He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

You know the story of how we met.

And you know the story of our first date.

And you know the story of our proposal... oh, wait, I actually haven't told you that one yet, but no worries, it's coming.

But I haven't told you the in-between. And a lot happens between a first date and a proposal. Well, a lot happened for us between a first date and a proposal, anyway. If you're like my parents, who were engaged within six weeks, or some friends of ours, who were engaged within three months, maybe that part of your story isn't as long. But for us it was.

I'd like to tell you that everything was smooth-sailing between May 23, 2007 (our first date) and December 23, 2009 (our engagement), but that would be a lie. We didn't have any ground-breaking fights or do any of that back-and-forth "we're together, now we're not" stuff. But we did have our differences. If it weren't for the advice of my older cousin Jenny, who told me that "All guys have quirks," I'm not sure we'd still be together.


After the big Shrek the Third night, B didn't call for three days. On day one, I figured he was living by the old adage of waiting at least 24 hours. On day two, I started to get a little disappointed. By day three, I was convinced I was never going to hear from him again. And, actually, this continued for the rest of the summer. Each time I'd reach the point when I was sure he'd lost interest and moved on, my phone would ring. Why didn't I call him myself? You'll remember I was living by a new philosophy; I was trying to prove to B (and to myself) that I could be a GWTFEG (go-with-the-flow-easy-going) kind of gal. And in my mind, waiting for his call was part of that game.

Quirk #2 was a little problem that B seemed to have with time. It wasn't rare for him to say he'd "stop by after work," (which, to me, meant 5:30 or 6:00pm), then not show up until 8 or 9pm. Looking back, I'm honestly surprised I put up with that. Anyone who knows me is probably pretty surprised themselves. Maybe it was because of my GWTFEG strategy, maybe it was all the build-up of dating Blockbuster Boy, or maybe I was just allowing myself to be a doormat--but either way, I'm glad I stuck it out.


As we neared the fateful day in August, when I'd be moving back to Kirksville for another year of school, and he'd remain in KC, I knew we were going to have to have The Conversation. Somehow, we'd gone the whole summer without ever actually defining our relationship. Oh, believe me, I wanted to. I wanted to baaaaaad. But, GWTFEG girls don't worry about that sort of thing, so I pretended I wasn't worried either.

However, another wise woman I know helped me to realize that this wasn't really fair to myself. "You have a right to know," she said. "You have a right to lay down some ground rules and establish some guidelines. It's only fair, and it's only safe." 


It finally came down to three days before I was moving. Just as we were parting after an evening spent watching Dave Chappelle's stand-up comedy (B's choice, not mine), I decided I needed to brave the topic. It went something like this:


Me: "So, you know I'm leaving for Kirksville in three days."
B: "Yeah, I know. I'm really going to miss you."
Me: "So, what do you wanna do when I leave?"
B: "Well, I'll see you whenever you come home."
Me: "Okay."
B: "I really like you, I just don't want you to miss out on anything at school." (Sounds like a line from He's Just Not That Into You, right?)
Me: "Okay."


B left that night, and I went upstairs to get ready for bed, a little upset, but not really all that surprised. For some reason, this was my luck with guys. I never seemed to have a shortage of guys wanting to hang out, go on dates, etc., but when it came time to actually commit? Not interested.


I was brushing my teeth, wallowing in my despair at losing Blockbuster Boy, when my cell phone rang.


B: "Can I take it back?"
Me: "What?"
B: "Can I take it back?"
Me: "Okay."
B: "I don't know what I was thinking. I really like you."
Me: "I really like you, too."
B: "But if we're going to do this, we have to really do it. We both have to be in it 100%. I just don't want to mess around."
Me: "Me either."
B: "So, we're going to do this?"
Me: "Sounds like it."

At this point, we hung up the phone, and I tore down the stairs, toothbrush still in hand. "We're staying together!!!!" I shrieked as I felt into my parents' room.

After that phone call, it was honestly like a switch was flipped. B resolved both Quirk #1 and Quirk #2 without me even having to ask. It was like dating a whole new guy--Mr. Committed. (Not that he doesn't have quirks now. It's still true that all guys have quirks. It's all about whether or not those quirks are dealbreakers.)

Shrek the Third

"If you think there are no new frontiers, watch a boy ring the front doorbell on his first date."

- Olin Miller

I left you hanging. Did it work? Was it suspenseful?

Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?

A few weeks ago, I wrote an absolute heart-stopping cliffhanger. Remember now?

a REAL cliffhanger!

Okay, maybe I'm giving myself a little too much credit. But I did promise you the story of my first date with B, and I'm here to deliver.

We left off with B asking me out at the Blockbuster cash register. It was a couple of days later, but I still remember the moment when he called me. I'd had quite the day--my car had broken down on the side of the road, and I had spent the better part of a half-hour pushing with all my might while dressed in white capris with 4-in. wedge sandals. But by this point in my day, my car had been towed, and I was actually pouncing around on my parents' bed, making hissing and growling noises trying to rile up the cat. I'm certain my face turned beet red when I answered the phone and Blockbuster Boy was on the other end. I was sure that, through phone osmosis, he knew the activity he had interrupted, would quickly make an excuse about having the wrong number, and I would never heard from him again. 

Luckily, though, I managed to hold up my end up a decent (but brief) conversation, during which he asked me to a movie a few days later. When he asked where he should pick me up, I resisted the urge of telling him I knew exactly where he lived (whoa, stalker...), therefore knew where he'd be coming from (plus, little did I know that his family had actually moved just two weeks prior!). Again, I kept my cool and refrained from shrieking with excitement until I had safely flipped shut my phone.


