At first I thought, correctly, that I needed more time to be nothing but single. But then I just realized I didn't have it in me to play the game. Any games, actually. I guess I just can't seem to find the humor in the situation anymore.
But before you think I'm going to start yet another mopey, introspective post, I do have some good news. I actually met someone I like. Let's call him Geek Rebel because that is exactly what he is. And a proud one at that.
I've been wanting to write about him for awhile now but, to be honest, there was never a moment -- from the instant I read his profile on OK Cupid-- that I didn't think about him as a serious contender. And, well, I didn't (and still don't) want to taint him with some flippant remarks I tapped out on my keyboard way in the beginning.
So I'll give you the broad strokes, starting with the huge elephant in my theoretical room. There are huge swathes of his identity that one could, if they were so inclined, say are exactly like Wine Guy. Oh who are we kidding. I say they're exactly like Wine Guy. But so far they're only the pieces of Wine Guy that I deeply admired, and still do: he's breathtakingly brilliant, a good cook, ultra liberal politically, a near-militant feminist, and very close with his pet (in this case, a dog instead of a cat; less worrisome, no?). He's also a computer programmer, owns the same set of high-end knives and kitchenware, went to college on the East Coast and is a voracious reader.
You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to make the comparison and, yes, it freaks me out even if he, so far, doesn't show any of Wine Guy's infuriating qualities, most of which I kept off of this blog out of fairness, and will continue to do so. But let's just say that all evidence to date shows that Geek Rebel can finish what he starts. And, as my mom was quick to ask, he has a very good relationship with his father (regular readers will know how significant this fact is after Wine Guy and Only Child).
When I read his profile I knew I had no choice but to email him, something I'd stopped doing because, well, the results are usually dismal. But there was something so honest, sincere and clever in what he wrote (and he clearly took time to do it) that if even 20% of it were actually true, he'd read my profile and feel just as compelled to respond. I wrote him two sentences, "Put simply, I love your profile. If you like mine as well, let me know."
He responded quickly and did the right thing by suggesting we meet right away rather than build expectations through prolonged email exchange. Good move. Once we got the drinks date on the calendar, we proceeded to exchange lengthy emails about books, film and other harmless though substantive observations. By the time we met, we were both quick to dismiss the formalities of strangers and just get to know each other as people. It's been that easy ever since.
Four dates, several hours long phone calls - during which I always learn something utterly fascinating, many texts (normally a medium I detest) and one promising make-out session is the sum of our "relationship," yet I already feel like he is one of my closest friends. From what I can tell, he feels the same way. I have to admit that in all of my dating experience, this is entirely new.
I want to get excited, but I've been through enough to know better. But his entrance into my life has already been disruptive for one key reason: when I'm alone, there's actually someone I'd rather be with -- and that is one scary place for me to be. Unless, of course, the stars are aligned in such a way that this might actually work.