#NerdsUnite: I met my husband on @PlentyOfFish (the first five days)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Jessica. She and I met through this loverly site, and by her reaching out to me asking if she could write for us. Really rad chickie, she provided a lot of insight into my childhood for me (something you don't get every day from someone!!) - andddddd she has quite the life story. Like did you know she moved cross country for love? ORRRR that she found out her ex cheated on her by reading it on Facebook? ANNNNDDDD she even married a guy she met off of Plenty of Fish! Yep, true story! This is life as told through her eyes, and through the keyword of the nerd. HIT IT JESSICA!!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @ItsJessWeaver

We’ve been in our house for 5 days and the following things happened:

We got broadband cable internet, for which I am very thankful. More on that later.

We undertook our first unplanned remodeling project, which must be some kind of homeowner rite of passage. Whew, glad that’s over. Smooth sailing from here! But what had happened was, we were complete idiots and didn’t measure our new washer and dryer before we bought them. So, when they were delivered, and were too big for the doors to the laundry closet, we were TOTALLY surprised! We got super extra huge awesome discounts on the pair when we bought them, so I didn’t want to send them back. The next step was clear: attack the wall with power tools and make an opening large enough that both the washer and dryer doors could be opened at the same time. I know. Big goals. So right now there’s a big gaping hole in the wall, which is exactly what I dreamed of when I imagined my first week in my very first house. Still, I can do my laundry, which is really important. Especially since both the cats and I like to watch the clothes spin through that cool window in the front.

I found a crack in my master bathtub, where someone obviously fell while showering and jammed their knee into the fiberglass; either that, or someone kicked the tub just before he or she moved out of the house at the polite (I’m sure) request of the VA and Bank of America.

I revealed my entire psycho-ex story to a barefoot ADT representative in my kitchen. We had only just met, when she came to my house to consult with me for home security.

I supported the underground economy by paying a carpet cleaner for extra services he described as “just between you and me.” Deodorization and stain protection are not services closely monitored by his employer, apparently. Either that, or he swindled me, which I’m actually ok with, for some reason. He seemed like a nice kid. Before he left, I’d managed to give him advice on improving his credit score.

I got pulled over for speeding in my new neighborhood. Eight over. SUPPOSEDLY. I got a warning, and practically had a public panic attack, in the middle of the afternoon, over the thought that my ex, the cop, might show up in one of those damn police cars. Maybe mild PTSD, because when I am in a situation where a police officer has direct authority over me, I crumble into crazy little pieces—I feel scared, small and worthless. The uniform and the logo remind me of my ex, the way he made me feel when we were together, and it’s like I turn in on myself. Moving back into the city where he is a police officer is scary for me.

As for the cable internet—yay. It is pretty dang fast. I got a ROKU box and a subscription to Hulu Plus. We don’t have cable, or antenna channels. I actually don’t watch TV. I’m one of those people. So that must explain why there are still boxes in the garage left to unpack, and I’m sitting on the couch watching an SNL marathon.

#kthxbye

Want more from Jessica? Click here to follow her on twitter!

#NerdsUnite: I met my husband on @PlentyOfFish (Christmas Recap)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Jessica. She and I met through this loverly site, and by her reaching out to me asking if she could write for us. Really rad chickie, she provided a lot of insight into my childhood for me (something you don't get every day from someone!!) - andddddd she has quite the life story. Like did you know she moved cross country for love? ORRRR that she found out her ex cheated on her by reading it on Facebook? ANNNNDDDD she even married a guy she met off of Plenty of Fish! Yep, true story! This is life as told through her eyes, and through the keyword of the nerd. HIT IT JESSICA!!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @ItsJessWeaver

Well! Christmas is over!

Time to take a look at how it went down.

I am not even looking at how much money I spent. More than I should have, probably, but I can still pay my bills, I didn't use any credit cards, and I don't feel guilty. My spending didn't hurt me, and made a few people happy for a few moments. I say that is a success.

Things we didn't do: We didn't fill stockings for each other, even though that is a family tradition of mine that I generally like. What can I say? I just didn't feel like it. It saved us some money. We didn't have any parties like people said we should. I didn't want to have a party, and that saved us some money, too. We didn't send out Christmas cards--but then I only got one card, myself. It was from my Grandma, who I DID send a card to, because she's basically one of my favorite people, and the only person in my family who consistently remembers me for birthdays and holidays. I write to her a few times a year, and I visit her when I can. We didn't go out caroling or to look at Christmas lights; both are things I like to do at Christmas, but weren't feasible. We also didn't decorate the outside of our house with lights. We didn't go "Black Friday" or "After Christmas" shopping. We didn't go to church.

