Well readers, in case any of you are occasionally peaking in to find out if more news is being posted, the fun with Lost Artist has finally come to a close. Turns out love isn't quite enough, or perhaps love with me isn't quite enough. Either way, a decision was made. I could write oodles about the end, but as of now, I choose not to--not for him but for me. I'll save it for the book or for the day when I feel it needs to continue the pages here.

Feel free to check out my new blog about food, and well, life: http://urbangastronomy.blogspot.com/. And, being about food and life it must also include some dating and other love-related things. How could it not?

The time has come, readers! This blog has come to a close. What better way to end a story that began with randm online dating than with a karoake confession that serves a blogging Digital Girl right. Yep, I tripped over love and got my comeuppance all at once.

But don't worry! A new project is underway. If you are interested in hearing about it, send me an e-mail. But please remove the capital letters from the address or it won't come through. Sorry but it's spam protection. Think of it as a digital condom!

In the meantime, check out a new blog by my talented artist friend A. called thinkblot. Guaranteed to be a one-of-kind blogging experience. Visit, view and leave your comments!

Oh, and if you are behing on DG entries, go catch up now. Digital Girl will remain posted for a limited time only!

Karaoke Confessions

This has been the week of you say potaaato, I make tater tots and true confessions through a karaoke microphone. It’s all about communication whether it’s telling someone you love them by taking out the trash or releasing a long-kept secret through 80s pop-tunes.

And now, readers, here I sit, typing away through yet another mode of communication. My bright red nails hover over the keys and match the K, R, O and E in my t-shirt which reads “Karaoke Champion, National Championship, Las Vegas, Nevada 1999” I’m sure I mentioned the shirt before. Mrs. O gave it to me as a joke because I refuse to sing in the company of other people. Ever. No amount of alcohol or peer pressure will ever break that barrier.



The manicure was a treat to myself yesterday. The nice lady who painted my nails insisted I go with the brighter red instead of the dried blood color which has become so popular. Fine with me. It matched my new red handbag, also a treat to myself.

So sorry. I digress. At least Monday was a holiday. V. and I went to a 10:15 yoga class, had a fabulous vegan lunch at Gobo and spent the day planning our trip to Thailand. It took us a week to book our first activity, but it will be well worth it --- we are spending two days at an elephant rescue park helping take care of the elephants. If you are interested in learning about the park or making a donation, you can visit the Elephant Nature Foundation.

Tuesday night A. and I went for happy hour drinks at Tile bar, which has become one of my favorite regular joints. On the way to the bar, LA and I had a comms related text exchange, during which he said:

‘I love texting you from a streetcar in New Orleans and getting an instant response. It’s as much fun as air mail in the sixties.’

‘Yes it’s groovy...’

‘I MISS YOU’



Indeed texting is like 60s airmail which seemed rather expedient at the time. I appreciate hand written letters as much as the next girl, but the following text exchange, for example, which was initiated by LA, would lose something in the wait:

'X' '

'X X X and O.'

'Whoa kiddo---not when I’m in public!'

A. chuckled at our 60’s airmail exchange and LA passed on a hello to her. I put my phone away, and ordered a Jameson’s. We were there, not for texting but to discuss art, life and love. A. ordered a Guinness. Somewhere around our second drink, we started discussing relationships and the unending process of learning about our lovers and about ourselves.

Being with someone for years hardly guarantees that you understand everything about them. Nor does being in a relationship for years automatically come with an understanding of what you want from that person and whether your longings, fears and perceived hurts are a true product of your heart or a hybrid of your own feelings and impressions left by family and friends. To be able to sort through all of that and find each other on the other the side of the bed once again is an accomplishment of which to be proud.

To make it all more challenging is how differently we all respond to messages, signals, nuances, intuition. I might tell you that I love you and want to be with you and expect you to tell me the same. You might wash the dishes and take out the trash every night thinking your actions are communicating your love and expect me to do similar things. But, we’re both upset because the other isn’t reciprocating in a language we really understand. Throw in a few insecure hang-ups on both ends, and we have a communication road block. Then add pressure from friends and family about what they expect from your relationship and it’s all the messier because you can’t hear your own thoughts, much less the other’s words/actions.

Wow. Seems pretty crazy any of us make it through. But we do. I have to admit how refreshing it is to have a lover who tells me not only how he feels but what he is thinking. It’s like lemonade on a scorching summer day (see how love makes me cheesy?).



Wednesday I was ridiculously excited because LA was returning from New Orleans that night. We met on the subway platform, and at first site of him, I thought, ‘Wow. That is the man who is now part of my life. He’s hot. And I love him. And I am so crazy happy to see him after a week away.’

We ate burgers and drank wine at Brick in Astoria, a great relaxed cafe with brick walls, old chunky wood tables, and half lace curtains in the large windows. This was, of course, followed by frolicking. And it was week-away frolicking which is always quite yummy. Unfortunately, I was thrown out of the ring once again on Thursday, so it was the only major frolicking for the week. Damn antibiotics. I am, however, as LA calls me, a vixen, so truth be told, there is still fun being had.

Thursday, LA and I had a ‘supper club’ date at his friends house. What a lovely meal: cauliflower soup with cilantro and yogurt and a blue cheese, almond, and pear salad accompanied by whole wheat bread, raw carrots and green apple. The company was great as well.

Friday was a night of recovery and prime time TV (Yes, I admit to it every now and then, though I really can’t figure out what is going on with House. Was it a rerun? The show disturbs me to no end sometimes but I find it hard to turn off once it’s on.).



Saturday was meant to be a girls night out followed potentially by a stop at Planet Rose where LA would be participating in karaoke with his house mates. He was very excited for me to attend for at least a bit. I was having doubts I would make it but then girl’s night was canceled.

We arrived around 9:00 and enjoyed the singing of some cute hipster and his equally cute girlfriend. I would tell you what they sang but my pop culture memory bank is short on funds. It included David Bowie. We also watched someone who sang many cheesy 80’s tunes, instrumental versions of which are now being played in elevators across America. We called him midriff guy because two inches of his belly were showing above his belt line during every song. He also had a hairsprayed doo which seemed to go with the era. I think we all know this guy.

LA sucked down a strong-poured Maker’s on the rocks in ten minutes and went to order a second. I told one of his house mates who noticed that I thought he was nervous about singing. He had mentioned to me awhile back he wanted to sing me song.

About half way through his second drink, LA was called to mic. The music for ‘Talking in Your Sleep’ by the Romantics started from the speakers as LA unfolded a tattered piece of white paper.

Do you remember this song? The refrain goes like this:

You tell me that you want me
You tell me that you need me
You tell me that you love me
And I know that I'm right
Cuz I hear it in the night
I hear the secrets that you keep
When you're talking in your sleep

Got it in your head now? If not, watch the video on You-Tube. I tried to figure out how to put a song in the blog, but don’t think it’s possible.

