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After meeting The Wanderer in October of 2003 our relationship was so uncertain.  He assured me that we would see each other soon, but where?  And when?  He was driving around the country for the next few months and had no home-base.  I offered that if he got to a place where he might want to stop and visit for a few days I would fly in.  He decided on New Orleans.  I’d never been but always wanted to go, so I said “yes”.  TW suggested that if I paid for the flight he would pay for everything else.  I found a cheap flight for the week before Thanksgiving, and considered it a done deal.

TW always made a point of his financial stability.  He had already taken me to several pricey restaurants and bought me an expensive gift.  He talked, okay bragged, about his wine collection, his trips to Hawaii and his meals at French Laundry.  At that time I was struggling to get by and despite my education and travels, I was a little awed by him.  I was also very excited that he offered to provide a vacation that I otherwise would not have been able to afford.

I confirmed my plane tickets, and he said he would book a place for us to stay.  He asked if I wanted to stay at a campsite, a motel, a fancy hotel or a small bed and breakfast.  I told him that I didn’t care as long as we were together, and that was true, but in my head all I could think is “what is this a freakin’ JAP screening test?”  If we were making plans to go camping I wouldn’t have flinched, but I thought I had been invited on a romantic vacation.  The next day when TW called to tell me he had booked a B&B I should have been annoyed, but instead I was relieved.  I figured I had passed the test.

TW met me at the airport in New Orleans and we drove to the B&B.  We started to look for street parking, and immediately it was obvious that the entire area was parked in.  We were, after-all, on Bourbon Street just outside of the French Quarter.  He parked on a corner where there was a car’s length of space between the very edge of the block and the last parked car.  I said “you know, by law in most places you have to leave at least a car’s length of space at the corner”.  He argued with me that there wasn’t a sign.  I agreed, no sign, but insisted that it was not a legal spot.  The car remained in place and we went into the B&B for the night.

The next morning we had breakfast (fabulous by the way – I still remember that it was chocolate pumpkin bread and blueberry muffins) and then TW had arranged, as a surprise for me, for a masseuse to come and give me a full body massage.  I relaxed and enjoyed.  Then we went out to take a walk around Fauberge Marigny and the French Quarter.  When we set out walking we passed by the car, which had a parking ticket on the windshield.  I said, “See, I told you it wasn’t a space” and expected that I’d hear a groan, and something like “ugh, how annoying” and then it would never come up again.  I was very wrong.

The first complaint I heard was “This ticket isn’t from last night.  It’s from this morning during your massage.”  Was that supposed to make me feel guilty?  Would we have moved the car if not for the massage?  Did I somehow owe him money as my massage had cost him an extra $25 because of the ticket?  I didn’t get it, so I said “well, you knew it was an illegal spot, so that’s the cost of parking there”.  And that’s how I think about it.  I’ve gotten and paid parking tickets, all of them annoying, and all entirely because I parked somewhere I shouldn’t have.  Sometimes I purposefully parked there because there weren’t a lot of choices, and sometimes I didn’t know it was illegal, but either way I just paid my fine and forgot about it.  To say that TW had a different reaction is an understatement.  Not only did he stop talking to me for most of that morning (which I never really understood – was it because I was right, because I pointed out that I was right, or just because?) but months later when I started to tell this story as an amusing anecdote to some friends he cut me off and said that if I wanted to tell that story he was leaving and I could tell it without him around.  He put off paying the ticket, and even asked if I would pay it for him (which he later retracted, but still).  We were staying in a $150 a night room, and going to dinners that cost up to $200.  He allowed a $25 fine to add conflict to our relationship.  Really, I allowed it too, because I never spoke up and never said how it all made me feel.

We had some amazing times in New Orleans, and some other fights as well.  Mostly it was romantic and fun.  I came back elated and in love.  Being back in New Orleans last week reminded me of my first trip there.  I thought of all the things I wanted to do again, like Commander’s Palace, and all the things I didn’t.  I found myself thinking that I was glad I didn’t have a car.  Maybe I should have thought that even if I did have a car I still wouldn’t have had any conflict.  This time I brought a better driver.

