Riding the Short Bus to Love
If it weren’t for the Internet, I’d never have met the woman I love…or needed to call in the Canadian Mounties to fend off a cyber-stalker who tried to steal my identity. Technology enabled me to spend several thousand bucks, over the years, on plane and train fare for dates with total strangers.
But it also meant I’d never have to live in Wilmington. (Every seen Fight Club? It was filmed there, and its characters’ craving to bash in each other’s brains makes no sense—until you figure out that they live in Wilmington.) For me, the Web is not so much a two-edged sword as a jagged shard of glass. Which, you know, can come in handy….
It’s no news to paleos that the Net empowers eccentrics of every sort, and helps us find each other. There are Facebook groups that summon from airless basement rooms the fans of squabbling heirs to the vacant throne of Byzantium, and dating services catering to the most peculiar tastes, and the tiniest coteries of dispossessed souls.
For instance, orthodox Catholics. No, not the folks who happened to grow up Italian-American or Irish in the wake of Vatican II, and learned a little less about their Faith than most 19th century Haitians. I mean the much smaller subset of people who have blundered somehow onto the actual teachings of the Church—and even worse, come to believe them. From a mass religion that exercised a sweaty grip on the minds of tens of millions, the American church in the past 40 years has become something very different: An exotic, almost esoteric sect of old believers, hidden inside the shell of a mainline Protestant denomination. Apart from the occasional Latin Mass full of elderly anti-Masonic activists, we typically sit through our dismal local services with teeth clenched and earlids shut, and spot each other (if at all) by secret handshakes and coded phrases. See that blonde over there, a friend might nudge you with his elbow. She took Communion on the tongue. I wonder if she’s single…. Such thoughts don’t always help you to pray.
It made matters worse that for most of my career I’ve worked from home, and missed out on all the happenstance meetings at water cooler and Xerox machine that can sometimes prove so fruitful. The casually glimpsed scapular dangling from an ivory, swanlike neck … the smudge of ash on a high, noble forehead that shows up one Wednesday every year, like a sticker reading “Marriage Material.” I found out the hard way that none of this happens by email.
So as soon as I heard about Catholic dating sites, I signed up for several of them. I wrote up a long and learned-sounding profile, posted pics I hoped were appealing, and began to send off notes to a wide array of bright-seeming, good-looking girls. I tramped off to Boston, Washington, Virginia, North Carolina, even Iowa. I learned (after more years than I’d like to admit) that phone conversations don’t always predict how two people will get along in person, and that photos can sometimes be… flattering. There are few things worse than having arranged to spend the better part of a weekend with someone six states from home… and realizing within 8 seconds or so that you want to go back to the airport. It’s worse, of course, when you’re the one still dazzled by surface attraction, and she’s staring at you like the burrito in which she found a human finger.
Of course, I had a number of wholesome and harmless experiences—and a few that flickered with a fitful mutual passion, even dragged on the requisite three months it usually takes a long-distance interest to sputter down to nothing. With most of these women I’ve retained a friendly connection; in fact, they usually pay me the compliment of inviting me to their weddings. It’s a cold and curious fact that at the past nine weddings I have attended, I was the last guy the bride had dated before the groom. That always makes for lively conversation at the reception—where eventually I began to feel that I deserved some recognition: A velvet chair perhaps, a distinctive hat—or at least a name for the role I played. Not the “best man,” but at least the last man….
I sincerely hope that the next wedding I attend will be my own, and to a woman I met online—but not through a dating site. A bit of a belle, of zany Faulknerian lineage via Dallas, she’s as likely to sign up for CatholicMatch.com as to get a tattoo on her face. We met when I published a review of the miserable movie Kinsey which she read with a margarita in hand. It must have been her third, since she sent me a tipsy fan letter. In the story, I mentioned the fact that my taste in women had been formed early on by TV’s Morticia Adams. (It’s a pity that Goth chicks didn’t exist until I was old enough to find them frightening.) To this, my Dallas fan responded: “Morticia Adams? Yuck! I look like that and I’ve always hated it!” That’s all she wrote.
And that was enough. Soon we were trading several emails a day, and talking for sometime 8 hours straight about all the things we had in common. (Favorite writer, Mauriac, check! Favorite cuisine, Cajun, check! Favorite candidate, Pat Buchanan….) It seemed that Providence had finally come through for me.
There was just one teensy problem: She wouldn’t meet me. In fact, for at least a month, she wouldn’t even send a picture. This awoke my darkest suspicions, especially when I Googled her name and came up with a plump and chinless Midwestern music teacher in her 50s. I sent that picture, with a very tactful note—and she relented. It seemed she shared a name with someone who looked very different, and I stepped up my pursuit of a woman I now knew to be a beauty. But she was spooked. “I don’t meet people this way,” she tried to explain. “I’ve never even dated anyone whose family didn’t know my family. I mean you could be anyone….”
“Fair point,” I said. “But so could you.”