Now that you have it, here is LA’s rewritten version:

When you close your door and you go to “sleep”
I know you’re really blogging about your week
And all the things that you won’t tell me
You put up on a website for the world to read

You tell me that you want me
You tell me that you need me
You tell me that you love me
And I know it’s not wrong
Cuz I read it in your blog
I read the secrets that you write
In your web blog every night (2x)

When you’re holed up in your house, online
Don't you get the funny feeling I can read your mind
And all your friends that I just met
Don’t know that I know what they know about me yet

You tell me that you want me
You tell me that you need me
You tell me that you love me
And I know it’s not wrong
Cuz I read it in your blog
I read the secrets that you write
In your web blog every night

When you’re standing here in front of me
Everything about you is a mystery

You tell me that you want me
You tell me that you need me
You tell me that you love me
And I know it’s not wrong
Cuz I read it in your blog
I read the secrets that you write
In your web blog every night

I read the secret monologue
That you're writing in your blog

My face turned red, and I laughed genuinely at the song. LA was embarassed because his delivery was shakier than he wanted, and he spent a few minutes with his housemates while I chatted with one of them as well.

When he returned to sit next to me I asked the question which is probably now burning in your minds. Has he been reading the blog, or is he just giving me a hard time.

Well, readers, he has been reading the blog.

Since November.

Ah ha ha ha ha. It’s totally true.

The first words out of my mouth were, ‘You lied to me.’ LA pointed out that I never asked him if he was reading it even though I told him how to Google for it and left my computer at home with it’s clearly labeled bookmarks at his disposal to check e-mails. True. True. I just assumed he wasn’t reading it, and he cleverly managed to let my assumptions continue. He admitted to me that one of his girl friends told him she thought it was wrong not that he was reading it but that he wasn’t telling me.

Although I feel a tiny bit deceived, I also feel it’s completely fair game. After all I’m putting it all up on the web. It’s funny too because I told A. months ago, ‘I think LA is reading the blog.’ He just knew my thoughts too well!

And truthfully, I am glad not to have known because if I understood that LA was part of my audience the blog would have been inhibited. So, I do feel a bit foolish, but really it was for the best. I am also happy to know he has read the story because writing it has become a part of my life.

LA has really enjoyed what I have written about him. He was also really touched about my statement that he gets to keep his name the Lost Artist because although he’s not truly lost he isn’t found either.

Oh. This just in, readers... A new bit of song from LA:

I got a girlfriend that’s better than that
She has the smoke in her eyes
She’s moving up, going right through my house
She’s gonna give me surprise
Better than this, know that it’s right
I think you can if you like
I got a girlfriend with bows in her hair
And nothing is better than that

I always did like the Talking Heads.

And, I truly do appreciate LA’s clever use of poetry, song, texts and scrabble board layouts as modes of communication. Between that and the kisses I know how he’s feeling. Maybe someday I’ll have to decipher taking out the trash as well, but for now the switchboards of love are open and lit up!

Stay tuned!!!

Love and Loathing in NYC

Well, readers? Did you expect a silent digital girl following last week when love and exclusivity decided to finally shack up and create a relationship? I can’t blame you. I received an online and off-line mix of ‘I’m really happy for you’ and ‘What about the blog?’

Indeed, what about the blog? Even LA asked me this morning, what will I do about the blog?

One anonymous commenter suggests assigning dates to my single friends. Well, single friends, you know who you are. Get yourself out there and start posting comments!

But seriously. The words must go on. And I have been chastised by both LB and LA for ever having posted reruns, so I promise here and now never to do such a thing again. What you couldn’t have known then, readers, was that I didn’t particularly want to write about my relationship with the Mover. Putting on my super cool 20/20 hindsight glasses I see now that had I written about the relationship, I would not have been able to stay in it. Yes, it’s true. Clear denial.

I suspect, however, it will be easier and perhaps more entertaining for you to hear about my relationship with LA. Or, perhaps not. Can it possibly be as engaging as random dates with strangers and the crazy world on online dating. Or am I blinded by my even more super cool rose colored love glasses?

Hmmm. Let’s look at this last week, shall we? Upon declaring our love and exclusivity last Wednesday, LA and I proceeded to spend each of the next seven nights together. You heard about most of them already through last week’s blog.

What I didn’t share--and I’m sorry if this is TMI--is that Saturday morning I woke up with a UTI which prevented any SEX during those nights. Why must I divulge such personal information you ask? Because some fooling around was had anyway even if it wasn’t full frolicking. Okay, but why I am still sharing?

Remember a few weeks ago I had mentioned the idea of talking to your lover while romping or frolicking or whatever it is you like to call it? Well, I have to reiterate my suggestion. Story telling is hot! And apparently I had a hidden talent for it. Who knew? I guess this is old news for any of you who have had phone sex before, which I haven’t. I hear it’s highly recommended for long-distance relationships or extended time apart due to travel. So, try it. This week. Think of it as homework. Touch yourself, touch each other, it doesn’t matter, just make up a fun or wild sexy story to go with it. Just get out there and get off! Sorry. Is that too raunchy for the screens of DG?

Ahem. Well, then. Let’s talk about Valentine’s Day instead. The dreaded day when many a single gal or guy sees red at the very sight of a candied heart or a vase of roses on a co-worker’s desk. I admit I have my own Valentine’s Day scars... remember the carrot cake (scroll down to 11-19)?

The commercialism of the day also really irks me. For example, my office decided to give everyone in our department a token for the day. Thoughtful yes, and probably meant to boost morale which has been suffering. But, the treat was a set of large plastic purple lips with a bag of Hershey’s candies inside. So, 40 people opened their plastic lips, ate the candy and threw out the lips, which are now sitting on the bottom of some river or in a land fill on Staten Island where they will remain for thousands of years. I can feel the love.

Okay, enough soap boxing. You will have to forgive me. I’m undergoing withdrawal. Yep, in UTI follow-up, the doc cut me off from caffeine and alcohol for the long three-day weekend. You may think it’s not be such a big deal, and actually it’s not---for the alcohol. Yes, I know I’m a lush of many facets, but even I can handle three days without booze. The lack of caffeine, on the other hand, is causing a headache that feels like someone is driving spikes through my temples. This makes me cranky. Thus, fancy panties in a bunch over plastic lips.

LA is out of town and left before Valentine’s Day. On that Sunday night, we had played Scrabble and gone to bed without frolicking or story telling. I left LA in my apartment on Monday morning with a set of keys, leftover oatmeal and fixings for coffee. When I came home that evening after work, I found the following valentine from LA on my table:



If you’ve been reading for awhile you can probably see how every word relates back to LA and I in some way or another. I was touched and impressed to receive such a thought-out, clever and love-induced message.

My plan for V-Day was to bake cookies and brownies for him on Monday night and present them on Tuesday so he could take them on his trip on Wednesday. When he texted to ask me if we could see each other again that night, I said yes but told him I had something to do and then got flustered and told him it was a surprise for him.

In two hours I baked brownies and my special cookies which have whole wheat flour, oats, apricots, apple sauce, maple syrup, agave syrup, dark chocolate chunks, walnuts and whatever else I decided to throw in that day. Teff makes a good addition... adds a little crunch. Have you ever had teff? It’s the world’s smallest grain. It also goes well in oatmeal (stove top not instant). You just add a 1/4 cup with the rolled or steel-cut oats.

I placed the goodies for LA in a box from Sabon with a heart on the lid. I covered the ‘Sabon’ logo with a drawing of a couple in the 1920’s sitting on a porch. LA liked his surprise. I left LA sleeping in my apartment again on Tuesday. I had to leave the house at 7:15 to go to a client meeting in New Jersey.

Tuesday evening when I came home, I had another valentine. It was a small hand-drawn heart in the middle of a small white piece of paper sitting on the center of my living room rug. Sigh.