I’m back from my honeymoon, and there’s so much to say.  I won’t say it all now in the interest of getting some perspective before spewing.  I definitely enjoyed myself though.  So, why “finally back”?  The only difficult part of our trip was getting home.  Our flight was delayed for four very long hours.  I understand why this happened.  There was a large and windy storm in the place our plane had to fly through in order to get to us.  There was no storm in New Orleans where our boat had docked, but there was one near Albany.  So, our plane sat in Albany until it was safe to fly.  Does that annoy me?  No, not really.  I’m assuming that the airline and pilot prioritized the safety of the passengers in Albany over my returning home in a timely manner, and that’s just fine.  What really messes with me is that we had to call friends and family and request that they log on to their computers in order to find out information about our flight.  No one at the airport posted or announced anything.

What annoyed me more, so much so that I was actually amused instead of angry, is that at 4PM, about a half hour before we were originally scheduled to leave, an airline employee announced our flight at gate A6.  Looking at the board, our flight was marked “delayed” and scheduled for gate A7.  There was a flight to Charlotte on-time for 4:25 that indicated it left from A6.  All of the passengers from both flights went up to this man and asked if he had this right – if in fact that plane was for DC and not Charlotte.  He insisted that it was heading to DC, and started tearing off boarding pass stubs.  The front of the line walked to the plane, only to be turned back by the flight crew who said that the plane was headed towards Charlotte.  I suppose the silver lining on this one is that the flight crew was paying attention and discovered the mistake.  At least SOMEONE isn’t totally incompetent.

When the plane finally arrived there were only 13 passengers taking it to DC.  It had originally been a full flight, but the rest of the people had to make connections out of DC that they would have missed had they waited.  Extra bags of pretzels, a full can of soda and ample leg room didn’t make up the difference, but it was something.  We were afraid we’d miss the last metro train.  Technically the trains were still running but we have to make a connection at Metro Center and there was no way to guarantee that would happen smoothly.  So, we got into a cab and walked through the door of our house around midnight.  Getting into bed has rarely felt so good.  I woke up 9 hours later in the exact same position in which I had fallen asleep.

I met Seth on Jdate and immediately should have known that we were not a match.  He was smart and good looking for sure, but he was very impressed with his own success.  He made a point of having a BMW.  He mentioned his house not to say something about it, but in a way that focused a lot on the fact that he was terribly young to own his own house.  Still, a man with intelligence and looks who has a car and a house sounds good in theory, so I thought that perhaps the ego was a function of first date anticipation.  That’s what I hoped anyway.

We went to Spices, a pan-Asian restaurant, on our first date.  We had a nice conversation, and found commonalities such as that he used to rent an apartment owned by my then employer.  I could tell he wasn’t attracted to me.  Actually, I could tell he liked my boobs but thought I was fat.  He didn’t say anything or even imply anything, but I’ve been dating long enough to know.  I watched his eyes dart across my body, judging me, and deciding what he could tolerate.  By the end of dinner I thought “That was nice, but I’ll never hear from him again.”  When we got back from dinner I found out that W had started a war, and so my mind was elsewhere.

The next week Seth sent me an email.  I didn’t save it, but it said something like “I don’t see us as having any relationship potential, but I had fun with you, and would like to see you again.”  Okay I thought, the boy wants sex.  That doesn’t sound bad.  Let’s review – I had fun with him, and he’s cute and smart.  As long as we have our cards on the table, and we certainly seem to, then why not.  Notice I was having some amnesia about knowing that this guy wasn’t terribly attracted to me.  Hey, I’m not perfect.  I have needs.  It happens.

So, we went to Cactus Cantina for dinner.  We got entrees and margaritas.  I have no tolerance whatsoever, so giving me tequila is really asking for drunk Janet to show up.  I know that, and yet there I sat sucking back the swirly margarita.  Entrees almost finished, and slushy un-straw-suckable remains of margarita at the bottom of the glass I went to the ladies room.  When I came back, I knew that if I wanted to say something to set the record straight, this was my moment.  If I had done so too soon, without the tequila, I would be branded a slut by the sort of people who walk around with such brands.  If I waited longer and there was physical contact I’d have missed the opportunity entirely.

