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Never Underestimate A Second Date

Date: September 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Who knows how long I’ve loved you, you know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will.” (The Beatles)

Believe it or not, despite a declaration like that, things continued as they had before. (One benefit of dating a queen of denial, I guess!) However, we went from seeing each other once a week, to seeing each other 2-3 times each week, depending on our schedules. Each time he took me home, Bachelor #5 said, “I would marry you tomorrow if you were willing. But no pressure, I can wait as long as it takes you to decide.”

I still wasn’t sure he got it, that he really realized what he was saying or that I understood what he was saying! I wasn’t even thinking along those lines, so I took him at his word and didn’t allow myself to feel any pressure. But one night, when I joked that he moved really fast to say something like that within a week of deciding he was interested in me and taking things to a new level, he disagreed. He said it hadn’t been “fast” at all. When I asked him how he could possibly think that, he told me he had known how he felt and what he wanted for a long time. “How long?” I asked. He replied, “Our second date.”

Our SECOND date?

And the entire time we’d dated, I’d believed he was simply trying to mentor and befriend a newly-divorced single mom! I’d never even thought he was interested in me! I couldn’t believe it. I asked him how he’d pulled that off. He said, “I’ve told you all along I have more self-control than you can imagine. Besides, what would you have done if I had told you how I felt and what I thought?”

I replied, “Run the other way!”

He nodded his head in agreement and said, “Exactly!”

It turned out to be true after all: men always have a plan. (Gee, who told me that? My brilliant Psychology degree male co-worker…and I had laughed at him, the perceptive and wise man who shared that vital bit of information with me!)

But this time, I was too shocked to laugh.

I’d also learned a very important life lesson, unexpected or otherwise: never underestimate men! You see, “There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.” (Will Rogers)

However they get it, they get it…and I’d been the last one to know.

A Serenade

Date: August 29, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Opera is where a guy gets stabbed in the back, and instead of dying, he sings.” (Robert Benchley)

Or serenades the girl. A little background:

My parents met and fell in love when they were 15 years old, although they fell in and out of love with several other people between that time and the day they married, as 25 year olds, on December 21, 1962. My mom raised my sisters and I on stories of her childhood like going to a dance with my dad and for their first date, my dad and another boy fist-fighting afterward over who got to take my mom home, and my mom getting so disgusted by the whole thing that she left and walked herself home while the boys fought!

My mom starring in theatrical productions like “Brigadoon,” “Oklahoma,” and others and having all kinds of adventures while performing–kissing cute boys who were the male leads, falling off the stage in the middle of a performance with her skirt and slips falling over her head showing her panties to the entire audience–and having to get back up on stage and finish the performance. (Maybe that’s why I just can’t quit and give up despite crime, divorce, betrayal, public humiliation, dating, the singles scene the second time around, and everything else that accompanies an unexpected life.)

And about the night my dad’s friend drove up and down the street in front of her house in his convertible while my dad serenaded her with his saxophone. THAT thrilled me! (Of course, it probably would have been more thrilling for my mom if she hadn’t had another date sitting in her living room during the serenade!) But I always loved that story. However, that took place in the 1950s, I grew up in the 80s, and things like that didn’t happen in “Pretty In Pink,” “Sixteen Candles,” and “Some Kind of Wonderful.”

Eventually I married a man who was not musically inclined and I forgot about serenades. I didn’t remember how much I’d admired my dad’s musical performance to the girl he loved and I forgot that I had ever dreamed teenage girl dreams of experiencing that myself, especially after enduring the events of 2009 and ending up unexpectedly single. (I had a lot of other things on my mind!)

So the next week when Bachelor #5 picked me up (only this time, HE was sick and on antibiotics!) I cringed when he announced he was taking me to his house to play the piano and sing for me. I panicked. I’ve always considered myself fairly optimistic, but I wasn’t thinking positive thoughts about this unexpected performance! I just knew it was going to be mediocre at best, that the whole thing was going to be corny, and that I was going to have to come up with something complimentary to say afterward.

But I didn’t let on to any of that. I sat where he directed me to and braced myself for his performance. I couldn’t look at him. I could only look at the floor and prepare to endure. And then he started to play. He began to sing.

It’s a good thing I’d braced myself for his performance because I probably would have fallen off the couch if I hadn’t! He was unexpectedly good; a performer and entertainer. And although I hadn’t heard the song before and wasn’t sure if it was a song he sang to all women he dated, I even liked his song choice. When it ended, I didn’t know what to say. I was stunned. Speechless.

He stood up to take me home and I felt like I should say something, but I didn’t know what to say. I told him how good he was, how much I had enjoyed it and I thanked him for sharing his talent with me. Compared to how I’d imagined the whole experience would be, I felt like a gushing idiot. So then I tried to lighten things up by joking that I didn’t believe I’d ever been sung to by a man before.

He didn’t bat an eye as he replied, “I’m glad you liked it. But just so you know, that’s not all I would have done if I weren’t on antibiotics!”

And he took me home.

“When you’re safe at home you wish you were having an adventure; when you’re having an adventure you wish you were safe at home.” (Thornton Wilder)

Six Degrees

Date: August 18, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I had an experience last week that reminded me of a unique “phenomenon.” Six degrees of separation. Ever heard of it?

“Six degrees of separation” (also known as the “Human Web”) refers to the idea that everyone is at most six steps away from any other person on Earth, so that a chain of ‘a friend of a friend’ statements can be made to connect any two people in six steps or fewer.” (Wikipedia)

I’d heard of this “phenomenon” prior to entering my unexpected life, but it has proven true over and over again as I’ve lived it.

