Unforgettable You

Have you found the "right one" but feel that your 'how we met' story is the "wrong one"? 

I know you have been waiting for this. I've waited awhile to share this story with you, friends, because it's so freaking cute it might just make you gag. Grab a trash can, just in case, and here goes.

Once upon a time, on a sunny day with Carolina blue skies, "she" was walking along Franklin Street wearing a really fabulous outfit. She had on some really awesome Kate Spade heels, and one got caught in the sidewalk crack (don't you hate it when that happens?). As she struggled to free her shoe (it was really stuck and she was making quite a spectacle of herself), a handsome young man came by to assist her. He said "nice shoes" while really checking out her legs, and that's how "she" and "he" met.

Cute story, huh? Thanks. It's totally not true.

That Day In History

I was a transfer student at the university we both attended, and me being the semi-social butterfly I am, I decided that it was time to make some new friends.  That day in history, I decided to befriend my classmate that was assigned by alphabetical order to sit next to me. We made plans to get together that Friday night and so I picked her up at her apartment and we headed off to visit with another one of her friends. After hanging around for a while, feeling totally uncomfortable, I thought I had made a mistake and should have asked the girl sitting to my right if she wanted to hang out instead.

 That’s when she said “Well, I met this guy at a party last weekend, we can see what he’s doing”. She called him up and he invited us over. When we got there we were greeted by the guy she met and a couple of other people who happened to be at their apartment. Little did I know my future husband was there in that apartment playing video games. (not much has changed)

 We talked all night and he tried to convince my why he should be my boyfriend. He was funny and charming and all the girls were after him that night, but he only had eyes for me. The rest is history, and speaking of history, I dropped my history class and never saw that girl again. She was kinda crazy, but without her, I never would have met the love of my life. Crazy how life works out sometimes.
http://marriedawayinmexico.blogspot.com/ 

Everything Happens For a Reason

I was two years old when my parents bought their house.  My mom was pregnant with my little sister and we needed more space to accommodate the growing family (I would eventually become the second oldest of four girls).  The neighbors to our right were a smaller family, a mom and two boys a few years older than me.  Their house was identical on the inside, same setup, just different finishes and color schemes.  Being next door was like one of those strange dreams where you’re standing in your living room, only it’s not really your living room, but it’s supposed to be.
We all became very close very quickly and soon enough, my sisters and I could be found in the front or backyard playing bloody murder and kick the can with the neighbors every day of the week.  In the winter, we’d build snow forts and go ice-skating and my dad would be in the background taking home video which, at the time, we had NO idea how fun it would be to watch later.
My whole adolescence, I had a crush on the younger of the two brothers (he was 3 years older than me).  I would knock on his door when I knew he was home, and ask to borrow eggs or sugar and tell him I was baking cookies, just to see him. He’d hand over the eggs and always replied with “only if I get some of those cookies when you’re done!” He never did get any cookies though cause I was never actually baking.  There is also still a heart that I drew in my closet in my parents’ house that says ‘I love Scott, borrowed 2 eggs from him today, dated 1992’.

Some Enchanted Evening

On a remarkably warm fall evening in October of 2004, I decided that I could get away with one more outing in flip-flops (a dangerous choice for Minnesota weather).  It was the night of the Ike Reilly Assassination concert, and I was giddy with excitement.  Ike's band has a distinctly American, gritty eclectic sound, and I had harassed five or six good friends to come with me to the show.  The band was playing at a hole-in-the-wall bar in St. Paul, known for its great sound and interesting clientele.  More than anything, I was looking forward to seeing a band I love with friends I love.

That night, the concert did not disappoint except for the fact that they didn't arrive on stage until almost midnight.  No matter, though, by that point I was pleasantly buzzed and was singing my heart out, blissfully unaware of the presence of my future husband.  As it so happened, he was standing next to me.  During the evening, we had noticed one another across a crowded room (just like the old cliche says), and apparently, I smiled at him.  Later, he realized with disappointment that I tend to smile at everyone without realizing it, but by that point, it didn't matter anymore.  Somehow, throughout the show, we had ended up next to one another, at which point my friends magically disappeared.  I felt happy and relaxed and open to chatting with him because the show was almost over and I knew I wasn't looking to meet anyone.  So there was no pressure.  Nothing could possibly happen.

After a few pleasantries about the band and some basic chit-chat, my focal point was back to the stage where Ike was swaying drunkenly and dangerously close to the edge of the stage.  It was one of the last songs of the night, "Commie Drives a Nova" and Erik was about to make his move.  He cautiously asked me if I would like to get together sometime, to which I replied a carefree, "Sure!"  In my mind, there was no way anything would come of this.  He was very cute, but probably not my type, and I had big plans to go overseas soon.  There was no place or time for something to develop.  As the music died down and the bar began to clear out, he handed me his phone so I could input my number.  (I found out later that he was too nervous to plug in the numbers himself.)  We exchanged smiles, said good night, and went our separate ways.

Two days, later he called me for a date.  I accepted and plans were made to meet for a drink two nights later.  As the day of the date grew closer, I grew nervous.  I frantically told my friends, "Forget it.  I'm canceling!  There's no point.  I'm going to an international job fair in a few months!  I don't want to meet anyone.  He's not my type!"  

My friends vehemently argued with me.  "You are NOT canceling.  He IS your type! It's not going to hurt to have one drink with him." Finally, I relented with a bitter, "Fine. But I'm not wearing anything cute. I'm dressing down!"

