On Saturday, after going to the beau’s niece’s fifth birthday party, he and I will head off on a hot date: dinner and an overnighter in Indy.
The occasion: our two-year anniversary. As it’s right in the middle of his birthday and Christmas, I asked him a month or two ago, “Can we not get each other anything? Just buy me dinner, and I’ll get the hotel, and we’ll be romantical and shit.”
Jeff and I met at a friend’s birthday party (you can read about that here, if you’re interested) two years ago this coming Monday, the 19th. So this past Monday, the 12th, I look at Jeff and told him, “Two years ago today, I did not know you at all.”
That thought really blew my mind. In fact, two years ago … I think today … I signed up for Match.com. I was finally rid of a handful of exes who kept sticking around for various reasons (I used to insist you could be friends with an ex — to which I now say, “HA!”) and said to myself, “I want to date someone. I want to date someone HERE, in town. And I want to not know who he is.”
So I signed up for Match and used it for about four days. Because that Saturday, I met Jeff the ol’ fashioned way, sans Internet connection.
I still marvel that he and I met at exactly the right time. It wouldn’t have been fair to him had we met even a month sooner, when there were still some exes milling around, mucking up life, making it impossible to move on in any way. Instead, he met Jac with a fully clean slate — the first fully clean slate she’d had since college.
A friend of mine from college posted a photo today. It’s of a group of us at my graduation, circa May 2005.
Later that night, a group of us went to dinner. We posed outside the restaurant on and around the fountain. We looked like fools, albeit, incredibly happy fools.
Every single person at that dinner lives in a different state. We’ve got Oklahoma, Ohio, New York, California and Massachusetts. We stay in touch via Facebook, but if someone’d told that girl with the pink purse in the photo, “You’re going to have an entirely new set of close friends in one year,” I don’t think she’d have believed you.
That was 6 1/2 years ago. What on earth will things look like for me 6 1/2 years from now?
Naturally, that spurred a letter to myself. My friend Meghan recently blogged about futureme.org. The site allows us to write ourselves letters, and it delivers them to us on a specified date. I wrote one, and based on the above photo, asked for it to be delivered to me in 6 1/2 years. I’ll be 35. I have other thoughts about what and where and who I’d like to be, but currently “35” is all I know for sure.
That’s kind of cool.
Are you the you that you thought you’d be 6 1/2 years ago?