Several months ago, a co-worker of mine was curious about a bachelor I was dating, input the bachelor’s name into Facebook, and up popped a mutual friend my co-worker and the bachelor had! What is that? Two degrees of separation. My co-worker joked, “Should I ‘friend’ the man you’re dating? Wouldn’t THAT be funny?”

Then I met my birth mother only to discover her best friend and college roommate was a friend of mine in Colorado! One degree of separation.

Then last week at my company’s summer party, the COO’s wife introduced herself to me and told me we have a mutual friend. She said her cousin, one of her closest friends, is a friend of mine from Colorado. (And although she was kind enough not to mention it, her cousin is also a victim of my former spouse.)

I hadn’t heard from my friend since the tragic revelations last year, so I was surprised when the COO’s wife told me she had a message for me from her. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe; I didn’t dare breathe. I felt sick. I thought, “Is this how the rest of my life will be? No matter where I go, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much I rebuild my life, am I never going to be free from the tentacles of my former spouse and the crimes he committed?”

I wondered how I was going to be able to endure it. For the rest of my life. I braced myself for the “message.” I’ve received enough of those to worry it wasn’t going to be a positive experience for me. Then I wondered if I was about to be suddenly thrust onto a path that was the beginning of the end to losing my job. (A little paranoid on my part. O.k., a lot paranoid. But such are the scars of blissfully living your life until the day you find out it has all been a lie, that you are left with nothing and are alone to provide for and raise your children.)

Shame on me for thinking that.

Instead, the message was, “She wants you to know she loves you, she LOVES you, she loves you…” and she hugged me.

I honestly don’t know what the rest of the message was, because as soon as I heard that first part, I couldn’t hear anything else. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I was overwhelmed, again, at the kindness and goodness of people. And I was chatting with the cousin and friend of one of them.

It’s in the most unexpected places and manifests itself in the most unexpected moments, but it’s there. And I’m so grateful that it is. Another person betrayed by my former husband and yet, instead of reacting with hatred and venom, she has chosen another course. Maybe a harder path in some ways (it seems like the natural inclination might be that it’s easier to give in to anger and hatred and retaliate “an eye for an eye” rather than respond with forgiveness) but such goodness is a better way to live, for sure.

She may have lost her money, but she didn’t lose what matters most; what is truly of value. Ponzi scheme or not, poor economy notwithstanding, “Goodness is the only investment that never fails.” (Henry David Thoreau)

There may be “six degrees of separation” (or less!) to any other person on earth. But I believe there is even less than that to get to the heart of the goodness of others. And that inspires me.

“It is not what they profess but what they practice that makes them good.” (Greek Proverb)

So there I sat, tears streaming down my cheeks at a company party at a park in the summertime in Utah. Struck, not for the first time, by the impact our choices have on others. Touched by the effect one woman’s choice had on me. And awed by the strength, courage and example of one who practices what she has professed to be.

It made a difference in my life. At my company picnic. I never expected that.

MAC Lipstick And One Water Ski

Date: August 16, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Our relationship continues.

Every time we talk, text or see each other, she continues be so friendly, kind, patient and loving. She hugs me. She doesn’t miss a chance to express her love and gratitude for me. She shares her perspective and experience with me. She isn’t afraid to tell me, honestly, what she thinks. She is accepting of everyone. She is beautiful inside and out. She is a positive force for good in the world, in my life and for my children.

We’re getting to know each other. We even had our first “sleep over” last month, just she and I–going to dinner, soaking in a hot mineral tub at The Homestead and chatting about anything and everything until late at night.

My children are getting to know her and getting used to her. The first time they met her, they stared at her. A lot. I couldn’t figure out what their problem was, but every time I’d look at my two oldest children, they’d be raising their eyebrows at each other or laughing. On the way home, I asked them what was so funny.

My oldest son said, “Mom, it’s like you two are the SAME person! You do EVERYTHING alike. It’s uncanny!” And he listed the many similarities he had observed in the short time he’d spent with her–right down to the way we both speak, to the way we get side-tracked in a conversation, to the way we talk with our hands (even on the phone), to the way we both have to have lipstick on all of the time, to the way we apply our lipstick in the same way,multi-tasking, while we drive a car! (To the fact that both of us carry and use MAC lipstick without the lids–we lose them.)

“I drive with my knees. Otherwise, how can I put on my lipstick and talk on my phone?” (Sharon Stone)

Although we have our differences.

My birth mother took me out in her boat the other weekend. She is 66 years old now, still really trim and very fit and athletic. She easily got up on one ski (something I’ve never been able to do), skied all around the reservoir (I’ve never been able to do that–I crash before I make it that far!), and then took one foot out of the ski so she could do stunt poses while the boat towed her. (Something I’ve never thought to do and wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to!)

When she held on to the tow rope with her toes to free her hands so she could do even bigger stunt poses, I had to shake my head in awe. I thought everyone had been joking when they told me she’d water ski with her toes given the chance! Nope.

Clearly, I got ripped off in the genetics of water skiing department!

But that’s ok. She has two skis in her boat. And apparently, I’ll be the only one using two skis as I maintain a death grip on the tow rope…with BOTH hands.

“How about that? That squirrel can water ski.” (Ron Burgundy aka. Will Ferrell, “Anchorman“)

The Next Step

Date: August 8, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Do nothing in haste, look well to each step, and from the beginning think what may be the end.” (Edward Whymper)

It’s about time I stop to think about the above, huh?

I had acted in haste, I hadn’t considered any step beyond sending a message, and I certainly hadn’t thought what the end may be! I couldn’t quite take the next step and call, so I emailed back, shared a little bit more about me and my life, and gave her my phone number.

