AND SO, I WRITE...

Obviously, someone has declared this the week of cyber incrimination.  It’s true! Over the past seven days, we were all inundated with tales of "abducted" bloggers, backfiring Facebook traps and yes… even Weiners.  In the face of all this stupidity, it’s difficult not to judge.  “How could she have fallen for that?” we wonder.  “How could he have been so dumb?” we ask.  “How can I be such a hypocrite?!” I quake.

For those of you playing catch-up, allow me to rewind.

On the last episode of “Alex is a Train-Wreck,” we bid farewell to a semi-beloved character---Mr. Wonderful.  Seemingly compatible he was, but ultimately on a much different track than your protagonist:  I asked him to slow down and he didn’t.  While he was anxious to speed the dating process (among other things), I was tapping the breaks.  Unfortunately, the result was a slight emotional collision. 

As I always do, I sat down to blog of my adventure; only this time, I was met with a very alarming comment:

“You do realize that your date has probably Googled you by now and is reading all your blog posts, right?”

Naturally, this has been a concern from the beginning.  However I thought with the right amount of poise and tact, I could somehow express my sarcastic views without crushing anyone.

Hopeful?

Positive?

Inspiring?

Yeah… you’re right:  Naive. 

By now, Nice Alex was paranoid with worry.  “What if this anonymous blogger is Mr. Wonderful himself---disapproving incognito?” Though it was unlikely, it was possible---and it paralyzed me with Single Girl Guilt.  “Oh no!” thought Nice Alex, “now what?”

This blog brings me (and hopefully you) so much pleasure.  While it seems to have opened a dialog for other cynical daters, it simultaneously allows me to selfishly connect my own dots.  However, I am now faced with a very serious question:  Can an earnest search for love ever be conducted in the public eye?  Or, like Congressman Weiner, will my “over-exposure” eventually lead to an impromptu resignation?

Plagued by these questions, I went upstate for a family gathering.   The festivities eventually led us to a rinky-dink bar for some live music and drinks.  As the cute bartender mixed my usual vodka cranberry, he struck up a friendly conversation.  We exchanged names and basic information.

“What did you study in school?” he asked.

“English and Mass Communications.”

“English and Mass Communications.” He repeated, trailing off.

“Yeah… I guess I wanted to be a writer or something,” I said smiling.

“How’s that working for you?”

“I’m in finance.” I chuckled, raising my glass.

Laughing with me, he asked “So do you write at all?”

I had a choice.  I could allow this cute bartender to think I was just a girl who drank vodka cranberries, and lived in Westchester, and visited my family upstate on weekends, and worked in finance, and who maybe once wrote poetry…

or…

“Yes, actually---I write a blog.”

After explaining a little bit more, I rejoined my family for a couple tunes.  I left prematurely to get a little sleep; and when the cute bartender didn’t ask for my number, I knew---the blog was too threatening.  Though it pained me to consider it, perhaps The LABOR of LOVE would simply have to go.

…

You have one message

“Hey Sissy!  Just wanna make sure you’re okay, give us a call when you get home.  Also… after you left that bartender guy followed us into the parking lot and asked us to give you his number.  He’s kinda cute, Ali… just sayin’!  Alright talk to you soon!!”

And so… I write.

THE PRINCESS AND THE P(AST)

The other night, I had a dream fit for a Disney film!  My vision told the story of a petite, slightly awkward princess living in an enchanted land.  Each day, a Wonderful man would stand at the foot of her palace gate and call upon her.  He showered her with lovely gifts and charming compliments, until one day the young princess was coaxed from her castle.  From that day forward, the two took long walks along the water and talked of beautiful things. 

One day, the Wonderful man boldly invited the young princess to his garden.

 “It’s beautiful,” he bragged, “a garden fit for a Queen!” 

But the shy princess declined, insisting it was much too soon to see his land.  The next day the Wonderful man tried again. 

“Please princess,” he implored.  “The fruit is so beautiful and the flowers, so fragrant.  I know you will love it.”

But the princess simply shook her head saying “In time dear sir, in time.” 

