Romance

There's this guy on lavalife. He's messaged me twice. Email #1: he wanted to know when we could meet. I told him I'd rather sent a few more notes back and forth first, and decide IF we should meet. Email #2: he wants to know what kind of kissing I like, whether or not I like massages, and what constituties a romantic evening.

This is right up there with strangers calling me sexy.

A stranger would probably go for flowers and a nice dinner. That stranger would probably turn me right off. Roses remind me of an ex who used to buy them for me when he had cheated on me (again) or broken something I cherished. I hate roses. Especially red ones.

Romance is so dependent on mood, and on the person you're with. One of the most memorable 'romantic' evenings I can think of with Mr Wonderful was a game of Trivial Pursuit. With three of my cousins, an aunite, and my Grandma, but Mr Wonderful kept dropping hints and allusions to private jokes between him and I, and, at the same time, entertained a bunch of people I loved dearly. He didn't especially want to be there that day, but came because of me. That's romantic.

Mr UK keeps emailing me links to web design/building tutorials, and to shareware and open source programs that he thinks I would be interested in. Often, attached to sweet notes about how well I am doing with my learning html.

One guy took me for lunch at my favorite restaraunt, then took me to the SPCA and talked me into buying a dog. He didn't last, but I still think of him all the time - I do love the dog to bits.

These things all stuck out in my mind as romantic. Mr UK would never take me dog shopping, and it probably wouldn't feel romantic if he did. But, he does know me well enough to know that free software is a great gift. It's the caring and acknowledgement in the gesture that makes it romantic to me. I'm not a Hallmark kinda gal, and romance has to be personal...

Oh, yeah, and I don't imagine there will ever BE a first date with Mr Romantic on lavalife...

Backbone Update.

Well, I was reading comments on a recent post, and I felt like I had more to say on the topic.

You know, I think the reaction I have when M contacts me is just...habit. An ingrained reaction. It just goes through my mind every time, but, on the other hand, it goes through my mind, then goes away.

Sure, a part of me would still like to be with him. No denying that. I can't figure out why I haven't shut that door entirely - usually when I break up with someone, or they break up with me, then it's over. Just done, over with, and time to move on.

Even with Mr Wonderful, who I didn't want to leave (but felt I had to), I told him he had a few months to get his act together, or I would move on. When the time passed with no action on his part, I went back to meet him the place we had shared for the requisite bitter-sweet goodbye sex on the floor of our empty bedroom before he handed in the keys, and that was that. Finis. Done. Never to be revisited.

M is...different. I've never really been in love with him. Oh, I love him, in a way, but I've never felt that sparkly, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. I know it could happen, like a word that's on the tip of your tongue, but it hasn't. It can't. He has such thick walls built up; they put me off, push me away, and I have never really been able to let my own guard down enough to just...feel.

We spoke for a few hours yesterday. He mostly respected the boundaries I have set, avoided talking about 'us', though he dropped a hint or two about having thought a lot about his commitment issues. I chalk that up to him not really wanting to let go, either. We didn't explore it. I have to admit, I am curious as hell, but if we have that talk, it will be when I am in a headspace to do so. He doesn't get to set the agenda anymore. I am fairly certain that the outcome of that conversation will be the usual conclusion that nothing has changed.

So we spoke for hours yesterday, and I feel...nothing, really. Not especially happy or sad, just kind of...indifferent. No real urge to go see him, though a part of me wants to go back and revisit the bits of the conversation that we avoided. Like I said, I'm curious, and right at the moment, he doesn't seem to affect me much, so the timing would be right. On the other hand, maybe it will hurt, feel manipulative, make me angry, and I can finally just say "enough".

Someday, I will pack up his housekey and all the baggage, mail it back to him, and just...walk away. Finally.

On Shaving

I noticed today that it's been awhile.

I can't say I have any pressing motivation to shave. My cat and dog are far fuzzier than me, and never complain about my stubbly legs when we snuggle up in bed at night. And I don't generally let guys see my legs on the first date. There's been a few 'first dates' lately, but no second dates, so it's just not an issue. I'd hate to feel like I put an effort into a bad date...

Part of the problem is that I shower in the morning. Mornings are not my friend. I have my morning routine timed down to the second, so I can sleep as late as possible, have a seven-minute shower, get dressed, pack my lunch, and get out the door in time to get to work within 5 minutes of when I am supposed to arrive. Seven minutes is not nearly long enough to shave. I have a lot of leg.

I once had a hair-growing contest with Mr Wonderful. Mr Wonderful can not grow a beard. The best he can manage is a sad sort of fu manchu, which, in reality, looks like someone glued a mangy rat to his chin. Mr Wonderful decided he wanted to grow a beard.

I told him he did not want to do that.

He insisted.

I told him that if he stopped shaving, then I would stop shaving. That conversation happened in November. Let's just say I only went swimming at night the following summer. Alone. Or with a minimum personal space of six feet between myself and my nearest companion.

My legs scared me, but didn't deter Mr Wonderful. I think we broke up before either of us actually caved and bought a razor. I shaved the morning after I moved out. With relief.