I drove with apprehension to the date.  I could barely recall what he looked like, and I was positive that he seemed preppier than I would prefer.  As I approached the restaurant where I was meeting him, I saw him standing outside.  And I swooned.  I mean, literally swooned.  I didn't know a person could really swoon.  He was so handsome, and contrary to my previous beliefs, he appeared to be exactly my type. After an awkward hello, we made our way inside where we proceeded to have a date that was straight out of the movies.  We had so much to talk about and so much chemistry, that neither of us wanted the date to end.  I remember that night as I drove home that I had the sensation of falling.  And it was oh so scary and yet so wonderful at the same time.  

As we had more and more dates and our relationship grew, we saw Ike many more times together.  And at each show, we would have the sweet sensation of remembrance as we saw each other out of our peripheral vision, similar to that first night.

There's A Very Nice Boy...

In this week's Summer Re-Run selection, the author of multiple women's fiction books,Shobbhan Bantwal, shares her unusual "how we met" story. Read about this arranged marriage that resulted in love, partnership, and commitment.Ms. Bantwell has also recently published a new book...just in time for a fun summer read.

THE RELUCTANT MATCHMAKER is the sixth "Bollywood in a Book" by Shobhan
Bantwal.

There's A Very Nice Boy...

Imagine meeting your future husband two days before you become engaged to marry him. If that is the stuff of storybooks, then I should consider myself the heroine of the story.

My husband and I met in India two days before we were engaged. And ten days later we were married. No, it was not love at first sight, and it was certainly not a shotgun wedding. What we had was an old-fashioned arranged marriage. In a conservative culture like ours, back in the early 1970s, marriage by arrangement was the norm and not an aberration.

It is not so much the quick engagement and wedding that seem to fascinate the average American but the idea of marrying a stranger...

And The Rest Is History

I was still nursing my wounds from a previous relationship's break up after six months. I told me friends I was planning a "wedding-not-marriage" because I wanted the fun of having a wedding, but not the risk of opening my heart to hurt again. I went to a student mission conference with some friends (including my former boyfriend), dead set against meeting anyone. I was there for the conference, NOT to pick up a guy. The second day of the conference, I attended a workshop session on a country I had visited two years prior. I put my booklet down before lunch to save a seat for myself, then went to eat. When I came back to the room after lunch, my booklet had been moved and the room was completely full except for one seat in the back, which was two seats away from my good friend Rusty. I figured the guy sitting next to Rusty could move down and I could sit next to him (Rusty). Unbeknown to me, Rusty had met Elias the night before playing basketball and thought "he's going to be Ali's next boyfriend."

From a Little Spark Bursts a Mighty Flame

I met Sammuel online. In retrospect, I suppose that we were attracted to one another because we had a lot in common, particularly our love for the arts. He was a sound artist, and at the time, I was writing and illustrating children’s stories. Our emails to one another were incredibly sweet, and I liked him very much. I suspected he felt the same about me.


After several weeks of cyber flirting, and a few warmhearted phone calls, it was time to meet. We chose a seafood restaurant on the water that had great outdoor seating (the perfect summer spot). The restaurant was near to his studio, and in an up-and-coming artist’s neighborhood. Our first encounter was picture perfect. Conversation flowed beautifully between us, and we had a great time together, but we lacked something. I guess you could say we just didn’t have that particular spark that triggers flames of love. I told myself that perhaps the sparks would come later, and I agreed to meet him again.


Our second date wasn’t exactly a date. He, and a group of other emerging artists, had an opening show at an art gallery/bar/restaurant, and invited me to attend. I brought a girlfriend with me, and when we entered the gallery the ambiance reminded me of a small, dark, sultry jazz club. Sammuel was in a corner of the room spinning an eclectic mix of base beats. Modern works of art covered the walls, and opposite of Sammuel was a small bar.

My friend and I roamed the gallery, checking out the art and then we grabbed the only open seats at one of the few tables near the bar. The venue was so crowded that sharing tables with strangers was the only option, so when a small group of guys joined us I thought nothing of it. We started talking, and it turned out that one of the guys was a friend of Sammuel’s. Needless to say, after the music stopped, and the venue was preparing to close, Sammuel joined us at our table. Eventually, he invited everyone back to his studio for a nightcap and an encore.

While Sammuel packed his turntables in preparation to leave, and the group finished their drinks, my friend and I meandered outside. We loitered around the entrance of the gallery, lit a cigarette and sat down on a bench next to another smoker. What I didn’t know was that the guy I sat next to was part of the group who had been sharing a table with us inside. We got to talking, and I could feel the chemistry flowing between our words. Imagine my surprise when the group trickled out to walk to Sammuel’s studio, and the smoking man joined us. We walked together, chatting, laughing, and of course, flirting.

Shortly after arriving at the studio, the smoking man quickly introduced himself, and we immediately hit it off. I enjoyed talking to him so much that I could’ve chatted with him all night. He was incredibly handsome with golden locks and big ‘ol baby blues. Our conversation simply screamed, “Hello sparks”! It wasn’t before long that my friend and I had to leave to catch the last subway train home. The smoking man escorted us out of the building (we had to take a rickety warehouse elevator to the ground level from Sammuel’s 3rd floor studio), and as we said our good-byes I gave him my phone number.

Soon thereafter we went out on our first date… that was 4 years ago. Now we’re married and just had our first baby. And you know what? I have no idea whatever happened to Sammuel!