My High-Maintenance Sitcom Episode True Story.

My dear friend Debbie suggested I post this story, and it's worth reading for a good laugh.

I own a t-shirt with the design shown here. I bought it last year when I was playing the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. The make-up crew had quite a time getting my face all silvered in time for my entrance, and my costume was very cumbersome and limited my movement, so they kept saying I was high-maintenance. Hence the shirt.

So the other day Michael said I was high-maintenance. Now, I've been really good (for me), and I've been extremely proud of how easy-going I've been. I took offense to the term, and told him so. "That's a really negative thing to say. I hate that expression." He apologized and said, "Can I call you a nut case instead? I mean, after last week..."

"Last week" referred to my sudden attack of panic. So here's the story that earned me the title "high-maintenance" and/or "nut case....."

I had some pictures from my trip to NYC that I wanted to email Michael. He asked me not to use the email address I have, but to use his new one. "It's michaelreynaldo@yahoo.com." (NOTE: names have been changed to protect his privacy.) I thought it was strange, since he had told me his last name was Censario... that was in fact his old email address. I said, "What, is Reynaldo your other name?" He laughed and said yes, it was. I said, "No, seriously, where did you get the name Reynaldo?" "They gave it to me," was his reply. Now, I've had a Yahoo email account, and I know they don't just give you a last name. They might suggest a number if, for example, the name "michaelr@yahoo.com" was already taken. I didn't pursue the subject any further that evening.

But the next day, it was gnawing at me. I was at work, and being the good librarian that I am, I went online and went to www.zabasearch.com, which is a great place to look up info on people. I did a search of Michael Censario in Illinois... nothing. I did a search of Michael Reynaldo in Illinois, and sure enough, there was his address! Yahoo did not give him that name-- it was his real name! So the other name he gave me, Censario, was an alias. I literally gasped and put my hand over my mouth. Were this a tv show, the commercial break would come right now.

After the commercial, back to me at work with my dear co-worker Penny. I told her what had happened. "Why would he give you his real name if he didn't want you to know he had an alias? It just doesn't add up." My mind kept going, and then I gasped again. "Maybe he's not really a counselor! Maybe he... you know, he always has Trader Joe's bags and Whole Food bags. Maybe he's a bag boy at Trader Joe's!" Penny's response was simple: "Doug, the crazy train is pulling out of the station and you're on it." She suggested I simply call Michael that evening and ask him to explain.

Which I did. I called him and said, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. What is your name?"

"Michael..."

"Michael what?"

"Michael Reynaldo."

"Then where did the Censario come from?"

"We had this discussion, honey, at your friend Jackie's house that night. My full name is Michael Joseph Reynaldo Censario. Censario is my grandmother's maiden name. It's a Latino custom. Don't you remember me explaining this?"

Pause. "No, but maybe I was in the kitchen when you were explaining it." Pause. "But then why did you say Yahoo gave you that name?"

"What?"

"I asked where you got the name Reynaldo, and you said they gave it to you."

"Umm, yeah, they gave it to me. 'They' meaning my family. Did you think I had like an alias or something?"

"Well... yes, I kinda did. It was just confusing, that's all."

"Look, if you want my social security number so you can do a whole background check on me..."

So there it was. I didn't dare tell him I had looked him up online. I didn't dare tell him I thought he was a bagboy at Trader Joe's. I just nodded, smiled, and listened as he told me how charmed he was by my paranoia. And the next time I saw him, I wore the "high-maintenance" t-shirt.

So, yes, I am a little high-maintenance. Okay, a lot. But I'm so worth it. He'll see.

And for Christmas, one thing I'm giving him is a gift card to Trader Joe's.

That's the kind of guy I am.

Good Listening.

I went to Michael's last night, despite the forecast of freezing rain. It turned out to be of no consequence at all, particularly since I drive like a 90-year-old woman in bad weather and there was scarcely a vehicle in sight.

I assembled a kitchen cart for him (I'm handy and love projects like this-- he isn't handy and hates them). It took all of 30 minutes, and as I worked, he brought me coffee and my cigarettes, asked if I needed anything, and made me feel so appreciated. I never really had that sense with my ex. He was always impressed when the job was done (with a few criticisms, of course), but didn't seem to value my efforts.

