Robin and I have always said that dating couples should have to undergo a few practical situations before they get married, such as babysitting together, assembling a piece of furniture, and taking a road trip. You know, to ensure they can handle the others' poor disciplinary skills and the fact that they like to eat Funyuns in the car.
And though there's probably an unwritten rule about blogging about one's exes, we broke up four years ago and he's been married for three. I reserve the right to throw him under the ever-loving bus.
It's not as bad as it sounds. On paper, we worked. I always felt like he was better at the whole relationship thing than I was. But I'd be stretching the truth only slightly to say that my family were not what you'd call fans. They didn't know what to do with someone who was higher maintenance than me, I mean WHAT? You pack lighter than he does? He goes tanning? He told you to push back your cuticles?
Really.
He was even a better romantic, as evidenced by the furry red bear I got for Valentine's Day one year. Because everyone needs a garish stuffed animal as a reminder of how well your significant other doesn't know you. But half the blame belongs to me for not knowing myself. We're crossing our fingers I've grown out of my co-dependence and learned how to read the signs, notably the ones involving your boyfriend leaving you standing in a restaurant in Cabo, when the boat is scheduled to leave half an hour later.
In his defense, I deserved it.
We had different priorities. Getting married was not one of mine. First boyfriend meets family = love at first sight. My siblings have mastered the art of backhanded compliments, which if you don't know how to take a joke, go right over your head. I don't condone it, but...
Actually, what am I talking about. I totally do. It's more fun that way.
Back to the list. His parents live south of Portland, so we made the trip many times over the course of a few years. For all my 20-year-old charms, I had the additional good fortune of following in the footsteps of his last girlfriend, who apparently was a total peach. I loved visiting his parents -- they were/are quality people, who when I broke up with their son, looked me in the face and said they wanted me to be happy, even if it was with someone else. And they meant it.
One such trip to see them, got off to a rocky start. Or as it's become known, The Time My Car Fell Apart on the Freeway While Going 70 MPH. We weren't half an hour outside of town when he fell asleep in the passenger seat. I should note, at the time I'd not made the trek to PDX many times, so I had no clue how to get there. (What? It's 300 miles away and I couldn't just follow the one freeway we have? SHUT UP. IT GETS WORSE.) First, I flew right past the first major turnoff. I mean, right past it. Just kept going. The ex-BF woke up about 40 miles past it and promptly shit a brick because WHY ARE WE ALMOST TO MOSES LAKE?! BABE?!!
Relationship myth: 'Babe' solves everything.
Conveniently enough, after the initial turnoff there's no place to turn around for like, ever. So it's a blessing that he didn't wake up sooner because he probably would've developed an ulcer right there in my car and last time I checked, that stuff is a bitch to get out of upholstery.
He told me to turn around. Why not make this an even 80 miles out of the way, instead of taking the alternative route down through Ellensburg that neither of us knew about. See, I wasn't the only clueless one in the car that day. And if we're pointing fingers, which we are, totally pointing fingers... he was worse.
So there we were, on our way back. I pointed out that hey, look on the bright side, now you have an awesome 'My Dumb Girlfriend' story which I will totally ghost-write for you. In what turned out to be red flag #65, he didn't think that was funny. Small back story to what happened next: a few years prior, I'd ripped the front bumper off my car while backing out of a driveway. Not proud of it, but whatever. I did it. When the bumper came off, the left blinker/headlight carriage also came out, though it was still wired in and worked. Once I'd replaced the bumper, I just duct-taped the light back in, and it held for years. I have no shame. Fast forward, we've successfully turned around and are on our way back, and I'll be damned if that headlight doesn't come untaped and started SMACKING my CAR really HARD, chipping the PAINT with EVERY HIT. I went nuts, pulled over, and lost it laughing. My ex taped it back down, and once we'd resumed high speeds I was still laughing but said OH MAN, THAT COULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH WORSE. IT COULD'VE FLOWN RIGHT OFF!
Uh. Huh.
SSCCHHWWINNNNGG.
I didn't even stop, I was laughing too hard. The ex was all AREN'T YOU GOING TO GO GET IT??!, said like it was obvious which one of us was going to run all the way back. He couldn't believe I'd leave it, but I figured $20 for a new light was worth the laugh.
Nerves calmed and back on the straight and narrow, he fell asleep again (I'm really tempted to say more here...) and I was okay until we hit Tri Cities, which at the time was under heavy construction, rendering it's nineteen arterials even more enjoyable. After a near-missed turn (that was, of course, a full switchback which I took on two wheels), with a wave of his hand he let out a frustrated LET'S JUST STOP FOR DINNER.
Here we have a classic misunderstanding. I thought he was waving his hand in exasperation. He was actually waving towards the next exit as if to say "exit here". And when I (shocker) flew right past it, he had every intention of lashing out irrationally then thought better of it, but not soon enough for me to catch on and yes, I burst into tears. Then I started thinking about the whole series of events, missing a turn and losing a headlight and missing more turns and getting yelled at, so I started laughing. I'm laughing uncontrollably while bawling my eyes out, all while behind the wheel. In what was probably our wisest choice that day, we pulled over so he could drive.
I composed myself to the point of walking into dinner. Then I stopped, took one look at the gaping hole in the side of my car and I lost it.
Somehow, by the grace of God, we made it to Portland. His parents were all WHAT HAAAAAPPENED? TELL US EVERYTHING. And every time I got to a part where I said AND THEN, I CRIED, they shot their son a dirty look.
