Remember Better Than Sex Guy? Well, our several weeks-long chatting frenzy has come to an end. He currently lives elsewhere, but has retired early and is moving here at the end of the month. So no ‘net for him until the 2nd.

He seems like a genuinely nice guy to me. Having said that, I’ve got red warning bells flashing in my head. Ok, maybe more like yellow ones, and not because I’m meeting him from a dating site. More just.. well.. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Maybe its because he doesn’t email more than two sentences at a time. Ever. Or perhaps its that in each of his photos, he looks like a completely different person. I am tempted to ask which photo he looks the most like TODAY, but I haven’t wanted to waste his two sentence response. Yet.

And then there’s his kid. Which wouldn’t be an issue - if the kid were his. Strange, I know. He says he met the child’s mother when she was 2 months pregnant, and when they split up almost two years later, she didn’t want the little guy. So he took custody.

Admirable, for sure. And I definitely gave him kudos for such a selfless act. But why can’t I shake the feeling that there is more to this story? I mean, isn’t there always some sort of baby mama drama in these kinds of situations?

A message today on OkCupid from a mustached man more than 20 years my senior and over 2500 miles away: “The OK Cupid computer seems to think I should message you. Any ideas why? :)”

My reply: “I don’t know. Do you always do what the OkCupid computer tells you to?”

I knew there was a reason why I never trust a man with a mustache. A goatee however, I can really get into. But a mustache? Creepy.

I’ve been chatting with a gent on OkCupid for a week or two. Initially he added me to his friends’ list, but didn’t say a word. Always the curious one, I checked him out and discovered he was a single dad of one, and was moving to my town at the end of the month. So, I said hi.

Most of the conversations we’ve had are short and sweet. He’s an obvious fan of netspeak (which irks me), and hasn’t managed to write more than two lines in reply no matter what the topic of conversation. I get he’s a single dad and probably doesn’t have a lot of time on his hands to chat though, so I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

All of our “conversations” have happened on OkCupid so far. In one email, he told me that raising his son and watching him grow into a toddler was - literally - better than sex. HUH?!

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that one. I mean, I love kids. Really. I adore them. But, I also love sex. Quite a lot. But I’ve never thought of comparing the two before. Uh… yeah, no.

I basically said just that, after pondering my response for a couple of days. His reply? He hasn’t “gotten any” since he had his son, so he was trying to convince himself that caring for a child could replace (or at least make you forget about) physical intimacy with an adult you’re romantically involved with.

Hm. I dunno about this guy.

Once in a while I like to read my own tarot cards. I picked up a deck a number of years ago, and when I feel the urge, I sit down and do a reading. Last night I read my cards for the first time in months.

I used a new four-card spread that I’ve never used before, found in a tarot card reading book. Its basic intent is to read the situation, obstacle, action recommended and outcome of a specific situation. I thought it would be interesting to do a reading about the guy I’m still in love with (according to my friends). What the hell, right?

I should add that every single piece of advice I’ve been given on the subject - both from friends and random blog commenters - has been to be direct with the guy. Let him know how I feel. Take the reigns and stop living in wait. Which I know is what I need to do, but I’m a gutless coward about these kinds of things. Whatever happened to men pursuing? Well with this guy, I’ve always known I’d have to be the pursuer. It’s just the way he’s wired.

So I wasn’t shocked when my first card (situation) told me that I either needed to, or was meditating about a problem. I wasn’t acting, I was thinking, and it was the right course of action. Take some time to rest and relax, contemplate and meditate. Spend some time alone and don’t make any decisions.

Yup, that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing.

My next card (obstacle) told me - literally - to stop worrying, and that everything was great. I have a bright future ahead of me. Think positively.

I was a bit stunned after that card.

The next card (action required) blew me away. I’ll just quote exactly what is written on the card. “Be bold. Unleash your adventurous side! Take risks and be daring.”

I ended the reading (outcome) with a card that said by following the tarot card’s guidance, I would be unleashing my inner goddess.

If that isn’t a smack in the arse, I don’t know what is.

The Behinder (so named by a friend because he lives behind me) and I have tentative plans this weekend to watch a movie at my place.

There’s a background to this story. You’ll find the others here: Part One, Two and Three.

As we finished bowling, it became obvious neither of us was ready to have the evening end. Alas, the curfew my friend had imposed upon me was nearing, so we walked over to her place. I was hoping I’d be able to convince her to give me her house keys so I could stay out as long as I wanted. Luckily my friend embarrassed me only a teensy tiny bit before handing them over. And so, we were off.

But what to do? We were downtown in a major metropolitan area. It was past midnight. The streets were mostly bare save some homeless people wandering about. I wasn’t about to jump into his car and go back to his place.

So we walked. For hours. Without a purpose, other than to continue sharing space with one another. Which was making me vibrate more and more with the energy shared between us, but left me frustrated that I couldn’t really get a good look at him unless it was out of the corner of my eye.

