Password protected: Part One

Some time ago–could be five weeks now–I saw a man from across a room.  He had all the physical characteristics that make my heart jump to my throat. Perfect distraction material; my stupid heart still pines pathetically for another. While the notion of unrequited affection is dramatically (and painfully) romantic moving on is actually the sole alternative.

He had a disarming smile; intelligent, soft eyes and most importantly (to fulfill my masochistic needs) he looked right through me. Of course, I was intrigued. Two days later, we were introduced by a mutual friend. Upon closer inspection, he had additional positive traits. Age appropriate, an Antipodean mother but raised in Greece. Fluent English. Up close, the smile was even sexier because now it was directed at me. Cue heart leaping acrobatics.

A week after that, we ran into each other at The Bar II (I’m broadening my horizons, people.) To my surprise, he spent much of the night hitting on me. (I spent much of the night searching for Ashton Kutcher.)  The rules as issued by The Universe are clear. The guy you’re not attracted to? He will hit on you. The one you’re drawn to? He will ignore you, or break up with you or fall in love with your best friend.

The Universe must have been temporarily down due to maintenance because directly before he spilled his drink on me and right after I found out his favourite band is The Killers , he asked for my number.

But in a way that no self-respecting woman can give without appearing desperate. Then again, I am certain that if I was more charming–more hero in heroine–I would have serendipitously  found a magic marker and scrawled it on his arm while he looked on with an intoxicated grin. But to paraphrase Taylor Swift; Dudes, this ain’t  Hollywood.

Him: I love this song!

Me: Never heard it!

Him: *SHOCK*

Me: What?

Him: Oh, this isn’t going to work out. I’m walking away.

Me: OK.

Him: *SMILE* [Standing surprisingly still]

Me: I thought you were walking away.

Him: How can you not know this song? When was the last time you went out?

Me: It’s been awhile.

Him: Well then you should give me your number so I can take you out.

Me: *NERVOUS GIGGLE*

Definitely not Hollywood.

But, the night continued. He appeared unfazed by my (lets call it) coyness. He vied for my attention; coming to my side when he could; touching me on the wrist, on the arm, around the waist at appropriate times. When he spilled his fifth vodka/lime across my lace dress–bought three months ago for another man in mind–he apologized and  I simply gestured nonchalantly ‘Don’t even worry about it.’

Distractions are all well and good while you’re pining another; but every so often  the line between distraction and potential appears paper-thin. The slightest shift in wind and suddenly you’re on the other side doubled over screaming into a mascara smeared pillow ‘Why can’t I be loved?’

I felt the wind change direction directly after he spilled his drink on me and right before he took the executive decision that I–somehow– now owed him a kiss.

He patted me down with his bare hand as if skin alone can absorb moistness. My hand traveled down my own body to vodka on lace. A flash forward memory; as of yet un-spilled tears jolted me back into reality. This is what I do. I am smitten far too easily by smiles and distractions and these games.  But,  I want too much to let simplicity win me over. I’m far too ready for more to be swayed by a one night interest; a moment. I open my heart far too early.

I attempted to move away from him. He held onto me; forcing me with his gaze to look at our entwined hands.

I was smitten, won over, swayed. He had just transferred from distraction to potential.

And I–stupid I–completely forgot to password protect my heart.

To be continued…

Impressionism

If we were to ever meet; if we were to ever go out lunching or drinking or even just hanging; if I begin to  quote Southpark, or wax poetic about how much I  like Snoop Dog, Warren G and all good 90s rap; if I start talking about game consoles or Leisure Suit Larry or Asteroids I want you to carefully look around the table.

There is a man at this table. And chances are his smile doth give me the butterflies.

And so my question for today is:

What kinds of things do you suddenly remember that you ‘adore’ when in close proximity to a man you want to impress?

Notes from a singleton #1

On good days and on good weeks and on overall  good months I feel extremely lucky that I’m single.

I’ve had the opportunity to discover–nay–uncover all my idiosyncratic behaviour. I have gone through the classic 20 something identity and existential crises and I’ve done it alone. Deep down, I know that a relationship would never have survived the roller-coaster of the year I have had. I’ve come out of it with a stronger understanding of myself. I doubt that I could have achieved that kind of growth with a significant other by my side.

As a perpetually single woman navigating through her psyche at every opportunity she can, I have also become incredibly aware of the mistakes I made in past relationships. As the perpetually single girl in my circle of girlfriends I have also had the chance to observe other people’s mistakes. I have seen the way good relationships function and I’ve seen the way unhealthy relationship function. I have also seen the type of communication strategies that ultimately sabotage all relationships.

The luxury of not being emotionally entangled and emotionally dependant on another person provides you with some incredible insight. Insight that I am certain I will forget the minute I find myself in love. To counter this effect, I have decided to put these thoughts down. Right here. In the hope that one day I can look back and have clear and level-headed advice from myself.

Without further ado, the first in my series:  Notes from a Singleton.

***

Dear Attached Hope,

Dude, do not attempt to express an important message to your significant other passive aggressively.

And if you do do it, don’t be surprised when your message becomes obscured like a ‘Chinese whisper’ and at the end of it all, you AND him have absolutely no idea what you were trying to say to begin with.

My advice?

Try to consistently be authentic.

If you feel angry, express anger. Proportionately. There’s no need to break his record collection because he forgot your tampons on his supermarket run. A simple “I am angry because I feel that you didn’t consider my needs. Give me a minute to calm down” will work. If you want X, tell him that you want X. Do not tell him that you want Y and expect him to understand that you actually want X. I mean, I’m already confused.  If you don’t like his behaviour do not accept it by hiding behind mean glances and out of the blue nonsecial retorts. A calm, rational explanation helps. “Please do not use homophobic slurs around me. When you do it it makes me feel like you don’t respect the attitudes I have.”

And if he insists on being the passive aggressive one? If he has absolutely no self-awareness of himself, his behaviour and his actions?

Get out.

He’s not the one for you.

Your alter ego,

Single Hope