Yes, it was miserable and I got yelled at and how can anyone expect me to work under these conditions? Honestly. You can kiss my hand later.
And though there's probably an unwritten rule about blogging about one's exes, we broke up four years ago and he's been married for three. I reserve the right to throw him under the ever-loving bus.
It's not as bad as it sounds. On paper, we worked. I always felt like he was better at the whole relationship thing than I was. But I'd be stretching the truth only slightly to say that my family were not what you'd call fans. They didn't know what to do with someone who was higher maintenance than me, I mean WHAT? You pack lighter than he does? He goes tanning? He told you to push back your cuticles?
Really.
He was even a better romantic, as evidenced by the furry red bear I got for Valentine's Day one year. Because everyone needs a garish stuffed animal as a reminder of how well your significant other doesn't know you. But half the blame belongs to me for not knowing myself. We're crossing our fingers I've grown out of my co-dependence and learned how to read the signs, notably the ones involving your boyfriend leaving you standing in a restaurant in Cabo, when the boat is scheduled to leave half an hour later.
In his defense, I deserved it.
We had different priorities. Getting married was not one of mine. First boyfriend meets family = love at first sight. My siblings have mastered the art of backhanded compliments, which if you don't know how to take a joke, go right over your head. I don't condone it, but...
Actually, what am I talking about. I totally do. It's more fun that way.
Back to the list. His parents live south of Portland, so we made the trip many times over the course of a few years. For all my 20-year-old charms, I had the additional good fortune of following in the footsteps of his last girlfriend, who apparently was a total peach. I loved visiting his parents -- they were/are quality people, who when I broke up with their son, looked me in the face and said they wanted me to be happy, even if it was with someone else. And they meant it.
One such trip to see them, got off to a rocky start. Or as it's become known, The Time My Car Fell Apart on the Freeway While Going 70 MPH. We weren't half an hour outside of town when he fell asleep in the passenger seat. I should note, at the time I'd not made the trek to PDX many times, so I had no clue how to get there. (What? It's 300 miles away and I couldn't just follow the one freeway we have? SHUT UP. IT GETS WORSE.) First, I flew right past the first major turnoff. I mean, right past it. Just kept going. The ex-BF woke up about 40 miles past it and promptly shit a brick because WHY ARE WE ALMOST TO MOSES LAKE?! BABE?!!
Relationship myth: 'Babe' solves everything.
Conveniently enough, after the initial turnoff there's no place to turn around for like, ever. So it's a blessing that he didn't wake up sooner because he probably would've developed an ulcer right there in my car and last time I checked, that stuff is a bitch to get out of upholstery.
He told me to turn around. Why not make this an even 80 miles out of the way, instead of taking the alternative route down through Ellensburg that neither of us knew about. See, I wasn't the only clueless one in the car that day. And if we're pointing fingers, which we are, totally pointing fingers... he was worse.
So there we were, on our way back. I pointed out that hey, look on the bright side, now you have an awesome 'My Dumb Girlfriend' story which I will totally ghost-write for you. In what turned out to be red flag #65, he didn't think that was funny. Small back story to what happened next: a few years prior, I'd ripped the front bumper off my car while backing out of a driveway. Not proud of it, but whatever. I did it. When the bumper came off, the left blinker/headlight carriage also came out, though it was still wired in and worked. Once I'd replaced the bumper, I just duct-taped the light back in, and it held for years. I have no shame. Fast forward, we've successfully turned around and are on our way back, and I'll be damned if that headlight doesn't come untaped and started SMACKING my CAR really HARD, chipping the PAINT with EVERY HIT. I went nuts, pulled over, and lost it laughing. My ex taped it back down, and once we'd resumed high speeds I was still laughing but said OH MAN, THAT COULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH WORSE. IT COULD'VE FLOWN RIGHT OFF!
Uh. Huh.
SSCCHHWWINNNNGG.
I didn't even stop, I was laughing too hard. The ex was all AREN'T YOU GOING TO GO GET IT??!, said like it was obvious which one of us was going to run all the way back. He couldn't believe I'd leave it, but I figured $20 for a new light was worth the laugh.
Nerves calmed and back on the straight and narrow, he fell asleep again (I'm really tempted to say more here...) and I was okay until we hit Tri Cities, which at the time was under heavy construction, rendering it's nineteen arterials even more enjoyable. After a near-missed turn (that was, of course, a full switchback which I took on two wheels), with a wave of his hand he let out a frustrated LET'S JUST STOP FOR DINNER.
Here we have a classic misunderstanding. I thought he was waving his hand in exasperation. He was actually waving towards the next exit as if to say "exit here". And when I (shocker) flew right past it, he had every intention of lashing out irrationally then thought better of it, but not soon enough for me to catch on and yes, I burst into tears. Then I started thinking about the whole series of events, missing a turn and losing a headlight and missing more turns and getting yelled at, so I started laughing. I'm laughing uncontrollably while bawling my eyes out, all while behind the wheel. In what was probably our wisest choice that day, we pulled over so he could drive.
I composed myself to the point of walking into dinner. Then I stopped, took one look at the gaping hole in the side of my car and I lost it.
Somehow, by the grace of God, we made it to Portland. His parents were all WHAT HAAAAAPPENED? TELL US EVERYTHING. And every time I got to a part where I said AND THEN, I CRIED, they shot their son a dirty look.
Yes, it was miserable and I got yelled at and how can anyone expect me to work under these conditions? Honestly. You can kiss my hand later.
