I have written about some of this before, so please don't think I am looping. I just like this part of the story a lot:
The year was 1996. I was twenty seven and,despite my affiliation with one of the most successful talent managers in the business, my career was in the toilet.
In January,I made a bunch of New Year's Resolutions that I didn't keep and waited for pilot season to start. I watched Monica Seles' comeback on a muted tv, finding her guttural soundtrack unbearable. February came, and Alanis Morissette won a Grammy while people debated whether or not a "fly in your Chardonnay" was,in fact, ironic or simply just gross and annoying. Pilot season was busy, and I auditioned for "Gilmore Girls" and many other long running, career making shows. I tested for nothing. March arrived abruptly with the Menendez Brothers getting sentenced to life in prison for murdering their parents. "Braveheart" won Best Picture, Nick Cage won Best Actor and Susan Sarandon won Best Actress. Since then, all three have fallen from grace, though Miss Sarandon's isn't entirely her fault. She really shouldn't have to hawk milk to pay the rent, you Ageist Fuckers. Then, one afternoon in April-feeling chunky and banal- I called my manager's office. A Nice Man answered the phone (insert tweeting birds, unicorns and rainbows here). I explained that the crap audition I'd just been on was a disaster-one of the producers had experienced a coughing fit that not only interrupted the reading but left me with the moral quandary of continuing with the trite love scene I was playing with the casting director or acknowledging that the producer might be expiring in the hallway. In true actress fashion, I chose to go on with the show and delivered a distracted, inauthentic performance. I departed, all fake smiles and overly emphatic handshakes, feeling like shit. The Nice Man called me back the next day and informed me that,while I was not getting the job, I had been number two. Instead of sharing how fitting that description felt at that point in my life, we set a lunch date. We went to the Newsroom on Robertson. He was very professional in the face of my depressed, actressy rambling.
May arrived, and we bonded on a quasi date after seeing "Welcome to the Dollhouse".
He invited me to see Natalie Merchant at the Greek Theater on June 14th, and we officially became an item.( on the down low, of course)
Let's not forget-he was a mere twenty five years old when we met, accompanied by the requisite filthy apartment and posse of questionable friends. He had been a frat boy, had Journey and Hall and Oates on his list of favorite musical acts and was a bona fide hypochondraic. I hadn't gone to college (and actively blamed frat boys for most of the world's problems), had the Talking Heads and The Pretenders on my list of favorite musical acts and had no patience for sickness unless it was the chemically treatable kind. We were very different.
However, he had gorgeous brown eyes and a lovely smile. He was earnest, sweet and downright decent in a sea of duplicitous, mean and morally bankrupt industry peers. I fell for him, in that cheesy rock ballad sung by a homely mullet clad New Jersian kind of way. He also thought that I was perfect. I recall the moment that those words left his soft bow shaped lips, and the voice in my head said (a la Jeremy Irons) "You have no idea.....". Yeah, since then he has discovered most of my, er, quirks, and yet he remains the same earnest, sweet and downright decent man from all those years ago. After a nine year courtship, we were married on September 24th, 2005 with our three month old daughter in tow.
The Nice Man is the best thing that ever happened to me. In the last decade and a half, I have lived more, learned more, seen more, laughed more, complained more, yelled more, cleaned more and loved more than I could ever have imagined. I look forward to the future,silently praying to the universe that his optimism continues to counteract my pessimism, that his extrovert will continue to inspire my introvert, that he will learn how to properly hang up a pair of dress pants, and that the light that makes his eyes sparkle so brilliantly doesn't dim in the face of other people's bullshit. He is a rare person: gem, mensch, loyal to the core, with a dash of rascal and a smidge of con artist( his words, not mine) just to keep me on my toes. Happy Anniversary, Wonderful Husband!