Tuesday, our seventh night, was a late one filled with snow shoveling, popcorn and bedtime story telling, which I believe I have already covered. LA isn’t back until Wednesday. I miss him. It’s nice to have someone to miss.

LA told me this morning that we still know so little about each other, and he is right. He said this is the fun, good stuff, and he’s right about that too.

What have I done with myself this week without multiple men to entertain? I attended and survived salsa class on Thursday by myself. I still don’t quite get it, but at least the teacher only seems to yell at the men. The problem is she doesn’t demonstrate much.

I also attended a self-loathing writing workshop led by my friend JR and spearheaded by Mia, whom you all know via comments. We spent an afternoon self-inspecting our individual self-loathers through writing.

Frankly, readers, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to participate. Not only did I have a day-one caffeine-withdrawal headache, which was worse than today’s, but I was feeling quite happy. I’m in love. Sigh. Why loathe anything much less myself?

Then halfway through I thought ‘I suck at this at this type of journaling. I’m probably not even doing this right and will fail to make a realization.’ Aha, there she is, surfacing like a fiend. I went on to feel as though I just haven’t been accomplishing enough.

We all have our own self-loather, the one that tells us we are fat, or that we aren’t doing enough, or laughs at our own idea of what we are good at. JR led us through a series of exercises which included filling in diagrams and writing about concepts for 5-10 minute periods. At the end we all had a picture of different aspects of ourselves and were challenged to observe two of them having a dialogue and writing it down.

I feel I am not doing it justice, and it probably won’t help to tell you my dialogue was between intuition and me. Or that it could have been between my mind and I. Or between the self loather and the photographer.

Let’s just say that we all have this inner voice of negativity which seems very counter productive but which may be angry about something. JR compared it to the woman who wanted to go to New Jersey and blew a gasket when she realized she mistakenly got on the bus to go to New York and yelled obscenities at the bus driver who clearly was not to blame for her mistake.

What did my intuition have to say? It said not to worry so much about all the things in my own personality that I think are holding me back from moving forward, because I am moving forward whether I see it or not.

I paused at the thought for a moment and realized it’s true. I mean hey, I just fell in love and the recipient is reciprocating, and oh yeah, I’m going to Thailand, and wait I’m seeing more art and performance in the city, and I’m starting yoga classes again. All of those things fit into an idea I decided was important to me last year of before. I still have a shitload of more work to do, but at I am moving.

So a little self-loathing on Saturday went a long way. That is not to say that self-loathing is productive because it’s not. But it seems we all do it anyway, so maybe we can learn a thing or two from it while we are on our way to eradicating it.

I guess the point of all this is that there will always be something to write about, whether it’s my relationship with LA, a new experience, or some whacky happenstance in the City. Everyone knows I can talk about food and health for hours but that would be boring, wouldn’t it?

Stay tuned readers! And in the meantime check out a new blog launched by V. Yes the one and only V., who in addition to being my friend and a contributor to this blog by way of relationship discussion, advice and text content is a science-minded biogirl. It’s called Conformational Changes for ‘stimulating thoughts to promote an interest in science and science related topics.’ It’s a blog for the inner scientist in us all (meaning you can read it even if you aren’t a scientist).

February 7th

Previously on Digital Girl:

Nov 4 - ...there was a wink from a man who is looking for a woman to someday be a “cool mom.” The 43-year old had the nerve to say, ‘please be age appropriate’ for having children. OMG. It’s a good thing he wasn’t sitting in front of me when I read his profile. I almost wasted points to send him an e-mail saying, perhaps he should have considered his desire to have kids when he was more age appropriate.

Back in November, I was still in post-break-up mode, dragging my feet on getting myself out there to gather material. As such, I missed the opportunity to have a few cocktails and get my fancy panties in a bunch over this e-beau’s need to find a baby machine.

What? You think that’s uber-feminist. That maybe he’s really looking for a lovely woman and just also really wants to have kids. Okay. Maybe. It still really irks me--the whole older men seeking younger women. Regardless, a date may have revealed whether this guy really is a jerk or is just an honest Joe looking for love and a family.

Opportunity happened to bang it’s head on my door once again this week when a second wink landed in my box. I winked back on Wednesday. And waited for a reply. He really shouldn’t waste time like that. I mean really. The bio-clock is ticking, and I only have a few years before it stops or implodes or whatever it is that it does.

There was something in the air on Wednesday besides the residue of Super Tuesday and a few stray ashes. I received an e-mail from a 31-year old ballet danseur. A what? You mean dancer?

I stifled a chuckle as I went to view his profile, assuming it was some French term used to make one feel more important. His e-mail was written in verse, but was not even close to poetic. If you’re going to make it look like a poem, you should at least make an effort with the words.

He also used too many exclamation points and variations of smiley faces to be a straight man. In addition, some of the content was completely inane, and several words had repeated letters for dramatic effect. Here are a few examples:

'I love the poor!!'

'I have a naaaaughty side = )'

'I make looots of mistakes!'

Yep. You sure do. And those hottie dancer looks aren’t going to help you with half of them. But, hey. How could a digital girl with a blog to write possibly pass up the opportunity to glance into this one’s mind, and perhaps at his ass too. I replied that I would totally ‘be into finding a coool happy hour in the les.’ And then I waited.

Wednesday night, as I was rushing down 7th Street to meet a mysterious Colombian at Tile bar for first-date drinks, I received a text from V.

'Tomorrow is one the one month what are you going to do with LA day-I think we know :~)'

Yes, indeed. I thought I knew, V. knew, and all of you knew, readers, friends and random voyeurs alike. In case you don’t recall here is another ‘previously on Digital Girl:’

January 7th - V. and I discussed over happy hour drinks at Continental, the ex-music venue turned dive bar that has $3 specials during happy hour on anything. We sipped Maker’s on the rocks as I dumped all my messy cards on the table.

V. was somewhat disabling, but realistically so. I made a deal with her. In one month I will reassess. If I have fallen in love with the Lost Artist: a) I have to spill the beans and b) if it’s not reciprocated, I have to stop sleeping with him. Otherwise what was the point of all that nonsense with the Mover? What?

As you know, I didn’t have to confess my love to LA on the 7th because it had already surfaced the week before. I smiled at V.’s text, closed my phone and walked into the bar.

The mysterious Colombian turned out to be a sweet man, who seemed charmed to meet me. While I sipped my Ketel One, I pondered a second date. I just wasn’t attracted to him, though, and oh yeah, I’m in love with someone else.

Near the beginning of our second round, I started to feel as though just being out on a date with him was misleading. He was a really nice boy, and although I probably would have chewed him up and eventually spit him out, he deserved a second date.

My misgivings were amplified as we stood on the corner to say goodbye and he said, ‘ I hope you write good things about me in your blog.’ Ouch.

I thought about going straight home to ponder my dilemma, and instead opened my phone and sent LA a text in reply to one he had sent me several hours before regarding a dream that involved holding counsel with Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton and two zen monks. I asked, ‘What were the monks doing?’

His reply included ‘How as your date?’

‘How did you know?’

‘It’s Wednesday and it took you two hours to respond.’

Good lord. I hate being so predictable and was also a little embarrassed to be so easily ‘caught.’ But, I replied.

‘How do you think since a) i responded tonight and b) in only two hours.’

The text exchange that followed resulted in my arrival at LA’s a short time later with an order of fried cauliflower from Galaxy and a mindful of something that needed sorting out.