She called me the very next morning.

Her voice was kind, gentle and friendly. She apologized for not getting back to me earlier; she said she was never on Facebook, that her friend had put her on it, and she’d had QUITE a welcome surprise when she finally did get on it!

One of the first sentences she uttered was, “I want you to know, I didn’t have a choice regarding placing you for adoption.”

I assured her I was grateful she had and I appreciated what she had done for me. I told her I had been blessed with wonderful parents and a very full and amazing life with every opportunity, and more, that anyone could have ever wanted.

She told me the circumstances of my birth. She told me about my biological father. She told me some of my medical history. She told me she loved me.

The whole thing could not have been more unexpected or more positive or a better experience for me. I’m so glad she called!

It was an unexpected phone call that changed my completely unexpected life.

“If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?” (Stephen Levine)

The wait was over.

Something I Haven’t Gotten Used To

Date: July 11, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I’m single because I was born that way.” (Mae West)

One of my fears as a single woman is that I will eventually get used to being single. That I will forget how much I loved being married, that someday I’ll forget what at this point I still remember I’m missing, and instead, embrace my absolute freedom, abandon the dream of love and remarriage and remain alone the rest of my life.

I hope I don’t get too comfortable living the single life. In fact, I hope I never get used to it. I still believe in marriage and hope remarriage is in my future.

Another thing I haven’t gotten used to, and don’t know that I’ll ever get used to, is being single at singles functions; especially singles dances.

Let me share the experience for those blessed with marriage who may have missed out on the experience of a singles dance.

Every time I walk through the door I wonder how it is that I have come to be there. How my life is such that I am in the position to be qualified to attend. That the people there are my “peeps,” all of us thrown together by virtue of divorce, failed marriage, death or lost opportunities in love.

Not exactly the commonality I choose to embrace. I have to have more in common with people than that! But such is my lot. So occasionally, I dance to it.

Then I think, “I don’t belong here.” Quickly followed by, “Boy, there’s a lot of heartache in this room!” as I survey the sad scene and unique assortment of people gathered because they’re single and lonely. (At least I assume that’s why they go to those. It’s the only reason I have!)

Even entering the door causes me to cringe.

There I am, 42 years old, being greeted by married couple chaperones as I pay my $4 fee. They stamp my hand. (Crazy, but the hand stamp sort of makes me feel like a teenager again. That’s the last time I remember going to a dance and getting hand stamped–aside from going to Chuck E. Cheese with my children!)

I can’t help but notice the warning sign posted prominently at the entrance: All divorces MUST be final! (What isn’t posted, is that sometimes women are charged a higher admission fee than men. Bummer for single mothers who are the sole parent and support of their four children. But I guess they do it to encourage men to attend? Or maybe there is a shortage of men–even more depressing for a single woman.)

“What in the world am I doing here?” I wonder. I try to hide my mortification that this is one of my few group social opportunities. “Read the sign, Andrea, and then do what you came for: dance.” I tell myself.

“Let us read and let us dance – two amusements that will never do any harm to the world.” (Voltaire)

I guess.

I walk through the door and continue on into the unknown darkness of the dance floor. As I enter the dance space, I am struck by the unique collection of dance attendees. Sort of reminds me of my favorite See’s candy assortment: Nuts and Chews. An apt description, in many ways, of singles dances!

Here are a few I’ve seen.

*The following are REAL people (although names have not been used to protect their innocence–and because I don’t know their names!)

“Mr. Saturday Night Fever.” He’s 50-something, with a head of thinning, light brown hair, worn long and “feathered,” and looking like something right out of the 1970s!

“Don’t touch the hair!” (Saturday Night Fever)

And to every dance he wears his fitted, WHITE polyester pants, flared at the bottom–apparently all the better to bust those disco moves in! And what ensemble would be complete without ankle boots? Don’t worry, he’s got ‘em!

“Can you dig it? I knew that you could!” (Saturday Night Fever)

Miss Ballroom. She always wears heels and a dress and spends the evening on the fringes of the dance floor, dipping left and right, twirling and dancing with a purpose: to turn every song, from every decade and genre, into a ballroom dance number. And she succeeds. But the thing I most remember about her, besides her dance moves, is her LONG hair (several feet long–reaching to just above her knees), swept back with a big bow right out of the 1980s.

“Long, beautiful, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen… I adore hair!” (James Rado and Gerome Ragni, Hair)

The only thing I haven’t figured out is how she doesn’t trip over her LONG hair as she sweeps around the dance floor!

The Deaf/Mute Man. He is quiet but undeterred from the challenge of not being able to hear or communicate. He asked me to dance, once, by pointing to himself, then to me, then to the dance floor (kind of like the Saturday Night Live club scene spoofs with Will Farrell and Chris Kattan.) I got the message. I thought he was just being “cool.” We headed out onto the dance floor.

He smiled and nodded at me the first few seconds the music played and as we danced, so it wasn’t until he whipped out a pad of paper and pen in the middle of our song that I realized he couldn’t speak. He wrote his name on the paper to introduce himself. Then he motioned to me and handed me his pen and paper. I stopped dancing and wrote my name for him. He smiled, nodded his head, shook my hand, and continued dancing.

Several beats later he stopped dancing, took out his wallet and showed me his driver’s license and employee card from his job; to show me where he lived, that he was gainfully employed and what he did for a living.

A little while later he did the Scout salute and pointed to himself to let me know he was an Eagle Scout. And before the song was over, in an unforgettable display, he showed me aspects of his religion so I would know of his faith as well!

