Saturday, November 26, 2005

European Union ...

It would appear that I am dating someone.

"Dating" in the sense of "going on dates," without implying any of the more serious, monogamous connotations of the word. Nothing seems to freak a guy out faster than wanting to slap a label on a relationship. Oh, for the love of God, I just called it a relationship. "Relationship" in the sense of "relating to another human being," without implying any of the more serious, monogamous connotations of the word.

We chat via IM a lot. We've had only one lengthy phone conversation, though we managed to while away nearly 100 minutes with relative ease.

He wrote to me at the beginning of the year through Match.com, which I stopped being a part of long ago. His first e-mail was a three-word sentence. Clever man. It piqued my interest. Made me read his profile. We chatted back and forth via e-mail and IM for a while and then lost touch. Oh well.

I well remembered, though, that he's a fan of Wallace and Gromit, as am I, so one night several weeks ago when I saw a trailer for "Curse of the Were-Rabbit," I fired off an IM to him that began "I know this is completely out of the blue, but ..." and the IMs began again.

Eventually, he asked for my number. I asked for his instead. I called him one night and he told me that he kept my photo from when we chatted earlier in the year.

"Which one?" I asked.

"You have reddish hair, you're wearing kind of a denim shirt ..."

Yeah. That's not me.

So all along, through our newly re-established contact, he was thinking I was someone else.

But who can blame the guy? I'm sure he has more women writing to him than he can possibly keep straight. Tall, European, funny, great eyes and the best smile I've ever seen. Not that I'm any slouch myself, mind you. I sent him the headshot that makes people ask, "Is this really you or one of those photos that comes in a picture frame?"

So time wears on and we make a plan to meet. And then that plan falls apart. So we make another plan to meet. And we do.

I was a bit worried about finally meeting him. What would it be like? Our IM conversations are rapid-fire and barbed. He's got a sarcastic streak a mile long. Well, kilometer in his case. And some funny guys don't seem to know when to turn the funny off, class clowns who seem not to notice that we're not in school anymore.

We sat at my kitchen table, drinking wine, eating cheese and then chocolate, and talked. Like normal people talk. As far as we know, anyway. "Normal" isn't really a word that applies to either of us.

Date One was Tuesday. It went well. And we made plans for Date Two, which was yesterday and lasted more than 12 hours, and brought with it a valuable piece of knowledge: Even after half a day, we're not sick of each other.

That, and he has stuffed dog named Schnuffy.

Tonight, he popped up on my screen again. "Am I presented in your blog?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I haven't written about you on my blog yet. Would you like me to?"

And here we are. Darling, you've been presented in my blog.

Date Three is tomorrow. He's making dinner for me. Sweet, huh?

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