As we dipped the cauliflower in banana ketchup and munched, I spilled my guilt at feeling I was misleading nice boys with my beguiling ways. I told him the Colombian would have been offered a second date if I had not been seeing anyone.

LA shared that he had been out on two dates this week already, which made me feel behind (not that it’s a competition, but still...). His date on Wednesday was a second date. Yes, the dreaded second date. Was it the lawyer, I asked? No it was not. Curiosity burned.

LA was talking and explaining something about the date that I wasn’t really hearing because my mind was filled with the possibility of there being a third date so much so that I seized the first pause in his talking to vocalize my inner turmoil with something like, ‘and you’re going out on a third date.’

LA told me I was quick to jump on that one. I confessed my jealous streak. It’s there. I tried to deny it before, but I am a Scorpio. I can’t help myself. My jealousy was attractive to him, but no, what he was telling me was not about a third date.

A few sentences later, LA said, ‘So, I’m in.’

All the chatter in my brain stopped for the briefest of moments. He wasn’t going to give me bad news at all. He was telling me he doesn’t want to see other people. I felt joy at the hearing of it, yet there was a small piece of skepticism still lingering in my mind.

I asked whether this decision was based on my being upset about the date I just had and questioning the situation. And it was in LA’s reply that I received a surprise which is still causing little pleasant convulsions in my heart. He said, no, he had already decided. He was going to tell me tomorrow on February 7th because it was my month deadline. Like V., he had put the date into his phone.

There is more to tell here as there always is. The conversation that followed took us to many places, here, there and back into bed again. But the night wears on, and the tale of the week is only half through.

Perhaps it’s enough to say that we talked of many things. LA voiced a concern that I might not fully know him yet well enough and that he thinks about living abroad or potentially getting out of New York.... that his path is uncertain, that he loves the indulgence of the City (and my own indulgent side as well) but questions its permanence in his life. Maybe it’s too soon to discuss but he brings it up because he does feel that this is a serious relationship.

In response I told him that I am not completely attached to NY, that if he said tomorrow, he is moving to Brazil or wherever, I would stay here, but a year from now, if we are still together, who knows? That’s what partnerships are all about. I love NYbut feel that impermanence as well.

We also spoke about the resolution of past relationships, and LA’s need to close a few doors or at least to clarify the rooms they led to before we could move forward. These months, I realized again, really weren’t just for him. I needed to clean up my own messy heart after dating the Mover. I needed to be able to trust in someone’s ability to love me and to recognize my own inhibitions and fears for what they are--shadows of past wounds that have little place in my present heart.

As we walked to the subway station the next morning, we agreed that it’s a relief to be exclusive now. Dating is so much simpler without constant dilemmas to ponder.

During the day on Thursday, I received the following text from LA:

‘You are the half-forgotten thought warming my voice on the phone, the glow soaking through the open vowels of each mechanical e-mail. The soft breath of your skin ambushes me at the sink, in the hall. I go downstairs to get shoes and return with chocolate, humming.’

I paused amidst the frantic pace of my day and basked momentarily in the love LA is offering me. I replied:

‘Thanks for the poetry lover. You have been unknowingly distracting me as your warmth and love permeate my runaway day.’

That night I met LA on the Lower East Side to take a salsa class. I am not the most coordinated girl and was dreadfully nervous about squashing toes or just making a fool of myself in general.

Turns out, I’m not so bad... as long as the music isn’t too fast. The class has more than double the amount of women to men (similar to the NY ratio of single women to men...). The women rotate partners and dance alone as well. I was doing fairly well until the rotation paired me with LA. I flusehed like a schoolgirl and became too flustered to think the steps through in my head. The instructor yelled at LA, saying ‘She was doing fine until she started to dance with you!’ I whispered a breathy sorry into his ear.

Just after class ended, I was standing on the side of the room watching LA as he was talking with someone, and I thought, ‘That man is my boyfriend. And he loves me. And he very clearly wants to be with me.’ I paused to revel in the moment. Then I thought, ‘Holy crap. It actually happened.’

The ‘It,’ of course, being love... mutual in-lovedness to be more precise.

We followed salsa with dinner at Brown, where we had wine, red snapper saviche, roasted artichoke hearts and brussel sprouts, mac and cheese, and swordfish with beet greens and roasted beets. Yum. The artichokes and mac and cheese were phenomenal.

Friday and Saturday nights were filled with friends. Drinks with Mrs. O at Sophie’s followed by nachos and margaritas at Benny’s on Friday night. Actually, I was too tipsy for a margarita by the time we arrived. Mrs. O bought me two rounds to celebrate the finding of love, and the Ketel One on the rocks was really Ketel One with a few pebbles floating on top.

On Saturday, two of LA’s out-of-town friends were playing at a coffee shop on 8th street. They are talented singer-songwriters from Pennsylvania who play piano and guitar. The show was followed by margaritas and guacamole at Vamos. In addition to the usual flavors, they offer lemon sage and cilantro.

And here we are on a snowy Sunday night in February, and LA is coming over soon. I know. I know. We run the risk of getting tired of each other. Funny though. It hasn’t happened yet.

And, by the way, I logged on to Salon today to turn my profile off. I noticed LA had turned his off when I logged on Thursday to check whether the ballet dancer had responded because we both agreed I should go on that date for the material. No e-mail from the dancer, but I was happy to see LA’s profile was turned off. And, yes. I looked. Wouldn’t you? Not out of mistrust just reassurance.

By today there was no response from the dancer, so I decided to turn off my profile. I had one new message in my box from the family man. He apologized for the delay and noted we appear to have a bit in common. He then went on to say I seem ‘very smart, witty and unusual in a good way.’ Unusual in a good way? Really knows how to win a girl’s heart. He also noted that I am pretty and he loves that I am tall. But...

'But there's one thing... your profile says "no" in regards to ever wanting kids. Is this 100% true? I mean it's not like my biggest desire in life, but I think I'd like to have one child someday.'

Someday? Dude. You’re 43. Best be having one a sooner someday than later. It’s not ‘like his biggest desire in life?’ It better be a pretty big desire, if he’s so hot-to-trot to have one. Best not to have them at all if it’s not a big desire.

Here I go again. All riled up after being pleasantly high on thoughts of LA. I could go on, but I think it’s the whole age thing that is really under my skin, so why bother?

I’m in love and the world is grand. Don’t you know?

Stay tuned!

Freaked Out Small World

So here I am sitting, staring at the screen, sipping my third cup of coffee, trying to remember what happened on Monday. The day is a fuzzy grey fog in my head, for some reason untouchable by my rational mind which is trying to rake up a memory or two of what may have happened.

All right then, I'll go for Tuesday instead. Oh boy. Tuesday. Tuesday brings it all back and reminds me what I was doing on Monday evening. I came home directly after work, tired from the busy love-saturated weekend.

As I’m sure you recall, LA and I confessed our love for each other last weekend. In case you are catching up after a DG hiatus, we are still dating other people. Contradictory? No, I don’t believe so, but you can read on and decide for yourself.

After I posted last Sunday, LA and I had a gushy text exchange. Unfortunately, I deleted most of his part of the conversation because my inbox was nearly full. Here is my end. You can pretend you are listening to someone on the phone:

I can still feel you on my skin and in my heart, and it feels really wonderful and warm and lovely.

Buenos noches!

