Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A True Love Story Part One

Disclaimer: Okay, before I begin, don't think this is a spinoff from Pioneer Woman. I just realized what some may think when they read the title, but this will not be a multi-chapter, year long torture, when-will-she-tell-the-rest story. This will just be a few posts in honor of Valentine's day to commemorate my love for Studmuffin.


BTW: I hate Valentine's day. I love my husband every day, and I hate the pressure it puts on me to perform to the nth degree. But, that's just me....so, here goes nothing (okay, it will probably be literally nothing, but it is the story!)

I once said that how Studmuffin and I met was an entire post for another day, remember? Of course, I can make any topic an entire post if I want to. I'm just ramble-y that way.

Warning: Bunny chase about to commence!

Poor Studmuffin never gets to talk around here. And it's getting to where I can't either. I took Bookworm to piano yesterday. She talked without stopping all the way there and then all the way back. Popcorn is just as bad. Of course, I'm dying to cut in, but I know they have tons of important stuff to share, or they will explode. I can relate... Truly I can. So, pity Studmuffin, and pity my coworkers, because outside of this blog I have like 3,576,823 words to use daily. If I can't use them at home, I throw them up all over my patients and coworkers. Poor things.

Return to original topic:

How Studmuffin and I met

Well, there were actually 2 first meetings, but I don't really remember the first one. It was the summer before my senior year and I was riding around with a friend (that's what we did in small towns...ride around, or "drag main.") and he pulled Studmuffin over to see if he would be on his softball team for the July 4th tournament. I don't remember this encounter, and neither does Studmuffin, but the friend I was with says he introduced us, so I guess we'll believe him. Oh, and how does one "pull over" a friend? Flash your lights, toot your horn, or just wave them over. Or yell out your window. That was always my favorite.

Second meeting for the first time:
The date: December 31, 1993.
The occasion: a New Year's Eve party.
The attendees: College guys and my best friend and I

Do you remember how dorky and sentimental you were as a high school senior? Boy, I was. I had tried to convince my parents to let me go on a ski trip with my friends over Christmas break. For some reason they said no. I doubt it had anything to do with the fact that about 10 guys were going and me with one other girl. The other girl wasn't even my best friend. Sabra had to work at the grocery store. The other girl ended up not going when her parents realized she'd be the only girl, since I couldn't go. Parents are strange. Anyway, Sabra and I were devastated. We were sure we were missing out on the trip of a lifetime with friends that we'd soon have to leave. We were totally devastated. That meant there was nothing to do New Year's Eve, except go to the dance, but no boys our age would be there, because THEY ALL GOT TO GO SKIING!!! And if my children are reading this, don't ever even THINK of asking me if you can go on such a trip. The answer is no.

So. Sabra and I decided to color my hair. Red. Without any help from parents. It actually came out pretty, but my mom was a tad surprised when I got home that evening.

That only took up about an hour of the evening. We decided to drive around. Remember. It's small town life. This is what you do. We happened to drive by a certain house, and saw cars there. Cars we recognized as college boys cars. It was actually the house of one of the boys on the aforementioned ski trip. We decided to drop in.

So, I was looking pretty smokin' if I did say so myself. Red Wet'n'Wild lipstick? Check. Charcoal gray eyeliner applied just so, with a slight cat-eye to the side? Check. Two-toned skin tight jeans (they were striped with 2 different colors of denim)? Check. Newly colored hair with an orange stripe in the part (to match the striped jeans, I'm sure) where 2 novices did not completely rinse out the dye? Check. Bright red shirt to clash with new red hair? Check. Yep. I was a sight to behold. I was dressed to impress some college boys. Yeehaw, ya'll.

So, the scenario is this. We arrive. There are 5 guys there. Okay, so it wasn't much of a party, but they were feeling like it was. One guy had a guitar, so of course, I decided to sing with him. I'm sure it was a glorious 2 part harmony country song about a dog dying, or trains, or lost lovers. One guy refused to join in our serenade. I remember very clearly....He sat in the kitchen at an abandoned table of red Dixie cups. Drinking beer.

"What a loser" I thought to myself. Doesn't he realize the fun is over here? With US?

Now, I can add his inner dialogue, only because he's told me what he thought. "That girl is weird. Why is she singing with those guys, when she could be drinking with me? And what's up with the orange scalp?" Understand, Dear Reader, this was many years ago, and his priorities and values were vastly different from now. I just need to point that out. Of course, I'm sure now he'd be able to look past the big, newly dyed red hair, red lipstick, and red shirt to see the true beauty underneath. Don't you thinks so?

So, that was how we first met. Pretty auspicious start, huh?

Oh, and just so you know, we didn't stay long. We left and went to the "dance-with-no-boys-to-hang-out-with', found lots of guys to hang out with, and had a great time. You see, we were actually very good girls (at that time.... we won't address our freshman year of college together), so we were quickly bored and annoyed with the party boys and headed to find more excitement in our one stoplight town....

to be continued....

2 comments:

Sarah Castor said...

What a lovely story!

Becky said...

You party girl you. LOL! I'm off to read part two.