Fish Guy

I noticed fish guy while I was in a bar with my friends one Friday night. He was about 6’ 3” tall with light brown hair and blue eyes.  I noticed him as soon as he walked in but I played it cool

“See that tall guy over there?”  I asked my friends before saying; “He’s mine.”  My friends laughed and said; “Ok weirdo, he’s all yours.” then handed me a drink from the bar.  He looked over at me and I smiled. A few minutes later, I ran my hand through my hair while twisting my neck to see if he was still looking at me, he was.  

We did the whole flirting from across the crowded bar thing for a while and eventually he appeared next to me. 

     “How’s your night going?”  He asked.  I admit his opening line was lame but I didn’t care.     

      “So far so good.”  I replied with a smile. Our intial conversation wasn’t stimulating but he was cute enough for me to want to get to know more him better. 

We started to talk about the weather but within minutes he brought up exotic fish. His eyes twinkled as he talked about the differences between salt and fresh water fish. At first, I thought he was screwing with me.  No one could possibly be as interested in fish like this guy.   I tried to participate in the conversation but I couldn’t.  I just sat in the chair, listened to him talk and sipped on my vodka soda.  I occasionally nodded my head to show him that I was interested. 

I wasn’t excited about this guy but I wasn’t repulsed either.  There had to be more to that pretty face than just fish.  He asked if he could see me again so I gave him my number. 

We met for a drink the following week.  I thought we would talk about something more exciting, we didn’t.  He talked about…you guessed it….exotic fish.

 He talked about all types of fish.  He knew what type of fish could be found in different parts of the world.  He described the corals he snorkeled in and the underwater world he visited while scuba diving. He knew the exact temperature and salt content tanks needed to be for certain fish to thrive. 

   “How do you know all of this stuff?”  I asked. 

    “I clean fish tanks for a living.”  He replied with a smile.

    “Like in a pet store?”  I asked quickly losing interest in him. 

    “No. I own a company that cleans fish tanks in offices and homes.  I also help collectors find the fish they need to complete their tanks.”  He explained which redeemed him.  I agreed to see him again.

On our next date, I was determined to take control of the conversation.  I waited until after we handed our dinner menus back to the server before I asked; “Tell me something about you that doesn’t involve your career?”  

   “I love to golf.  I was a few swings away from being a professional golfer.”  He said with a tone of disappointment.
A little voice in my head begged me not to ask why he never went pro, I wish I listened. 

    “So, what happened?”  I asked which put him back in control of the conversation.
He droned on and on about giving up his dream of being a Pro Golfer.  At one point, during his explanation, he sat quietly.  I stared and patiently waited for him to continue but he didn’t.  The silence was killing me so I did what any other girl would have done, I ordered another drink.  

I called my cousin Rissy a few days after my date.

    “He said he likes golf.”  I told her then explained his missed calling in life. “I’m getting you tickets to a golf tournament in New York, some type of Opening my husband can’t go.  Bring him!”  She suggested.  She really wanted me to give him another shot.

 The only golfer I was familiar with and playing in the tournament was Tiger Woods.  (This was way before his scandal so don’t judge me)  I asked fish guy if we could follow him.  He unenthusiastically agreed which I thought was rude considering I got us the tickets.

Watching Tiger Woods swing his club was poetic.  I wasn’t then nor am I now a big fan of golfers but there is something about watching a Tiger Woods play that impressed me.  Fish guy however, was not impressed.  He critiqued Tiger’s swing and claimed to be a better golfer. 

I turned to him at one point and said; “If you’re so much better than him then tell me why you are standing on this side of the ropes.”  We left shortly after my comment.

The ride back to Connecticut was long and quite.  I apologized a few times in the car but he kept saying; “Don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal.”  But he continued to give me the silent treatment.  When we were close to his home, he asked if I wanted to get take out.

     “Are you sure? Aren’t you upset with me?”  I asked him still feeling bad.

     “No, I’m not mad. Just hungry.”  He said which made me feel better.

 We picked up Italian and went back to his condo.  I hadn’t been over to his place yet but I assumed he had a fish tank.  I was right; it took over most of his living room.
He situated our seats so we were facing it then dimmed the lights.  It was kind of romantic.

 While eating dinner, he described the different types of fish he had.  Still feeling bad about my comment at the tournament, I asked him a bunch of ocean question.  He gladly answered them. Things were looking better.