Smile. Sigh. Smile.

Yes and yes and it makes the next night that more intense to have missed you in-between.

Ha, ha, ha. Verizon called me to tell me to change my plan because I’m texting so much. Im going to bed lover. Text you tomorrow.

I kept his last text to me which said simply. ‘I love you.’

Awww. I can hear you through the monitor. So it was that I was still all wrapped up in giddiness and take-you-by-surprise smiles on Monday, even through the overloaded, understaffed, corporate-bound workday.

I talked to LA for a few minutes after work on Monday about which mouse traps I should buy to catch the rodent that has been making a home under my kitchen sink. Yes, I know. It’s horrible. It’s sad. Mice are kind of cute and all. I was always horrified by the thought of killing mice with traps. Then I moved to New York. Here, the mice don’t live in cages in the pet store. They live in kitchens, in this case in my kitchen, and if you let one get away with it, you will end up with the whole family.

I thought about live and let the furry ones live too, but under my kitchen sink is just not a proper home for a mouse, and there is the whole unsanitary issue of mouse droppings in the kitchen. Incidentally, I set the traps wrong the first time, and I and used too much bait. So now I have a mouse fattened on organic peanut butter still roaming around.

Enough talk of mice. Hope you won’t hold it against me.

Monday night around 10, I was thinking of LA again and wanted to call him or text him, but was cognizant of that ultra-necessary ‘space’ one is supposed to have. I didn’t really know want I wanted to communicate either. Or that I really wanted anything other than to hear his voice one more time that night.

At a loss, I decided not to call him and instead picked up a book of poems by Mary Oliver which my sister-in-law gave me a few years ago as a thank-you gift for reading a poem at her wedding. I found something there that I wanted to share with LA. It’s from a poem called 'What is There Beyond Knowing.'

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.

If there's a temple, I haven't found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass
and the weeds.

At the end, I said to LA:

As I read it tonight, the piece of our collage that came to mind was laying with my head on your shoulder and feeling my belly against your side and my thigh heavy across your legs as the sound of my own breath mingled with the thump of your heart below my ear. And I thought how I often feel that I am standing in a dark field in the middle of the world breathing just by being alive, but also then in that one moment when I could hear the sound it made against that backdrop and how it felt as true as light and wind and rain.

I hope whenever you read this you are standing in the middle of the world breathing easy breaths.

I sent it Monday night marveling that I have never felt comfortable enough to send an e-mail like that to any lover. Sure I’ve written a few poems into birthday or Valentine cards, but an e-mail for the hell of it? Never. This, my friends, made me very happy.

Until about mid-Tuesday when I hadn’t heard anything from LA, text, e-mail or otherwise. I started to feel that dreaded knot knowing he must have already been online that day. Oh no, I thought, this is not a good sign.

I received a reply from LA that confirmed my cause for nervousness. After a thank-you that’s kind, he said he wasn’t so much standing in the middle of the world breathing as thinking. He included an excerpt from a sonnet about a man of three minds like blackbirds in a tree. Tuesdays, he said are good for backing up from oneself. He then launched into a paragraph about how he is disturbed that he can say he loves me but still want to date other people. Is it really love then and do we feel the same love? He worries about hurting me and that maybe hurt is inevitable, and perhaps some things are worth getting hurt over. He needs to trust that I can take care of myself. I am a lovely woman and deserve the best.

Oh no, I thought, LA is having a bit of a panic. What does a digital girl do in such a situation? She e-mails V. to gather her thoughts and get some perspective before responding. I laid it out for her and said, 'I think he's just freaking out. And, I swear if one more guy tells me that I deserve 'the best' or 'better' I'm quitting relationships all together.'

And yes, guys, if any of you are actually reading, girls do discuss these things via e-mail. How else can we figure out if we are completely nuts. How else can we learn whether our friends have had a similar experience and whether it came out all right in the end or was a complete disaster? And, how else can we get our thoughts sorted out before responding?

I sent a reply that afternoon which began: ‘I think, frankly, that you are freaking out a bit. I mean that in the kindest way, I really do. Love is a scary thing to feel and a scarier thing to admit, but I don't know that makes it any less real. There is nothing wrong with feeling something for someone with intensity and still taking the time to let it sort itself out (i.e. dating other people).’

I went on for two more paragraphs, but will give you just the brief. I told him that taking the time is taking care of myself, which is something I'm good at, but it doesn't mean that I still don't get hurt. And, not opening up to love and to potential when it's healthy is counterproductive to taking care of oneself. We all get hurt, but it's how we learn from it that matters. And I think I've learned enough that I can hear him say he loves me and return it and still give us both more time. Because maybe we need it.

I told him it's important to me to let it breathe because I have been in situations where it's a constant debate, and that is something I don't want to do again. So, the time isn't just for him, it's for me too. I then suggested that he not back up too far, even if Tuesday's are good for that. It would be a shame not to enjoy what's happening.

His reply was another bit of poetry about blackbirds preceded by okay, okay, okay, okay, thanks and followed by when can he see me again? Relieved I suggested Thursday.

Tuesday night V. and I went to a yoga class at Integral Yoga on 13th Street and 7th Avenue. Despite not having attended a class for over a year, I did not break in half. I did, however, run into the Producer.

During the class, I tried to mentally squish those tiny voices in my head singing “It’s a Small World After all” and wondered how I was going to explain myself for not having returned his last several communications. You would think in a city this big one wouldn’t have to worry about such things, but I suppose it is an inevitable law of the universe that you will run into someone you don’t want to see.

Outside the center, I said hello, asked how he was and then ran off with V. to dinner at Cafe Orlin on 8th Street between 1st and 2nd. They have the best roasted vegetable goat cheese sandwich on homemade pita bread and skinny crispy french fries which are fabulous with mustard and their special hot sauce. After detoxing our bodies at yoga, V. and I were both buzzed on only two glasses of wine.

On Wednesday, I sent the Producer an e-mail after having decided it wasn’t very nice of me not to respond earlier. There is also a chance I will have to work with him again on a future project so really it’s better to keep the bridge of congeniality intact. In case you don’t remember, I had confirmed by the end of our New Year's Eve date that there were no sparks with or further interest in the Producer. He also seemed to be holding back, which is highly unattractive.

I did not however say this to him in my e-mail. Instead, I told him I had been casually dating someone when we met, and it started to become more serious at the beginning of the year. We could still go for dinner in friendship, but if he’d rather not, that's okay too. Just wanted to let him know. All of this is true.

He replied:

I’m glad your doing well. Thanks for finally responding. I wish you had told me along the way but hey now I understand why you were not quite all there. I wish you all the best in your adventure.

Excuse me? I wasn’t quite there? After two and a half days working together and two dates, I had no clue who he was really, which is so very unattractive. The guy couldn’t even answer simple questions in a straightforward manner. Even his holiday greetings e-mail to me was wishy washy with a subject of peace on earth and good will more so than not. I mean geez.

And why would I tell him right away? Two dates does not require divulgence. Three with the intention of more to follow maybe.

That was kind of a snarky e-mail. Maybe he should get together with Mia’s hostile e-beau. You can read an update about that situation in last week’s comments. Pretty unbelievable!

V. pointed out to me that the Producer needed to think that it wasn’t him, which I suppose is true. Fine, blame me. I don’t care. And, I didn’t much. I had a date with a new e-beau that very night.