Upon the Wonderful man’s third invitation, the princess could sense a desperation in his voice.  “Please!” he asked again.  “You have many royal things to do my beauty, but my heart will soar if only you’d take a peek.” Finally, she agreed.

They walked and walked until they reached his garden wall. 

“Close your eyes” whispered the Wonderful man as he led her by the hand. 

Ten steps later, he allowed her to view his craftsmanship.  She slowly opened her eyes, anticipating a breathtaking site.  But much to the princess’ horror, the Wonderful man’s garden was not at all how he described!  It was overgrown and unkempt; displeasing to the senses and generally frightening.  When he tried to draw her near, the princess simply turned and ran.

***

In a cold sweat, I woke up.  What did this dream mean?  I immediately scoured the memory of my last date with Mr. Wonderful for clues.

It’s true---our rhythm was different.  There was something off, something strange:  Redundant conversation, small talk about the weather; and multiple PDA attempts to fill the gaps in conversation.  It was odd and slightly discouraging, but I clung to the hope that it was just a fluke.  So, chalking it up to nerves, I agreed to a post-dinner stroll.

When the situation still proved to be…hairy…I decided I had to say something.         

“You told your mother you met someone special?” I asked, attempting to clarify what I’d just heard.

“Well I have!” he said, smiling.

“Okay… I have to get something off my chest” I began, gazing into his big, worried eyes.  “Look, I like you.  We have a lot in common and you seem really sweet.  The thing is…I’ve been through some change this year, and I really need to trim this back... you know… take things a little slower.”

“Oh.”  He replied.

Fully recovered from her coma, Nice Alex arose to whack me repeatedly over the head with a rolled up newspaper.  "All this poor boy did was like you and now you’re criticizing his pace?!" She cried.  But I could only think of Carrie Bradshaw as she told Aiden (the most perfect man ever written) that he was suffocating her with his eagerness and certainty.  Rationally, Aiden was everything Carrie wanted and needed, yet emotionally, she sensed it simply wasn’t right.

Now---it’s easy to rationalize when you have a team of writers sitting around a table, concocting your Mr. Big; but like Carrie, I struggle with the question:  How do you know when it’s right?  Is commonality and comfort a sign of compatibility, or is it a sign that your counterpart isn’t challenging you enough?  Is fear an indication that it’s not working---or is it the past coming to scare you away from something real?

I’ve not yet decided how I’ll handle Mr. Wonderful, as I don't believe he is truly capable of taking a step back at this point... but the question is daunting:  Did the petite, awkward princess run because she was afraid of her past---or because she saw too much too soon?

THE LABOR OF LOVING YOURSELF

If you’ll permit the ridiculous simile:  Love is like a club sandwich.  Why?  Because it’s only fun in the middle.  Just like the bread surrounding a delightful deli meat, the top and bottom of a relationship is often intimidating and momentarily uncomfortable.  There’s the dry, awkward introduction; the starchy “baggage assessment;” the crust of self-consciousness, and we endure it all for but one blissful moment that’s soon digested and turned into… well… shit.

I joined the site, I paid my dues, I kissed some frogs and I met a truly great guy; a truly great guy with whom I have a truly great date planned for this evening.  For all intents and purposes, my “out there” efforts have paid off.  However, I’m truly freaking out. 

Last evening, I discussed this seemingly nonsensical anxiety with Dr. J. 

                “Why should a mutual, genuine interest with this man be so frightening?  We talk every night!  We get along really well.  He likes me a lot…what’s wrong with me?”  

               

                But as it often does in therapy---it turns out to stretch a lot more deeply than that.

                “What is it about this situation that’s scaring you?” asked Dr. J.

                “I just… I feel like I don’t have my footing… you know?  Like… all this stuff has happened and I’m not done figuring it out.  And this guy---he’s so eager!  He’s so sure!  He’s got our next twelve dates planned… and that’s only a slight exaggeration!!”

                Dr. J nodded as if to say “go on.”

                 “I mean, yeah… I believe I’m datable.  But… sometimes I feel like people are taking score, you know?  ‘Oops… Alex was engaged.  And woops, there goes yet another relationship.’  I just want to get it right!  I want to have some realistic expectation for how it’s all going to go.”

                I could feel it.  It was coming:  the big, devastating question of the session.

