I Saw Our Future, Once. And It Was Good.

I saw our future, once. And it was good.

I wasn't paying attention, within my own thoughts of the day, and I was thinking of what I would need to make shrimp Alfredo for supper that night, when someone stopped ahead of me and I maneuvered to the right--right into you.

Our eyes locked.

In that moment, I saw our future.

You casually smiled and apologized, despite it being my fault. Your hair wasn't past your ears, but you drew your fingers through your locks as if that would help keep it in place. You asked me if you could amend the bump with a coffee.

I said yes.

In a few months, we were set on doing our adventures together. Every Thursday was set aside for a homemade meal, which we alternated on making. You loved my Alfredo pasta best. And after the eating, we would lounge together on the couch, contemplating life. We swayed comfortably between conversation and utter silence. It was during one of these times that you asked me whether I would feel comfortable spending the weekend at your parents' place--they wanted you around to help with a quick installation of a new dishwasher, and to "hear about this new girl you've been seeing."

At your parent's place, I learned that you weren't as assertive as you were to me now. You were teased for being so tall in school, and clumsy beyond belief in sports, which I laughed at, considering you are on your company's baseball team. You also used to have a lot of girlfriends. I was mildly irritated until your father whispered that I was the first for you to bring home on his first request. We slept separate the first night, you on the couch while I was in your old bedroom among pictures of old high school friends and a poster of The Goonies. The second, you crept in and I woke up in your arms feeling at home.

It took months before we admitted we were in love. The urge to say it, to spew these words over your morning coffee and my morning tea, were smothered in fear of what we may actually have. It turned out to be the most undramatic moment when it was said: We had just gotten home from a long walk. You took pictures of some buildings while I spooked a few pigeons. We held hands and walked into a bakery to share a fruit tart. We came back home. I read a book while you uploaded your pictures. When we got into bed, you leaned over to turn out the light, then stopped and turned to me. "I love you," you said. "I love you, too," I replied. And you shut off the light, and we fell asleep to each other's breathing.

We moved into the same house after that, and we talked about marriage. You had to convince me that it wouldn't change any of my goals, that I could stay as independent as I was. You understood I wasn't a kept woman, but the idea of what was supposed to come after--children--made me too nervous to want to set any dates. And then you proposed to me, on a warm, slightly windy day, while we were taking a weekend vacation to a cabin in the woods. We were laying on a blanket, looking at the stars, and you were pointing out different constellations, telling me the stories of each one. When you told me to look at one, I realized you held a ring between your fingers, and it twinkled slightly against the light. When I looked at you, you smiled and said that nothing was more meant to be, us, and that if I wouldn't marry you, we'd still be together forever, just like now.

We had two kids, both of them girls. We debated a third, but after getting two dogs, we decided our family was big enough. They grew up too fast, and we regretted the small things that we thought would make them horrible adults, such as allowing them to watch television past their bedtime, and doing their laundry when they came home from college. They both got married, one to a man, the other to a woman. We were so happy, and had grandchildren on both sides.

We traveled the world, then. Greece, Sweden, Ireland, Portugal. Japan was fun, but I didn't like the crowds in the city. And we discovered ourselves again in New Zealand, where we renewed our vows.

I saw our future. Once. And when our eyes locked, your hand twitched, as if to move up to your hair. But then the crowd moved, and your eyes left mine to see your future. She waved at you, and you mumbled an apology before stepping aside to greet her.

And I walked away.

But it was good.

On Putting The Lonesome On The Shelf

Dear Boy-I-Have-Yet-To-Meet,

A Venting of the Heart

I've never quite understood dating.

It's like I've some sort of spliced gene; I've got the quality, but not the substance.

Many times, I've pondered what it all means, and what it's meant for. Projects for school were dedicated. I tried to make a science of it, love. I watched documentaries, read books, made lists... I tried to control it.

Apparently, every body except me knows that you can't control love.

A friend signed me up for an online dating service. At first, I was completely open to the idea. After all, I live in place that barely gives me a man to look at. And the men who are there... long story short, they have more than enough problems.

It was fun, for a time. In the oddest way, I saw that I was attractive. People visited my site on a good average. I received many messages, all telling me that not only was I cute, but I had intelligence to boot. I was different.

I wasn't quite sure what to do. I responded to everything and everyone. I tried to do as the site said as well, which was search and message others; they said that females found better matches if they were just as assertive.

This has proved time and time again to be wrong in my experience. Assertiveness gives me nothing but trouble. Don't get me started on flirting.

This is mostly due to my inability to tell if people are flirting to be fun or serious. I flirt to be fun--a lot. It confuses a handful of guys, but once they see my sense of humor, they all join in. The problem with this? No one can tell when I'm seriously flirting. And it can get touchy oh-so-fast. Mostly because I can't tell if someone I start to seriously flirt with is being serious either.

Then, the bee dance commences. The godforsaken does-he-like-me-or-not bee dance from hell.

You know what I'm talking about. The part of when you can't tell whether he said he liked you in one way or another. The part of when he hugs you for longer than you expect and you think it means something. The part of when he smiles and you can tell he's genuinely happy around you.

And who can forget the part of when you act like a fool who can't stutter a word. The part when your message doesn't resound what you meant, or it could be taken both ways. When you stay up all night thinking of why he didn't message you back. The part, especially, when you realize you have no chance.

I stopped going to the website for a few weeks. It was all too much, the messages, the searching, the wondering if they're desperate--or if you are. The messages began to dissipate, but I still checked my email in hopes of finding something. Three successful marriages did occur in friends from dating online, so there had to be something to it, right?

In the science way, I came to a conclusion. It didn't matter whether I dated online or in person--I got the same response. People who I didn't like asking for dates; people who I would totally date not at all interested; people who both parties felt the connection, but something came up and nothing could come of it.

