On Courting part 2
O.K. So here’s the story. First of all, you need to know that access to aol online had pretty much put a wedge between Craig and myself. I began, through the fantasy world known as online chat, began to realize that perhaps being settled for wasn’t really the way that I wanted to go. Sensing that his security blanket, a.k.a. free ride, was drying up, he promptly found another to fill the position. So, I was living blissfully alone, with my dog and cat, at the old mall apartments. And, though it may shock some of you to know this about me, I decided to drive to Atlanta to meet a friend of mine that I’d met online. Yes, danger alerts should be going off everywhere – as they do for me now – anyway… I went. Driving my oh so lovely 1977 Dodge Aspen station wagon. On the way home from that trip, that went well, my poor old car began to protest the arduous journey. And as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, my car breathed it’s last sigh and died. Though upset that my car was dead, I was eternally grateful that it had died at the apartment instead of dying on the road somewhere, which has been the case for all my previous cars. As a result, I was no longer able to have my own glorious apartment, I had to find a roommate, but fast. The roommate that I found was my friend Mary’s sister, BETH. Beth, who unless I desperately needed funds for my rent or I would be living in my new car, I would never ever live with. Anyway, Beth was a substitute at the refugee center in town. I applied for a position as well, and was thrilled when I got the part time job as well. I went in the day before I was supposed to cover the class and there, in the front row, was the most amazingly cute little foreign man that I had ever seen. Wonderful smile, great hands and forearms. He was just cute. Not handsome, and if you’ve seen Jose he’s not that he man type for handsome, but he is attractive – and if you don’t think so, then I can only assume that you are blind or have no taste, or both. Anyway, I kept looking at him, staring almost. And everytime he’d look up – as he must have felt as if someone was burning a hole into his head, I’d look away.
If you’ve read the previous blog, you know that I have some mighty fine, sophisticated, and subtle techniques for letting a guy know that I kind of like him. For example, for Jose, I made a point to stay a little after class and wait for him to leave so that I could walk “with” him. Alternately, if he left immediately after the class, I rushed out hot on his tail. One day, I spent the afternoon making fried apple pies – not nearly as good as my grandma’s but not too bad. And I made enough for everyone in the class – though really, I’d made them for Jose. Who, it turns out, doesn’t really like sweet stuff, but anyway. On one of the walks out of class, I told him that I had a new car. He looked it over, and then I made a point of going to see his car – a 1988 toyota tercel. Somehow, I somehow got myself invited to his apartment. Where we sat, with pen and paper, and had a bit of a question answer period – and some English instruction. Though quite happy with myself at the time, when I got home, I feared that he would think that I was a freakishly pushy fat girl who he was going to have to move to avoid. So, I purchased a card to apologize for my brazenness. And in the card, I mentioned that I had a bit of a crush on him and that was why I was acting in such a fashion. I gave the card to Jose after class, and watched him go to his card, where I expected him to open and read the card. Instead, he put the card in the seat beside him and drove home. Well, that wouldn’t work. I wanted to see what his reaction was, so I followed him home. He was a bit surprised to see me pull up in the parking lot behind him. But I told him that I wanted him to read the card. He told me that he had waited until he got home so that he could use his dictionary. So he read the card. Said thank you very much, and then asked me what it meant to have a crush. And never was there a more awkward moment in my life. So, I did my best to explain what it meant without making me seem a total loser – and his response to my painful explanation was “do you want me to give you a kiss” And the awkward moment I had a moment before was nothing in comparison to that one. I mean, sure a kiss would have been nice – but I was thinking that it would just happen not be discussed and a convenient time outlined. And thank goodness we were in a car because I’m sure that my face was about 2000 shades of red. And thus it begins – You’re probably thinking that the romance, the courting, the falling in love began. But you’d be wrong. Really it was the stalking.
Those of you who know me, know that I’m a bit obsessive and on the rare occasion overly organized (in most places besides my house – though to be fair I know where almost everything in my house is -- usually the floor of some room or another). So, I took it upon myself to discover his schedule and his phone number. Jose would arrive home at 6:10 from work every evening. I would call his house at 6:12. I would force him to chat with me for a few minutes before he headed to class for the night. He wasn’t too big on missing class – something we don’t have in common at all. I would call him on the weekend. Ocassionally, I would meet him at his apartment at 6:12 instead of calling him. Yes, what had begun was the systematic stalking of poor Jose Serrano. And of course, luckily, he didn’t know enough about the laws of this country to call the police and get a restraining order. Instead, he ended up giving me a key to his apartment. And had I been just a bit more crazy, that would have been a dangerous thing indeed. And what did I do with that key. I made it a point to go to his apartment, and have something cooked for him when he got home from work. I would clean / straighten his apartment. Showing what a good wife I would be. The first date we had was at the pool hall that used to be over by Roses. The next official date resulted from one of my daily 6:12 phone calls. The seemingly idle chatter was interrupted by what any girl will tell you are dangerous words, “I have something to tell you.” Typically such a phrase can be followed by such things as “I’m married.” Or “I’ve met someone else” or “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” So, figuring that bad news was in the works, I asked him to meet me in person. At which point, Jose informed me that the girl that he’d been having sex with before we met had told him she was pregnant. My first question was how pregnant. I’d been stalking for about 3 months and usually “I’m pregnant” comes after 6 weeks. It turns out that in Vietnamese cultures, “I’m pregnant” comes when you begin to show – so Dung (and let me say that I had no small amount of glee to find out that was how she spelled her name) was 6 months pregnant. And thanks to my 10 years of emotional therapy with gay boy Craig, I was able to be very calm about the whole thing… move into counselor mode if you will. Ironically, Jose and I were