Finally we found a place to sit: a beautiful, almost romantic corner next to a community center. We were completely alone, and could do or say anything we wanted to. Yet all we did was talk, and talk. Rather, I talked, and he listened intently. I later found out he’d mentally cataloged every word I’d said. I’ve never felt so heard in my life, and recognition is a huge part of my motivation.

Several hours passed, and it became obvious that we couldn’t stay out all night. It was cold and the concrete seat was uncomfortable. Nothing was open, and I wouldn’t get into his car. We hadn’t kissed, nor had we touched each other. And I knew that if I looked into his eyes one more time, we would.

Instead, he walked me “home” like the perfect gentleman, saying how happy he was to have met me, and hopefully that we could do it again.

It was a simple date, and after typing it all out I realize I can’t recapture the magic I felt that night. But what I did know was that I’d met someone truly special, someone who would change me in a very important way, even if we never saw each other again. This man saw me. He got me. The way he looked at me brought tears to my eyes - he truly, honestly thought I was beautiful, and not just physically.

I’ve never been a proponent of love at first sight, but that night? Anything was possible.

Technorati: love at first sight dates falling in love favorite date

Earlier today, a friend of mine commented, “Oooooh. You’re still IN LOVE with him! Now I get it…”

I was mortified.

Ten minutes later, after making myself seem like even more the fool by trying to explain that I’d never quite fallen in love with him in the first place… I gave up.

Yes. I still have feelings for the guy. Yes. I’d love to date him again/for real. Yes, our first date was my favorite date of all time. Yes, I blog about the dude (what seems like constantly). But no, I’m not obsessed with him, and no, I’m not still in love with him.

I’d like to say I am. It would probably make things a bit easier, and my friends might be a bit more understanding. But I only knew the guy a couple of weeks before we had to part ways initially, and although we’ve kept in touch and now live eerily close to one another, I’m pretty sure I’ve screwed up any chance in hell that we’ll ever date again.

So I’m trying to date other people - or at the very least MEET other people. It’s not going as well as I’d hoped, and I’m finding this town a bit more challenging with its number of eligible bachelors. As in, there aren’t a lot. Statistically. I haven’t given up. Yet.

But I should be able to mention the gent’s name without my friends catcalling silly little songs, right? (A and B, sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G…) Right? Or am I just too damn sensitive for my own good?

I really wish I hadn’t screwed things up. Perhaps I’ll blog about it… how royally I goofed… maybe someone will have a solution. Maybe I didn’t goof up as badly as I’d thought, and he’s thinking the same damn thing.

Jeezus! Listen to me. I sound like a 14-yr-old schoolgirl with a crush, not a 30-something woman who knows damn well there were genuine feelings on both sides - at one point.

Technorati: still in love with him in love still in love ex-boyfriend love ex-boyfriend relationships dating

I read in a press release today that the dating scene is abysmal, and that the prospects for dating aren’t anything like what they “used” to be. Of course the press release didn’t state what time frame they were referring to, but I got the jist of what they meant.

It reminded me of a line in The Holiday, where Cameron Diaz’s character says something along the lines of, “30-something women have a higher risk of dying in a terrorist attack then they do getting married.” ‘Nuff said.

At one point in time, he did. It all started with My Favorite Date, and we even dated for a few short weeks before I had to leave town. It was magical and amazing when it happened, and I still kick myself for leaving when I did. More than a year later we reunited, but things had changed. Something was missing he said, even though he readily admits he was in the midst of falling for me when we first met.

At one point in time we lived across the country from each other, but several years have passed and now our homes lie mere meters from one another.

We’ve both dated since; he countless other women (my head swims a bit trying to keep track of each one), whereas I had one fellow who broke my heart once and for all after years of back-and-forth withdrawals, and one young gal whose relationship with me was exceptionally short lived. I was willing to end everything with everyone for him, whereas two of the women he dated he chose to pursue instead of dating me again.

He’s since admitted to me that he can be stupid to verifiably ridiculous proportions, and that sometimes he thinks with the wrong head.

Strangely, none of that matters to me. I still get twitterpated when I see him. He came over for a visit tonight.

There is undeniable chemistry between us still, and conversations flow like good wine, varying from the mundane to the risque and back again. We are both currently single and dateless.

Although we shared nothing more than great conversation this evening, it felt very much like the time spent during our first few encounters. Was it a date? Does he like me? Again? More?

I feel silly and childish to admit: I’m afraid to ask.

After my diatribe the other day, I decided it was time to watch an uplifting move about love and romance. Funny thing is, there aren’t a lot of films that fall into this category, unless you count romantic comedies. Which probably would have been right up my alley if I could find one I haven’t watched.

So instead I tried Feast of Love, a recommendation from a friend. I had no idea what the movie was about, although I knew there were some big names in the cast. An amazing cook who creates a feast to find love? No, that was Catherine Zeta-Jones in No Reservations. Hm. Well why don’t I just watch it already and find out.

Turns out I was pleasantly surprised, although it wasn’t as feel-good as I’d hoped.

Harry Stevenson (played by Morgan Freeman) starts off Feast of Love with,

There is a story about the Greek Gods; they were bored so they invented human beings, but they were still bored so they invented love, then they weren’t bored any longer. So they decided to try love for themselves. And finally, they invented laughter, so they could stand it.

