Why why why does this happen?
Over a year ago I posted this nonsense:
And last month I posted this nonsense:
Go ahead and read, and laugh. I’ll wait.
I took everybody’s advice in the first thread, but I ignored everybody’s advice in the second thread. I’m with that woman. I love her. And we were supposed to be married last week. Except …
My fiancé got a bunch of bad news from her family the day before our wedding, and ended up getting drunk to deal with it (I was at work while she was getting drunk). We were supposed to help decorate the church … and she showed up drunk.
I didn’t notice that she was drunk, but my best man noticed, and our wedding planner noticed, and this got back to the preacher* (my pastor, who has known me for almost 30 years). Pastor called me and told me that, under the circumstances, he didn’t feel right marrying us, given her current issues, and my past issues with alcohol. I will confess (as I confessed to him) that he had a good point.
So we postponed the wedding at the last minute. We’re still together, and we’re working things out. Though I do need to call my dad and give him a big apology. I invited him to the wedding via a phone call, and after that phone call I honestly didn’t think he was going to show up. So when we had to postpone things, I completely neglected to call him and tell him it was off for the time being. Naturally, he actually showed up, and there was nothing happening.
AAANNYWAY … the reason I linked both threads …
Guess who was the first person in my church (aside from the pastor and his wife) to reach out to me and my fiancé.
It was that young lady in the first thread. The young woman I had a completely inappropriate crush on. The one with the military boyfriend/fiancé.
She invited me and my lady to have dinner at her place. Her boyfriend/fiancé was there as well. We had a good time.
That was a month ago. A few days ago, she again invited us to come over for Easter dinner. Except … she has broken it off with her boyfriend.
So Easter dinner was me and my lady, and that young lady, and that young lady’s grandmother (who is also a member of my church), and that young lady’s landlords (a married couple whose basement she’s renting).
Grandma went home. Landlords went home (upstairs). So now it was just me and my lady and that young lady.
Let me tell you about me and alcohol. I like to drink. I get drunk. And … according to everybody I have ever drank with, I am a reasonable drunk. When I was in my early 20s, most of my friends were 10+ years older than me, and one of them told me that I was the first person they had ever met who was the same drunk as I was sober. At 23, I had a 50±year-old bartender, a guy with more than 30 years of experience as a bartender, tell me that he was glad that I always cut myself off, because he could never tell when I was drunk. Because my behavior never changed.
The only thing that has changed in the last 30 years is that … I apparently must somehow behave differently, without realizing it. And with almost nobody noticing.
Tonight, after grandma and landlords had left, and it was just me and my lady and that young lady … we watched Family Feud.
And then my lady suddenly got riled up and decided that we needed to leave. So I thanked that young woman, and we left. And … she’s moved into my apartment, but still has the keys to her old apartment next door, and that’s where she went. She didn’t want to talk to me. And here I am now, still wondering, “WTF did I do?”
Update since I started typing: I left the front door of my apartment wide open for my lady, and she has since come home.
But, my god, I still have no idea what set her off.
I’m pretty damned sure that I gave no indication that I’d ever had an interest in that younger woman. What seemed to set her off was when I mentioned that, when we marry I’ll become a grandfather (my lady has grandchildren), and that I was happy that they don’t have my last name.
The “last name” thing goes back to an ancient thing with my own father. When I was born I was the “firstborn” son, my grandfather’s first grandson. My dad once told me about how happy his dad was when I was born. Because I was a SON, and I would carry on the family name.
Fast forward to me at age 16. I got this bright idea that I thought would make my dad proud of me: I told my dad that I was going to name my first son “Charles”, after my grandfather.
My dad replied, “Well, you had better make sure you’re married to his mother, because I’m not having a bastard named after my father.”
I was a [del]fucking[/del] non-fucking 16-year-old virgin when I told my dad that. And here I am, coming up on 50, and have fathered no children.
I also mentioned that, having discovered over the intervening years that good 'ol Dad is a fucking racist, I mentioned that I thought it would be hilarious if I married a Mexican woman and named our first son “Carlos” after my grandfather.
And that’s when my fiancé got mad.
But she wouldn’t tell me why she was mad.
I’m stupid when it comes to this shit.
First thought is that she’s mad because she thinks I don’t want her grandchildren to have my name. God, I’d love it if they took my name.
But dammit, I’m fucking stupid when it comes to this stuff.