Since I mentioned, in one of the threads that I met my current wife on the operating table, I have had literally hundreds of requests to relay the details.

I thought in the spirit of better APUG relations that perhaps you could also detail how you met your spouse. I hope it turns out somewhat better than the thread I started called “A Day in the Life” where I was held up to incredible ridicule.

Well here’s my story: The year was 1986, and as millions of Mexicans were streaming into the US from the southern border, keeping INS fairly busy, I slipped through a hole in the fence on the northern border. It was a fairly large hole that could accommodate my Trans AM (shut up, it was 1986). I made my way to Los Angeles and ended up in the Santa Monica area. This was my first time free and loose so to speak as I had been married since I was 18.

During the first four years, and I’m not trying to brag, I was fairly good dragging women home from bars. Although not as successful as my BI-sexual friend Pat, who claimed that being bisexual was better than being straight, because on any given night of trolling you had twice the chance of getting laid. Pat has since died of AIDS but that’s another story. Anyway I was doing okay and to not give you the exact number of conquests, suffice it to say that it was less than 47 and more than 45. Unfortunately after about number 18 it was starting to get old. I was to the point that if I could get them home without them throwing up all over the inside if my Jeep it was a considered a good night. So like I say I was on around number 18 and I had her up in my apartment and I was helping her get out of her Caftan or mu- mu or whatever it was. In the bar she said she was an actress and being drunk at the time I thought she looked pretty good. I guess I thought she was just using her acting skills and just acting fat. Anyway, I found the velcro at the back of the Caftan and yanked it down. All a sudden a gust of wind came through the window and it billowed out like the spinnaker on Americas One, or was it the New Zealand boat, I don’t remember. I should have known right then and there to call it a night. But I persevered on. I was finally able to get her over to the bed and toppled her over onto the 1000 thread count sheets and she grabbed me and jerked me on top of her. It was like the sensation you get when you fall face first onto one of the gel filled water beds. But finally I was able to search out the useful parts on her body and it was during my search that she said this to me. To me. She said that she thought that I was one of those people who looked better with their clothes on than off. I was stunned.

I vowed right then and there to make some changes in my life. I had a couple of hairy chested, gold chain adorned friends from the Red Onion in the Marina who suggested I do what they did. They gave me some date rape drugs to use. Said it worked every time. Now don’t get the wrong idea, I know, it’s not for everyone. I know it completely eliminates the “frisky factor” in your dates and once the drug kicks in they just lay there but remember I had been married for 12 years and this was something I was used to. For the last few years most of my lovemaking had taken place while my wife, Beelzebub, (I called her Plan “B” for short) was either reading a book or watching TV so this whole laying there thing was really no big deal.

But after a while, even this approach started to get stale and I started to meditate on finding the perfect one. I meditated to Buddha, Ra , prayed to Jesus and even got so desperate I prayed to Satan. Why would I pray to my ex- wife you ask? Truthfully, the answer was, I needed help.

On January 9, 1990 night I was in Pasadena (the home of smog and the Rose Parade) playing hockey one night. It was around midnight and being the best player on the team, I was skating to the bench after scoring another pretty goal and BAM. It hit me. My heart started beating out of control and I almost blacked out. I sat on the bench for a while and it persisted. I dragged myself to the dressing room and it took about 45 minutes to get changed. It took another 15 minutes to get to my Jeep, all the while barely staying conscious. I took off out of the parking lot and onto the freeway for the 15 mile or so trip home.

At the time I was living in a penthouse in Marina del Rey with a psycho nutball 55 year old woman who was my roommate. This lunatic’s idea of a good time was to park herself on the couch and drinking Martini’s and listen to that god awful sickly syrupy Guns n Roses at full volume. I don’t know how many times, at 4 in the morning I had to get up crawl over my unconscious date, wander into the living room to shut off the racket. Sure enough there she was passed out, drooling on the couch and I would have to shut off the CD player and frisbee the damn CD out the window. I don’t know why I didn’t cut out the middleman and fling her dumb ass out the window instead. But that’s another story.