This e-beau is the one who had a profile picture with his dog. This must be the new thing to do. If you recall, my last date was with someone pictured with his cat. Maybe I should post a photo of me and my kitchen mouse.

This beau had an occupation of ‘fixer.’ I had no idea what that meant and when asked I received a cryptic answer about doing something on Wall Street in some behind-the-scenes office. Hmmm... Well, here's my Wall Street man.

Actually the whole date was a little cryptic which I guess is why his about me included ‘not a man to know quickly, but makes for excellent company off the bat.’ I’m not sure I would say ‘excellent’ either. Maybe ‘good’ or ‘fair’ if only because he is a soft talker and I continually had to ask ‘what?’

We met at Milano’s, which is a dive bar I had never been to before, on Houston between Mott and Mulberry. It’s comfortable with a clear set of locals. Conversation began as it inevitably does on a first date in New York with where we are both from.

I was forthcoming with Illinois, but the Fixer decided I should have to guess where he was from. Ugh. I so hate guessing games, particularly if they involve geography, of which my knowledge is embarrassingly poor. He kept saying he was giving me hints which I missed altogether, long day at work, half a Jameson’s down and all.

Well into our second round, he finally just told me he was from London. He really did not have much of an accent and after guessing several states all over the west and northwest, I finally decided he could be Canadian.

The moment came when I was at least enjoying myself enough to suggest a third round and he countered with dinner. As we were walking over to Fanelli’s (his choice), I started to think I should have ended the date with the drinks. I liked the Fixer enough. I was even considering a second date. But, I was low on energy. First dates take a lot out of you. I think short and simple is best. In fact, I’m no longer going to go for dinner after drinks on these dates. Yes, that is a good solution. I’ll make it a policy, so I don’t have to wish on the walk over to the restaurant that we had only had drinks.

My thought was interrupted, however, by the Fixer’s question about why I was participating in online dating. The Fixer has just joined the online community having recently ended a five-year relationship. I was his fourth date. I confessed about the blog, and he latched onto the opportunity to discuss this at length living up to the remark on his profile that he is ‘restlessly curious’ and needs ‘to know about almost everything.’

This conversation led to too many things considering the long story of starting the blog, meeting the Mover, taking a break and relaunching. I finally said let’s not discuss this. So, how about the weather we’re having? Do you like soccer?

By then I began to realize that although I might have gone out with him again, he was not cool with the blog. And when queried whether I tell people, I said, yes now I do. If someone has a problem with my writing it they don’t have to go out with me again. (Of course, I’m also currently dating someone who loves me so... oh no, I did not go there. Would you? And yes, the potential for a second date raised questions in my own head about our situation and how one does exactly handle it all.)

When the Fixer and I arrived outside the entrance to the N/W train, I said, 'Thanks and well you have my e-mail and phone.' He replied, ‘but not your url.’ And because I also have a web site I said oh I can give you a card. Then I realized he was referring to the blog. Since the look on his face told me he would not be using my contact info I stopped looking for the card.

Fine. He may work on Wall Street, but his profile is a little cocky. And he lives in Brooklyn and has a dog. Both of those things are great and all, but the dog needs to be walked several times a day, and there is no easy route from Brooklyn to Queens. Oh, and I am love with LA so the logistics so don’t even matter!

Speaking off, I had a date on Thursday night with LA. During the day I spent six plus hours in a client meeting during which I had plenty of time to think about our e-mail correspondence on Tuesday while the bigwigs brainstormed PR ideas. Yes, such is my life.

It occurred to me that I still needed to discuss a few things about our correspondence in order to feel comfortable. We had such a great time last weekend, and I was afraid he wanted to somehow take it back. It worried me that his freak-out was in response to my poetic outpouring. I was disconcerted by his remark that I may feel something different than he does because how can anyone really know what I feel or how much? How can it be less or more or even measured? And, I wanted to tell him never to tell a woman again whether it’s me or someone else that she is the best. There is no ‘the best.’ ‘The best’ does not exist. There are relationships and there is love between people, and they are never perfect, never the best, they only just are.

LA had texted that he was ‘so excited’ to see me, and I was as well. It so happens that we were also both really nervous. Fancy that. He, in fact, was more nervous than he was for our first few dates. We met at 88 Orchard, a coffee shop on Orchard and Broome where we had a glass of wine. He had made reservations for dinner nearby but would not tell me where. This explained why he had texted asking on a scale of 10 with 10 being smokin’, how I was dressed. I went with 7.5 since I had a cute pink BCBG dress on with black tights and tall boots.

LA treated me to a wonderful dinner at Suba, a Spanish restaurant on Ludlow. There is a dining room downstairs called the Grotto. The walls are white painted brick, and the floor is a concrete platform in the middle of a pool of water. A cushioned bench with a back lines the rectangular room. The walls reflect the water. It’s a great space, and we had a corner table where we could site right next to each other on the bench. Very romantic. I felt wined and dined and wanted.

We had an earthy wine accompanied by beet salad, a cheese plate, a dish with a poached egg over kale and mushrooms in a mushroom broth with gnocchi, and the chef’s special of pork over chestnut polenta. It was all delicious, though the egg was too salty.

It was a cozy time, and we tried to guess who everyone else was and how they related to each other. We touched upon Tuesday when LA told me he had a bit of a panic, and I said I know. At my request, though, we waited until later, after dinner and after frolicking to really discuss.

And all became well again in the world of love with the conversation. I said everything that was making my heart messy, and LA told me his panic was related to fear, to the past, to the intensity of our mutual love for each other. He also clarified that he did not send his e-mail in response to my poetry. Though it was technically a reply, it was unrelated and he really appreciated my words. And, neither of us felt any different than we had on Sunday. We also agreed that the distance between Sunday and Thursday felt like a year. We missed each other.

Sigh.

I also have tiny moments of fear, but they are few and fleeting, and I’m not sure why they aren’t large and looming. Perhaps it is because love seems to be the core and the one element that has refused her presence in my most recent relationships. Perhaps I'm too glazed over by all the delicious romping between the sheets. Or, perhaps it’s because LA has already shown an overwhelming mastery of fear just by telling me how he feels and keeping the dialogue open. I don’t know. Sometimes I think it's just too complicated and tiring to get wrapped up in those panic-laden moments.

What I do know is the huge grin on my face when I listen to a voicemail from LA telling me all about his day and his plans for the evening and ending with an ‘I love you.’ I know my contentedness when his voice tells me he knows I can’t answer the phone, and he wanted to leave a message for later. I know that I wanted to spend most of the weekend with him.

And I’m keeping up my end of the deal I made with myself to date other people for now even if I don’t want to meet another man to love at the moment. I ushered on Friday night, following DB’s suggestion that you never know whose ticket you are going to rip. I didn’t hand programs to any cute, tall engaging men, but I saw a show for free at the Acorn Theater which is part of the New Group. All was not lost.

I also updated my Salon profile because my e-mails are dwindling again. It has a new focus on meeting people and sharing stories over cocktails and how maybe that's all I'm looking for. Too honest? I guess time and e-mails will tell.

Saturday night, LA, V and I had wine at V.s and then went to Rose in Brooklyn, a music venue on Grand Street and Marcy that was celebrating their two-year anniversary. The walls in the upstairs bar are covered in several different prints of vintage wallpaper. Worth a trip to Brooklyn just for this. They also have a terrific wine cellar downstairs where they serve food.

