He also told that story to people at church.
This is a lie.
The story of "how we met" spans well over a decade, and requires several posts to explain. Well, this is the internet, and my blog, so I guess I could tell it in one really long post. But that would make me like him. I'll explain in a minute.
When people I don't know very well ask me how The Hubs and I met, I sort of stammer, and hem and haw a bit, and then throw in some language about being friends for years and years and if I know them a little bit, I might mention something about pen pals.
And its true.
But it is by no means the whole story.
We actually met because of this website: http://rsjames.com/
When the contemporary Christian artist Rebecca St. James released her album God in 1996, the liner notes included a tiny link to her website. We had only recently had the internet installed. Actually, my parents had purchased a new computer, a state of the art Acer running Windows 3.1 and using a 14.4 kbit/s modem, the previous year (just a few months before Windows 95 was released.) We didn't have a second phone line though, and we did have call waiting, so guess what happened every time someone called when we were online. And if a website loaded in less than five minutes, we were all "Oh my gosh, its sooooo fast!"
|True story: The Acer replaced our old computer, a Commodore 64 that had not worked since at least 1989. I was the coolest five year old ever, running around using DOS.|
Also, my mom made us watch a creepy made-for-tv movie about a girl who met someone from the internet, and then was kidnapped, in order to scare us into behaving. This is the same lady who doesn't ADMIT that her primary goal for allowing her teenager daughters to witness the birth of our youngest brother was intended mainly to act as a graphic form of sex-ed/teenage birth control. Good job, Mom: fifteen years later, and I still don't have any kids. So if you are wondering why I haven't given you grandchildren yet, NOW YOU KNOW.
We discovered that Rebecca St. James' website had a chat room, lovingly referred to as "rsjChat." We would talk to other teenagers in the chat rooms, have lively philosophical debates (it was pretty heavily moderated to keep things clean), and start e-mail/pen-pal friendships with people we talked to.
My first handle was "Trinity" (sooo cool), and then switched to eniale because, well, Trinity was boring. And I forgot my password. eniale is my middle name spelled backwards, and I thought it was pretty clever to think of it. I chatted with a whole host of other christian teenage kids, and over the years, the list of people I e-mailed began to dwindle, until I was left with just one ongoing pen-pal.
For the first few months, I didn't even know his real name, because you just didn't tell any old stranger your REAL name. They might find you! He signed his e-mail PM, and I would affectionately refer to him a "preacher boy" because he liked to throw complex theological concepts at me. I was 12 or 13, and easily over-awed. I liked to think of really insulting names to call him, and to this day, I can't tell you why.
|No idea why, at all.|
He sent me flowers via virtualflorist.com. And by "flowers" I mean a picture of flowers, with some meaningless but friendly message at the bottom.
|Virtualflorist.com: when you care enough to e-mail a picture of some flowers in a vase.|
Over the years, we remained pretty faithful correspondents, and I liked to brag to my friends when I was 13 that I had a friend who had his driver's license. (All...one... of my friends.)
Oh, did I forget to mention the part where he was 15 when I was 12? Ooops.
I'll let you judge him yourself/ draw your own conclusions. Well, no one has ever accused him of being "too mature for his age." I haven't, anyway.
We discussed religion and life and his love of writing. What we wanted to do/be when we grew up. He would write epic e-mails of awesomeness that would take you several days to read. He was in college before I was (obviously), so he had a lot of stories to tell about "being a grown up." This was also where he began formulating the thesis that has formed the core of existence ever since: The Global Female Conspiracy. He even began a book about the topic: and by began I mean he has probably several chapters already.
He was funny, and smart, and a little bit lotta-bit of a know-it-all. He used to make me read all of his stories, and theology papers, and pretty much anything else he could think of to
flaunt his superiority entertain his e-pen-pals.
When I turned 18, I decided I was mature enough, and we had e-mailed long enough, and it was probably safe to call him on the telephone. (This was also when I got my very own first e-mail address, and I still have it to this day.) My very first spoken words to him (and he immortalized this on his own website so that
he could taunt me with it forever he wouldn't ever forget) were, "I think I expected you to sound more like Antonio Banderas."