A little background. I started seeing my former husband when I was 19 years old. We were friends, then it progressed into something more. At one point, he broke it off, only to come back a few months later. We moved in together for a few glorious months, and then he was off to graduate school in another state. I had to drop out of school because of a lack of money, so it seemed logical that I would simply move in with him. It was a disaster. I moved to Norway to stay with my mom, only to come back to be together with him again. After that, we stayed together, eventually marrying, having children, and living lives not necessarily together, but in parallel.
So, when I found myself divorced after 26 years with the same person, I didn’t know how to ask a guy in Starbucks for the time, let alone figure out how to get myself a date. What’s a 46 year-old newly single woman to do? Frequent bars late into the night by myself? Naturally. What followed was a series of guys not unlike Drummer Man, who not only just wanted sex, but also refused to even kiss me.
Eventually, I caught on that the bar scene may not be the place to meet my future soul mate. So, online I went, and before I knew it, I was sending steamy emails to a guy I referred to as, wait for it, Email Man. This went on for a year (a year! What was I thinking?). I finally met him when he was in town on business, and quickly discovered the difference between a perceived chemistry online versus chemistry in person. In other words, there wasn’t any.
Fast-forward six years and as we all know, I’m online dating again. This time around, I’m wiser, have a flatter stomach, and no longer panic at the prospect of meeting someone new. I’ve progressed from not-so-nice guys to guys that are so nice that I’m not sure what to actually do with them.
Which leads me to the activities from this week.
I saw the Belgian twice. We clearly don’t communicate well with words, but we do much better with body language.
Patch Guy surprised me and took me to one of my favorite places, the Tampa Theatre, to watch Elf. Even though we both claimed to not be into the Christmas thing, we both left the theatre feeling just a tiny bit festive. I like Patch Guy.
And then, Oregon Guy. He wanted to talk on the phone, which I normally dislike, but I figured I needed to get over myself. We talked for over an hour, and made plans to meet Saturday night. Unfortunately, when Saturday rolled around, I was feeling under the weather due to an overdose of an herbal something or another, and I cut the date short and asked him to take me home. He was kind and polite, and asked what I thought about us. I told him the truth. The same thing I told the Belgian.
I don’t know.
This week’s song is dedicated to my young friend who has an old soul and loves Joni Mitchell. Merry Christmas.