I fooled around and fell in love ... and ended up in a foreign country.
That's right for all my ‘bah humbugging’ about love and relationships, I've gone and done the most highly illogical thing I could think of—fallen into the pit myself. It's gross, I know. I'm literally in the kind of situation where I'm thinking about a future and a family. I'm even thinking about marriage. Yes, me, and yes, you read that right.
I've realized, in all this happiness, that I may have some kind of weird relationship PTSD. Let me explain: the last two people I dated are best compared to angry potatoes because they had a habit of storming off (over nothing) and they had wobbly heads.
One was probably leading a double life. The other one literally resembled a wobbly potato. Both would freak out over social media posts and PAST relationships. Never mind that wobbly potato extraordinaire (the one who went through my phone while I slept) was besties with someone they used to sleep with on a regular basis. The complete lack of adult-level emotional control is just astonishing. I realize that now, hindsight being 20/20 and all.
I also realize that these two emotionally crippled morons had left me so gun shy that I was blown away when someone wouldn't just freak out and bail if there was a problem, someone who wanted to sit down and talk it out—you know, like an adult. We're still learning to communicate, being that we basically speak different languages and come from VERY different cultures. Which brings me to … being in a foreign country.
Holy crap, do we come from different worlds! I'm definitely an interloper in a place I don't belong. This became painfully clear just seeing how my partner interacts with their friends on the phone. I actually overheard a conversation between my partner and their mother where they were discussing cheese. Cheese! Like the texture and flavor and it goes with stuff!
I realized that I have no idea how to white girl. I thought I could pass, but when you put me next to an actual upper-middle-class-raised white chick, I become that "one friend."
I recently met my partner’s friends at a gathering called a diaper party. Apparently this is a thing where you eat lake bugs (crawfish) and bring an expectant couple diapers. To paint you a full picture, these people (my partner included) were all part of the Greek system at UT Knoxville. What I thought was a cookout with diapers turned out to be a gingham nightmare.
There were no other black or brown people, no other non-Christians, and no other LGBT peeps. I was the “diversity” at this gathering, where I was also older than everyone by at least two years!
This party was taking place in someone's front yard. I can't stress that enough. They were playing things called “yard games.” Apparently there is a version of corn hole not played on the patio at Trax, where you bean bags through a hole in a board (so, close, but not what I was envisioning).
So I'm there playing yard games in jeans and tank top, and I realize the other girls there are in dresses, pearls and heels. Are you fluffy kitten me?! I'm sorry, I hadn't realized the Kentucky Derby was going to take place immediately following us drinking beer in someone's front yard like rednecks…
A few of them talked to me, but most didn't thank god! I have no idea what I'd even say. Maybe, “So yeah, I'm a recovered heroin addict, single mom, Jesus-killing, Arab gypsy who has prolly slept with more women than you. Nice backwards baseball cap!"
A lot of faking it later, I started to panic a little. Yeah, I could deal, but what happens when my partner is over whatever kind of phase dating someone like me is? I realized I was about to self-sabotage and find fault where there was none, rather than going with the flow and enjoying where this thing was.
My partner seemed to find the opinions of their friends, negative or positive, irrelevant to how they felt about me. I'm fairly certain this is due to the fact that we're both intellectuals who enjoy discussing string theory over dinner, so our dating pool was already pretty dried out.
This is also good because, while our personalities could not be better matched, from character and family values to intellect and dark humor, my partner and myself do not look like we go together at all. Literally, their parents said I don't look like the type of person they'd date but that we're a good match.
So strange as we look together, and great as the chemistry is, the true tale of the strength of a relationship is in how you communicate when you don't agree. We had a pretty big argument over a friend of theirs who takes issue with my religious beliefs and thinks that they make me "not a person you'd want to spend your life with." I'm quoting a text this dick sock sent my partner.
We had a disagreement about how my partner handled the issue, based in cultural differences, but we were able to talk through it. In the end, my partner said, "In this equation, that friend is expendable: you're not." This blew my mind.
Rather than beating me over the head with how they thought they were right, they were more than prepared to step back, be objective and see the situation from my perspective. I was able to do the same, and we compromised. WTF?! This was supposed to be the point at which we broke up, right?!
It was pointed out to me by—of course—Sully that this what love is supposed to look like. The person in the relationship with you is supposed care about your happiness, fulfillment and stability. It should be a two-way street.
You can’t have that with wobbly potatoes: they are insecure and emotionally immature. While those relationships left me with what I call dating PTSD, they taught me a lot. Like how to spot adult children. Just because someone has a job and pays their bills doesn't mean they're mature.
In a loving relationship, the things that make us different also make us great. We have a different life experiences, and we can learn from each other. I think that's what relationships are really about: growth, and working towards a common goal.
So here I am, with a partnership with mutual respect, with a person who refuses to leave my side, wants to work through issues rather than yell or give me the silent treatment or play any other kind of little kid games. It’s like an official adult relationship. GROSS! I hate me too right now.
Also, if any of my readers can volunteer to give me lessons in how to white girl, that'd be super helpful! Just post them to my Facebook, DM my Instagram, or Tweet me. I need to be able to fake home training, and I'm counting on classy O&AN readers to help me perfect this charade before the holidays.