Five

I knew last night that things were happening. The way my hand was just barely touching your hand, and the fact that neither of us were making any effort to move... it was cute and kinda junior high and it gave me butterflies.

We've gone so slow and that has always driven me crazy in the past, but this time's different. This time's nice. I like learning you. I like hearing your stories and I like hearing you say that I'm the only one who's heard them. I feel special.

Tonight did not go as planned, but I couldn't have planned it better. I didn't know whether to sit right up close to you during the movie, because really, there was a whole giant couch. But I did. And then you reached over and you grabbed my hand. And I think maybe I had a bit of a hard time paying attention to the movie after that. Yes, it was good. Tom Hanks did a great job. But boy, I wasn't thinking about Tom. I was thinking about how you were outlining my pointer finger with your thumb.

And then we talked, and it was all out there. And you heard me. And still, my hand was in yours. And you walked me to the door, and there was no longer any doubt that maybe you thought I was something special.

I could barely leave your apartment. I can barely stop smiling.

Closed.

A couple years ago I broke up with one of my best friends. I was in love with him, and I didn't think that was very fair to him... or to his girlfriend... or to me, for that matter...

See, he and I were like fire and gasoline. Explosive. When he wasn't seeing his girlfriend and when he was in the same province as me, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Even after he found her, we would still talk on the phone almost every day. We weren't cheating -- I'm not that girl -- but we were sharing our emotions with one another, and that's an intimate thing to share. When I asked if it was alright with her, he'd respond, "It doesn't matter -- you're my friend and you were here first." But it did matter. To me. Because I loved him.

So I broke up with him. I sent him an e-mail (he was living in that other province, you see) explaining that we couldn't be friends anymore because we weren't really ever friends in the first place. I wanted only to have relationships with men that wouldn't have to change if I found a man of my own. I told him I adored him and I said goodbye.

He didn't respond.

Part of me wasn't surprised. I'm sure it came as quite a shock to him, and I'm sure it was rather hurtful. He didn't owe me a response, but for two years I've felt a little unsettled by the whole thing. I know he read the email, or he'd still be calling. Beyond that, though, I didn't know anything. Was he okay? Did he hate me? Did he understand why I did what I did?

For two years I've missed him. Not every second of every day, but often enough. Even after I found someone of my own to love, I still thought of him every once in a while. Not in the "I want him back" sort of way.... it was more of an "I'm sad it ended that way" kind of thing. For two years.

When we broke up, I deleted all his contact information. I knew I'd cave and call him, so I deleted his number. I would have unfriended him on Facebook, but he had disabled his profile months before. I unfriended his girlfriend, though, so I couldn't even check up on him through her.

About a year ago, he returned to Facebook and all his old Facebook friends were reactivated... including me. I discovered this fact randomly one day, and have been guiltily checking back every once in a while just to see what he's up to. Man, I'm creepy.

I tell you all this because something beautiful happened recently. It was his birthday about a week ago, and for some reason I felt like I needed to send him a message:

So I know I said I was gone and that probably felt pretty shitty (it sure didn't make me feel good), but birthdays are special and you are special and when good thoughts are thought they must be said. So here are so many good thoughts. Said. I hope you're doing well. Weller than ever.

Done. I felt pretty good about it. I figured that if he thought I was a hateful jerk for saying goodbye, maybe this message would let him know that I was trying to do it for the right reasons and that I wished him well. I don't think I really expected him to respond... but he did:

Thanks, J, for all of the good thoughts. Well received. You are one in a bajillion (ten-to-the-forty-two). Keep being so great to the world, it's working. I am well, and I hope the same of you. The wellest.

I won't ever speak to him again, probably, but knowing that I could -- that I wouldn't be met with a slap in the face or an icy stare -- means the world to me. So that's that, I guess. All the closure I needed in one simple message. Beautiful.

Hold the Mustard

I hate mushrooms. Maybe it's something my mother ate or didn't eat while I was in utero or maybe it's a taste association from some long-repressed childhood trauma, but there's something about those slimy little fungi that I just can't stand. I don't know when it started, but I know I hate them.

I had a ten-minute long conversation about food this morning. That in itself may not sound overly remarkable, but this particular food conversation was with a three-year old girl. One of my favourite girls in the whole world, actually. She loves broccoli but she hates lettuce. She likes hot dogs on a bun with ketchup, hold the mustard. She thinks melted cheese is delicious.

Two things struck me while we were speaking:

1) I don't think I've ever met a three-year old before who was capable of holding a conversation for this long

2) This girl's a real person

I know it sounds ridiculous, but there's something about children that makes them rather surreal. I look at babies on the subway. I will avoid eye contact with everyone around me, but for some reason I'm comfortable looking a baby, or even a preschooler, straight in the face. What's with that? At what point does a child become a person with a knowledge of social norms and the capacity to judge me? When do they develop opinions?

I love that little girl, and our food conversation was the highlight of my day (well, one of them, at least. I had a pretty good day). I've always just figured the kid liked me because I was around -- kids don't discriminate, right? But if she knows she likes broccoli and she knows she hates lettuce, then maybe, actually, for real, she thinks I'm pretty alright.

That makes me feel pretty alright.

Finding Love... Actually

Dear Blog,

I've missed you. Really, I have. I know it's been a long time since we spoke, but there's good reason for that. I've stepped away from my computer. I've left the world of e-dating and have begun to focus on the world outside the web. There was no real event that prompted this exodus, it was just time. Time to get to know Real Life and Five and to see who else's hands weren't connected to a keyboard.

And I did get to know them. Real Life and I went on our September date, and it was wonderful. And Five and I have met a few times, and that was wonderful too. And things are complicated and confusing, but not that confusing really. There are answers, and I think I'm probably learning them. But one of the answers, I think, is to stop blogging about it.

These are real men. I know the e-men are real too, but there's something so much more real about meeting a man whose profile I haven't yet read; whose life I have yet to discover. I don't want to blog anymore. At least, not about this.

But that's the thing: I still want to blog. So how do I do that? I guess I need a new experiment. I'm like that "Julie and Julia" girl who couldn't blog 'til she found a cookbook. What's my gimmick? Where do I go from here?

Oh Blog, you've gotta help me. For us to stay connected, I need some new material. I'm not saying I'll never write about my love life again - let's face it, there's some good stuff there - but we've gotta change the focus.

Little help?

Hold the phone. Wait a sec. What about this? What if I actually do what my blog has been advertising all along? Romantic love is not the only love there is to be found. There's love all around us. And beauty. And I love that stuff. And I love writing about that stuff. That's what I'll do, Blog. I'll find love and then I'll write the love. And it'll be lovely.

Love it.