So I finally get home and flop onto the bed and it wasn’t until 6 o’clock that my heart finally cut out and went back to normal. The next day I went to the doctor and he ran a bunch of tests for the next week and couldn’t find anything wrong. I guess it was probably my fault, because when I first went in, I didn’t notice that his sign said he was a gynecologist. The good news was, I found out I wasn’t pregnant and he did cure that nasty yeast infection I had.

A week later I went to a heart doctor and he, to his delight, after reading the EKG, announced that I had Wolff Parkinson White syndrome. He said they should do a “study” to determine exactly what was happening. So on February 9 1990 I showed up for the study. It consists of running catheters down from you neck and up from your groin to your heart and manipulating the electrical conductivity. Wonderful. So there I am, laying naked on the table and some sexually confused person named Nurse Butch arrives and announces that my groin needs to be shaved. She pulls out a rusty 14 inch combat knife that I guess she had left over from her days as a Navy Seal and proceeds to shave around the family jewels. I made of point of complimenting her on her eyes and trying to win her over so she wouldn’t slip into some PMS or combat flashback thing and with the slip of the knife, turn me into a sexually ambiguous person as well.

They finally start the study and there is Dr. Beeker and about 4 nurses floating around. He did a bunch of manipulating and asked me, did it feel like this. I’d say no. Hmmm. A few minutes he says, did it feel like this? No. More hmm, as they huddle around their machines. After about 3 hours, it kicked in. That’s it, I exclaimed. Whoa. That’s 320 beats a minute. You drove on the freeway with a heart rate of 320 beats a minute. You could have passed out and hit a guardrail or killed somebody. So Dr Beeker was tsk tsk tsking me and mumbling something like idiot and moron. Personally, I didn’t see what the big deal was. On any given night I was driving home completely liquored up and ready to pass out at any given time, and I always made it. I really didn’t see what all the racket was about. Then the stupid power went out and we had to go to standby generators. After that they couldn’t get my heart rate back to normal and Nurse Ratchet showed up with the paddles ready to shock the shit out of me. Luckily, though, it kicked out again. The study lasted 7 hours and the rest of the time I was in and out of consciousness due to the great drugs they were using. But when I awoke, my life was about to completely change.

I was still laying there but now there was this incredible creature, above me applying pressure to my groin to stop the bleeding where the catheter had been. Our eyes met and locked. Immediately music started to play and it all went into tunnel vision and soft focus. We were running towards each other arm outstretched, through a field of marijuana, me naked and her in her nurses outfit with the hat that looked like it came from the flying nun. It was beautiful, man.

It was at that moment that I made the fateful decision. I asked her out. No reply. So I asked her again. Again, no reply. She was obviously speechless. However, I found out later she was just ignoring me. Now I should mention that normally I’m “hung like a horse” but from this 7 hours of all this poking and prodding that I’d gone through, it was really more like an “innie” than an “outie”. This rather embarrassing condition could have influenced her and had some bearing on her decision to ignore me.

Afterwards I was wheeled into the recovery room and Dr Beeker came in and informed my what the deal was. With his best bedside manner he told me that I was curable, and they could do it without using open heart surgery. The procedure was pretty much the same as the “study” they just did. When he was done with his spiel to his surprise, I asked him about his nurse.

I finally got to talk to her and over the next couple of weeks we talked a lot on the phone. One night we even had phone sex until she asked me for my credit card number and I realized that I had dialed a 900 number by mistake.

Soon we were an “item” and I found out that Dr Beeker had never done an “ablation” (what the procedure was called) and I thought that he could perhaps practice on cadavers or someone else, but I was off limits. I found out that the best guy was in Oklahoma City (who would have thunk it). So me and the Mrs.(soon to be anyways) on July 30 went to the great state of Oklahoma for the cure. It all went perfectly and the 14 hour procedure was a success. Although it was a bit disconcerting to have everyone in the operation room wearing bib overalls, it felt like a scene from the Grapes of Wrath, but what the hell, when in Rome…

So here we are years later still walking hand in hand, both with huge smiles on our faces. Did I mention that I’m hung like a horse?

The moral to the story is always use a condom, or two, or sometimes a wetsuit because if you believe strongly enough, the “right one” will appear, and sometimes in the strangest places, and you want to be around long enough to find them.

Michael McBlane

Michael

I think it is time to get out and shoot. You seem bored.

