20 January 2011

Ghost of Hook-Up Past

Looking back on the many guys I've met over the years, I think to myself: how can you even walk? No, but seriously, I do think about how not one of them became a significant, long term, drama-free relationship. Tiny Dancer? Young? Conrad - whose story is forth-coming? Not one?

A few years ago, in an attempt to free myself of the cyber-cycle of online shagging, I retired my email address. "Oh, Yahoo! account: you've been so good to me." It was cathartic ridding myself of my trigger. That was about 5 years ago.

One afternoon, I opened up my old account and found all my emails neatly tucked away in folders - categorized by race, separated by "length" and enjoyability, and dated by season. It goes without saying that I was anal in all senses of the word. Just as a tribute to VH1's "Where are they now?" series, I emailed my most memorable ones.

A few were most likely in the same boat as me and deleted their hook-up accounts and many of those inquiries were bounced back or were left unreturned. Others, surprisingly responded:

Some: "Can you refresh my memory with a picture?"
Some others: "I do/don't remember; please stop emailing me."
Most: "Oh, yes. I remember: nice bubble-butt; great lay; of course! When are we getting together?"

Each email I received, threw me back to the first time I had ever met them. I know it's strange, but I do remember most of them. Luckily, I attached a strange quirk about the strapping studs so I could talk to my friends about them - hence the blog. Slowly the back and forth got tired for either me or the other party involved and the correspondences fell flat . . . except for one.

One of the guys continued on in an attempt to actually rekindle the hook-up. We met up in public, on his insistence, for a cup of coffee. He talked to me about how "internet-dating" wasn't fulfilling anymore and he tried to go on several dates after we last met. Admittedly, interspersed were the randoms that made him feel more alone than when the relationships didn't work and left him broken-hearted. He was passionate about what he was talking about. I hardly interjected my thoughts, but nodded several times at poignant statements. After about an hour, he told me that he thought I looked great and that he would definitely want to see me again. Next time for dinner.

I mustered up an excuse to politely decline and looked at my watch; excused myself with a hand-shake; and walked home. When I entered my apartment, I closed the door, stood there, and thought about what he said. "That was dumb," I thought to myself.

I walked over and turned on my computer.

Point of the conversation: Settle down when you're good and ready.

- DeeCue

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