It’s high time for Happy Pointless Bloggy Fun™, wouldn’t you say? Enough with the deep introspection, enough with the pain, it’s time for silliness! The Bloggy Fun today comes courtesy of my new friend Krystal. You see, Krystal and I met a few weeks ago online when she found this blog after a random google search about toe amputees. In all the realm of oddities, I think Krystal and I are a funny blip on the scale improbability. You see, Krystal has nine toes just like me. Also just like me, she lost her left big toe from a botched ingrown toenail removal. And even more just like me, her birthday also happens to fall on February 8, 1985. So far it looks like the only differences between us are that she’s Canadian and she has a boyfriend. 🙂

    Which leads me to the inspiration for this Happy Pointless Bloggy Fun™. In our conversation just now, we were talking about her lovely boyfriend and how tonight happened to be their 7 month anniversary. We got to talking about how they got engaged after only four months, and then being in a rather giddy mood, I launched into an explanation that I thought that was just fine – I’ve had multiple friends who got engaged after only a day, and over fifteen years later their marriages were just fine. Surely four months was just fine! This fit in nicely with what else she had told me before about the story of her and her boyfriend. We had a good laugh over it all and started telling similar stories, and I got to thinking…

    I wonder what my story will be, if I should ever get married. My parents were pretty much like the classic 1950’s picture, only they were a few decades late – they met on a blind date, became high school sweethearts, and then got married right after graduation. My Mom was 18, my Father was 19. I used to love reminding my Mother of that fact when I happened to be dating a certain fellow at that age and she started freaking out about it.

    The only problem with good real life love stories is, though, sometimes they’re better than the real situation. That can lead to a little cloudy confusion on occasion, being more in love with the idea of being in love and so on. For instance, that particular boyfriend I had at 18 – let’s call him Boyfriend A. I loved that story. We met over one of my favorite things: a BMW. Or, to be more exact, the BMW film “The Follow.” You may remember, not so very long ago BMW was releasing a series of acclaimed short films by famous directors. They were all released online, but for some bizarre reason, one of them disappeared from the website for who knows what reason. I happened to blog about it, and a few weeks later, Boyfriend A happened to google about it, trying to find the video file somewhere online. He found my blog, emailed me, I sent him the file, and then it was love, love love.

    Or, at least, I thought it was. We were both complete BMW freaks. Our regular dates used to consist of us driving around in his new 3-series, flipping U-ies, turning the DSC off to fish tail, and him trying to master the quick turn and snap of the fingers like in one of BMW movies. We used to giggle that if we ever decided to get married, our colors for the wedding would be blue, white, and black – the colors of BMW’s roundel logo. We were even going to write to BMW to thank them for bringing us together in a roundabout way, and to invite Helmut Panke to the fesitivites. My favorite part of this dream, however, was that he had worked out that the supposed proper percentage of his income to spend on an engagement ring worked out to be just the right amount for one of my favorite cars – the BMW Z4. Thus, I was going to forego the diamond and opt for a black Z4 convertible. I still like that idea, because hey, as much as I love diamonds, they just don’t go vrooooom. An engagement car is right up my alley and I loved it.

    This was a beautiful love story on paper, one that I’m sure any car fanatic could appreciate. It rather sucked that Boyfriend A turned out to be an abusive jerk (I wanted to say something else, but this is a happy story, hehe…) Oh well, there went another lovely dream, and a wonderful way for a girl to get her hands on a gorgeous convertible.

    That wasn’t the last of the crazy love stories. A while back I was determined not to date anybody, I was tired of men and their shenanigans. Around that same time I happened to be heading off across the country to be the official photographer at my good friend’s wedding. As the old Irish drinking song goes, one wedding begets another, so my Mother was undoubtedly worried. She kept worrying about my other friend who happened to be helping me out with the photography duties, and she kept on asking about just how determined I was to stay away from romance. Finally I looked her in the eye and said with all the determination i could muster, “Look, I’m not going to date this or any other guy unless the clouds part, the heavens open, a choir of angels start to sing, and God shows up to shake my hand and go, ‘Hey there, Heather, he’s the one! Go get ‘im, girl!'” We had a good laugh over it and I went on my way.

    Well… I arrived in the city and was met at the airport by said photography assistant, my friend The Bride, and her betrothed. We drove straight off to where they were getting married to scope out photo locations, but before we could get to that, I just had to change clothes. I smelt like airplane, and couldn’t stand it. I slipped into the bathroom of the visitor center of the Mormon temple where she was getting married and quickly changed clothes. Just as I walked out the door I thought I heard something funny. Right ahead of me was Mr. Assistant sitting in an armchair, but as I walked toward him, that something funny got louder. I started to panic as I realized it was a choir of angels, getting louder and louder with every step I took toward that dreaded arm chair and the man sitting in it. Worse still, the clouds parted and a shaft of celestial light broke through the windows, bathing him in a blinding white heavenly spotlight.

    I seriously thought I was losing my mind. I tried to act normal, but I couldn’t help but peak around corners, thinking that any second I’d be approached by a shining bearded guy in a white robe ready to shake my hand and proclaim it Love At First Bathroom Break. I got closer and closer, the angels got louder and louder, the light got brighter and brighter… I was doomed. Thankfully God didn’t show up, but I figured hey, as the saying goes, three outta four ain’t bad. God was clearly sending me a sign even though He was too busy for a personal appearance. Since there seemed to be quite a bit of chemistry over the weekend, I went with it. Thus the Age of Boyfriend B began. After a few months it became apparent that perhaps I was mistaken or the message from God was accidentally misdirected (I knew that guy in the other chair was awful cute…). Soon enough I was back to being single and Mr. Assistant was back to being a bachelor. There went another lovey-dovey story worthy of telling the grandchildren.

    Being a single female yet again, I find myself wondering if my next story will be a good one. Or perhaps more importantly, if it’ll be permanent. What will it be? What will I tell my grandchildren? Will it be as fitting as Boyfriend A, or as blasphemously funny as Boyfriend B? Clearly I won’t be following in my parents’ footsteps, since heck, I didn’t even go to high school, and by my age, my Mother already had a kid. That’s obviously not happening. Like the aforementioned speedy friends, I highly doubt I’ll be one of those who gets engaged on the very first date; I like to think I’m far too pragmatic relationship-wise in my own little way for that sort of spontaneity. Will I get engaged after four months like Krystal, or will it take years and years? Should the decision be judged based on the degree of what Krystal calls Post-Date Girly Giggles, or will it become apparent some other way? (Please oh please, Mr. God, no more misguided choirs!)

    I guess all I can really hope for is blissful compatibility in a relationship, and as much fun as silly meeting/dating/courting stories are, they aren’t what’s important. I know that full well, but they certainly add something colorful to the situation. It’d be nice to have something to tell the grandchildren anyway. 🙂