And so it went on, for months. Long and delightful talks that went on until sunrise (I’d pause to go out and drain the beagles, then call her back). Frustrating discussions of when I would go to Dallas, or she’d come to Queens. Which kept on refusing to happen. I’d gone from spending hours in strange, foreign places (like Forest City, Iowa) with people I barely knew—to talking for months and months to someone it seemed I’d never meet. At last, she admitted that there was something else going on. She owned that she’d always been a little suspicious of intimacy. In fact, a counselor she’d gone to see about this issue had told her she had “special emotional needs.” And not every guy could handle that, she knew. Maybe we shouldn’t keep on talking so much….
I felt a deep and comforting certainty. In a calm and compassionate voice, I really did say the following: “Okay, you have emotional special needs, I’ll be your emotional Special Olympics coach. I’ll be there on the sidelines cheering for you—even if you have to wear some kind of helmet. And when you stumble across the finish line, I’ll be right there to hand you one of those Nerf trophies. I promise.”
After a long stunned silence, she burst out laughing. “You are the only guy in the world who would say something that insane. And you were trying to be sweet! What is wrong with you?” She was hooked. And so was I.
Comments
I wish you all the best and please dont name the kids Wednesday or Pugsley, although I am sure Taki would approve of Pugsley.
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John,
Just make sure that your vows include the habendum clause. Sorry, this is kind of a lawyer in-joke about “to have and to hold”, language from property deeds and the like, as well as the marriage vows. I guess you could say that it shows the contractual nature of the sacrament.
Funny thing also that you should mention the large protestant denomination that is the Church in this country (and others, too). Besides recalling Cardinal George’s remark that we all say we are Catholics but think like Calvinists, I recall Fritz Wilhelmsen saying at a conference that we were all protestantized now, in the wake of the “hurricane” that was the Council. He was referring the to the need felt by traditionally-minded Catholics to exercise individual judgment on current hierarchical pronouncements, the local parish’s hootenanny Mass, and the like.
In any case, I wish you all the best for much happiness and many years. And as is said in the Anglican Usage wedding service: “May you see your childrens’ children”.
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Great one, as always! Fret not. You’ll get what you need.
P.S. Because I know you care, it’s the Addams--two ‘d’s--family.
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Mr. Zmirak,
What in the world does this journal entry have to do with paleoconservatism or anything remotely relevant to political discourse? I read through this entire thread with the expectation that you would somehow connect this personal story with something of at least minor political significance. Needless to say, this expectation was not met. Must I remind you that this a website for true political debate rather than a platform for you to share mundane information about your personal life? What makes you think anyone wants to read such dribble? Mr. Zmirak, to be blunt, you’re just not that important.
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My husband and I mert via on of these Catholic dating sites, and we could not be happier. I was on for over three years, rejecting every man with even a hint of non adherence to Catholic moral teaching, let alone the surprises revealed during the phone calls. Needless to say, I quit the site, and felt compelled to rejoin a month later, due to the intercession of Our Blessed Mother (saying the Miraculous Medal novena nine times a day helped too). He found me, for once, and we met at our mutual parish, which housed the only Tridentine Rite in our diocese. Love was immediate for him- it took him until the third date to pop the wuestion seven times, because he wanted no one else to intervene. We were married 18 months after we met, and that was over five and a half years ago.
I wish you and your beloved great bliss and joy with eah other, as well as lots of Catholic babies!!!!
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To A concerned reader:
Funny, I read through the entire thread hoping, really hoping, NOT to find anything that related to paleoconservatism or that which could be considered relevant to political discourse. Besides, I would wager that the best way to gauge a person’s wisdom, or lack thereof, in regard to relatively unimportant matters, viz., politics, is through an examination of that person’s stance towards those things of which any culture (at least one worth keeping, anyway) consists, viz., marriage to attractive, intelligent, and witty women who have a hankering after the Latin Mass.
Dr. Zmirak, go get her!
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I much prefer reading about Mr. Zmirak’s private life as opposed to Taki’s, as I am much
more likely to end up dating over the internet as opposed to sailing around Greek islands,
complaining about Russian “new rich,” playing tennis or judo, etc., etc. Taki also
wrote a post about spying on a neighbor kid. So if Taki can write about things so
utterly far removed from the experience of most of us, and often devoid of direct political
import, why not every other writers write biography. Mr. Zmirak has written perhaps
four/five posts in this vein, so it is surprising that the concerned reader is concerned
only now.
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Dear “Concerned”, marrying and the associated procreation and nuturing of children are an essential paleoconservative activity (for all but the celibate clergy and those others who have a vocation to the single life, I suppose). Indeed, surely you recall Russell Kirk’s (or someone like that) maxim that conservatives would rather be hunting than doing politics. Or the famous remark of one of the great Spanish monarchists of the pre-Crusade period, when asked what he would do, politically, after the restoration of monarchy, replied, that he would ride with the King and speak of the chase. Since the family is the basic cell of society, one could well argue that nothing is more important than contributing another family to help rebuild our society. Speaking of this is also a matter of charity, encouraging others to do the right thing, and all that.
