I want to talk about Hope. I want to talk about Hope because right now, I’m completely enmeshed in a default false intimacy sitch – I KNOW! - and Hope is my new best friend. Well, one hour she is then one hour she’s my frenemy, then we give each other facials then I’m all like: “bitch, don’t even...” and then she’s all like: “bitch, I’m not leaving…” . Yeah. Fuck. #Sigh.
Now, y’all know how I feel about FI and how I’ve written not one but TWO posts detailing my own awesome fail record and telling you “do as I say!” And I actually do my very best to take my own advice in this area just because I’ve been burned on a consistent, toaster set on high, basis. Guys want to text before meeting and I give them the hand. Hard. If I lose them, good riddance. In my new POF profile, I say I’m much more lighthearted yet much less inclined to fuck around which is code for “no more messaging until the cows come home. If I suspect you are harbouring even one fucking bovine, I’m outa here, dude.”
Sometimes what happens is I get a message from someone far far away and I reply and then suddenly Susan, it becomes a connection. We want to meet but it takes time so we write and share tales, memories and feelings. FUCK. Because if this happens, what do you do? WHAT do you do? Just say no? Are you fucking kidding me? Have you READ a single other post of mine??
My first long distance guy was Logan, 26 years old, from Wyoming USA; he messaged me the first time I was on CL looking for a young and studly FWB. We just hit it off and began chatting, becoming more and more involved. Curses. It’s like there’s a pattern here…
He’d been planning to come up with his next job but then everything changed and it took a month before he could drive the 700 miles to see me. In that time, we graduated to texting – TEXTING – and sexting – SEXTING! - and it was super fun and super hot, I cannot tell a lie. I don’t regret a single thing. Logan was a sweetheart.
However. When we finally met and spent a quick 48 hours together, our former crazy chemistry didn’t hold up IRL. At. All. It wasn’t like we didn’t like each other still as people but did we have hot non stop sex like we planned? Ummm…so no. Not even close #sosadandlame.
Next case in point: Irish, 29 years old. Ooohhh, Irish. He was from my second round on CL and he was a fucking mess from the get go because of his ex, but a hot mess. We were to meet in Vancouver but then he bailed on me – the first of many times – and told me he’d get back to me when he got his shit together. I gave him three weeks and then reached out and in that time, he’d had to return to the homeland for the sad task of waiting for his father to die. He texted me a few weeks afterward, asking would I want to message with him while he waited to come home? Damn my weakness for a well turned phrase or heart felt missive.
From first contact to first/ final meet, the Irish episode lasted three+ months and to be completely honest, I managed my expectations beautifully while all those around me ie my gfs fell apart, swooning over his pics and fantasizing about how amazing he was going to be when I FINALLY fucking met him. I kept saying: dial it down, for the love of God! I was actually 99% Lucy 2.0 – the smart phone version of my previously corded self. FTW.
When we did have our time together, he wasn’t that gorgeous but he was that fucked up. Like epically. Even the small “maybe baby…” that I’d allowed myself was too much; time and some words exchanged gives you the illusion you know someone even a little bit. But you do not.
And now we come to my current long distance connection Yukon. You got it. Just outside of White fucking Horse. And I messaged HIM!! Because his mention of “wrestling bears IN THE YUKON” did not register as him living IN. THE. FUCKING. YUKON. Honestly, I wonder how I even get dressed in the morning sometimes, I’m so oblivious to obvious things.
Anyway. It’s very rare I message anyone at all but this time around on POF I’m very chill and guy like; if I actually see a great pic and it comes with a literate and in Yukon’s case lovely profile, I will. So I did.
I know. A pig flew. I Instagrammed it. No big. But it helped my courage to see his POF induced trepidation: “I will not be messaging anyone!” So I thought ( and said ) well, wtf. I’ll message you. And he happily messaged back.
Long story short, after less than two weeks of writing back and forth it’s not “we’ll meet sometime” which, let’s fucking face it, is huge enough because THE YUKON, but me saying: “Figure out how that’s going to happen, Yukon” and him replying: “I will work it out. Not that complicated, really.” And I’m suspended between “are we really doing this?” and “we’re really doing this!!”. Man a fucking live.
So. The thing about this Yukon thing is I’m actually playing for stakes. And so is he. He’s very clear in his profile that he was with one woman for 24 years and he’s looking for a long term relationship. His first line?
“I don’t want to become anyone’s compromise because you are not going to be mine.”
Right? Who wouldn’t message THAT?
Now we’re here and it’s TERRIFYING to be in the ring with a real contender, someone who’s willing to fly “only” two and a half hours to meet me. However, it’s marginally worse to think either of us would be too afraid to reach out.
To. Just. Try.
Even though it’s never once worked out for me…even though it’s unlikely our present chemistry will translate IRL just because of the odds…even though the Buddhists say a mind in the present moment cannot hold fear, the fixation on the likelihood of bad outcomes, or HOPE, the fixation on the likelihood of good outcomes…
What do y'all feel about the concept of positive expectancy? Is it a future version of a glass half full philosophy or are you just keeping your head high, unable to see the ditch straight ahead?
In other words, would YOU have messaged Yukon?
ps Yukon froze. No meet. Duck unfucked. Sigh.