I spent a good bit of last year travelling in North Africa and the Middle East. Their interpretation of the toilet is a hole in the ground. With a porcelain footrest, if you're lucky. And a tap on the wall. No soap. No toilet paper. Nowhere to even dispose of toilet paper.

Part of my challenge was learning to do what the locals did. That meant eating with my (right) hand, and learning to cope without TP. I spent my fair share of time in public baths also, where I was educated as to local hygiene rules. As in, it is 'more hygenic' to 'wipe' with a (left) handful of water when you are bare 'down there'. I learned to shave. Everything.

I got used to that.

It's pretty sad when the sight of your own slightly furry crotch reminds you it's time to shave your legs...

Ancient History #4: "Nice Shoes"

It was the second-most expensive relationship I ever had.

When Mr Wonderful and I broke up, I started drinking. Quite a lot, actually. I had decided to go out and catch up on all the partying that I had missed while we were together. I also had a stretch where I did all the things that I couldn't before, the stuff I couldn't or wouldn't do when he was around.

I went out and bought CD's by bands he hated. I went waterskiing. I bought crazy clothing that he would disapprove of. I went to art galleries.

And I decided to have a one-night stand.

With a stranger. A hot stranger.


On the fateful Friday night, I didn't even dress up, though I wore makeup and heels with my jeans. I swore I was going to pick up the hottest guy in the bar.

I didn't have anyone picked out...just this idea that I was going to do something crazy. I was really shy. This was a challenge.

When I got to the bar, there wasn't much going on. I sipped my drink, not wanting to get too drunk; part of the challenge was to be at least half-assed sober when I did it. I looked around, but didn't see anyone I just had to have.

Then he walked in. Tall, well over six feet. Broad shoulders. Nice ass. Dark hair and smouldering eyes. Perfect.

I had seen him before, several months prior, when he had tried to pick up my sister by putting a cigarette out in her shirttails. He was a magician, and it was a cool trick. These things always happen to my sister - she's the pretty one. Of course, she had told him to fuck off, and I had never seen him since.

Until that night.

I ordered a second drink, screwing up my courage and plotting my attack. I watched him like a hawk (or a good stalker-in-training); he was with a couple of friends, and they didn't seem to be drinking much. They all sat in a group, except when they were dancing. They didn't always dance with partners, but would spread out on the dance floor and pull crazy moves. Eventually, one friend went to the bathroom, and the Magician and the remaining friend went up to dance. On opposite sides of the floor. Without partners.

I saw my opportunity.

Drink in hand, I sauntered across the dance floor, trying to look seductive. I got in close to him, and swayed in time with him and the music. On my tiptoes, I leaned in close, so my lips were just brushing his ear, and said:

"Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?"

His jaw dropped. He stopped dancing. He had that wide-eyed look of a deer just before it gets hit by an 18-wheeler.

His friend came over to ask if he was okay.

The Magician grinned and assured his friend that things were alright. He looked at me, and asked me to repeat myself.

"You heard me" I said.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night, except the end. We were parked in a field, making out in his car, and I realized I didn't have it in me to sleep with a total stranger. I told him so. He just kind of shrugged, and kissed me some more. Later, when he dropped me off, he gave me his number, written on the back of a cigarette package. He was a good sport. I called him the next day.

We spent the next six months taking random road trips, skinnydipping in the river, and staying up way past our bedtimes discussing Freud and philosophy. Oh, yeah, and the sex was great, once we got around to it. He told all his friends how we had met. Hell, he even told his father. It was a great time.

Until he lost his job, borrowed $2,000 to move closer to me, and rode off into the sunset, never to be seen again...

I'd never admit it out loud, but the fun was worth it.

And you know...he did have nice shoes.

Damn the past

Well, today's POF date, K., was...meh.

He was polite enough, funny enough, and the conversation flowed pretty well, for a couple of strangers. He was decent looking. I don't have anything specifically bad to say about him. I'd probably go out with him again. No real urge to make an effort to make that happen, though.

I think I have been spoiled by the men in my past. Three, in particular.

Mr. Wonderful is ancient, ancient history. We were together for 6 years, and lived together for 5. We've been broken up longer than we were together, but I am still searching for someone who will treat me as well as he did. He was absolutely devoted, but in a way that left me space to grow. He never failed to make me laugh, and brought me flowers for no reason. He bragged to his friends about how smart I was, and still sends my mother birthday cards, all these years later.

Mr UK is really only salient because he just spent a week spoiling me rotten, and reminding me how nice it is to be around a gentleman. Someone with a little culture. And have intellectual discussions. And no-holds-barred honesty.

M is haunting me right now. When I got in from the date with K, all I wanted was to be in M's arms. In fact, I phoned him, intending to invite him down to Ruralville for a 'visit', but he was busy, and I never got the words out. I'll probably be grateful for that in a week or so, but...Dammit.

I don't want to be pissing around with this dating crap. I want to skip the akwardness of meeting someone and getting to know them. I want to go directly to the part where you can just be in the same room, doing whatever, but not having to talk. The part where you know each other so well, you can predict what he'll do or say. The part where he makes your coffee with the right amount of cream and sugar, without having to ask. I want the comfort and trust and unspoken support.

Unfortunately, that takes years.

I'm not very patient.