I listened closely about his adventures in building his fish collection.  At one point, I noticed that my soda was warm.  I wanted ice for my drink so I asked if I could get some out of the freezer.  I stood up and picked up my glass from the coffee table.  Fish guy became visibly nervous as I walked towards the kitchen. 

 He started to stutter and then explained how attached he becomes with his fish as he followed me into the kitchen. 

     “You have to understand, I really get attached to these fish.  They are like children to me.”  He said with a combination of sincerity and a tone of awkwardness in his voice. 

     “Ok, so you get attached to fish.  Why are you telling me this?”  I asked. 

He gasped before yelling out; “I just want to prepare you for what you’re about to see!”

My right hand was on the handle of the freezer door as I turned to him and asked; “Tell me fish guy, what am I about to see?” 

     He didn’t answer me.  Instead, he placed his hand close to mine on the handle and opened the door with me.  I slowly turned back to the freezer and looked in.  I was horrified.

There, in individual clear plastic bags was what seemed like hundreds of brightly-colored dead fish eyes staring vacantly back at me.  

     “What the fuck?!  Do you really have dead fish in your freezer?!”  I asked while backing away quickly and searched for an emergency exit. 

     “You don’t understand, I love these fish and when they die, I just can’t part with them.”  He said trying desperately to make his words sound normal but there was no way that he could.  

     “I’m sorry. This is a little too much for me.  It’s been a long day.  I’m going home now.”  I said as I picked up my jacket and bag. 

     “I don’t understand why you have to leave. Is it the fish thing?  You’ll get used to it, I promise.”  He pleaded. 

    “No, it’s not the dead fish thing.” I replied, obviously I lied.  “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.  Besides, I just ended a long term relationship.  I’ll need some time to ease into another one.”  I said.  I’m not sure where that explanation came from but it sounded good. 

    “Wait a minute” he replied, “who said anything about a relationship?  We’ve only gone out a few times.  We are nowhere near the relationship stage” He said with that irritating laugh thing guys do when they are saying something that makes them uncomfortable.

     “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.  I’m aware that we’ve only been on a few dates.  I…I…I just have to go,” I stammered as I bolted out the front door. 

While I drove away, it hit me: The fish guy was going to think that HE had dumped ME!  Part of me wanted to drive back to his condo to clarify who dumped who but the voice in my head screamed “RUN AND DON’T LOOK BACK!”  That’s just what I did.

My 30th Birthday-February 2001

  My supportive family and friends surrounded me the year I turned thirty.  They threw a party at a local bar a few days before my birthday and from what they tell me, I had a great time.  I received an abundance of cards, flowers and gifs days prior to my birthday and loved it all.  Everyone went out of their way to distract me from the fact that I was turning thirty and from the fact that I cancelled my wedding three months earlier.  It’s not every day a newly single girl turns thirty on Valentine’s Day.

    “You’ll be fine, it’s just a number.”  Played over and over in my head as I sat quietly in my living room the night before my actual birthday.  It was only eight pm, too early to go to bed.

I didn’t have the energy to turn on the television or walk into the kitchen to pour myself a much needed glass of wine.  Instead, I sat on my couch for hours and stared at the flickering light from the candle that I lit.

At some point I made my way to bed.  I continued to stare blankly at the ceiling in my bedroom while I attempted to fall sleep.  Every time I closed my eyes, images of my Ex-Fiancee appeared which forced me to open them again.

 I just couldn’t stop thinking about the last ten years of my life.  The need to figure out what went wrong was overwhelming.  What could I have done to avoid being a single girl tonight?  Why couldn’t I see the signs that were clearly there?  Why didn't I end our horrible relationship sooner?  It was a painful night of self reflection and at no point did I come up with any answers. 

 The alarm went off like many mornings before.  I turned to face the blaring machine to hit the button and was relieved that the night was over.  I never fell asleep.  I rolled out of bed slowly and sat on the edge of it to cry.  This was the first Birthday/Valentine’s day in the last ten years that I didn’t have anyone special to share it with. 

 I walked to the bathroom, took a long look in the mirror, like I’m sure many women do, and didn’t notice any major changes.  Other than the swelling around my dark circled eyes, my face was still looking good.  “Sweet, no wrinkles yet” I said to myself hoping it would make me laugh, it did a little.   I got through the rest of my morning rituals without shedding another tear. 

 Being sleep deprived and depressed made my short drive to work seem like it took hours.  I parked next to familiar cars and waved to the usual people. 

  “We’ll wait for you!”  Shouted a coworker as I made my way towards a group of ladies.  “Thank you.  Good morning.”  I said once I reached them. 

