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?

Twenty dates

After the first date, I sent an email to my four closest friends. The subject read, “Would it be too much if I said I met my soul mate?”

On the sixth date, I was certain I had. It was this feeling in my gut that translated into happiness and peace and calmness. People I hardly knew would look at me and laugh, “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” I was radiating complete confidence, self acceptance and joy.

On the tenth date, I realized that my soul mate was not actually perfect, I began to withdraw out of fear.

On the twelfth date, I realized that my soul mate, while far from perfect, was also not looking for the same thing I was. “I just want to be left alone.” he had said. I–single for the majority of my life–understood that sentiment; I didn’t even take it personally. “OK” I countered. “I can leave you alone.” He–in committed, long term relationships for most of his life–did not know what he wanted. “No, don’t leave me alone” he had replied.

On the seventeenth date, I could feel my soul mate chickening out. He had got caught up in something far more complex than he was ready for; he couldn’t handle it.

On the eighteenth date, I was so scared that the end was near that I withdrew even more. I pushed him further away. Then, I pulled him closer. Then, I pushed him away again. He employed the exact same strategy.

On the twentieth date, we both gave up.  He made a choice and I did not even attempt to fight for what I wanted. All because of fear, insecurity, bitterness and anger of issues that had nothing to do with him. I suspect he unfairly judged me and our brief affair in the same way that I did.

Two months later, I still believe that I met my soul mate. But sometimes, even when soul mates do meet, it doesn’t mean that they will–or should–be together.

He wasn’t the one. But he was a kindred spirit. He was a soul mate. And for this reason alone, I still miss him.

Fuck.

The reason I should stop going out bra-less

Dear Old Dude,

Hi there, I’m Hope. You don’t know me by name, but I’m the girl who flashed you her left boob this morning.

LET ME EXPLAIN.

See, I woke up this morning with a phone call from my sister begging me to get my ass to the pharmacy immediately because Nephew # 1 hadn’t done his Number 2s in several days. She needed me to get a suppository.

I jumped out of bed and slipped on the first dress in my wardrobe. A strapless, maxi and off I went.

On my way home, I decided to stop at Starbucks for my usual Chai. When I exited Starbucks I was met with a pretty regular phenomenon.  A car had parked right next to me  on the driver’s side. He had parked so close that I could NOT open my door. I couldn’t even fit between our two cars to get to the door.

Old dude, I am impatient and after five minutes I was tired of waiting.

I opened the passenger door and attempted to climb into the drivers seat. Of course, as I did this my foot stepped onto the hem of my dress. As a result the top dropped and VOILA!

BOOB EXPOSURE.

Of course, I did not realize this for at least one full minute as I made myself comfortable, put my drink in the cup holder and tried to find my keys that had fallen out of hand.

60 SLOW SECONDS OF BOOB EXPOSURE

Oh.

My.

Cringing.

God.

Anywaaaaaay, all I really wanted to say was thank you for not staring.

(As much as you could have done)

Much appreciation,

Hope in a Bra