Newsflash.
I did meet a guy when I was traveling last year. I only told six people about him, in case it didn’t work out.
Boom clap.
If he’s reading this right now, he knows who he is. Hey, what’s up? Thanks for haunting my dreams.
I was attending a conference in Tampa, and he and I were the only two lunatics in the gym at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. We exchanged hellos, watching each other peripherally, and I figured he was there for the golf tournament. The resort was teeming with gorgeous tan silver foxes, some with wives and families in tow, some stag. They completely commandeered cocktail hour, filling every bar stool and all available floor space with their loud playback on the day’s golf. Their cacophony fused perfectly with the more staid-nature of our conference, and happy hours got pretty rowdy. It was tremendously fun.
But that night I bumped into him at our farewell cocktail reception, as he was attending the same conference I was. We talked, and as my brain began to melt like a bar of surf wax on a hot surfboard, I had to force myself to focus on what he was saying, while my brain started ticking off boxes: gorgeous, successful, single, father, Catholic, Italian, conservative, check, check, check. I excused myself to the ladies’ room and hid in a bathroom stall to text a friend.
Me: What do I do? I really like this guy, and you know how picky I am!
Her: Calm down. And try not to be…YOU.
Me: O.k. Wait, wha?
Her: Act like you’re normal, someone who is open and receptive to a relationship.
Me: I am normal.
Her:
Me: Fine, I’m not normal, but I’m receptive as fuck.
Her: Try not to pick out his faults.
Me: I’m not doing that.
Her: You do it with every guy.
Me: I do not.
Her: Come on, you had to have found something wrong with him by now.
Me: Nothing. He’s perfect. I already miss his face.
Her: (Pause). Then get his number. And jump him.
Owing to the professional nature of the conference and logistical complexities involving roommates, I did not jump him, but I did get his contact information. We stayed in constant contact over the next few months, and I remember the exact day that we were like, yeah, let’s go for it. One thing led to another, and…
So much for checklists. Serves me right.
I couldn’t close the deal. Not from reticence on either of our parts, not even from lack of trying, just from the shittiest, stinkiest, most excrementally bad timing that has ever been.
I left no stone unturned. After all, I’m a problem-solver. Give me the problem, and I’ll help you come up with a solution. I didn’t get through the last three years without being able to stay calm, act rationally and take proactive steps towards success. We agreed we would make it happen, we agreed that it was meant to be, but fuck if it wasn’t.
The best laid plans of mice and men….
I think of him every day, and I wonder. Did we miss an opportunity? Did we fuck up? Was it miscommunication? Was he a player? Did he think I was?
But I always go back to the same theory: The Universe has its own timing, it doesn’t give one rat’s ass about yours.