   “Good morning and happy birthday.”  One of the girls said and handed me a box of chocolates.  An overwhelming desire to cry came over me but I stopped myself.  I smiled and thanked her.

   “Don’t worry, it’s almost over.”  She said knowing it was the perfect thing to say.

     My work day went just as I thought.  I was greeted with “Happy Birthday” as I walked through the halls of the hospital.  I found colorful gift bags, candy and cards on my desk which made me smile.  I received floral arrangement from friends and family and two bouquets were from “A Special Friend.”

 The excitement of finding out who the “Special Friend” was entertained me.  I made a call to the florist in hopes that sender was someone special.   I was disappointed to find out that the mystery man was a creepy sales rep that came in to sell his product to the nurses I worked with. 

  “He expensed it to his company and asked that I list them as funeral flowers on the receipt.”  The florist said. 

  “That’s gross.”  I said and the florist agreed before wishing me a happy Valentine’s Day.   

  I got through the day somehow and left work feeling positive.  I drove into my apartment complex and stopped at my mailbox to collected additional birthday wishes. I pulled into my parking stall and glanced at the pile of cards on my lap. I sat in my car and flipped through all of colorful envelopes until I came across one without a return address which raised my curiosity.

 I tore the white envelope open while sitting in my idled car to solve my second mystery of the day.  My eyes shifted immediately over to the signature and noticed it was from the Ex Fiancée.  I didn’t read the crap he must have agonized over to write between the folded pieces of paper. Instead,  I let out a chuckle of disbelief, got out of my car, walked over to the dumpster and flung in his birthday wishes in.

 I entered into my apartment, closed the door behind me and took in a long deep breath.  I stood still in my kitchen for a few minutes then looked around the room.  I noticed all of the empty areas that once held my Ex’s things.  The top of the refrigerator was missing the oversized plastic jars of powder shake mixes.  I looked down and noticed that his boots were gone too.  I wondered why it took me almost three months to become aware of the fact that his things were gone. My body trembled a little as the fact that I am truly alone hit me again.  “He’s a liar and a cheater.”  I reminded myself as I walked towards my kitchen cabinets.

 I reached up for a glass and placed it on my kitchen counter next to a bottle of red wine.  I opened the bottle and poured myself a generous helping.  I then headed for the fridge, flung it open and pulled out the left over Chinese food from two nights ago.  I successfully juggled the food and wine as I walked into the living room.

I sank into my couch, turned on the television and devoured all of the leftover.  “Happy Birthday to me.”  I sang while lighting a cigarette after my birthday dinner.

I looked around my apartment and didn’t notice his missing things; instead I focused on what I added to enhance my home.  I loved the candles and new pictures I hung.  I glanced over at the beautiful floral arrangements on my kitchen table and smiled.  The sight of the red and pink heart shaped boxes of candy surrounding the flowers reminded me that I really wasn’t alone. There were many people in my life who loved me.

After dinner, I went upstairs to take a shower before bed.  I was pretty drunk by the time I walked into my bedroom and had an unexplainable urge to see my wedding dress.  I pushed through the clothes in my closet and pulled the white garment bag from the back of it.  I threw the bag on my bed and unzipped the metal zipper to expose the sparkling white and beaded beauty.  I felt the wet towel fall to my ankles as I tugged at my wedding dress.  It was caught on something inside the bag but I was determined to get it out.

 While yanking on the hanger, I flashed back to the day that I chose this dress: 

I must have gone to dozens of stores and pissed off a few sales associates before I found this one.  My mother and grandmother desperately wanted to be a part of picking out my dress which was understandable but I wasn’t sure why my father was interested too.  The four of us searched the state of Connecticut for weeks before arriving to a tiny dress shop in the middle of nowhere.

 I didn’t love the dress on the rack but at this point, it was all a numbers game.  It was the sixth dress I tried on that day and I was exhausted.  The sales associate zipped up the dress and it just felt right against my body. I inspected every angle of the dress through the multi panel mirror looking for a flaw, there weren’t any. “I think this is the one.”  I whispered to the fatigued woman helping me. 

 I walked into the waiting area of the dressing room and stared at myself in the additional mirrors, waiting for a reaction from my family.  No one said a word.

   “Well, what do you think?”  I asked hoping to hear something, anything.  Still silence.  I looked in their direction through the mirror and noticed that they were all crying.  I focused intently on my father.  The sight of his tears streaming down his face made me feel like a little girl again looking for his approval and I got it.  It was confirmed, this puffy white mound of material was the “one”. 