just talking about this moment on the way home from Cadiz, this Christmas. Apparently, I told Jose that he was not the only man who had ever been in this situation, and that it wasn’t the end of the world. I remember asking him if he was going to marry her, and his response being, “no, I don’t like their food.” Of course, I was being supportive while suggesting that marriage wouldn’t really be the answer. I used my sister as an example – Though she would tell you that she didn’t get married because she was pregnant – I believe that had she had a bit longer without that pressure there – she may have decided that perhaps she and Lance weren’t really suited after all. Not long after Dung made her announcement, Jose told me that she wanted him to go with her to tell her dad. Sounded a bit scary to me … but Jose is nothing if not responsible. When he returned, he told me that as was Vietnamese custom, to have a party to announce the birth. That made sense to me, I knew what a baby shower was. Jose’s responsibility for this shower was to purchase the alcohol that would be consumed. And let me just say that they must really put back the booze, because Jose bought almost $1000 in beer, wine and what nots. $1000 didn’t mean as much to him then because he was living in his apartment with is brother and his cousin – and his monthly bills, including groceries totaled about $400 – which was what he made a week – I was always envious of his money situation – and that envy of course caused me to marry him and ruin it forever… Anyway, about two weeks before the party, Jose came home with an invitation. A piece of art really. It was ivory, with these satin doves on the front. And all the text was written in Vietnamese. Now, I was working at Kinko’s at the time. I worked in the print shop actually. And, well, I’m not an idiot. This was no baby shower invitation. There were no rattles, blocks, diapers, baby pins on this invitation. This was doves with rings. This was a wedding invitation. It took me about an hour to convince Jose that it was a wedding invitation. He finally agreed to call his friend Ha (great name don’t you think) though he may have called Ha’s brother (whose name I do not know). Now, there is little else more stressful than listening to two people who speak two different languages, not a one of them English, try to figure out what an invitation says. Jose got off the phone somewhat reassured that he was not being invited to his own wedding. I was not so sure. I went to goodwill and bought a nice $10 suit for him to wear. And since it was a clear assumption that I wouldn’t be going to the party – it was the time that the asian gang was pretty big in Bowling Green – they’d had that double murder in some trailer park and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to sacrifice myself – they might have tried to render my fat to fry my dog or something. Anyway, I gave Jose my camera – because I wanted to see what the party looked like. And I told him that under no circumstances – absolutely NONE – was he to stand in front of everyone with Dung. He wasn’t to walk down any aisles, not to jump over any brooms, not to repeat anything that was said to him by some little man in a robe, fancy dress, feathered head dress, anything. Because I didn’t care what Ha said – Dung was having a wedding. As far as Jose and I both know, he left the party still single. It wasn’t until 3 years later when I was pregnant with Elijah that I learned that my suspicions were correct. I had gone to PJ’s Beauty College – my choice for all beauty needs – and was treating myself to a manicure before I went to get an ultrasound. And of course, without being overly stereotypical, the little men working on my hands were Asian - Vietnamese – as it turned out. He told me that he had used to work at Eagle industries. I told him that my husband also worked at Eagle Industries and did he know Jose Serrano. His eyes got wide and he began to talk rapidly to his little friend in his native language. I pooh-poohed their conversation and offered them a brief summary of the Dung incident… which I intuitively knew is what they were talking about – or maybe I heard them say her name. Anyway, I told them that they didn’t get married, that it was just a party to announce that she was pregnant. At which point the little finger man informed me that he was a little pissed off because he was told it was a wedding and had given her $50 as a gift. Actually, I think Dung raked in some $6000 at that party – that’s a lot and enough to make me want to be Asian and have a wedding. So, I told him that he got screwed – paid my bill and ruined my manicure as I tried to start my car.
The rest of the courtship was relatively uneventful. The first Christmas, I didn’t have enough money to buy gifts for anyone in my family and Jose spent $20 on each member of my family. I was touched beyond measure. Jose speaks of going to visit my parents and family with a bit more trepidation. He was nervous about going off to god knows where, and being trapped with strangers, but admits that he was really lonely at the time and welcomed the family contact. My family was probably so grateful that he wasn’t a black jewish man that they warmed up to him right away. Though they did all talk really loudly to him for the first year --- apparently a speaking a second language translates in American to hard of hearing. The marriage proposal consisted of me saying, “when we get married, we can (insert event here).” When Jose didn’t look at me like I was crazy and still talked to me the next day, I just assumed that we would eventually get married. Of course, I began to use the phrase once or twice a week, and then almost daily just to make sure that I wasn’t crazy. In March of 1997, Jose’s cousin and brother moved out of their apartment within a month – his brother left 3 days before rent was due and wasn’t planning of paying the next month’s rent at all. So, Jose moved in with me so that he wasn’t paying all the bills himself – that and my apartment was much nicer. And by July, Jose had withstood all the living in sin that he could possibly take, and we got married at Plano Chapel on a Saturday at 10:00 a.m. in the morning. I informed all of my family, but invited no one. I saw no point in spending on a wedding what could be used for a down payment on a house – though as I type this, I really think that I had new refrigerator in my mind – because I knew that I wasn’t spending thousands of dollars on my wedding and a good refrigerator was $1000 – the really nice ones anyway. So, our reception was catered by Rally’s drive through – I’m pretty sure that I had the double cheeseburger combo and Jose had the chicken sandwich combo – large sized as the fries are really good. And when we got home, we put together the aquarium that we purchased with the money that my family had sent. And because we didn’t kill each other as were putting together the pre-fabricated table and the aquarium – and hardly fought at all, I knew that we were going to do o.k. And that’s the story. The whole bizarre thing.
