From prior blog postings, I think I established just how bad my judgement was in regards to dating, particularly while living in New York. (See 'NO-EWWW' if you need a frame of reference). When single friends remark what a wonderful man my husband is , I often remind them to keep hope alive because just a few short weeks before meeting him, I was the recipient of the following quote from a guy I was dating:
"Nellie, if you're getting the feeling that you are not a priority in my life, you would be right."
Let me back up a few months...I will also be inserting the point of view of former me versus current me.
Matt was a third tier comedian and hence one I was performed with often. At these shows, I was starting to feel some semblance of a crush from his end but wasn't entirely sure. A lot of the flirtation was him acting in awe of my stand-up act, sort of a pseudo "aw-shucks" reverence of my hand job jokes and Helen Keller date rape routine. He told me he couldn't believe how dirty some of the stuff was that came out of my mouth, considering how "feminine" I was. Former me: What a compliment! Current me: How archaic did this guy's mindset have to be in order to think that only women who looked like Paula Poundstone could work blue?
One night, after a show in the basement of a coffeehouse. (apparently, the coat closet was booked), he asked me out for a drink. Now, while most women are quite taken with a good upbringing, education, and/ or job, I was seduced by neuroses. After a few vodka gimlets, I learned that Matt was in therapy not once but twice a week. Better yet...one of the weekly sessions was GROUP. Oh my god! Here was the man I had been waiting for...the mind of Woody Allen in the body of a (former me: burly, current me: tubby) Irishman. And then came the emotionally wounded cherry on the cake (and reason for aforementioned gobs of therapy)... He had a younger, disabled sister who had tragically died a few years prior. He said he didn't tell many people this but felt really comfortable with me. Former me: Oh my god! I would like to make love to this wounded soul immediately as a reward for trusting me with his deepest pain. Current me: There are most likely upwards of 75 women who were told this information on their first date with Matt. The dead sister clearly served as a verbal lubricant.
What then began was a 2 month-long emotional and physical blue balling of the highest degree. Our first date should have served a s a blueprint of things to come. We had a really pleasant dinner, drinks, and then a very good HUG at the end of the night. Date 2 was about the same with a small peck. Then came 3 where I figured it was time to step up my game. Former me: Aw, he's old fashioned. Current me: It should NEVER be this hard for a girl to get laid.
I was housesitting for a friend with a really nice apartment and I offered to cook dinner for Matt. I went to Balducci's which is the equivalent of Neiman Marcus for food and spent more than half of my checking account balance on Chilean Sea Bass and all the accouterments. I lit candles, sauteed spinach, and cleaned like a mad woman. He was appreciative, complimentary, and then finally, after the berries with whipped cream and Grand Marnier drizzle, we made our way to the bed where the lack of fireworks began. The making out was pretty good but every time I attempted to touch him, I was discouraged. A lot of distraction by way of cunnilingus. And while many may have found this selfless and awesome, all I could think was "Why is this man cockblocking himself?" I asked if everything was okay and he said of course. He just didn't always like to have sex on the first date. Former me: Oh, he's so vulnerable and sensitive. Current me: Danger, danger. Abort mission now before a lot of hurt feelings begin.
As time progressed, his ways of diverting attention away from sex were so creative, they almost became an art.
One night consisted of a wild goose chase through the bodegas of New York at 1 am, searching for Trojan Magnums because he insisted he needed them or couldn't perform. To be honest, I disagreed but what the fuck...let a man have his dreams. All of this commotion would have been fine it if there was an actual payoff but inevitably, when the big event was about to take place, big magnum got stage fright and muttered something about growing up Catholic. I was kind and compassionate but utterly confused. Former me: I guess there's a lot I don't know about Catholicism. Current me: Someone has read one too many John Patrick Shanley plays.
He booked a road gig and let me know he'd be gone a few days. Surprisingly, he called from the road (very boyfriend of him), asking if he could "borrow" one of my jokes to use in his act that night. Sometimes when I am in shock, I agree to things I would normally scoff at. I believe this was one of those times. Even though in the world of stand-up comedy, this was a fairly blasphemous request, I justified it as one often does with the actions of those they are (sort of) sleeping with. What was one joke grab in the grand scheme of things? And he asked permission so... okay.
I should mention that during this time, I landed a job as an assistant to the showrunner of a TV show. The show was wrapping up it's current season so I was to go and train for it's remaining weeks and then start the actual job after the hiatus. There would be a wrap party which I was encouraged to attend as it would be a chance for me to get to know some of the staff before vacation started. I asked Matt if he would come to the party as my date. He said he would love to.
I bought some lingerie as a surprise for when he got back into town. Maybe some visual stimulation would help. Lots more cunnilingus and flattery but zero magnums used. Now I was just starting to get insulted. And then, as if to say "here, let me kick you a little harder in your already bruised sexual ego", he completely vanished. Two days turned into four. Four turned into a week. Finally, at the nine day mark, I called. He answered and I heard a sea of male voices in the background. He was polite but distant in that Catholic sort of way. It turns out he had taken a road trip to his Alma mater to "sew some leftover oats". I put my best non-nag voice on and told him I understood but would have appreciated a call to let me know he was leaving. And then came the "not a priority" comment. Former me: Let me get off the phone immediately so I can lay on my floor and cry. Me now: What a perfect opportunity that would have been to ask just what the hell his penis's problem was anyway. Whatever. It was clearly over. Or so I thought...
The job training had now begun and it was there I met the man who is now my husband. The instinct that this was an amazing, attractive person was immediate. The feelings mutually began to develop and though I didn't want to jeopardize a brand new job, I had a feeling that this guy may be worth the risk. I was truly excited to get to know him better at the party.
Then Matt called. He said he had marked down the date for the party and was assuming we were still going together? There have been a few of these "Beautiful Mind"-like moments in my life where I think "Was everything that happened up until now some weird schizophrenic hallucination?" This was one of those moments. I asked if he was kidding which he clearly was not. I took a breath and explained that given what he said during our last phone call, I had made other arrangements. Silence. Then...
"What do you mean by other arrangements??"
"I mean, I am going with someone else."
"Why?"
"Because you said I was not a priority in your life."
"I didn't mean it how you thought I did."
"Matt, that's not really a statement that's open for interpretation."
"Whatever. I think it sucks you just met someone else and invited them without letting me know."
"Sorry you feel that way."
AND THEN...THE GIFT FROM GOD...
"I can't believe you are doing this to me. Do you know what kind of abandonment issues I have because of my dead sister?"
And those were the last words I heard from Matt.
Until...
7 years later.. (last year). An email. Subject line: Please vote... Body of email: ...For Matt _____ to be the next in-house dating advice columnist at (insert reputable magazine). Needless to say, regardless of my 400 NO votes, he won and still holds the position. Even better, he parlayed this gig into a TV show where he instructs men on dating techniques.
Well, you know what they say. Those who can't do, teach.
