And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street

So much to update, none of it in a relationship-ward direction.

Heading home from Chi-town Easter Monday, two hours to kill in O'Hare airport, bags a-juggling, iced skinny latte a-sipping (airports reduce me to Starbucks, the Midwest still hasn't adopted my D&D iced coffee fix), I get a strange text across my screen...

strangeboy:"Hey! How ya been?"

la belle:"Great. How are you?"

strangeboy:"Really good. I miss you. Where are you?"

Where am I? It's Easter. That means the Midwest. This must be a wrong number. You do not know of my holiday rituals.

la belle:"I'm sorry, but... Who is this?"

strangeboy: "La belle?"

la belle:"Yes..." (okay, obviously they know me, but... who's behind door #2, Monty?)

strangeboy:"It's Captain Cabinet."

la belle:"Oh! Disappearing Captain Cabinet! How are you? Where'd you go for the last (7) weeks when I wouldn't sleep with you after a handful of dates?"

Captain Cabinet proceeded to tell me he thought he'd be too kinky for me and was afraid. I scoffed. Not because I'm that open, no... because he was that vanilla. So I called him on it, and eventually he admitted he went with another option at the same time that would sleep with him.

I asked him why he was contacting me (I was bored, I had 2 hours in O'Hare during which to torture the poor bastard). Again with the missing me, and our conversations and how easy I was to talk to and that he wanted to take me out again. I of course, called bs. One doesn't disappear that long and truly pine for me. Eventually, he confessed.

It seems Captain Cabinet was pining for me. The open, accepting part of me that he thought would accept his desire to cross dress.

And you know? I might. If I loved the guy, and my needs were being met, and he didn't disappear for 7 weeks because... kink can be good. But I'm not into being thrown aside. And I reminded him of that.

Amazed at how nonchalant I was over the prevailing preference to pose in panties, Captain Cabinet continued to wax poetic about my coolness., "Most girls would be freaking out." I reminded him that as we weren't dating... there was nothing to get upset about.

So... he took it to the next level. After 36 years of silence, he decided to come out to me, with his violent, being raped by a man fantasy. And he asked me to watch.

I'm open, but not like that.

Not wanting to give the guy a complex (that's a long time to bottle things up inside...) I gently declined.

My reward? I get the occasional text or email describing his fantasy about playing dress-up with me and having me don a strap-on. Awesome. I've been gently encouraging him towards craigslist and condoms. And telling the girl he chose over me (and is still with) about his needs.

Bonus? I've learned how to set boundaries. Captain Cabinet knows that fantasy texts get no response while genuine advice seeking ones do.

Now, if I could just find a man who fantasized about only me....

In all seriousness, there is a sobering post script to that. I enjoyed Captain Cabinet while we dated. He was sweet, seemed pretty average Joe, stable and fun. The kink doesn't concern me. The fact that I've since discovered he's been IM'ing a homosexual couple online re: his violent rape fantasies and acting them out all the while dating women who've no idea does. I could be that girl. Someday I could meet someone, grow to really care about them, and never know of the dual life they are pursuing and their innermost needs and thoughts as they find them too taboo to speak of. This dating thing is worrisome. And not as easy as it once was.

Jagged little pill of bitterness

Dating wisdoms I have learned the hardway:

If he calls you baby or babe continually on the first date, you are probably one of a string of women and he is safely choosing that moniker so as not to confuse names.

Naming your son Mike, John, Rob, Chris or George gives him a high likelihood of being, 40, single and trying to date me online.

Any man who goes from zero to constant attention is emotionally unstable. Yes, the devotion is flattering. No, you are not so amazing as to cause him to completely alter his normal dispositon. He is a stage 5 clinger. Back. Away. Slowly. Do not, I repeat *DO NOT* give him your digits.

Shall he proclaim you his BFF within two weeks of meeting, he will not eventually grow to like you despite the amount of effort or communication sent your way. Ignore the fact that you talk more than humanly possible in any given day. Or that he tells you how special and wonderful you are. How lucky he is to have you in his life. You are a surrogate emotional girlfriend for this needy bastard. As soon as he finds the woman he wants to better deal you for, he will tear out your heart, stomp on it to give it a good tenderizing, marinate it in your tears, grill it and pair it with some lovely fava beans for his continued amusement.

If he's late 30's or 40+ without ever being married or living with someone or his longest relationship is less than a year, he's never going to commit to you. His issues are too numerous. Yes, you too have issues (after all you're in this dating predicament as well), however, your issues are understandable. Perhaps even slightly amusing. Avoid the confirmed bachelor. He will only waste your pretty.

Men who primarily text are not tired from a long day of talking on the phone. They are juggling. If he can't get over his exhaustion for a 20 minute call but can text for hours on end, beware.

If he throws money at everything on your date he probably considers anything available to him for the right currency. Including your affection.

But now my heart is full

So much and yet so little has happened as we cruise towards the second week of February.

I guess of import there is nothing to report -> just more of the same dance of hopes and disappointments, and much reflection. And though today brought neither shocking surprises nor horrific revelations, I find myself awash with overwhelming and inexplicable sadness. Melancholy inducing tears I can not pinpoint the cause of and a need to be enveloped in a reassuringly masculine hug.

My junior year of college left me heartbroken and, yet, I did not love him. I adored the idea of him, his charming smile and dimples, the caress of his fingertips on my skin, the way my insides melted at his mere glance let alone his kiss. The idea that I was something he craved and then, he was gone. And that same soul crushing melancholy I now find myself enveloped in, surrounded my spirit and robbed me of hope. Until I received the most beautiful gift I've ever been given by another human being. Tom, the first best friend of the male variety that I ever had simply held me and let me cry, literally for hours. I think the grand total was three. He patiently waited whilst I howled every last ounce of it away murmuring soothing noises and petting my hair. And to this day, almost (14) years later, we've never spoken of it. The closest we've ever come to speaking of anything approximating that experience is his fear that I will eventually settle. And even that conversation was eons ago.

Today I find myself adrift in that same sea of desperate emotion. Yet I've no idea why I'm here. And no inclination why I'm still alone in this sea. Or why I pick the boys I do. Or how even when I'm settling, I'm not enough for them. And I crave to escape to the safe comfort and haven of someone's arms, and let it all out.