The next few days flew by in a haze. I daydreamed (daydreamt?) about what we'd talk about, what I'd wear, what he'd wear, what kind of car he'd drive (I'm not going to lie--an old Ford Focus with moldy seats and a missing gas cap never popped into my mind). My dad, chiming in with his opinion, said, "Gosh, I hope this guy doesn't turn out to be a dud!" He and mom had, of course, witnessed the entire Blockbuster Boy journey. I think they were as invested as I was.

But, amid all the girly thoughts and hopeful ideas, I had to admit that I kept things in perspective.


I think the downfall of my previous relationships (besides the fact that I was 18, naive, inexperienced, unfocused, etc.) was that I always went in with high expectations. Okay, not just high expectations, like, astronomical expectations. I wanted labels, I wanted commitments, I wanted follow-through. Basically, I wanted perfection. I made a conscious decision before my first day with B that this time, I was going to play a role. I was going to take on the character of a go-with-the-flow, easy-going sort of gal. I say "take on the character" because, if you know me, you know that is not me. I am a plan-it-out worrier. Now, I know what you're thinking. People always say you should "be yourself" on a date. And I was myself. I wasn't trying to put up a front, I was adjusting my own perspective on the situation.

My new dating philosophy influenced a lot of decisions (more about that later). But first, it steered my choice in an outfit. After much deliberation, I decided to go against my usual short skirt/tank top first date uniform. Instead, I opted for my favorite jeans and a simple fitted pink T-shirt. I accessorized with a pair of fun earrings, but I left it pretty plain. My goal was, again, GWTFEG (go-with-the-flow-easy-going).


Taking the risk of sounding overly-cheesy, I can clearly picture the moment when B picked me up that evening. I was watching for him out the garage door, and as I walked out, he got out of his car and stood by the driver's door (sort of in a "should I go greet her? stay here? open her door?" kind of way). He was wearing khaki shorts and a button-up short-sleeved plaid shirt. I could tell he had taken the time to put gel in his hair (something that I know now he saves for special occasions). 

I don't remember much about what we talked about that evening, although I do remember B whipping out his cell phone to show me pictures of his basset hound (which now does not surprise me in the least). I couldn't tell you the plot of the movie (Shrek the Third)--not because we were doing anything inappropriate, but because my mind was occupied with that awkward sharing-the-armrest position, when you know you're about to hold hands, but both people are too shy to make the first move. By the end of the movie, though, we'd bridged that gap. 

He didn't kiss me that night, but I laid in bed that night with my head in the clouds. I had just been on a date with Blockbuster Boy. And, although I stuck with my GWTFEG philosophy, I knew. Really. I just knew.

Blockbuster Boy

One should never know too precisely whom one has married.

~Friedrich Nietzsche

It was January 2007. I, and the two best friends a girl could ask for (more about them later), stumbled into Blockbuster one evening, prepared to rent a season of Sex and the City and spend the night devouring our weight in cookie dough. That afternoon, I'd had yet another frustrating conversation with yet another insignificant boyfriend. As we meandered through the store, I complained, "I just can't find the right guy. I need a guy that's friendly and personable, that's down-to-earth. He needs to be good-looking, but not act like he knows he's good-looking (we all know the type)." At that moment, I looked up and saw a guy standing behind the cash register in a sexy blue Blockbuster polo shirt. "Like," I said, "that guy."  

Now, I'm not a believer in love at first sight. And I'm not saying that I believe this was love at first sight. To be honest, I was half-joking at the time. The thing is, everyone knew Blockbuster Boy. He'd been working at Blockbuster, like, forever, and he was always outgoing and helpful. For instance, when Kelly and I had a hankering to hijack her brother's video game system, Blockbuster Boy had helped us pick out a game that was "kinda like a racing game, but not really hard and not, like, bloody or anything..." (we're not really gamers). Or when I came up to the counter with Dirty Dancing and confessed to never having seen it before, he acted appropriately shocked. It just wasn't until this night that I began to think of him as anything but Blockbuster Boy.

It soon became my mission in life to go on a date with Blockbuster Boy. Now, don't think I'm a stalker or anything, but... well, it might have been borderline. Truthfully, I really enjoyed spending the next semester finding out little tidbits about him. One day over a long weekend when we were all, again, at home, Kelly said to me, "You know that's Kevin's brother, right?" She was referring to a guy we'd graduated high school with--a guy who had quite the reputation of a being a loud, obnoxious, somewhat-troublesome fellow. Not a bad guy, exactly, but not exactly a teacher's pet, either. "Nah," I said, "He can't be." My Blockbuster Boy was nothing like Kevin. "Sure, it is," Kelly insisted. "Look at him. They stand the same." Glancing over to the aisle where Boy was meticulously restocking DVDs, I could no longer deny it. There was no doubt; the two brothers did stand the same.


By the end of the spring semester, even my friends at Truman knew about Blockbuster Boy. When asked what I was doing over the summer, I would (somewhat) jokingly say, "Dating Blockbuster Boy." Every weekend trip home, I would find an excuse to make it into Blockbuster at least once. If he wasn't working, I'd turn around and walk back out, but as my mom jokes, "We never had a problem getting Katie to return movies."


Fortunately, I wasn't forced to be a creeper for too long. One night at the beginning of summer--May 18, 2007, to be exact--Blockbuster Boy asked for my number. Two days later he called me, and we set up a movie date for that week... more about that later. I will tell you I didn't mention the whole stalking thing that night.