Dancing with him was a memory. The thing I remember most about him is that he smiled non-stop, and every few seconds or so, would give me a two thumbs up signal with a big smile. (I don’t know if he was telling me he was having fun or that I was doing a good job dancing, but it’s hard not to feel uplifted when someone expresses enjoyment of your company and makes you think you’re doing a good job!) A good example for all of the rest of us, especially those in the throes of an unexpected life!

“I can not remember even thinking that I was deaf when I was dancing.” (Stephanie Beacham)

Mr. Cat in The Hat. Picture a real life version of Dr. Seuss’s unforgettable cat man illustration and you will have seen this singles dance participant. His thin, dark, hair starts way back on his head. His expression is droll; his eyelids are “sleepy” looking. And his mustache calls to mind cat whiskers. Reminiscent of the cat’s bow tie, he always wears a red shirt. But unlike the misadventures the real cat provides, Mr. Cat in The Hat is quiet and sticks to dancing. He’s a nice man–I’ve danced with him once when he asked me. I just couldn’t help but notice his resemblance to someone famous…

“We looked! Then we saw him step in on the mat! We looked! And we saw him! The Cat in the Hat!” (Dr. Seuss)

The Cruiser.I haven’t figured this guy out. He is nice looking and dresses normally. But all he does is circle the dance floor, walking around the fringe of dancers. He stares at you as he approaches, looks you right in the eye as he walks by, yet doesn’t make contact beyond that. In fact, I’ve never seen him dance. I’m not sure who, or what, he is looking for. But apparently he hasn’t found it yet!

“Folks, we have reached our cruising altitude now, so I am going to switch the seat belt sign off. Feel free to move about as you wish…”

The Robot.I am not making this up. There is a 40-something man at the singles dances who dances like a robot (everyone from the 1980s will know the moves I’m talking about!) to EVERY SINGLE song. I even saw him do a variation of it on a slow song.

“The top two awards don’t even go to the robots.” (Chuck Gosdzinski)

The Jogger.This slight-of-build man gets your heart rate up just watching him on the dance floor. His dance moves seriously consist of a slow jog, using arms and legs, keeping his head up and smiling the entire time! Not quite Richard Simmons-esque, but quite unlike any dance move I’ve ever seen before! No wonder he has the build of a distance runner–he never stops running, except maybe to walk! (I’ve only seen him dance.)

“Jogging is very beneficial. It’s good for your legs and your feet. It’s also very good for the ground. It makes it feel needed.” (Charles Schulz, Peanuts)

There are a lot of gray-haired people at the dances, too, that have to be in their 60s-80s. Although it strikes me a little bit funny to see them out on the dance floor dancing to Beyonce and The Black-eyed Peas! (Singles dances play an occasional song by Stevie Wonder, Earth, Wind and Fire, or a country song, although the playlist is unexpectedly modern. I don’t know how everyone else feels, but I sort of wish it was more 70s and 80s music. In my opinion, it might make all of the dancers look a bit less “out of place” if we weren’t dancing to the same music today’s teenagers listen to!)

But I admire the seniors for coming and dancing to music that can’t be as good as what they enjoyed in the 1950s and 1960s. They’re good sports! And they totally disprove the old quip that, “An old cat will not learn how to dance.” (Moroccan Proverb) You should see some of them attempt to bust modern moves! I give them an A+ for enthusiasm AND effort!

I also haven’t gotten used to some of the singles dance “traditions.” Here are a few I’ve observed, although I have to confess, I have not participated in any of them. I sit on the side and watch.

Speed Dance. I don’t know the real name for this, but I assume it’s a dance version of speed dating. The men and women form a huge circle around the entire dance floor, everyone with a partner if they have one. The song begins, the dancers do a specific set of dance steps together for about 8 counts, end with a turn, take a step to the side and repeat the same thing with the new partner they’ve moved to. If you don’t have a partner for the count of 8, you stand there or move to the rhythm, and never dispair–one will come to you within the next measure or two!

“The Single Lady” Dance. When the D.J. play’s Beyonce’s “All The Single Ladies” song, all of the women form a large circle around the dance floor and take turns, one at a time, dancing into the center and doing their own moves for a few beats, before returning to the outside of the circle to watch other single women enter the center and dance. They aren’t the only ones watching, though. All of the single men are gathered around behind them clapping and enjoying the performance.

All I can say is, “Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh…” and anxiously wait for the song to be over and the humiliation to end. I have to say the women dancing don’t appear to be humiliated (they look like they’re having a good time.) It’s my problem. I feel humiliated on their behalf!

Has it all REALLY come to that?

“It’s really hard to walk in a single woman’s shoes — that’s why you sometimes need really special shoes!”
(Sex and the City)

Line Dancing.Singles dances have about 12 different line dances they do for specific songs. And they ALL get out and do them!

Although I am grateful single people have a place to go for social experiences and to relieve some of the loneliness, the one thought I have had, each and every time I’ve gone to a singles function is this: “There is NO WAY anyone in this room, including myself, is ever getting married!”

I sure hope I’m wrong.

Because I just can’t used to that, either.

Bachelor #8: The Stalker

Date: June 28, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Back in my old life, in Colorado as the stay-at-home mother of four children and the wife of a respected investment advisor, religious leader and upstanding member of the community, married for 20 years, etc…I got a kick out a song by Goldfinger. I think it was called “Stalker.”

My teenage son introduced it to me. He used to play it for me, we’d sing along with it in the car, laugh and dance to it in the kitchen, and were entertained by the lyrics every time we heard them.

“Uh-oh-oh she’s following me. Uh-oh-oh she’s out of her tree.Uh-oh-oh she’s off of her rocker. I wanna marry my stalker.”

