused myself to go to the ladies' room, his friends told him that I was "cool." I wasn't surprised by this because, well, I am pretty damn cool. Of course, being the only girl in the group upped my chances of being cool as there were no other women there to compete against in the coolness category. So that helped me.

And now, because I think this is a useful service, allow me to share with you some tips on how to be the "cool girlfriend."

1.) Do not be offended by the boys' occasional foul language and/or off-color jokes.

2.) Throw in your own occasional choice word or phrase. But limit those instances to at least three. Remember, there is a fine line between being cool and still remaining a lady.

3.) Order cheap, redneck beer. Southern men feel that you are one of their own kind and Northern men just find it charming.

4.) Compliment your boyfriend. Do not do this is a gushy, baby-talkie way, of course -- that is nauseating. Simply make a few well-timed comments here and there that say, "Yes, I am very pleased to be dating this man." He feels propped-up in front of his buddies and his buddies are pleased that he is with a nice girl who really seems to care about him.

5.) On the flip side, don't be afraid to get in a few good-natured jibes as well. It establishes your sense of humor and sends the message that you can hold your own if need be.

There are obviously a few other things you can do that will earn you the "cool girlfriend" title, but you wouldn't want to do them in front of his friends. Well, unless, of course, you are all into that. To each her own.

Now, ladies, I am in no way suggesting that you try and be anything you are not simply to ingratiate yourself to your man and his friends. Nor am I saying that you have to abandon your free-will as a woman in order to mold yourself into a guy world. I am merely saying that men are easily manipulated. It only takes a few simple strategic moves on your part to gain the "cool" title. And once you have established yourself as the "cool girlfriend," then you can begin to be the true bitch that you are. He won't even know what hit him.

Again, with the kidding.



Diary of a Mad Woman
June 5, 2001

Monday, June 4, 2001

Weight: 110 (but scale in kitchen is off by six pounds -- not telling you which way). Cigarettes: 3 (if you are my mother); 8 (if you are not someone who will lecture me). Alcohol units: 1 1/2 (v.g. for a Monday).Calories: no idea. Number of times felt all warm and tingly over New Guy: 57 (nice). Number of times felt panic over possibility of screwing things up with New Guy: 32 (v.g. -- down from yesterday). Resolution: Mustn't let Bridgett Jones's warped theories and paranoid fantasies about men effect my new-found relationship.

9:15 a.m.
When read Bridgett's first book, thought she had brilliant insight into the complicated and heartbreaking world of Singletons. But, at the time, I was a Singleton myself. Now that I am sinking comfortably into the safety of the Smug Newly Datings, feel she may be a bit self-destructive and ultimately incapable of maintaining a healthy adult relationship. Because I certainly am capable of maintaining a healthy adult relationship without the aid of constant conversation dissection and body language analyzaiton or dependence on "Mars/Venus" theology. Right? Aren't I?

9:25 a.m.
Still...can't help but identify with Bridge even now. And, must say, still sneakingly suspect she may be right when says in a relationship, "Men must feel they are the pursuer." Could this be true? Could C. have been right when said, "Be careful. You're going to burn this one out. Don't chase him. Make him call you." Is that possible? Is the phrase, "I really need to just stay home tonight and catch upon some work" a legitimate excuse and not a tactful way of saying, "Bugger off, woman, seven days in a row is plenty of you?" Beginning to obsess.

10:00 a.m.
Resolution: Need to be aloof, yet attentive; detached, yet caring; independent while still making it clear that my life would fall apart without his existence. Easy enough.

12:00 p.m.
He has not called yet today.

12:15 p.m.
Still has not called. What could be...Ahhhhhh! Phone!

12:30 p.m.
Blast. Was Mother. Shared The Pursuer Theory with her. She responded by saying, "Dear, we live in the year 2001, not the year 1901. Things are different now." Oh, no, Mother. You only wish. We are fighting millions of years of the collective unconscious. One decade of bra-burning isn't going to erase centuries of social morays and opposite sex patterns. If men have always been the hunters, one chorus of "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar" isn't going to change that.

1:00 p.m.
Began Pursuer Theory test. Resisted urge to call by sending emails in waves to friends who have vowed to not let me screw this up. Watched the clock, watched the phone, imagined all the reasons why he would not have called: 1.) trapped under something heavy and, therefore, unable to get to the phone (however, always has his cell phone on him so could use that to call me and have me come rescue him); 2.) extremely busy at work as he is a dedicated and hard-working man who will make wonderful provider (though too hardworking will leave me at home with five screaming babies and no life of my own); 3.) desperately wants to call but is testing his own theories about pursuing and is sitting staring at his phone as I am sitting starting at mine. (No. Least likely of them all.)

7:00 p.m.
It worked! Hurrah! He called me! Even got an "I miss you" without having to illicit. I am woman, hear me roar! Resolution for tomorrow: Do not play games or test theories or obsess or become paranoid lest sabotage a potentially long-term, legitimate, stable, adult relationship with wonderful, normal, practically-perfect-for-me-in-every-way New Guy. In other words, do not be usual self. Well, can be self, just not typical relationship-sabotaging self. Be confident, calm, together, fun-loving, supportive, whimsical self.

10:00 p.m.
Called again! Double hurrah!! Listened to long story of his day's troubles while practicing being the nurturing, supportive, loving partner. Think I succeeded.

1:00 a.m.
Must stop playing Free Cell and go to bed. Big day of no-game-playing and no-theory-testing tomorrow. Must rest up for challenge.

Note to self: Do not let New Guy read dairy posts. Not just yet. Possibly already thinks am deranged.

Note to everyone else: Do not give out diaryland URL to New Guy. You already know am deranged. No need to share just yet.



The Voice
August 29, 2001

Okay, fine. So, The New Guy has officially become The Boyfriend. There. I said it. I have a boyfriend. Whom I love. To whom I have actually said, “I love you.” And from whom I have actually heard, “I love you, too.”

Phew. That wasn't so hard to say.

Wait. Why is everything going black...? fuzzy...Toto? Toto? Is that you...

Okay. I'm fine now. Seriously, The Boyfriend is great. And that's all I have the ability to articulate right now. I won't go into any of the mushy stuff, because, quite frankly, you don't want to hear it. Instead, I'll continue to share the more amusing aspects of this learning process.

Yesterday, while on the phone with The Boyfriend, I realized with shocked dismay that I was using The Voice. The Voice that you use on the phone when you’re talking to The New Guy who has since become The Boyfriend. The Voice that usually indicates the predication of the “L” word. Not the annoying, baby-talky, goo-goo-gaa-gaa voice, but the other one -- the one that is really a lack of annunciation and the drop of an octave. The Voice that is made through a sly smile and a coy duck of the head -- which is, of course, not something The Boyfriend can see, but rather something he can hear. I hung up the phone with the sly smile still on my face and my head still coyly cocked to the side. And then I snapped out of it and thought, “What the hell am I doing?”

And then I thought, “Oh, yeah. I'm falling in love.” And then I started smiling again.

HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAA!! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!!! I'm sorry! I'm sooooo sorry! I just can't end this entry like that. I have a reputation to uphold.

Sigh.

Oops. The Boyfriend just called me. I used The Voice. Right here in the office. This is getting serious.