I'm fucked either way.

So, in a subdued way, I made my way back to the website. I updated my profile. I started answering questions to get better matches. I wrote back to people who had messaged me weeks ago and I hadn't responded.

Oddly, I started receiving a stream of messages, like I'd unblocked a pond that had once been a stream.

All these people, like me, were putting their hearts at risk, and thought I was worth it. They unabashedly said I was pretty and they were interested. They were doing what I couldn't: saying, "Let's go on a date." These people were doing much more than any guy in my "real life" would do--ask me out besides making me feel like I was wanted.

I'm still fucked--after all, I'm just as susceptible to the pros and cons on both internet dating and face-to-face. And, the guys all seem to be the same, no matter where I go (seriously, guys? Can you prove me wrong and be straight up for once?).

But there's a respect I have for online dating that I didn't have before. People who would never have the courage otherwise have a chance to get their word in and say something.

The bee dance has changed. And, until the guys out there are just as willing as the internet ones to come straight up and say "You're the one I want to date.", I'm apt to continue clicking away and finding what I want in life.

Fun Fact: The bee dance has always been a term I've used to explain how difficult it is for me to date. There always seems to be these steps I don't get, complicated steps that are supposed to mean the simplest of things--like "That pollen I got from that flower is right over there". I don't hate bees, but God knows I hate that dance.

Re-Discoveries

Whenever I clean house, I need other distractions. While some may be able to focus on the task at hand, I need something to make me forget that I'm doing something incredibly boring. And that I'm not doing something redundant (because, seriously, it's going to be dirty the next day anyway).

During my room and the living room, I watch Netflix. However, it had to be shows that I've already seen, due to the fact that when I see something new, I have to pay attention to what's going on. I can't stand not understanding what happened. I refuse to watch a show I've never seen midway through (unless it's something pointless, like reality television). It's like reading the last page of a good book.

It's almost ironic that I enjoy Quentin Tarantino.

However, I can't enjoy movies in the kitchen. The television is too small if I'm far away, and there's nothing ever on the movie channels (I can't stand commercials, either).

That's when I remembered that Dish had CD channels.

Now, I'm also going to say I don't enjoy radio stations (I used to be a small-time DJ at school, but it wasn't anything to write home about--fun, but no one listened to me, I'm sure). I don't like the same music is played over and over again. I usually enjoy the CD channels on Dish because they play the songs people forget.

I was clicking through the channels, trying to catch my ear on something interesting when music that I would only hear while in a garden party at an Icelander's house (true story) came on.

Martini Time.

That's the name of the channel.

Pure genius.

I can't quite explain the exhilaration of washing dishes to this music. It's like I'm in a pastel dress, my hair up in a smooth bun, serving margaritas when I'm really elbow deep in sudsy water.

There's just something fun and slightly romantic cleaning to Frank Sinatra and Keely Smith sing Nothing in Common. Or hearing Bobby Darin croon Call Me Irresponsible.

Cleaning as never felt so sexy. As domestic as it sounds.

Fun Fact: My Iceland friend claims to be the best Elvis impersonator. When we went to Las Vegas, we only ran into one impersonator at a wedding chapel--sadly, the Icelander won.

Yes, I Would Have Sex With That Man

Let me start this off properly: Despite what any female will say, it is quite a known fact that when a female meets a male, she will depict within moments on whether or not she is attracted and will then place the male into one of two categories--sex, or no sex.

This starts at an early age, although it is never known when the female finally realizes that she is placing the males into these particular groups.

Probably around the age 15. Or 25.

Either way, here's the point: Tom Hanks? Yes, I would have sex with that man.



Let's review why.

This man is an every day man. The every day polite, hard-working, sexy man.

Some of you may be judging the word "sexy" here. May I remind you, there are many different ways to be sexy?

There's the oozing of sexy one gets by being absurdly hot--the kind of hot that nobody remembers anything else about you because you have nothing else to offer (ex. Colin Firth. I mean, come on--anyone really remember any movie that could have made him this popular? It's all the accent and body).

There's the funny sexy, where charm enters. This doesn't mean one is necessarily hot, even (I don't think Shatner got where he was for looks...). Although, I do have to say, Ryan Reynolds has got my vote for this one. Even in a beard, that man's got it good. I don't even care that people don't find him funny all the time, he's just--

I'm getting off track. This isn't about how much I'd love jump on Ryan Reynolds' back, point to the sky, and yell, "Yip, yip!"

This is about what type of sexy Tom Hanks is.



He's a polite sexy. Ever meet a genuinely nice guy who can actually apologize for wrongdoings? I've met one: my father. Doubtful I'd ever see that again, along came Tom Hanks. I mean, here Tom says something that I'm positive half the world was thinking, and he apologizes like a man despite the many of his supporters. Just saying.

He's smart-funny sexy. And dumb-funny sexy. True story. He is.



He's "every man" sexy. Mr. Tom Hanks' appeal comes from the good-father, normal body, down-to-earth sexy. There are times when you realize how normal he looks, and other's in which you realize how sharp he really is and understand how he got to be where he is now (and hasn't gone completely insane, since he's normal).

Tom Hanks is just that guy who every woman would place into that category of Sex.

And did I mention his children? Because a man who can produce such attractive kids? Yes, I would have sex with that man that much more (it's just science).

Fun Fact: Yes, I do like Ryan Reynolds. Many find him to be an unfunny character who tries too hard--and I don't. So sue me.

Fun Fact 2: I mean, seriously. He made Blade 3. That film would have bombed had it not been for his obvious jokes. At least, bombed more.

Fun Fact 3: David Tennant. Yes, I would have sex with that man, too.