Things we did: We participated in potlucks and parties by bringing food and presents. We bought and delivered gifts of one kind or another to our immediate families and friends. We got each other one very nice gift for Christmas; Tim cheated and got me two, but I forgive him because it's exactly that sort of thing I love for him to do. He got me a little Christmas fairy on a glass ball, and it melts my heart to think of it, because, I don't know, ok? I just love that guy to pieces. We hung out at the house together while he had a little time off from work, and we got to hang out with family and friends, doing the ordinary things we do. We sang along to Christmas carols in the car. We decorated the inside of the house with all the stuff I've collected over the years, and we had the tree lights on nearly every day for about a month. We did a Christmas countdown calendar. I can't say advent, really, because it wasn't religious. We talked about the meaning of Christmas, and whether or not we want to teach our future children about Santa. The jury is still out. We remembered December 25, 2010, when Tim asked me to marry him in a cute, elaborate gift-proposal that the whole family was in on. (Here’s the link)

And we thanked our lucky stars we had decided to become each other's family. Merry Christmas to us. :)

This last thing, I have struggled with whether or not I should say it. It happened, however, and I don't really feel like I should pretend it didn't. I told myself not to care about it, but the more I tried not to care, the less successful I was. I told myself not to care when not even one of my family members in California picked up the phone to call me for Christmas. I waited, like an idiot. Hour after hour passed, and I considered calling them myself, but I have to admit this here: I was afraid. I was afraid the same thing that happened at Thanksgiving would happen again--I called my Dad twice on Thanksgiving and left a message and he never returned my call. I called my sister and left a message, and she sent me a message on facebook, which was very nice of her, and I appreciate that very much. But I was afraid to call and not get a call back. Long and short of it, the only thing worse than my Dad not bothering to call me would have been me calling him and not getting an answer, not even a return phone call. I just couldn't take the rejection...I couldn't do it. My mom sent me a message later on facebook, after I posted a status that was sort of a hint, apologizing for not calling, because they were busy.  I was busy, too. I was busy wondering how I got to be so unimportant to the people I grew up with that I didn't even warrant a text message saying Merry Christmas, not to mention a thank-you for the gifts I prepared and shipped to them. I was busy waiting for my phone to light up, and wishing I was strong enough to just do the calling myself (as I always have, before this). I was busy trying not to cry when my sweet husband kissed me before bed on Christmas night, reminding me that I'm important to him, even if I feel like I'm not important to anyone.

I tried so hard not to cry, and I guess I needed to, because I'm crying now. I'm crying because I saw Christmas photos of my niece opening her presents, and my dad was in one of the photos--with a bluetooth headset stuck to his ear. One click and we could have talked. I'm crying because I was on Skype for hours yesterday and I could see my dad was on, too. And he didn't call. I know I should just grow up and call him myself, but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm pretty sure they don't really want to talk to me. I'm crying because my mom is the last person likely to write to me--she's just not flowery and into correspondence--and she is the only one who did, and even though her notes were short and not sentimental, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for 6 freaking lines. I didn't even blame her for not calling--she doesn't have a cell phone anymore.

I know I'm not a model daughter. I know I don't do or say the things they want. I don't claim to have the answers or know how any of this works. I'm just me, trying to figure things out, trying to be a good person, trying to make a living, trying to be a good wife to Tim. I'm trying, but I'm not perfect. Sometimes I get scared, and hurt, and I don't know what to do, or how to fix it.

So there you go. Christmas recap. Best year of my life was 2011, hands down. I married Tim, who is the best friend I always wanted in a husband. I have a great sex life, I'm healthy, and challenging myself professionally and intellectually. But, well....I'll let Henry Wadsworth Longfellow tell it:

The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Even with Facebook, blogs,  skype, and texting, rejection is the same as it ever was.

#kthxbye

Want more from Jessica? Click here to follow her on twitter!

#NerdsUnite: I met my husband on @PlentyOfFish (The Baby Fever)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Jessica. She and I met through this loverly site, and by her reaching out to me asking if she could write for us. Really rad chickie, she provided a lot of insight into my childhood for me (something you don't get every day from someone!!) - andddddd she has quite the life story. Like did you know she moved cross country for love? ORRRR that she found out her ex cheated on her by reading it on Facebook? ANNNNDDDD she even married a guy she met off of Plenty of Fish! Yep, true story! This is life as told through her eyes, and through the keyword of the nerd. HIT IT JESSICA!!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @ItsJessWeaver

Uh oh, you guys.  I have a confession to make. I had the worst case of baby fever last weekend that I’ve ever had in my life.