By the time we arrived, I was sleepy from the effects of wine and tofu tacos. LA and I decided to leave after the first set. Back at his place, we fell asleep with nary a frolick or a romp in sight. We certainly made up for it in the morning.

And now, here we are. It's Sunday. LA and I had brunch at Flea Market on Avenue A and 8th Street. Well that was after we tried Danal, decided it was weird and we didn't want to stay but would have coffee since we ordered it and leave a large tip, was rudely told to sit at the bar instead, decided to leave without the coffee and was then chased down the street by the waitress who was apparently insulted that we didn't tell her we were leaving. We gave her the $7.50 for the untouched pot of coffee we left at the bar and walked east. Guess she was having her own freak-out.

Anyway, Flea Market is a great brunch spot... good coffee, burgers, eggs florentine, bloody Mary's, croissants, etc. After this brief hiatus I will be back at his place watching the Super Bowl with the gang of housemates.

Mrs. O asked me this morning, 'You do know there is a NY team in the Super Bowl. You do know that right?' I laughed and said I do now but only found out two days ago when I happened to flip past a late-night talk show making predictions about the game.

Stay tuned!

The Fickle Flirt Drops In

Sigh. Smile. Deep breath. Long exhale. Smile. Warm fuzzy feeling.

Oh, hello. I forgot for a moment that you were here. I’m a little preoccupied with pleasantness. But alas, I have a tale to tell, a blog to write, a life to record via letters on a screen.

I left you last on Monday following a long weekend, contentedly buzzed on mole and frolicking.

Tuesday night, V. and I were supposed to go to a yoga class and then read travel books at at Barnes and Nobles on Thailand and South Africa to determine a destination for our spring vacation. Unfortunately, two of my clients at work decided they needed their budgets for 2008 by the next day despite their not having made a decision regarding the proposed plan.

Blah, blah, blah, nobody wants to hear about my corporate job. In fact, after LA and I exchanged tales of a random weekday, he shared a poem with me by John Berryman, that begins, ‘Life, my friends, is boring. We must not say so.’

I don’t even like to hear about my job, but hey it pays and sometimes it’s interesting. It’s just that the computers are 10 years old, and there has been drilling noise coming through the wall seven out of eight hours every day this week and through the next. Can’t be helped my ass. Have they ever heard of after-hours construction. And what about the sweltering heat? There must be laws against lack of ventilation.

Oh, sorry. I digress. My point was I finished work too late for yoga. When I checked in with V. she had just ordered food from Gobo, the great vegan restaurant I’ve mentioned before. So, I brought a bottle of wine, which we finished and then some, while we chatted and stuffed ourselves. (Yes, it is completely possible to stuff yourself on vegan food.)

The evening was conducive to hours of good conversation about life, jobs, music, love and relationships. V. asked me whether the boy from the concert at the Knitting Factory... you remember the friend of friend who maybe liked me... had ever called. He had not. She had told him he better act fast because I was seeing someone and it was potentially more than just a fling.

We also touched upon the upcoming February 7th deadline which we assigned to reassessing my reciprocated ambivalence in regard to my situation with the Lost Artist. I confessed to V. I had already decided that I wanted to give it a shot. What I didn’t tell V., perhaps what I hadn’t really admitted to myself, was that not only wasn’t it just a fling, but I was falling in love with LA. Ambivalence level dropping fast! Danger!

Okay, I can’t really even remember what I did on Tuesday except work late again and maybe watch a few episodes of Lost. LA and I exchanged a series of texts in which I said:

‘Hope sleep finds you easily tonight and brings nice dreams along.’

He replied, ‘Yeah, I’d rather it bring you along, but there’s probably a point to moderation. Like actual sleep for instance.’

So, we proceeded to tease each other that maybe Wednesday night would be better. But Wednesday afternoon, LA was feeling over socialized. I was fine with a quiet evening, and it turns out, ended up under the weather thinking it best I didn’t have company. A call from LA around 8:45 that evening turned it all upside down, however. He came out to Astoria and we had a lovely unsocial evening which consisted of me reading Christopher Moore’s Fluke with an old-lady lavender hot pillow on my belly and him journaling about, among other things, our sex life. I have rarely in my life felt so comfortable with a boy or so soothed by one’s presence. And, even though we couldn’t actually have it, nothing stopped us from talking about our past frolicking episodes. Never done it? I highly recommend it. Trust me. You’ll be surprised.

On Thursday, LA sent me a text that he had mistaken EB’s leftover crumbled pie from Sunday (which was fab, by the way) for leftover crumbled enchilada and poured mole sauce over it. It turned out to be good. I tried to respond, but the night before he had changed my text messaging to word mode, which I thought was really cool at the time. This is what came out:

‘ignommm. ugh. I abbot spreen to tut.’

I switched modes and we sent each other a few mushy texts about really loving each other’s company, even when low-key.

You may notice that we exchange a lot of texts. So much so, in fact, that I had to change my plan to add text messaging since my bills were getting ridiculous. I only added the 200 message, plan, though and Verizon called me on Saturday to ask whether I wanted to upgrade my plan again as it seems I am still going over my allowance. Flirting via text isn’t free, you know.

By the way, I finally managed to master the word mode. Apparently you have to type the number for all the letters of the word--just once, i.e. if you want the word ‘when’ you type’ 9436’. You don’t need to press the 4 twice to get the ‘h’ nd so on. Most of the time, the phone will give the word you want, but if not, on an LG you hit 0 and it scrolls through the available words with those letters. It’s great for, as LA says, those of us texters over 30.

Okay. I’m getting off track again. Thursday and Friday were both low-key as well. Evenings at home by myself, more Lost (season 2), and laundry. Friday involved a text from LA telling me that he was out with his ex who was jealous and who told him so. This did not freak me out. I have become accustomed to the idea of people remaining friends with ex’s. I decided instead to take her jealousy as a compliment to something she sees in the way LA talks about our experience. Later, LA told me that she wants a break from their friendship, which he interprets as her finally deciding to move on. Which, actually, sort of backs up my theory that people need space from each other to move on, even if they still aren’t ‘involved.’

Saturday night there was an ugly-sweater party at LA’s--everyone had to wear an ugly sweater (fun!). I was excited and nervous. More housemates and friends to meet, and a room full of 30 or so people I didn’t know to navigate and spend time with.

I am historically inept at events where I don’t know anyone. For example, I went to a parochial grade school and didn’t know many people when I started classes at the public high school. The night before my first day, my mother had to coach me... “Just walk up to someone and say. ‘Hi. My name is Chris, what’s yours?’” Funny, but that simple tactic still seems to work. In fact, that’s how I met Cristie, who left a fun comment last week noting I am having my jalapeno poppers and eating them too. Also read comments from Mia who experienced an angry, petulant e-beau this week. I agree Mia, it’s not too much to ask for courtesy or for someone who has ‘baggage that fits neatly into the overhead compartment’ with yours.

I arrived early to help LA set up and squeeze in some afternoon frolicking before the guests arrived. One of LA’s housemates gave him a hug and whispered, ‘smokin!’ in LA’s ear about me (yes, me!).

A glass of wine before the guests arrived and several vodka seltzers after seemed to equalize my nerves. I really like LA’s friends and one suggested a double date which is so hospitable. Though my idea to go to the beer garden might not be such a good one for the middle of winter. (I was nervous.)