Good story, though I could have done without the gel filled waterbed image:( That crossed the line.

Thanks Michael, that was easily the most romantic story I have ever heard. It gives us all hope!

And once again proves the old adage, "Love means never having to say 'Eeww, did I get any on ya? Sorry'."

I think this place is a family.

Michael, you should both write and teach.

ka

good one Michael

I'm totally bummed though. I spent over an hour writing my travails to being married. It took so long apug logged me out unbeknowst to me. When i hit sbmit i was directed to relog in and my novella went off to the ozone. So I spared everyone the tales of the Brianhead bunny, the bellhop, the blonde and butthead.

I met my wife in a chatroom on AOL.

I was an assistant manager for a womans shoestore, My wife was a part timer for the mens store of the same chain. Their store was down the mall about 8 stores. We were thrown together one night after work served some beer and everyone disappeared. She was 17, I was 19. It was freindship at first sight and love soon there after. We dated 1 1/2 years and have been married over 23 years now. Along the way we have travelled alot, Failed alot and succeeded alot. The biggest success is our freindship.

We were thrown together one night after work served some beer and everyone disappeared.


Is there _nothing_ that Beer can't do? :wub:

Which spouse and subsequent divorce of mine did you want to hear about? I've got two to choose from.

I am going to join Cheryl in conjuring up the tales of joys and sorrows since our experiences parallel.

Shauna and I were High School Sweethearts :X

met mine in a dirty book store downtown Ft Worth. She and a friend whom I knew were legal secretaries and were buying some dirty book for their boss who had forgotten secretaries day. Married 27 years.

lee\c

Well Michael your story is more of an R rated to XXX version than mine. Also Thank You for giving me the idea to write it else where then copy and paste.

I was in Denmark for Christmas my 15th year. Rather than spend the rest of the night sitting at a table filled with food talking and watching the adults drink themselves sillier, I opted to go for a walk in the mounting blizzard outside. The little town of Hovedgaard is rather small with maybe 1000 inhabitants. It was perfectly safe since most knew my uncle who was mayor at the time, had his brother staying with him. I was the crazy wild American daughter whose hair was longer than her skirts. These same skirts are no fun in a blizzard in a humid cold blizzardy country. I was minding myself, doing no harm to anyone. A snowball found its way to connect with my head. Now being a calm, sweet, shy, non combative type, I waited a full 2 seconds before turning on the boys who had made the mistake of laughing. In my best Nebraska farm girl pitching style (our team took state the last two years of High School) I peppered the group into mostly running in fear. One stubborn Dane refused to flee. He managed to almost keep up snowball for snowball with me. We declared a truce when he offered me hot chocolate. I didn’t know this meant taking me home to meet his parents. His parents as it turned out lived next door to my uncle. He had watched me several times on vacation, but had never dared talk to that American girl.

The hot chocolate was very good. In fact so good I had three cups full. I should have asked his mother what she put in it before I fell off my chair. The hot chocolate was liberally laced with aquavit. It took both him and his mother to help me back to my uncle’s house.

That summer I had to check him out again. This time I came home with a nice ½ carat Diamond on my hand. I did promise my parents I would finish 2 years of college before I got married.

My freshman year was spent at Ricks College. It’s a small MORMON college near Yellowstone Park. I avoided most the men there. They were of the returned missionary variety who would talk on incessantly about how wonderful they were. My roommates all loved the fathead patrol. There was this one guy though…

Being engaged and bored out of my mind. I was known for pulling off many practical jokes. One night I was hiding in the shadows of the second story balcony overlooking the entry way to my dorm. When a couple would come up to the front door, and the guy move in for the good night kiss, I let drop a water balloon. One guy managed to step back in time, having seen what I had done to others. His reward was to get the whole bucket dumped on him while he was doubled over laughing at me for missing. This started one of the most intense practical joke wars to ever hit that college. My poor dorm father was one of the local policemen. He got regular reports about me, but nothing they could definitely accuse me of. I still think unscrewing the shower head and filling it with tempera paint filled gelatin capsules was good. The added kicker was painting the soap bars with clear fingernail polish. My victim sported a nice dark complexion for about a week. This earned me a truce and another diamond ring.

