And I'm Still Alive To Tell the Story

I have a really bad habit of assuming what's important to me is important to others.  Especially those close to me. (i.e., my boyfriend, Fabian.)  So when he tells me that his level of enthusiasm isn't quite to the level mine is about something, I'm genuinely shocked.  And then I proceed to tell him how wrong he is.

For instance, two years ago, Fabian and I adopted our pit bull, Clifford.  Alright, alright...  One day I went out for a sandwich and came home with a pit bull named Clifford.

**Karen's thinking - I fell in love with a sweet dog, I took him home.**

**Everyone else's thinking - You're gonna die!  You're gonna DIE!**

And, because I couldn't care less what other people think or say about me, I became totally immersed in turning Clifford into the best-behaved pit bull this side of Cesar Millan's dog, Daddy.  (For those of you who don't know, Cesar Millan is the champion of the pit bull breed; his mission is to eradicate the fear associated with the pit bull.)  I bought every book Cesar had written, turning every waking hour into the Reading with Karen show.  I recorded and watched every. single. episode. of the Dog Whisperer, forcing Fabian to take part and engage in spirited canine conversation.  I started every sentence with, "Well Cesar says...," we even went to see him live. (of course we did)  It got so bad that I was sneaking reruns of the Dog Whisperer alone and when Fabian would come through the front door a surge of shame adrenaline would shoot through my body and I would blindly shout, "Nothing! I can stop whenever I want to!"

One day, Fabian told me he was done reading and hearing about Cesar Millan.  I told him that wasn't something we joke about in this house and to go get ready for Cesar Bingo.

Turns out, he was serious.

Okay, so I can be a little - how you say - passionate about things...which is why I shouldn't have been surprised at how this last weekend panned out.

I'm a huge Dave Ramsey fan.  To put it into perspective, I'm a bigger Dave fan than I am a Cesar fan.  You'll probably hear WWDD more often in my home than you would WWJD.  So when I heard Dave was bringing his SMART Conference to Big D, I didn't think twice about ordering 2 tickets - one for me and one for Fabian.  No need to check schedules, no need to ask if he would even be interested in joining me - because, of course he would.  This conference was going to touch on financial planning, how to relate to one another in our relationship, how teach my 13 year old about being smart with money, setting boundaries and jump-starting our careers.  Who wouldn't be pumped about 9 1/2 hours of learning on a Saturday?

By 8am Fabian was already regretting his *cough* decision to join me as I couldn't make the decision to wait in line and get a snack, (this was his vote because I'm super pleasant when I'm hungry) or hop in the admission line to ensure a better seat to see Dave.

Karen:   **ravenous, but eyeing the ever-growing seating line**   Let's just go get in line for seating  - I don't need to eat.

Fabian:   Let's just get you something to eat now - that will keep us both out of prison - and then we can hop in line to get seated.  Plenty of time, plenty of seats.

Karen:   No, I want a good seat for Dave!  Look at all of the people already in line.  All the good seats will be taken if we stay in this line!

Fabian:  Okay, let's go get in line, then.

Karen:   But I'm hungry.

I know, I know. I wanna punch me, too.

Famously, Fabian suggested we go ahead and jump in line to get seated, then he would return to get some food for me.  We got through the door in no time and easily found 2 seats.  These seats were in a single row against the railing on the upper level, with the upper deck theater seating about 15 feet behind them. Because it was a single row, we just hopped over the back of the seat and plopped right down.  While Fabian was gone ensuring my blood sugar didn't dip to a dangerous break-up-with-you-and-never-look-back level, I looked around and decided perhaps I could see Dave better from a different seat.  The venue hadn't filled in quite as quickly as I'd anticipated (weird), so I wanted to change seats. (of course I did)

Fun fact - While moving from our shoddy, original seats to our new and improved seats, I threw one leg over the back of my chair and, while steadying myself to throw the other leg over, my supporting foot slammed through the back of the folding arena chair, not quite touching the floor below, causing me to teeter on my crotch for a good 3 seconds.   This was to the great enjoyment of the hundreds of people surrounding me - Fabian among them.

As I walked gingerly to our new seats with my bruised ego (and crotch), my embarrassment quickly dissipated as the lights dimmed signaling the conference was about to begin.
 
Karen:   I'm SO excited!  Are you SO excited!?  This is going to be LIFE CHANGING!  I'm SO excited!  Are you, SO, SO excited!?

Fabian:  Stop it - YOU'RE "so" excited, I'm just excited.  Isn't that enough?

I just don't think this relationship is going to work out.