I just never expected my spouse would one day reveal to me that he had been running a Ponzi scheme for most of our marriage, that he was heading to prison and that I would be left alone to raise our four children. I never expected my unexpected life. And I certainly NEVER expected to one day have my own stalker.

Bachelor #8.

He was probably the only true bachelor I’ve dated. He was 46 years old and had never been married. He also earned the well-deserved title of Stalker, according to my friends, family and children.

“A stalker will look for any kind of attention, positive or negative. A vast majority of them don’t see themselves as stalkers.”~ Jill McArthur

I met him online.

I should have known his type–I saw him looking at me, or my profile online, 30-50 times over the course of several weeks yet he never contacted me. Not one word. I couldn’t figure out why some random stranger would look at my picture or information so frequently. I finally figured it out, though. I think that’s what they call online stalking! Lol.

Eventually, he contacted me. Called me. Asked me to dinner. We met at a restaurant and I confess, when I finally met him in person, I asked him about his propensity to view photos and profiles so often for so long yet never contact the people he was viewing. He told me he was “just bored.”

I guess it’s true: “A vast majority of them don’t see themselves as stalkers.”

After we were seated on our first date, we started comparing notes and realized we’d lived at the same apartment complex while attending the same university. I’d even worked in the office of the apartment complex and had taken his rent! We remembered a lot of the same people. It was 20 years later, so his face wasn’t familiar to me, but I knew who his roommates had been. We had 20 years of catching up to do.

Instead, he looked right at me and said, “I know EXACTLY who you are!”

Chilling. Even, or especially from, a stalker.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I had distanced myself from every part of my old life. I had even moved to a new state where I didn’t know anyone. I lived quietly, under the radar, intentionally. I was trying to make a fresh start for my children and myself, far removed from the taint of a former family member accused of bilking clients out of millions of dollars through his Ponzi scheme. And in that moment I felt it was all for naught.

In my new city, in my new state, living my new life, I met a random “stranger” and my cover was blown.

Bachelor #8 had known my ex-husband and had been on business in Denver, CO, when news of Shawn Merriman’s Ponzi scheme and his criminal behavior broke and our assets were seized. Bachelor #8 had watched it all on the news. He put the details together while sitting in the restaurant with me.

He had a lot of questions. He grilled me about the Ponzi scheme, about how I could not have known what was going on, about my 20-year marriage, and appeared very skeptical of every answer I gave. It felt like Bachelor #8 was “good cop” AND “bad cop,” when all I was looking for was a social experience!

His side of the conversation consisted of comments about how while I had been married for 20 years, he had been doing the very same thing we were doing that night over and over again for the same amount of time. He told me he was sick of dating, tired of first dates, sick of getting to know new people, uninterested in the lives and stories of others, that everyone was the same and had the same story (I begged to differ on that one–I do not believe every single woman has an experience and a story like mine, but that’s just my opinion!) and he abhorred all of the “game playing” that was dating.

I couldn’t figure out why he had asked me out! And why he sat there, telling his date, me, that he hated what we were doing, didn’t want to get to know me, that he had heard everything I was going to say already before, and that he didn’t care about the details of my life.

It was the craziest first date I’ve ever been on, and all quite unexpected as a 42-year-old returning to dating after two decades of marriage.

The evening ended, I went home, walked up to my room and said to myself, “That was one of those ‘catch-up’ dates–what have you done the past 20 years? But I know I’ll never hear from him again!”

He called me the next morning at 9 a.m. and asked me out again for that night.

I couldn’t go. But my stalker didn’t give up. He called or texted me several times a week for the next few months. He asked me out when he came to town. If I couldn’t go out with him, he’d ask, “Why can’t you go? You got a date, don’t you?” And when I admitted the reason for my unavailability, he wanted to know all about the man I would be with and what we were doing–and then he’d text me throughout my date with the other man!

“Where are you?”

“What are you doing?”

“What restaurant are you at?”

“Do you like Mr. A.F.?” (He always named every one of my dates–Mr. A.F., Springville Guy, Tall Guy, Mr. P.G., etc…)

“What are you doing now?”

“You kiss him yet?”

Etc…

When he asked me a question, and if I answered it, he’d always argue with me about my answer.

One night we went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. On the way home, he suddenly decided he wasn’t taking me home. Instead, he was taking me to the grocery store. The grocery store? I told him I didn’t want to go. He argued with me about that. I told him I didn’t need to go. He argued with me about that. I told him I wasn’t going to go. He just kept driving. He told me I was a single mom and single moms always needed food and always needed to go to the grocery store and buy food. He told me I could shop in peace, and he would follow along and push the cart for me. I had no course but to settle in for the drive to the grocery store. My stalker was as stubborn as they come.

At the grocery store he insisted I shop for what I needed. I didn’t really need anything–except groceries for the dinner I was making for Bachelor #7 the next night, so I finally thought, “What the heck? He won’t take no for an answer, he made me come here, he won’t let me leave until I shop, so I guess I’ll buy food for tomorrow night’s date!” And that’s exactly what I did.

Bachelor #8 followed me through the store, pushed the cart, gave me recipes he insisted I cook (and texted and emailed me several times to see if I’d cooked what he told me to cook–I never had), and even threw a few ingredients I absolutely DID NOT WANT (and later threw away because Bachelor #8 would not let me leave the store without the items he insisted I try) into the cart. After checking out, he loaded the sacks into his truck and drove me home. On the way to my home he instructed me to call my teenage son and tell him to meet us outside to haul the groceries into the house for me.

THAT bothered me. I didn’t introduce my children to the men I dated. I didn’t even let them see each other, usually. I argued against it, but my stalker insisted, so I made the call. I knew better than to try to argue with him.