I used to tell my parents anyone who would listen when I was 12ish that I would never get married (oops, did that this year) and I would never have kids. In fact, I planned to move to a remote wilderness cabin and live alone when I became an adult. That didn’t happen though, partially because it is hard to make a living when you don’t live near any towns, partially because I really didn’t understand how much I would like the convenience of Starbucks and shopping malls, and lastly because I stopped hating other people (mainly myself) so much and I just didn’t want to be that alone. I was pretty serious about not having kids, though.

I had my reasons why I didn’t think I would be a good parent. I’m terribly selfish, I’d probably say horrible (if true) things out loud to them and scar them for life, and I’d probably transfer all my neuroses to them by attempting quite vigorously to do just the opposite, in an effort to not be the terrible parent I’d envision myself as. I also had this problem with love—see, I really didn’t think I was good at it. Fact is, I thought I was terrible at loving people. I always seemed to be doing terrible things to people I Ioved: disappointing them, saying thoughtlessly rude things, forgetting important stuff, and otherwise being awful at having friends and being related to people. Thus, having my own children seemed to be the height of selfishness—make little replicas of myself (like a do-over!!) that I can then ruin and shatter to pieces emotionally? No way, not for me.

Water under the bridge has a way of carrying away the crap people throw over the railing, though, you know? Time went by. I went my own way. I removed some influences from my life that were hurting me, and I realized that a lot of the time when it seemed like I was disappointing someone I loved, the disappointment had more to do with their ridiculous expectations than my actual failures. How I learned this was actually letting people in, and watching them fail to meet my expectations, and learning to recognize when those expectations were unrealistic. Or when they weren’t— and when I had every right to expect something better, and take steps to get it. Watching other people fail and learning to let go of that helped me to learn how my failures are never as absolute as I think they are.

Still, I fail. I understand that this happens and I am a lot more zen about it now. I’ve expanded my horizons and met a lot of people in the last 5 years. Some of those people have been adversaries; some of them have been kindred spirits. I’ve been lucky enough to have added people in my life who have taught me some lessons about how much a person can love. As I have learned those lessons and watched some people I know who are very good at loving, I have started to feel the chill in my heart (the part where I said I would never have kids of my own) begin to thaw. It’s a spring melt, if you want to know the truth. I’m flash-flooding over here. It is freaking me the hell out, how it is changing me.

I want to have my own child, at the same time that I fear it. My heart and my head are engaged in daily arguments over the possibility, the eventuality, no—the inevitability—of pregnancy and motherhood. I stop short of begging my husband (he wants a more stable income before we do something crazy like take on the responsibility of another human life—geez, he’s talking sense, here) but a few crazy moments have come and gone where the longing was almost palpable, and I wondered, when it was over, who had possessed me for those hours. Could it just be that I’ve changed? Could it be that living with someone who genuinely loves me has started to re-wire my brain for reproduction? I’m still scared shitless at everything being a parent means, but I’ve stopped letting that fear convince me that all the pain and uncertainty isn’t somehow totally worth it.

It took me almost the whole weekend to get it out of my system, and every time the baby fever comes it gets worse. The fever is always followed by some relief and a lot of self-talk—the message being, “it is totally ok that you don’t have a kid. You don’t need this right now, you really don’t.”

But damn, I think I do. Maybe not right now. Right now I’m working on my career. Right now I’m thinking I need that Nook tablet that’s under the Christmas tree. Right now I need to enjoy my husband and cat and the freedom we have. ‘Cause one of these days, push is going to come to shove. Someday soon, my brain is going to run out of arguments, and guess what?

 My heart is going to win.

#kthxbye

Want more from Jessica? Click here to follow her on twitter!

#NerdsUnite: I met my husband on @PlentyOfFish (Cambridge is for Lovers)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Jessica. She and I met through this loverly site, and by her reaching out to me asking if she could write for us. Really rad chickie, she provided a lot of insight into my childhood for me (something you don't get every day from someone!!) - andddddd she has quite the life story. Like did you know she moved cross country for love? ORRRR that she found out her ex cheated on her by reading it on Facebook? ANNNNDDDD she even married a guy she met off of Plenty of Fish! Yep, true story! This is life as told through her eyes, and through the keyword of the nerd. HIT IT JESSICA!!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @ItsJessWeaver

I can't tell if I'm a word nerd or a word geek, but there is clearly something up with me and words. It's spoken word more than anything, really, though I often judge a sentence's worth by how well it reads aloud.

