Lesson 7: Offer Him a Quasi-Ultimatum

As I was saying, My Day came on April 26, 2003. After a long journey. Remember my obsession with getting engaged? Well, I'd say that began in December 2002. From then until my graduation from college, every other word out of my mouth had something to do with it. Marriage. Ring. Wedding. Soon. Now. Want. Bad.

And Nathan knew. In our college days, he was kind of nonchalant about it. Fed the flames by listing me as his fiance at the dentist because I was "close enough," and by saying "you'd be surprised" in response to my pseudo-snide remarks on the lengthy time I'd have to wait until he'd propose.

In our Iowa days, he got a little more...annoyed. Defensive. Hesitant, or more accurately, not rushed. Don't get me wrong. Let's clarify:

1.) I'm sure you're thinking, "Jeez, she was desperate." Really not. I'm so self-aware, huh? (By the way, I think self-awareness is one of the the most, if not THE most, important attributes a person can have.) Back to not being desperate. I knew I wasn't. Being in love with Nathan, Nathan being in love with me, being in love together gave me confidence in myself, men, and relationships. I knew he felt the same -- except for the men part! I knew he'd come around. I knew if he didn't come around, someone else would. I'm a catch after all.

2.) I knew Nathan's story. When we met, he knew I'd fulfil his every hope and dream he'd ever had for a relationship/girlfriend/wife. He also wished I would've shown up just a little later. Too bad, buddy. His heart and head just had to catch up with each other.

3.) For some reason, he had "five years" etched into his brain as the sufficient, minimal, and appropriate amount of time to be with me/anyone before he proposed. Evidently, he thought that's how long it really took to get to know someone. Puh-lease. More like how long it really took to come to terms with the fact that I would be the last woman he would ever be with. Tough pill to swallow for a sailor.

4.) He wanted to finish school. Move to Wisconsin. Start working with his dad. Get engaged. Get married. You can imagine what I thought about that timeline.

Now, perhaps you're recalling my statement about moving to Iowa (CRINGE!) without a rock. Obviously, that changed. After graduation, I moved back home (DOUBLE CRINGE!). Nathan and I had been long distance for five months and it sucked ass. My first plan was to live at home and go to school for my Masters in Early Childhood Education. Fell through. Not important. Then, I was going to move to the QCA (the Quad City Area as the locals call it) and get the same degree at Western Illinois University. Sent in my transcripts to see how long it'd take. Got a letter back saying four years full-time. Scratched that, too.

So I got a job as a medical receptionist in my hometown for $11/hour...every parent's dream after forking out 20K a year for college...and started sending resumes to places in the QCA. Now that's when I was desperate. Looking back, I sent resumes not only to places I'd never want to work, but also places where a dancing dog would be more qualified. Out of about fifty resumes, not one employer contacted me. I HATED my job as a medical receptionist. Stupid hours. Stupid sick people. Stupid co-workers who spoke foreign languages around me and would laugh and look at me. After six weeks of that hell and six months of "when are you moving here's" from my boy toy, I up and quit. Yep. Called. Cried. Quit. After tons of soul searching and reflection on the fact that:

1.) The U.S. was in a recession and was not doing much hiring.

2.) Every option I'd thus explored slapped me in the face.

3.) I was in love with the man made for me (minus the chest hair...wouldn't have requested that on my made-to-order man)...

I realized I needed to move. And I did. Decided I was going to save the world as a social worker and enrolled at St. Ambrose University in Davenport, Iowa. Quite a change form my Big Ten life. I didn't care. I needed to go. My mom and dad were less than thrilled with both the career and location choice. (They have since recanted and are proud and supportive).

So, we're not even close to April 26, 2003. Just a warning.

So, where does this whole quasi-ultimatum bit fit in? Well...

I moved. Scared shitless and eagerly excited. Started school. Got a job. All was well.

Still obsessed. I moved to Iowa on one condition -- that I'd only move this once to a new state without a real ring. But, I would not move to Wisconsin after graduate school without one. A Chicago girl like me doesn't move Up North without a rock. Period.