My son and a nephew came out, met Bachelor #8, hauled in the groceries and were very quiet about him to me, but they did not become his fans! In fact, goodwill toward Bachelor #8 spread throughout the household. I don’t know what was said between brother and sister, but my teenage daughter started patrolling my phone, checking my texts, grabbing my phone if it rang, and if she saw it was my stalker, she would demand I not answer the phone! Bachelor #8 could have used some serious help from Dale Carnegie on “How To Win Friends And Influence People” at the Merriman house. At least with its teenagers!

Off and on, Bachelor #8 would continue to visit my profile. His views crept into the triple digits. I could NOT figure out what he was doing online at my profile so often! If I got online to check messages, he’d start IM chats with me and grill me about men I was dating, or argue with me about something. But he always called when he came to town and offered to take me out. (I should say he was progressively more cheerful and positive as the weeks went on. He was nicer and friendlier with each successive date. He was even funny sometimes. It was just that crazy stalking tendancy that was the issue. That, and the fact that besides me not being interested romantically or long term in Bachelor #8, he and my children would NEVER have meshed. At all.)

Eventually, one night he proposed marriage. In a roundabout way he admitted he didn’t love me, but firmly believed two good people, with the same beliefs and values, could marry, make it work and have a happy life together. I didn’t just say no to the proposal. I told him NO WAY. And of course, true to form, he argued with me about my answer!

He argued for my acceptance of the proposal. I absolutely argued against it. In the end, I told him I believed his theory could work but that I didn’t want to test it myself. I wanted more for me. I felt I was too young to settle for anything less than my ideal. I was holding out for love.

I still believe in love. I still believe in fairy tales. And I’m still waiting for my happily ever after ending. (Boy. I say that so often it’s almost as if it’s my mantra! Lol.)

But maybe, just maybe, if I say it often enough or long enough, it will eventually come true for me.

Finally, the stalking of my stalker, Bachelor #8, ran it’s course. I got busy with other people, and Bachelor #8 went on a date with someone else. (And called to tell me about it afterward.) I didn’t hear much from my stalker after that…until I started this blog.

Bachelor #8 found it, contacted me, and argued with me about my blog. He argued against my blog with everything he had. When all of that failed, he brought up the safety of my children (he knows how to cut right to the heart of a mother, huh?) and every other thing he could think of to dissuade me in relation to blogging.

But in the end, as in many other times in my life, past and particularly present, I had to stand alone and do what I thought was best for me. (And my children.) And do you know what? I’m still blogging. It has been five whole months of writing and my children and I are not only safe, we’re better and happier than ever!

Who said stalkers know best?

I only know this: “But I do know people that have stalkers and it’s not nice.” (Daniel Craig)

On to Bachelor #9.

Bachelor Bee Gee

Date: June 21, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Bachelor #2 (aka. Bachelor Bee Gee) was paranoid about houses. At least that’s the impression I got. He asked me out on a date, for dessert, but insisted on meeting me at a nearby parking lot rather than my home or the restaurant. He told me he never let anyone know where he lived on the first date.

Should that have been my first clue?

I met him at the parking lot he designated, he helped me into the cab of his giant white truck and he turned on the engine and revved it–a sign of things to come. High school.

Again?

He put the truck in gear and drove toward the restaurant. As he drove, he reached over and turned on the stereo. It was blasting so loud I thought he was joking with me, you know, turning up the radio and blaring an 80s song to act young for me or something. But no, he didn’t even look at me. He was too busy singing along and bouncing in his seat and I realized it wasn’t 2009 anymore for at least one of us on the date! The music was so loud it hurt my ears. And then he began to shout over it.

“Do you like the music?”

“What?” I asked.

“Do you like this song? This music?”

I had to reach over and turn it down to hear his question. When I finally figured out what he was asking me, and with my ears still ringing, I realized it was a hard rock song I hadn’t heard since the 1980s. High school. Again.

As we drove he told me all about the song I was hearing and how much it cost him to purchase it; that he had every song from the 80s loaded into his system and how much each song had cost; and the grand total he had spent on music. Then he moved on to the benefits and features of his stereo system–how much he had paid for everything. And then what he had paid for his truck. And then the travel he planned to do in the next few months–and how much he planned to spend.

The whole drive to the restaurant was like that. He talked about everything he owned and how much everything had cost–all the while shouting over the 80s hard rock music he had blasting. I wondered (not for the first time, since I began dating) if I was being punked!

No such luck.

We arrived at the restaurant, the hostess seated us, gave us the dessert menus, and we chatted while deciding what to order. The server arrived to take our order and Bachelor Bee Gee directed me to order first. I did. The served looked at him, expectantly, but he closed his menu and said, “I’m not having any dessert. I don’t like sugar. In fact, I rarely eat.”

Total “Jive Talkin’.”

Then why in the heck had he asked me out for dessert?

The server raised his eyebrows at me before walking away. He seemed to say, “Where in the world did you find this winner?” He didn’t want to know the truth. Online. “I Started A Joke” the day I got online.

I offered to cancel my order so we could do something more to his liking, he said no, and proceeded to tell me how he ate only every 3-4 days and that he never ate dessert. (I thought, “This is going to be a long night. Maybe when he sees I eat sugar, then he’ll take me home early!”) I wondered how he was going to entertain me while I ate dessert. I soon found out.