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True, true, Mr. Woody Jones. I did not mean to imply that a natural divide exists (or should exist) between marriage and a concern for politics. If anything, having a spouse and a couple of kids running around should encourage a person to take an active interest in the general health and order of society. Whereas, for example, if I was concerned only for myself, I would probably read Walker Percy and drink mint juleps all day.
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Congratulation to you Mr. Zmirak for persevering in your search for the perfect woman. I have concluded that I may have to convert the future Mrs. Nucci and I don’t even know where to find the Tridentine mass in my area. I didn’t even know that there was such thing as a Catholic dating site.
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The movie “Fight Club” was not filmed in Wilmington although Zmirak is correct that the storyline is based on life in Delaware and it’s credit card industry. I think it was filmed in LA.
About 10 or 15 years ago, Bruce Willis (from nearby Pennsville, NJ) was in Wilmington to film a movie. I believe that it was being shot in the Polish neighborhood and word was out that Willis was drinking at a few of the local watering holes.
At the time, my friends and I believed that a great night out consisted of drinking mass amounts of beer and whiskey, shooting pool, and fighting any other group that looked at us.
So naturally, we shifted our drinking to the bars that were rumoured to be where Willis and his Hollywood crew were out and about. We couldn’t find him and the movie ceased filming after a few days and the project was scrapped.
Looking back, it was very stupid behavior, but it would have been nice to kick some Hollywood ass. Maybe Bill Maher, Lewis Black, and Jon Stewart will be making a stop in Wilmo? If they do, they better not step in one our spots.
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“I wish you all the best and please don’t name the kids Wednesday or Pugsley...”
But they would make great names for your dogs.
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Maybe Bill Maher, Lewis Black, and Jon Stewart will be making a stop in Wilmo? If they do, they better not step in one our spots.
I relish the thought of those three cretins getting the pounding that they deserve. My guess is that they don’t go out without a contingent of armed goons,
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John,
I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I am a little concerned that your beloved-to-be went to a “counselor”. Hope not!
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“I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I am a little concerned that your beloved-to-be went to a “counselor”. Hope not!”
She probably had her heart badly broken & was needing a little help getting back in the
saddle (so to speak). Just a girl’s perspective…
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“Okay, you have emotional special needs, I’ll be your emotional Special Olympics coach. I’ll be there on the sidelines cheering for you—even if you have to wear some kind of helmet. And when you stumble across the finish line, I’ll be right there to hand you one of those Nerf trophies. I promise.”
LMAO Mr. Z, you are a flipping genius. Don’t ever change. You are THE best writer at this site
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A fun story. And I’m also impressed by the fact that somebody who works from home could afford to live in my home borough of Queens AND travel around the country to meet women. Maybe “The Bad Catholic’s Guide to Dating” should be your next endeavor.
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Very funny. I used to have exactly those same “ . . . she took Communion on the tongue. I wonder if she’s single…” thoughts.
I met my wife through AveMariaSingles.com and so did my old roomate. My wife told me that on their singles cruises, the women outnumber the men 3:1. I guess that there are actually a lot more conservative Catholic girls out there than guys, you just have to know where to look.
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HA! HA!
I actually met my wife at a goth club located not 2 blocks from the parish at which we were married--1962 Rituale Romanum followed by Solemn High Mass.
Charles the Great was among my groomsmen of course!
BTW, Mr. Zmirak, do you recall that wonderful evening in New Orleans at Antoine’s in early Fall 1995? You dined with Charles and me. CR and a woman whose name alludes me were in our party.
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Hey. This is totally cool. I wish you lived somewhere near me, so we could hang out and be ascerbic and cool and orthodox-catholic, and hip, at least in our own minds.
W
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There is a thing worse than a blind date looking at you like the burrito in which she found a human finger: a blind date looking at you like a burrito in which she hoped to find a human finger—and did.
Then, too, this might not rattle a man who dreams of dating Morticia Addams.
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Very funny post John.
Thanks so much for sharing!
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Wow, that declaration about being a emotional special needs coach is the sweetest, most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! Would’ve totally melted my heart! Isn’t that what marriage is all about anyway, being each others special needs coaches? Because when are you ever more emotionally vulnerable? When do you have to trust and surrender more? Aren’t spouses supposed to remind each other to put their helmets on? I’ve had the most wonderful emotional special needs coach for the past 20 years. He’s in the shower now getting ready for work. He is the one with whom I feel safest.
I hope you get to meet your girl. I’ll pray for you.
God bless!
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John,
Neato story. Light hearted with the glimmers of a happy ending, just like all my favorites.
The love of my life and I were married first, and rather late in life are discovering orthodixy (small “o”.
As a matter of fact, we are doing a first Novena at the TLM celebrated at the local Franciscan hermitage.
Take care.
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