 When I sat back down I said “so, talk to me about that email.”  He said he was glad I asked, and that he didn’t see me as someone he wanted to commit to, but that he thought we enjoyed each other’s company and that he’d like to “hang out” with me.  I paused, and pretended to think.  Really I was just creating dramatic timing.  Then I said “The way I see it we have two choices.  One is that we can leave here and you can drive me home…” (Here I paused again to make him think that was perhaps the desirable option) “And the other is going to require a lot more drinks.”

After several more margaritas we went back to my apartment.  He told me he didn’t want to have sex with me, only oral.  I was tipsy and in the mood to hook up, so I didn’t think about it much and just went with the flow.  We fooled around for a while, and then he left.  A few days later he stopped by after work to fool around again – no drinks, no dinner, just coming over for a blow-job.  It felt awkward.  I couldn’t tell why either one of us was there.  I felt like his choice to refrain from sex wasn’t about some sexual purity standard but about something else.  A way to reconcile his holier-than-thou standard with wanting to have someone else in the room during his orgasms?  It doesn’t matter.  The awkward feeling was the problem and I didn’t care why.  We talked about future plans, but it was half-hearted.

The next week he sent me an email that contained a lie.  He said that he wouldn’t be able to get together because his parents had been in town and he was feeling sick.  I told him to get better soon, and then be in touch if he liked.  This felt like the most polite way for us to say “thanks, but no thanks.”  No hard feelings, and if we bumped into each other no need for embarrassment.

About six months later I moved into a building owned by my employer in order to take advantage of a housing discount.  One week into living there I got mail addressed to Seth – I had his old address.

Most people have a lull in December.  They, and everyone they know, take time off for parties and family.  Everyone is on vacation, so even those at work find that the phone doesn’t ring.  In December, people will say to me “are you enjoying everything slowing down at work?”  No one who says that understands what I do for a living.

I have a 401(k) plan and a benefits program under my management.  Both require an abundance of forms, and all in December.  If I drop these balls people suffer, and the Department of Labor shows up at my door.  So, I do anything I can to keep all the balls floating nicely in the air.  I provide these services for doctors.  Here’s the rule about doctors – they’re all Type A personalities.  Either they have patients and are busy, or they don’t have patients and they need to find a way to be busy.  That’s when they call me.  So, if you aren’t scheduling your elective procedures for December, you can bet that your doctor has just read her monthly profit sharing statement for the first time all year and has called me for a detailed month-by-month explanation.

This is just what my December is and always will be.  Lots of numbers and spreadsheets, and lots of long-winded phone calls about numbers and spreadsheets.  Thank goodness I took tax law – they think that because I do things that have to do with the paychecks I should also understand the entirety of the tax code.  Or maybe they’re just trying to get a two-for-one deal by getting tax services without having to pay a CPA.  I can’t do all that, but at least I know the language they’re speaking and when to say that it’s all gone over my head.

This year I found a loophole.  I figured out how to escape during December.  I’m going on my honeymoon.  Delaying the honeymoon was definitely a smart decision.  It’s not just that the Caribbean is better in December than August, it’s also that this feels like we get the very most out of the wedding.  The two days we took off work immediately following the wedding are a blur.  We slept and slept, and even when we were awake we stayed in bed.  Eventually we got up and took the tour at Mt Vernon, but that was at the very end.  We needed every minute of rest that we got – weddings are exhausting.

Now we just get to go have fun.  We’ll party in New Orleans, and then have seven nights on the cruise.  We’ve got excursions planned to three archaeological sites.  There’s gambling and dancing and good food.  We can just enjoy each other and the luxury of being able to take this time together.  The luxury of having so much time together that we can take time to ourselves is bliss.  Shared experiences heightens the enjoyment.  Getting his perspective adds more meaning.  Then giggling together, happy on wine, towards our room at night…I guess that’s what a honeymoon is about.

I know how lucky I am that my life is so full.  Now I’ll just try to enjoy myself and forget the pile of work that awaits me when I return.