               

                “Why is it so important to know how it’s all going to go?”

… Because if 2010 were a book, I’d entitle it “ClusterFuck.” In an insanely short amount of time, I experienced a heart-crushing break-up, the death of a very close friend and a completely illegal eviction from my apartment. All the while, another important, sub-conscious adjustment was taking place:  I was asserting myself as a post-grad woman living on her own for the very first time. 

                As these thoughts flooded my brain, I replied “I don’t know… I’m just overwhelmed!”

                “So…” Dr. J interjected “why can’t you just tell him you need to take this slow?”

A loud plop suddenly resounded in my head.  I knew it could only be the sound of Nice Alex falling out of her chair.  We know she always defers to the other person; she’s terrified of leading people on; she worries day and night about everyone else’s feelings... and now, in one fell swoop she was knocked unconscious. 

                Slowly… I sounded it out. 

                “I… I can just tell him I n-neeeed…….to take this slow?  I can just tell him I need to take it slow!  Well… but wait… I mean… what if it scares him away?”

                “If it does,” she said “what would that say about him?”

How had this not occurred to me?  This was brilliant!  Genius!  Of course!  I’ll tell him that I need to take this slow!  One date at a time!  And then… then we’ll just… take it slow…see where it goes!     

So Readers, this evening may or may not be something I can write a pithy, humorous blog about.  Sure, it’s early; Mr. Wonderful still has plenty of time to morph into a mutant.  But for the first time in a LONG time, I feel like I’m looking at something that could actually be SOMETHING.

Maybe we’ll get to the meat and cheese, maybe we won’t. Either way…I'm going to take life one date a time.

SLIGHTLY SMITTEN

This territory is SO unchartered; SO unfamiliar that I must confess: I have no idea where to start, readers!

I could begin by telling you that Match has introduced me to an incredibly compatible man.  A couple weeks ago, I found his profile among my “Daily 5”---a list of seemingly compatible mates based on location and personality.  I rarely [if ever] make the first move, but I found Mr. Wonderful too good to pass up.  He’s a 31-year-old, employed art director from Stamford, CT.  He’s college educated, taller than me, broad shouldered and physically fit; never married, non-smoker, literate, and (after much pinching) NOT a figment of my imagination.

Boldly, I “winked” and awaited word.  Within 48 hours we were exchanging a truly splendid volley of jokes and stories.  Several e-mails and two phone conversations later, we had finally booked ourselves a date at Barcelona---a Greenwich hot-spot boasting the work of a semi-celebrity chef.

When the big day arrived however, Cynical Alex promptly showed up with a myriad of negative scenarios:  “He’s going to cancel,” she first surmised.  Then it was “He won’t show up,” “he’s going to be a troll,” “he’s actually 72,” and the ever faithful “he’ll probably try to kidnap you.”   I was mentally prepared for all the bad things but nowhere near prepared for what I got:  a good, nay, a GREAT date…  The kind of date they advertise on those cheesy commercials I roll my eyes at.  I was on THAT date! 

It became quickly apparent that we had many odd things in common: we both like tapas, mint chocolate-chip ice cream and American history.  We’re both the first of two same sex children; and both of our younger siblings are about to be married.  We both come from working families.  In addition, he was sweet, dorky, smart, good looking, social, funny, humble, nervous, confident, and already terribly smitten with me; a fact I only realized when he asked for a second date right in the middle of our first.

Now… I admit…  There was a part of me that feared his eagerness.  Was this a rebound thing?  Did he want to get in my pants?  Was he desperate for some reason that I had not yet uncovered?  But upon talking to friends and family, I was urged to consider that perhaps this slightly older, wiser man was ready for commitment and DONE with the [I’m-going-to-pretend-I’m-not-interested-in-you-so-that-you-like-me-and-make-dumb-decisions] game.  I mean really, what a concept.

I agreed to a second date in the city this past Saturday and it was even better than the first!  Shared dorky loves such as board games and dorm life were discussed as well as goals and dating preferences.  I’m happy to report that we’re still both intrigued and seeing each other again this Thursday evening! 

Readers… I actually can’t wait!  Keep your fingers crossed!!