I called #1 and told him the bad news. He said keep the ring. It was dutifully deposited in my jewelry case. Well engagement #2 lasted for a bit. We even made it to a week before the wedding. We were both at a Democratic Party fund raiser in Salt Lake City (yes there are democrats in Utah) when he made one comment too much. He told his friends with me standing right beside hi, “She would never leave me. She is better trained than a dog. I call and she comes running.” Well being the shy retiring, pliant, submissive, calm, serene, non combative type, I took a whole 5 seconds this time. I managed to dump a large pitcher full of Hawaiian punch all over him and his rented tux. I called a taxi and went home. Ring #2 was deposited next to ring #1. I felt I had earned it for putting up with a fathead in disguise.

I moved to Southern Utah to work at Zion National park. That summer I entered and Agnew was vice president. I came out of the canyon, and Ford was vice president. There is something refreshing to say for total isolation from the world. I liked it so transferred to Southern Utah State College. I ended up dating half the population of Southern Utah between the ages of 35 and 20. The other half was female. A few years passed and I graduated. I then went to work for my other uncle who owned Brianhead Ski Resort. In the summers I worked for his friend who owned Color Country Tours. I in essence got paid to play. I had a nice townhouse, a growing bank account and a fast new car. A Pontiac like Michael’s only the formula 400 version. My brother made a few modifications to it. It was faster than it looked. This I found out one night. Some new guy with a fast older Mustang dared to challenge me to a race. Well being the shy, retiring, calm, non competitive type, waited a whole 10 seconds before I asked when and where?

Southern Utah is known to have one HWY patrolman at night for the whole of Iron County. We started our race at Summit Utah on I-15. I made it the eleven miles to Cedar City in well under 5 minutes. When he finally came crawling into town He informed me that I had pegged his speedometer at 160 and I was still pulling away from him. My speedometer only went to 110. Well I think it was more my car, but never the less this soon garnered me ring #3. Which a year later joined rings 1 and 2 in the jewelry box. I can’t understand why he was so upset when I dated in a group while he was gone for the summer to earn money. Oh well.

#4 was from a large family. 17 kids in the family all single births and no adoptions. His parents wanted at least 2 sons. He was number 11 and his brother was number 17. This engagement lasted until he mentioned he wanted a large family. I literally ran in terror. Ring 4 joined the others.

#5 was via Israel. I was taking out a 5 day tour of the Southwest and one of the tourists on board the bus was a very nice looking man from Haifa Israel. He stayed the next few months in Cedar City to be near me. I received ring #5 just before he returned to finish out his doctorate in Israel. He was going to send for me once his studies were over.

I came home one night later than normal form the ski resort. Waiting in front of my place was a strange yellow Volkswagen. Out popped a former bellhop from Bryce Canyon. Now to explain, when I worked in the summers I met all the employees at 4he various national parks. He was one of the freeloading groups that would show up at my place and sleep on my living room floor to save money while they went skiing. Well I was tired, and in no mood to be entertaining. I wanted a nice bath and bed to myself, with no visitors. They bribed me with a Pizza dinner. Well the trio that was to stay at my place consisted of the bellhop, the blonde, and the butthead. The butthead started shortly after he emerged from the car ranting about how I had not been there to greet them when they had arrived. He further kept up his verbal assault to me when I refused to let them have access to the spare bedroom upstairs. Nothing was good enough for him. He ranted to the Pizza place. He ranted while we waited for the Pizza. Finally I being the sweet shy retiring quiet person that I am, started in my own verbal assault. After finding himself talked into a corner literally, he choose to try and apologize. He stuck out his hand to shake, but refused to shake my hand. It could have been that my hand was occupied with a slice of Pizza at the time. After dinner, butthead had not learned his lesson yet. He continued to harangue me. It was at Albertsons’ market, where the bellhop had disappeared the blonde was trailing behind me ( I hadn’t paid him any attention whatsoever at this point) and butthead was being annoying like some little gnat you just want to squash into goo. I being the shy, retiring, sweet, calm, saintly Mormon girl that I am, grabbed the blonde, pushed him forcibly up against the cheese section of the market and laid the biggest wettest long passionate kiss I could muster while mad. Neither guy spoke when I walked off saying, “butthead that is what you get if you’re nice to me.”

