Old Friends and Snail Mail

I had forgotten what your handwriting looks like. Seeing it today made me remember all the notes we used to write each other, back when you were Nathoo (with a silent h) and I was Mushmellon (because we thought it was cute). It's the handwriting that made me miss you the most.

I came home today tired, knowing that I couldn't stay. I had essays to mark, and I had to get to a coffee shop immediately so I could focus. Just enough time to pick up my hat and my iPod and a snack. I walked into my building and there, leaning against the door, was a package. It was the size of a cereal box, wrapped in white paper. Addressed to me. I knew what it was at once.

It was sunshine and baked goods and Toblerone bars and a book and a CD and a dinosaur and a hand-written letter. And it made my day beautiful. No matter what may have happened at work, no matter what might happen later as I pour over these essays, February 22nd is officially a beautiful day.

It's beautiful because you remembered, because you did what you said you would. It's beautiful because of the picture you drew on the second page of the letter, and because of the fact that you heard me say I love Toblerones. It's beautiful because I don't understand the plastic dinosaur, but I'm pretty sure that was the point. And I'm smiling. And that's a beautiful thing at the end of a long day.

I'm going to leave one of the Toblerones in my mail box, along with another handwritten letter. This package could have been sent back to the post office were it not for my heroic mail carrier and his willingness to enter my building.

The world is full of good people and beauty and small plastic dinosaurs that make me smile. Thank you, Nathoo, for reminding me of that. I will call soon.

Not Yet, Emily Dickinson...

Well, I didn't get flowers and I wasn't anyone's valentine (unless my sister counts -- she and I had a lovely evening filled with angel food cake, strawberries, whipped cream, and The Bachelor). My probablydate (which was totally a date) ended up being on the Tuesday. Dinner and a movie at my place.

He's kind of great. He did the dishes after dinner, he brought wine (as promised) and dessert (as a surprise, from his "favourite Italian place"). He was polite and courteous and sweet.

I saw him again today. He picked me up and brought me to his place, where we played a board game with his roommate (Lord of the Rings Risk -- totally lame, but sort of fun; and I won, which made it a whole lot better). He made me dinner. He said I smelled nice and he kept finding excuses to touch me. He was so attentive, and he looked at me in a way that made me feel special.

And... yeah, you guessed it... I'm just not that into him.

Like I said, he's great, but it's just not there. I don't feel like we have anything to talk about. I feel like we're just not really connecting. I enjoy his company, and I could easily go on a fifth date with him and probably even a sixth, but I'm starting to feel like there's no point. This isn't it. This isn't Him.

I wonder if He even exists...

I saw a 30 Rock episode recently in which Liz Lemon, frustrated by yet another failed relationship, gives up. She dons a fanny pack and buys a cat named Emily Dickinson and ties her hair up with a chip clip. She resigns herself to the life of an old maid. I'm not there yet, but the whole premise certainly did resonate with me. I'm not getting any younger.

That being said, I haven't lost hope. There are still many men out there. There are three, in fact, that I've recently met who could easily be potential Hims. Only time will tell. And as much as I often think otherwise, I really do have lots of time...

Shmalentimes

I mentioned a while ago that I recently reconnected with an old friend from university. When I asked him what he'd been up to lately, his response was, "Well, I've been going on a lot of first dates." I laughed, because there's truth there. As a single in the dating world, first dates abound. Second and third dates, however, are extremely rare. In all my months on The Site, I never once went on a third date; a second, only thrice.

So I went on a second date last week which was more of a probablydate than a maybedate. Now we're arranging date number three. For Monday or Tuesday. And herein lies the problem. When he asked when I was free next, I said Friday, Monday or Tuesday. He eliminated Friday, and then sent it back to me to make the final decision. But I don't want to, and here's why:

Monday is Valentine's Day.

I hate this day for a myriad of reasons. There's the typical excuse, the commercialism that has turned a beautiful idea into a day where people are forced to spend dollars upon dollars on flowers and chocolates and cards with naked angel babies on them. There's the fact that for some reason men are laden with the onus of responsibility, so Valentine's basically becomes a day where men let women down and then get in trouble for it. And of course, there's the alienation and loneliness felt by anyone who finds themselves uncoupled on this day of days. That's a horrible thing to feel.

Considering the youth of our probablationship, my natural choice would be Tuesday for our probablydate - Valentine's Day would just be far too much pressure. Right??? I know, but I still kind of want to do Monday instead. Why, you ask? Well, there are two reasons, the first of which being absolutely legitimate. I'm heading out on Wednesday for a three-day work trip. I'm going to need to be packed and rested up, so it would be nice to keep my Tuesday night open.

The second reason, though, I'm rather ashamed to admit. I kind of want to do Valentine's Day this year. My relationships over the years have been wonderful, but they've been a little lacking romantically. And yes, I hate Valentine's Day, but I don't hate romance. I miss it. I want it. I want to feel special and beautiful and desired. I want to be wooed.

So I really wouldn't mind some flowers - even if the only reason he buys them for me is that it happens to be the 14th of February. I'll never admit this out loud, but I secretly wouldn't mind being someone's valentine...