Then we cuddled, watched tv, and talked. And made out. Okay, mostly made out. But he is such an insightful person. I mean, he's a clinical professional counselor, so he knows how to listen and process. I was talking about the frustration with my job and how unfulfilled and unappreciated I feel with my work. I'm a Youth Services Coordinator for a suburban public library. (That's a picture of my turf there.) I left teaching (music, grades K through 5) after 14 years because I was feeling burned out and needed a change. I had my Master's in library science and had been a librarian prior to teaching; however, I had never worked as a children's librarian, and it is far better than working the (yawn) adult side. And the library where I work is the same one I worked at as a part-time clerk all during college, so it was like coming home when they hired me. Some feel I am being groomed as the next library director-- although that's probably 10 or more years down the road, in my estimation.

Michael listened as I voiced my frustrations and concerns, my feeling that I always felt destined for something much greater. How I had dreamed of being rich and famous many years ago and how I now realized that no one was going to come knocking on my door looking to discover me.

His responses were simple and direct.

"You can be discovered anytime, anywhere, so don't assume it will never happen."

"Regarding your present job, it is as fulfilling as you make it. If you want it to be a great job, be great at it."

"And as for being rich and famous, I already am. I'm rich because I have my health and a place to live and enough to eat. And I'm famous because I know that at any time of any day, there is one special someone thinking of me-- and I'm thinking of him."

Is he not the best???

Learning From My Mistakes.

So, last night was the big Disco Ball at Hydrate. I was so excited for my friends AnnieGrace and Stephen to meet Michael, a.k.a. my boyfriend. Michael was bringing his friend Jackie, and they were to arrive around 8:30. I got there around 8:00 and enjoyed silliness with Stephen, Eric and the ever-hilarious and charming Philip. AnnieGrace soon appeared, and I was getting nervous but also thinking, "Michael is so adorable... they will all be green with envy!"

Then my cell phone rang. it was Michael with bad news. His Jeep Wrangler convertible plastic window was broken (this had happened a few days earlier, so I was aware of it), and he was not comfortable leaving his car on the street in Boystown with the driver's side window missing. And Jackie doesn't have a car. I offered to go pick them up, but he said no, that he was trying to reach Jackie to tell her it was off. Then he asked if I would still come over to his place when I was done at Hydrate. Which, of course I would, but I was so disappointed. AnnieGrace and Stephen wisely wondered why he couldn't just take a cab. Which would make sense, right?

Anyway, after speculating on whether a pair of cute guys across the bar who looked alike were twins (they were- I asked them), I took my leave and headed to Michael's. He was all over me, was so thrilled I was there, and we had a lovely time. I spent the night. (No sex, remember... not for six months.)

Then tonight we had been invited to my dear friend Jackie's home out here in the 'burbs for cocktails and munchies, so she and a few friends could meet Michael. I've pretty much let everyone know that he is the one I plan on seeing for a long time. I checked in with Michael mid-day and we confirmed that he'd be at my place around 7.

He called at about 5:30 to tell me he couldn't come. We'd have to do it another time, because he couldn't make the drive all the way out here without a window. It was very cold, after all. Then he asked if I was angry, and I said, "To be quite honest, yes, I am angry. I have friends who I now have to explain to, who are looking forward to meeting you." He responded that he would come and he'd be here at 7 as agreed. He said he wanted to simplify my life, not complicate it. I apologized a bit, saying I hope I didn't sound like a jerk but that at this late hour it would be rude, etc.

While waiting for Michael, I called AnnieGrace to get her take, and she said I was okay to express my honest feelings, particularly given the last-minute-ness of it all. She gently reminded me that it would be a good thing to be appreciative once he arrived. I just got a bad feeling that he didn't want to meet my friends. Maybe he had social anxiety disorder, or something.

And when he arrived, frozen like a popsicle, I felt awful. We did go to Jackie's, and everyone loved Michael, and he them, and all was good. And when he and I ended up back at my place to say goodnight, he reminded me that there's no rush. There will be plenty of time for him to meet my friends, and for me to meet his. And I just need to be patient. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

So it wasn't that he didn't want to meet my friends. And he was delightfully social and funny and intelligent, and won everyone over (including me, again and still). It was simply that he didn't feel the need to meet them all so quickly, and (my interpretation, not his) I was a little eager to show him off, both last night and tonight.

So I've learned that I need to continue to hoard him and let him hoard me, and get to really know one another, and learn all those interesting details about each other's lives, and eventually the friends and family will fit into the equation. And they will all love him.

Heavy sigh of relief. And my mantra continues: "breathe, relax, take it slow, let it happen..."