The next day I told Butthead as I was leaving that the girls at Brianhead didn’t like the looks of the guys in sunglasses. They hated the raccoon effect it left. It worked and that night butthead had sun burnt his eyes while trying to pick up every girl he met. To digress a bit I was in the ski rental shop when the blonde and bellhop came in. My heart id a jump and I felt light headed, I thought to myself as I looked for what was really the first time at the blonde, “Damn here I go again.”

That was Saturday, the first day of the Easter weekend. My job that weekend was to be the Brianhead bunny in full rabbit costume. I was to hand out flowers to the ladies, candy to the kids, and kiss the guys. My boss kept track of how I was doing by how much of my make up (red on my nose0 had rubbed off onto the guys. Most the time I was racing around the area on the resorts fastest snowmobile. Did I say I loved my jobs? At lunch time I was doing shuttle duty for the employee who had lunch break. The blonde sat up front in the truck with me. Its boring work to shuttle the people from one lift to the next.

The parking lots had one lane of traffic winding through them. This is to maximize the parking spaces. One jerk decided to park his tuck right in the flow of traffic and go get a beer. I shouted at him to move it, but He shouted back, “later!” Well being the shy retiring calm non aggressive amicable person that I am, I waited a full 30 seconds while I thought. I quickly left the truck went to his truck saw the keys in the ignition, and smiled. I got in and drove the small truck into a snow ditch and buried it past the floor boards. The jerk came running at me shouting, “Don’t you even dare!” I returned, “I already did!” Now you have to visualize this I was in a full rabbit suit, standing 5’8” and weighing in at 130 pounds. He was a good 6’4” and weighing a whole lot more than me. He swung, I grabbed it and twisted. He went down, and I walked over not breaking stride. The lift operators and ticket people laughed and cheered. The blonde who saw the whole thing had enough time to think about helping me before he saw the man writhing in pain on the snow. It was at this time he decided he wanted to marry me. He just had to figure out how to ask me.

The next day the jerk showed up at the Resort and yelled at my Uncle about suing him over one of his employees assaulting him. He waved his arm now in a large cast to emphasize his point. My uncle responded with the fact that he had swung at me first and I exercised self defense. “You’re just lucky she didn’t break your neck.” Such were my days at the ski resort.

Having met the blonde on April 9th, I decided to take a second look. I went to Southern California to spend a week before I had to start my tour company job, with my Aunt. Well it being May 10th and just the right time of year without all the tourists, we talked the bellhop into joining us and the tree of us traveled on to Lake Powell to go water skiing. The weather didn’t cooperate; it rained and in general was cold and yucky. The bellhop struck out trying to pick up any girl, and proceed to get drunk at one of the bars. The blonde and I stayed at the campsite where, he never asked, and I never said yes. The next Day we picked out ring #6. A few days later he and the bellhop had to return to work in Southern Cal.

June came and the blonde drove up to visit. My boss at the tour company said there was a space for him on the tour I had to take out in two days. So not thinking much, we drove to Vegas the next day decided the wedding chapels were too expensive, and opted for a justice of the peace. The license was $20 and the JP was $25. I had coupons for free big Mac’s and he sprung for large fries and two large drinks. The next day we were on the road taking a tour out while I worked on my honeymoon. Best tips I ever made. All the people on the tour sent wedding gifts once they got home. It took less than 2 ½ months from meeting to marriage. Dan (the blonde has since traded up my diamond and now I have a 2 carat VVS 1 G color perfect cut diamond in platinum prongs on an 18K gold setting.

Since Michael had a moral to his tale, so do I. Diamonds are a great investment if you don’t buy them yourself!

My fiancee and I met whilst wiping the bottoms of the infirm (with dignity and respect of course).

We were thrown together one night after work served some beer and everyone disappeared.


Is there _nothing_ that Beer can't do? :wub:

No.

I had been invited to a friend's house (more accurately my best friend's girl friend's house - he was there) and on the bus ride, I sat in one of those banks of seats that parallels the axis of the bus. Directly across from me, there was a *fascinating* girl - I remember she was wearing purple. It was one of those awkward situations - I couln't keep my eyes off her, and I HAD to, to avoid embarrasment - and getting hit.