Which in a way is a bit deceiving. I believed Freeman’s character was some sort of God in the film. Well, perhaps he was. It’s one of those movies that leaves you with more questions than answers, but not in a frustrating or bad way. More of a hopeful, endearing way that leaves you a bit breathless.

I digress, as per usual. Feast of Love is a bit like Run Lola Run (one of my favorite movies of all time) in the way the story is told, showing different characters’ love lives throughout the film. I’m sure it’s not the technical term for this kind of story crafting, but I call it the “spiderweb” technique. At first you have no idea how or where the writer is going to take you, or how the characters will all relate to one another, but you know they will eventually. And in Feast of Love, they do. Spectacularly.

Because of this, it is difficult to explain the film in any sort of coherent manner. Several characters weave themselves into each other’s lives through love lost and found, each one searching for their own relationship Utopia. Everyone is very human in the film, at times making the same mistakes over and over again because they just haven’t learned what they needed to in order to find compatibility. And Feast of Love really gets into the dark crevices of love and all of its permutations: young lovers madly and passionately head over heels for one another, infidelities that become more meaningful than sex, lifelong partnerships that endure horrors no one should have to bear, and the naivety that comes with seeking love with our eyes closed to anyone but ourselves.

Although I shed more than a few tears during the film, I also recognized a lot of myself in some of the characters. The passionate adulteress with an unhealthy obsession, the insular straight gal who finds herself smitten by a woman, for starters. And the feelings that resonated were even more compelling: the actual physical ZING when you realize the person you’re faced with has somehow touched your soul and seen you bare, the empty heaviness that comes around when someone you loves has passes on, and the red-heated fury that passes over your eyes when witnessing abuse.

Feast of Love was exactly what I needed to see to remain hopeful that love is a cycle, and my turn to appreciate it first hand is only mired by a bit of time, and I’m impatient.

Note: this blog post isn’t for the faint of heart. I use very unladylike language and describe things that are probably better left unsaid. Consider yourself forewarned.

Every few years I decide I’m going to stop looking for love, because whatever comes my way when I do isn’t what I really want. Interestingly, as soon as I give up, give in, and stop looking for love - I find it in the most unexpected of places. Now I might not actually fall in love with someone, but I will love them with all of my heart. Or, as my saga favorite first date diddy went, I feel like I’m falling in love, but never quite get there because the timing is off. (Yes, I’ll write the conclusion one of these days. Promise.)

Lately I find myself in that space again. The one where I am so exasperated with the dating scene and people in general that I can’t be bothered looking for love or anything else along the same lines. I choose to see only the shitshow relationships that surround me, wondering how on earth people with no integrity can actually find a partner, and then realize that what they have isn’t something I want in my life anyway. I choose to feel sorry for myself that I can’t find that elusive click. A person attached to a wicked smile that sends my heart aflutter. A snuggle partner. I choose bitterness over being attractive to others, and a scowl folds over my face more often than anything else.

Still, I try. Even though I know damn well that when I’m the only person attending my personal pity party, I suck. Huge. I’m miserable to be around. I struggle to see the positive, and looking for love is like bashing my head against a concrete floor: it hurts and there’s no point.

My version of trying this time around only consisted of checking emails over at OkCupid, my favorite free dating hangout for some time now, although it - like most dating sites - are losing their luster to me. Ok, ok, I’m still addicted to taking the never-ending swarm of test on OkCupid, but I haven’t met someone off it for almost two years now.

I log in anyway, interested to see how my recent quiz scores match up with the locals. But before I can check anything, someone IM’s me. Oh? What have we here? I immediately accept, excited. A bit too excited in retrospect, considering my frame of mind.

It only takes me a few keystrokes to realize the gent at the other end of the chat is looking for sex and not much else, but is doing a good job trying to hide it. He plays a lot of the “who me?” kind of games. You know the ones. The guys who pretend they are innocent as an infant just to find out they have some oddball fetish that even alt.com hasn’t got listed. I’m all for sexual deviances, but really now. Do I really need to know that you masturbate with lettuce?

Anyway. He asks me if I’ll look at his cam so he can “dance”. I’m thinking, ok… maybe, just maybe, he’ll be an upstanding citizen. Maybe he’ll have most of his clothes on. Maybe he’ll dance a dorky little move, trying to make me laugh. Maybe him telling me I’m “shy” for not wanting to see him on cam is really a communication error and not a line shamelessly stolen from Neil Strauss’, The Game. Maybe.

Unfortunately, Mr. Jackass (not his real name) came out stripping right from the get-go. A suggestion that perhaps I’d rather get to know the man behind the penis led me to being removed from his chat list. Ah well. He fulfilled my pixelated penis picture quota for the month.

Do I sound bitter? Angry? Jaded? I realize it’s a hideous combination for a 30-something woman. A stereotype at best. Here’s to hoping I get right pissed off looking for love this week so I can give up once and for all. Then, and only then, will I find what I’m looking for.