He decided to entertain me with strange facts about himself, like the “fact” that he lived in a home that was once owned by the Bee Gees. He said it had been the Bee Gees’ mountain retreat in Utah. (Hence the name, Bachelor Bee Gee!) He told me about talking to the Bee Gees on the phone, negotiating the deal, etc…

My dessert came, I ate a little but saved most of it to take home to my kids. I figured Bachelor Bee Gee may not eat sugar, but my kids would enjoy a treat courtesy of the man who starved himself and apparently, liked to watch other people eat dessert! We weren’t at the restaurant long. There is nothing appetizing about eating dessert in front of someone who not only isn’t having any, but who never eats any–or for that matter, supposedly, never eats food!

We got in his truck, and instead of driving me back to the parking lot as I expected, he started driving toward the mountains. I thought maybe he was taking a shortcut to the parking lot that I didn’t know about (I was still new in town, he was not) but finally I figured out we weren’t heading to where I wanted to go. I asked, “Can you tell me where we’re going?”

He told me, “We’re going to my house–to the Bee Gees’ mountain retreat.”

I said, “Wait. I thought you didn’t let anyone see where you lived on the first date.”

He looked at me, winked, and said he wasn’t worried about me. He had a feeling that I was “safe.” I wasn’t worried about me either. But I was seriously starting to wonder about him!

We pulled up to the house and it wasn’t what I had expected: a 70s-style house in the middle of a neighborhood. I tried to imagine why the Bee Gees would buy a house like that and put it in the middle of a normal neighborhood. If I were coming to enjoy the Utah mountains, and traveling from down under to do it, and if I were a celebrity, I think I would want a bit more privacy!

I walked in the door, expecting a total 1970s-style, funky house and it was not what I expected. He took me on a tour and showed me where every Bee Gees decorating touch had been, what it had been, and showed me how he had ripped it out and replaced it with something modern! There was absolutely nothing BeeGees about the house at all. What a waste! It was a “Tragedy!”

He took me into the family room of the house. A fire was roaring in the fireplace. (That should have been my first clue.) Suddenly, and mysteriously, BeeGees mood music came on and I realized a serious case of “Night Fever” might be coming my way. It was time for me to focus on “Stayin’ Alive.” Literally.

I told him it was late, I had to work the next day, it was time for me to go home, and I headed for the door. It was almost as if his truck was calling, “Run To Me.” So I did just that.

He took a while to come out of the house. As I stood there in the dark and cold waiting for him, I imagined having to have to call my teenager to come pick me up and give me a ride home. (If the previous events of 2009 hadn’t scarred him, THAT probably would have! lol) But fortunately Bachelor Bee Gee came out and gave me a ride to my car–music blaring, no shouted conversation this time. I think he got the hint.

But that is the amazing thing about dating. About men. Just when you think men understand, you realize some of them don’t! He must have thought he was a “Heartbreaker.” We got to my car, I opened my door and jumped out. He looked at me and asked, “Hey, would you like me to call you again?”

I was stunned! A wave of…change…washed over me, as I realized in that moment that just a few months earlier I’d been married (and married for 20 years), I’d had stability and security; and yet there I stood, living a completely different life, divorced, single, and ending a date with a virtual stranger who was whack-o. All I could do was laugh!

I couldn’t answer him, I was laughing too hard. (You know, as I’ve said before. In life, you can choose to laugh or cry: I choose to laugh!) I never did answer him. Instead, I laughed all the way to my car. And as I opened my car door I heard him call out, “Remember, the phone line works both ways!”

I drove home, walked up to my room, realized how fortunate I had been and stopped laughing. A wave of “Emotion” washed over me and I burst into tears at the unexpected life that was now mine. “Alone.” I couldn’t comprehend that Bee Gees-wannabes were my destiny. If that was the case, I didn’t think it was possible “To Love Somebody.”

I didn’t think my love was deep enough.

“I was always the one left behind. Out in the streets, when they saw me they’d say, ‘That’s just one of the Bee Gees.’” (Maurice Gibb)

An Unexpected Realization

Date: May 28, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

So life carried on in Utah.

I worked all day, commuted home, spent time with my children in the evenings, tried to keep up with laundry and cleaning to some degree, but mostly worried about the emotional state of my children and tried to do anything I could think of to help them through the trauma.

My children were incredible troopers through the whole thing. My daughter took it upon herself (without being asked) to take over the menu planning, grocery shopping, and cooking. She also became the second mother to her younger siblings AND did much of the laundry.

My oldest son took it upon himself (without being asked) to do yard work, car maintenance, and train his younger brothers in those things. He brainstormed yard projects he wanted to do someday if we ever had money. He even helped discipline. I remember one night my middle son was struggling with grief and the fallout from his new life, and he spoke to me rudely. My oldest son went to him, brought him to face me, and said, “You don’t talk to your mother that way. Apologize.”

I felt bad that he had to take on such an adult role, but was also grateful for the help and support. What I felt most, however, was amazement that I had such incredible children who so excellently rose to the demands of their new life and carried on without complaint! They kept their grades up, they added many responsibilities to their lives, and they didn’t ask for things they wanted–they knew there was no money. They cared for each other, worked together, and grew closer. They will be amazing, prepared adults–I’ve already seen glimpses of that.

My youngest turned 4 years old. We didn’t have much money to celebrate, but we did what we do best. We gathered around the birthday boy and shared all of the things we love about him. (Compliments don’t cost anything!) Sharing our love was free. After which we had birthday cake and a family dance party. In the middle of the song “Kung Fu Fighting,” my middle son was standing on a bench dancing karate moves when we heard a thunderous crash, looked over, and saw him laying on his back amid the shattered remains of what had once been a bench in the entry way of our home!