After squrirming for a few miles, I reached my stop. It happened to be her stop as well. She had been invited to the same house- they had been "fixing me up", without telling me - or her - probably because I had just been dumped by another girl - very *painfully* and abruptly - dumped.

She had been trying not to look at me ...

That was a while ago. Our Fiftieth wedding anniversary will be in April.

I've been thinking - maybe a little automobile trip to this roadside restaurant in Maine....

Aggie, after your story, I feel very inadequate as an author, but here goes anyway.

The absolute first time I met the Mate was when she was 5 and I was 7. I knew then that there was some sort of chemistry going on, but I thought it was just something I ate. We had “tea party: with her stuffed animals on the back porch of the Methodist parsonage where she lived with her foster parents (It has taken me years to get her into the more Anglican ways of thought). Years passed as she and her foster parents moved about and I dated essentially every girl in three towns near my home town (including her two sisters who still lived with their real parents).

In ’53 she “came home”. Now the feelings were defined. The year the Corvette was introduced was prom year. I managed to convince the local Chevy storeowner that it would be great advertisement if I used his demo for the prom. He finally acquiesced making me promise not to drive over 50 mph (right!) Talk about picking up babes!!! When it was the Mate’s prom year, I was in college and at finals, so she (queen, no less) attended with someone else. Me worry? Are you kidding – with her Southern Methodist upbringing? Naw….

Entering the Army as a 2nd Lt. We dated whenever we could but late in 1959, we both had enough waiting around and we did the wedding thing. I think she would have liked a military wedding ala Naval Academy with swords et c. but I thought that way over the top (still do) so it was small but churchly. Then back to active duty as CO of an Army boat company (had been to S.E. Asia earlier as a helo pilot and witnessed the beginning of you-know-what, had mechanical failure in what turns out to be Cambodia, injured shoulder and back and was removed from flying status). Rubbing elbows with the Navy gave the opportunity for transfer to the nuclear part (a few good men with brains but no sense of self-preservation). The M.S.Ch.E. with N.E. minor helped. (PhD much later – much, much later.)

The mate put up with this lifestyle magnificently. She got to move about the world as she did in her early life, I guess. It didn’t agree with me so much so in circa 1966, I transferred to the Navy R&D lab at Annapolis, where we’ve been ever since.

Throughout all of this I dabbled about in photography (the military had some pretty impressive stuff) but did not have deep involvement until the kids left us with an empty house. It ain’t empty no more – in fact we have to look for more storage space. They were good years and even with advancing arthritis and hair loss (and vision, and hearing) we have a good time together.

Long live APUG!

i met my wife when i was working at a coffeeshop. she was my supervisor.

i met my wife when i was working at a coffeeshop. she was my supervisor.

;) probably still is.

I met my wife when I went south to play in her then husband's band I stayed 3 weeks. Marjorie left a few months later and we've been together for 34 years, 22 of them married.

I met my wife while dating her (former) best friend. It'll be 25 years this May.

Well the first marriage pretty much sucked (we were both to young), except for 3 great kids (twin girls and one boy).

Met my current wife, when my ex sister-in-law came to town, they use to be room mates while in college. Next think I know, life is changing and we will have been 21 years this June. Haven't looked back..

My story is similar to yours Mike, except my current lady and I are getting ready to tie the knot this May. She's so much better than anyone else I've met it's not even funny. Hopefully this one will last way past geezeritis.

First one at art school playing "musical girlfriends," (last one there at graduation wins!) where randomly crazy and impulsive behavior is labelled "passionate and free" instead of "personality disorder." Ooops.

Later, as a single fulltime dad with two small children, I met Courtney through a mutual friend -- she started working in another department at my studio, and as time passed we became friends "and stuff." Amazingly she liked me and the kids too and she taught us all volumes about how this love stuff was supposed to work.[list:79690e5b04][list:79690e5b04][list:79690e5b04]http://www.botzilla.com/extra/JBooth106.jpg[/list:u:79690e5b04][/list:u:79690e5b04][/list:u:79690e5b04] The two different experiences are so disparate it's funny that they can even happen to the same person.

BTW, Good one, Bruce!