  Tonight, I look at this over priced garment and realized that I spent more time looking for the perfect dress than I did looking for the perfect husband.  “What the hell” I said as I stepped into my dress. Once it was on, I twirled around a few times until I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. “Damn I look beautiful” I said out loud. 

  I ran downstairs while wearing my dress for more wine.  I was disappointed that no one was over to see how stunning I looked.  But, on the other hand, I was glad that no one was here to see this pathetic display of self pity;  sitting on my kitchen counter wearing my wedding dress, drinking wine from the bottle and holding a cigarette between my fingers.  Nice.

I caught my reflection again in the kitchen window.  “I do look pretty, pretty sad.”  I said out loud then laughed uncontrollably.  It was a stupid joke but it made me feel a lot better.  In that crazy moment; everything made sense.  I wasn’t just drunk, I was actually happy.  I didn’t have to be in a relationship with someone who scared me.  I didn't have to walk on eggshells to avoid arguments everyday of my life.  I didn't have to find out he was unfaithful. 

Being alone is much better than being in a bad relationship.

 “I’m free!”  I shouted.

I couldn’t believe that I was depressed only a few hours ago.  My smoked filled living room felt so open and spacious.  I knew right then and there that there was much more to me and to my life than getting married.  I knew that I was going to be going to be just fine. I also knew that I was going to be extremely hung over in the morning. 

I was right.  I was hung over the next morning but still very optimistic.  I looked forward to dating again but this time I promised myself to be in total control.  I will weed through the losers and date only mature men; I heard that they do exist.  How difficult could it really be to date?

I couldn’t wait to get out into the dating world to find out!

My motivation

I started to write down stories from my dating life when I was thirty eight.  It wasn’t my idea; everyone I talked to suggested it.

I am the token single girl in my group of friends but I didn’t always hold this title.  I was involved and even engaged in my twenties.   My goal was to be married by the time I was thirty and have my first child at thirty one.  It looked like I was going to achieve this goal when I got engaged at twenty eight.  It wasn’t until a year later and six months prior to my wedding that I realized that I couldn’t go through with it.  I just couldn’t picture spending the rest of my life with an alcoholic.

Canceling the wedding wasn’t easy but I never regretted doing it.

I knew that I was going to date a few rebound guys before meeting the right one.  I also knew that I was a good catch so it wouldn’t take me long to find a good guy.  I was thirty and ready to date, how difficult could it be?

Lots of changes took place in my early thirties.  I bought a condo and moved to a new town in Connecticut.  I made new friends and remained close to the few people who didn’t judge me.   “You’ll find him in no time!”  I heard over and over again from many people.  These optimistic and loving people were wrong.  Before I knew it, I was in my mid thirties and still single.

My friends wanted to hear all about my dates.  I didn’t want to disappoint them so I only shared my good dates which weren’t many.  The sad truth is that a few of my dates didn’t go smoothly.  Actually, a lot of my dates were downright crazy.   A man cut up my dinner into bite size pieces for me in a restaurant and another kept hundreds of dead tropical fish in his freezer.  Like I said, some were crazy.  I couldn’t imagine this happening to another woman.   I thought for sure I was giving off a weird vibe that make men behave offensively.

I analyzed my bad dates to figure out where it all went wrong.  I was too embarrassed to talk about them with anyone so I struggled with my little secret alone.  My friends frequently asked who I was dating and I would down play the craziness.   After a series of bad date, I told my friends that I was taking a break.  

After months of no dating stories, my fellow single friends began to worry about me.  They asked probing questions until I broke down.  I cautiously started to tell them about the disastrous events.  My friends wanted examples so I shared a few of my disturbing stories.  I anticipated pity or words of encouragement.  What I got instead was laughter and stories of their own bad dates.  It was such a relief knowing that I wasn’t alone; many people have been on a bad date!

I needed to know why I’ve had so many bad for so many years.  I decided to discuss this with my therapist.   She usually sat quietly while I described a date and then we analyzed it together.  This went on for months.

During one of my sessions, she struggled to stay professional.  I looked at her as I told her that my last date started crying during dinner in a busy restaurant.  She couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.  After she collected herself, she turned to me and said; “You have to write down all of these stories and have them published.  I haven’t met anyone who has this many hilarious dating stories.  You have to share them.”  

So, I thought about it and decided that she was right; I have to share my experiences.   What you are about to read are the dating memoirs of a forty year old woman...