We all froze, not sure if he was hurt or possibly even paralyzed! Then we saw him start shaking with laughter. Soon we all joined in. What a memory! (And of course, we told him not to move while my oldest grabbed a camera and captured the memory in a picture!) It not only was the first time I’d ever lost a piece of furniture to destruction by a child, but it was one of the first of many “crazy” fun times in the our new HOME. It was worth the sacrifice of wood and upholstery; the bench hadn’t really fit in the new home anyway.

I think that was the night our house became our home for good.

I also got some of the best advice I’ve ever received as a single mom right about that time. From a friend who had been a single mother of four herself. She told me she felt the most important thing she did was to not worry about the house and long “to do” lists when she was home with her children in the evenings, but rather, she let the house go and simply enjoyed her children. Not only was that good advice for me, it was liberating. I felt like I had permission to not worry about the dust, and I was free to spend time with my kids!

And that I did. Some nights we went up the canyon. Sometimes we just sat in the backyard and talked. We played games. Sometimes we went for a drive or an ice cream cone. But after the dinner dishes were done, we didn’t worry about work. We just enjoyed each other, and I’m grateful we did. I have no regrets about working less, but I’d sure have regrets if I’d enjoyed my children less!

Sleep was in short supply last summer, but fun and love was plentiful. Looking back, we were our own version of “Musketeers.” All for one and one for all! As scary as it was to be alone in the world with my four children, that was also such a special time. We grew even closer together and learned to love and appreciate each other even more. We worked to see that we were still a family–not broken, not minus anything, a whole unit. A different unit than we had once been, but a solid family unit. (We just had to rely on others more for help with some things.)

Those were GREAT times. To be the sole parent and support of four children, to be a single mother, and everything that came with our new life was unexpected. But at the same time, it turned out to be such an opportunity and a blessing for my children and I. And most unexpectedly, I NEVER thought I’d say this, but should our situation ever change…there is a part of me that will miss those days when it was just my children and I: scared and bonded together like glue in our fear, experiencing new things, growing in unexpected ways, learning to laugh again, and rising above challenges together day after day, time after time, until one day we all realized we felt “normal.”

Triumphant.

Healed.

In our unexpected life.

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Filing Papers

Date: May 12, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

The packing of possessions continued, I started my new job working from home, I was moving from Colorado to Utah in less than two weeks and there was one other task to complete prior to the move: file the final paperwork for my divorce.

He went with me to file the last of our paperwork. It went very smoothly. We got along, talked, I made a few jokes (my typical style of making fun of the hard stuff so I don’t think about what is REALLY going on) and I tried not to think about what was taking place. As he drove, He commented that he didn’t think many divorcing couples were as cordial to one another as they filed their final paperwork as we were.

I couldn’t respond to that. I just kept reading and re-reading the words on the papers and no matter how many times I skimmed them, they didn’t seem real. Could they really be about divorce? I had never imagined myself divorcing. In fact, my divorce had made a liar out of me.

I couldn’t help but reflect on the many times over the years, as parents of one of my children’s friends would divorce my child would ask, “You and dad will never get divorced, will you?” (I remember asking my parents that same question when I was a girl and parents of one of my friends divorced.) And my answer had always been the same: “Absolutely not. I can’t think of a single thing a member of my family could do that would ever result in divorce.” Unfortunately, I never imagined the double life my spouse had been leading. I never imagined that anyone I knew personally (much less lived with) was capable of committing a single crime (much less all that He had done.) I never imagined that promise to my children would turn out to be a lie.

As we drove to file the paperwork, He also made some predictions about the next five years–five years was the amount of time He anticipated being in prison. His first prediction? That I would re-marry.

I didn’t expect to hear that. I was sure, for a myriad of reasons, that would never be in my future. And I certainly didn’t want to discuss it with Him! At that time, I couldn’t comprehend it. I was sure it wouldn’t be true. After being married nearly 20 years, I couldn’t comprehend dating much less getting married! He also predicted the demise of an extended family member who struggled with mental health issues and addictions. Funny, but the remarriage He predicted for me shocked me WAY more than hearing what he thought the future held for extended family.

He then told me I had His permission to fall in love again with another man, as long as the man would be good to our kids. I didn’t respond for SO MANY reasons.

I didn’t need His permission. His permission was not His to give. We were divorcing–not to mention the fact that after all He had done, I didn’t feel He had a right to dictate anything for me or my children, then or in the future.

I thought it was strange to have him mention something like that while we were legally still married.

I knew there was no way I’d even have time to date, much less re-marry, when I was the sole parent to four children who had been traumatized. I felt all of my time, energy and effort needed to be directed toward helping them heal. I truly felt like I’d had my chance at life, and now my life was to help my children make the most of their chance.

As I mentioned before, I firmly believed no one in their right mind would ever want an “old bag!”

And who would ever want to take on the financial, emotional, and every other type of responsibility for four children?

Those are just some of the reasons I didn’t respond to his predictions. I was getting very good at “not hearing” and thus, not responding, to difficult things. It was the only way I survived those terrible months of 2009 and continued to live and hold my head up in the face of persecution and publicity and everything else that went along with my position as the wife of a criminal.

I had the terrible feeling I was destined to be alone on so many levels for so many reasons. I only prayed I’d be up to the challenge of loneliness. Because the loneliness was extreme. From the moment I found out about the ponzi scheme and pending incarceration of my spouse, although we were legally married and even living in the same house, I felt acute loneliness. I was alone in the world.

For the first time, I understood the concept of someone being surrounded by people yet totally alone. That was exactly how I felt. To anyone else who has ever felt that, I am truly sorry. I wouldn’t wish that degree of loneliness on anyone.

“Loneliness is the ultimate poverty.” (Abigail Van Buren)

A VERY unexpected life.

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