Before I tell you this story I have to tell you about my husband. He and I are like Oreos and milk; you could have one without the other, but they're so much better together. When I met Tim in August 2010, I’d been single for almost a year after breaking up with one of the most horrible men on the planet. He reminded me who I was after a long abusive relationship had all but erased my personality. He was the first person in a long time to call me a nerd to my face, and I wasn’t sure I believed him. But, he was right. He is a geek who has a thing for anime, plays MMOs, and loves Big Bang Theory...though describing him would take more than one article. He's pretty smart. He talks with me about philosophy and religion and doesn’t sound like a moron. He’s writing a book, something I’ve always wanted to do, but can’t get past the details to get started. He is not the same crazy I am about words, however. Let's just say: he's the storyteller and I'm the editor. He makes up words on the spot, and he is not a perfect speller...he plays with words while I order them around. I want a word to be perfectly used in a sentence, to be perfectly said, and perfectly spelled. He often says, "Well, you know what I meant," when the words don't come out quite right. Almost 100% of the time, he's right. Long story short, communicating is about meaning, not about using just the right word in just the right way.

But then, there is the voice in my head, or maybe just a sick feeling whenever I hear a word used or said in a way that it most certainly should not be, that tells me it isn’t just about meaning. You have to say it right! (Maybe this stems from the time I used the word “foreplay” in a sentence at the table with my grandparents. I meant “impatient and potentially unnecessary anticipation” but all they heard was “foreplay” out of my twelve-year-old mouth. Whatever.) And if you learn a new word, or the right way to use a word you already thought you knew, you should self-correct to use it right. You shouldn’t ever, EVER keep saying it badly even after I’ve corrected you. Even if you think it is funny. I’m saying this because I want you to understand. I’m trying to make sure you don’t think I’m an asshole after I tell you what caused me to leave my marriage bed to go sleep alone in the office/guest room the other night. See, what had happened was:

My husband was reading a joke aloud to me from a joke app on his smartphone. He likes to read jokes to me in bed. He’ll read MAXIM jokes to me and ruin it for me when I go to read the issue later. I don’t really mind. He makes me laugh, and that is important. Some joke he read had a reference to Cambridge University…you know, the college in England. Well, when he read the joke, he said “CAM-bridge.” Like camisole, camouflage, camry, camshaft… not like Cambridge, as in came-bridge (keɪmbrɪdʒ--that’s the real phonetic spelling, and perhaps those of you still reading are just the type of people who know what that means.) So, very politely (but honestly, a little bit incredulous-I mean, who doesn’t know how to pronounce Cambridge? There are at least 9 US States with a city or town called by that name. Just saying.) I told him he was saying it wrong. And I told him how to say it. I guess I might have implied he was an idiot. He kept saying it the wrong way, over and over. He also defended his version of the word, citing several other words with the same letter groupings and the exact pronunciation he had chosen. By this time I could tell he was teasing me for going so apeshit over a dumb word, for pete’s sake, and I couldn’t handle it. I told him if he kept saying it the wrong way I would be forced to leave the room. And he opened his mouth and said,

“Cam-bridge.”

So I left. I walked into the other room and plopped onto the bed, having decided to google the shit out of the word Cambridge to see how I could prove to him that the way I said it was right. Not only right, but OBVIOUS. PLAIN. COMPLETELY, 100% everyone-knows-this, it-makes-sense, obvious shit.

Know what I found? I was wrong. No, I was right about the pronunciation. I was wrong to say it made sense. In fact, it doesn’t make sense. No one knows why it’s pronounced that way, because pretty much every other word with CAM in the front of it is pronounced with a short A. Using the rules of the English language as a guide, my husband was saying the word the way it ought to be pronounced. SIGH. Even the river that runs under the bridge in that famous UK city is called CAM.

I laid there for a while. I mean, what was I gonna do? I’d taken a stand, I’d been kind of an ass. Granted, hearing him say it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard, but he was just being silly--making fun of me for being a language Nazi. He came to find me, because that’s the kind of person he is, and made me come back to bed. I tried to explain, but I sounded kind of lame even to my own ears.

So, in the end, I couldn’t really explain it. He said he was sorry, that he wasn’t trying to be mean, and then we got naked and forgot about Cambridge. Because sometimes that’s the only way to handle it when you’ve been a pompous jerk to your spouse.

What did I learn? Besides the fact that I like make-up sex? Well, I’m trying to be a lot more forgiving about my words. But goddammit, if I hear one more American English-speaking person butcher the French words “beaucoup” or “Aeropostale” I might have an apoplectic fit.

#kthxbye

Want more from Jessica? Click here to follow her on twitter!