Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Of all the dating commandments given unto me, I’ve turned time and again to Love Yoda’s mantra: no expectations. The two other mantras–follow your heart and remember the past–have also resonated in the last few weeks, but neither quite to the same degree nor frequency. A large part of why this is so, I think, is because of the Leviathan herself, specifically her spontaneity.

I met her last Wednesday at a beer garden. I remember it was chilly, though sitting directly under a heat lamp all but ameliorated this. Nine of her friends were there, too, so I had to run the gauntlet. The twist, though, was she didn’t want them to know we met on Match, such is the stigma that still clings to online dating, so we invented some cockamamie story about how I used to buy radio spots from her.

But most of all, I remember it being a fantastic night. We were there for five hours total, steamrolling right over last call. There’s always this sense of relief as soon as you meet. It’s, like, you were naught but a profile before. But here you are, text and curated photos made flesh, and we’re clicking. Same sense of humor, appreciation for the English language, and love of the profane, only now with body language, presence, and touch. And when I was able to talk with her, just her, and all the surrounding din subsided? Yeah, that was pretty fuckin’ rad.

“You are my favorite,” she told me tonight. I couldn’t begin to parse what this meant, or what it should mean. All I know is what was said, and I’m going to toss that into my knapsack, then move on. We’re going out on Saturday for a marathon date. I bought some tickets, made a reservation, but that’s it for planning. I’m playing everything else by ear–or heart, I suppose–and if two wends to three, then so be it.