Like any party where you know one of the hosts, I didn’t expect to see much of LA during the evening. What I didn’t know was that he was a little worried about looking after me to make sure I was having a good time. He was pleased and relieved to realize I can take care of myself in a house full of people I don’t know. (Thanks, Mom!)

It was as we were falling asleep that night that we had a conversation which left me chasing my thoughts around a tree for a few hours while the sheep hung out somewhere too far away to count.

I playfully mentioned to LA that he had referred to me as his girlfriend earlier in the evening. He had, because what do you call the girl who you are sleeping with and dating and care about but with whom you are not exclusive? Oh. Well, I don’t know.

The circus in my head was punctuated over the next few hours by the sounds of twenty-somethings still partying downstairs. I don’t know why being a girlfriend, sort-of, sent my thoughts in a maelstrom. Wait, yes I did. It’s because LA had spent the evening telling me I was great, and every boy who has ever told me I was great had told me shortly thereafter that he doesn’t want to see me anymore. ‘Great’ has never done much for me. (Total, complete baggage.)

But by morning I had successfully stowed my baggage and made it back into the land of the nonspecualtive, relaxed and nearly content after morning frolicking though simultaneously battling a cheap-vodka headache drilling through my left temple.

A few hours later, after hanging with the housemates and nursing coffee, LA and I were sitting at the bar at Great Jones Cafe with plates half full of eggs, chees grits and jalapeno cornbread. He decided to revisit our conversation from last week about exclusivity.

My heart crawled into my stomach when he started talking, and I put down my fork. There was no room for eggs next to my heart. I wasn’t ready to answer whether I had given it more thought and told him I hadn’t wanted to... And, I got stuck... until he finished my sentence... hadn’t wanted to be the one to always bring it up which makes one feel like they are driving an issue that may not be wanted. Which is why, he said, he was bringing it up this time. How great is that?

I sort of missed the greatness of having a boy want to discuss a point I had raised in a prior conversation because it was on his mind . I also hadn’t expected the follow-up conversation to happen so soon. I still couldn’t eat, so I sipped the Cajun Mary we were splitting instead.

LA had thought about it over the week and since before then as well. He said that he wants a relationship, but admits it can be a pitfall to want to be in a relationship for the sake of having one.

He then reiterated many of the things that he appreciates about me, including my newly discovered ability to act independently at a party. He told me that the more he learns about me, the more he likes. He told me again that I am smokin’, that I am present, that I am generous, that I am patient and kind and low maintenance and beautiful. Yes, he really has said all of those things and he said them again, and I held my breath.

I waited. I waited for the ‘but.’ I thought surely, as my heart was being slowly digested by my stomach acid, that he would say but... but it’s not the right time, but I don’t think we really fit together, but I don’t want to be in a relationship, but, but, but, but, but... fill in the countless blanks that can end the sentence.

BUT... he didn’t say any of those things. He said instead he’s just not quite settled into being exclusive. He’s not sure why but there’s just a little something. Maybe, he said, he’s afraid. And, he admitted that if I were to demand it, he’s pretty sure he knows what his answer would be. (Meaning he would stay.)

There was no but! I was so relieved that when I started to talk, all I could get out was, ‘I was waiting for the but...’ and I started to cry nearly into the Cajun Mary and on his shirt.

And, he said, ‘Oh no!’ because he hadn’t realized. And then, right there at the bar at Great Jones Cafe, he told me he loves me. He didn’t really mean to say it right then, though it had been in his thoughts over the last few days. But there it was. It slipped out, and he meant it. I wiped my tears on his neck, said, ‘thank you’ and kissed him. He is the first boy in nearly ten years who has told me he loves me.

I found my voice shortly thereafter and explained that the more I get to know him, the more I like him as well and admitted I am falling in love with him. I also told him this was what led up to me talking to him about eventual exclusivity. That I want to be in a relationship not just because it feels good but because of who he is. That I had worked past my fear of it through this experience with him.

I explained, though, that I want exclusivity to occur naturally. I don’t want it to be contrived in response to a request or a demand. I want it, instead, to be a mutual decision, a conclusion of hearts. And, ultimately, I have no problem giving him, giving us, more time. I want it to evolve.

I stressed that I had initiated the discussion last week because I wanted LA to know how I was beginning to feel about him. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t just a fling, that I was enjoying his presence in my life, that I was losing some of my fear.

Sigh.

We returned to LA’s place after my heart had climbed back up into my chest, and I was able to finish my eggs and cheesy grits. The afternoon consisted of more conversation and frolicking. LA looked at me lying next to him on the bed in the late afternoon light and said, ‘I love you’ again. And I said, ‘I love you, too.’ And, it was the most sincere ‘I love you, too’ you could ever know. It was not just an echo. We marvelled at how we went from almost ending our dating to resonance in three weeks.

I told LA about my deal with V. and my deadline of February 7th. He asked me what she would say about our new situation, i.e. fully confessed love without exclusivity. I told him she will probably tell me it’s fine as long as we both want it and understand it clearly. Then 10 minutes later, I said, ‘Oh yeah. And she will tell me I need to keep going on dates with other people.’

LA nodded and said, ‘You should.’ Then we started talking about whether it’s misleading to those we go out with. I decided it’s only misleading if we go out multiple times with someone and don’t tell them what’s going on, which raised the question I refuse to speculate upon... what if he meets someone he really hits it off with? He thinks about that too... what if I meet someone more hot and more interesting?

No, don’t go there. It’s nothing more than time that we have given each other. And for now, we must enjoy it. The rest will sort itself out.

In case you are curious, we also talked about sex with other people. Remember my self inquiry a few weeks ago of whether I can sleep with more than one man at a time? I’ve decided probably not because a) it might be exhausting, b) sex is emotionally intimate for me (though not for everyone), and c) it’s healthier to only have one partner.

As it turns out, LA is emotionally wired to his physical pleasure as well. Though he told me he wouldn’t be so jealous or mind knowing about my sleeping with someone else. Might turn him on to think about it. This, of course, led to more frolicking which included my telling him about a past exploit with another boy in an outside space at a party while we, you know... Haven’t tried that before? Well, you should. Trust me.

It is a bit tangled to be in love, but be dating other people. But I feel good about it. I think we are both just a little bit scared. And I think, for now, that’s okay. And so, I am lining up a date for Wednesday or Thursday this week with a new boy through Salon. Can’t remember what he does, but we are having a funny e-mail correspondence about my collection of vintage items (formica table and chairs, bronze goddess lamp that rains oil, wood and gold sun clock...). His profile picture shows him and his dog. He looks like he has a scruffy thin beard--the e-beau not the dog.

Oh, and as for the Mover, he lost my drill but is buying me a new one. When I logged on to Salon this week, his photo was right there under featured members. Of course, I couldn’t resist looking at his updated profile. He has upgraded to gold status, so he must be seriously relaunching his dating life. He also posted the model-hot photo I took. Good for him! I hope it gets him some cute girls. Eventually I think we will meet for drinks at least to exchange the drill. We had a decent phone conversation, which makes me feel grown-up. Maybe it is possible to keep those friendships. Who knows. Do you?

Okay then. That’s it! What more could you possibly ask for from one week? If you haven’t been reading DG for long, the fickle flirt is also that wily creature called love who just happens to drop in even when you think she’s never cominng by again.

Stay tuned!!!!!