(This is a continuation of life as a S.P...)

And then there’s dating. Hayley meets number one guy: he happens to be walking out toward our front door to leave, when she’s coming home. They immediately connect and he hangs out longer, the three of us talking (well mostly Hayley and this guy). He’s intelligent, sweet, and into music and alternative events. They have a lot to discuss. Since there’s no physical/sexual chemistry between us, he’s gone after several really fun dates. The guy is commitment phobic, since the last woman he was engaged to, dies, unexpectedly and he still hasn’t gotten over her even though it’s been years since she is alive. He also talks as if he connects much bettah with chickies twenty years his junior, leaving my age bracket untouchable.

On to number two, who is sitting on our lipstick red couch with his arm around mwah when Hayley comes home and even though we sleep together, there is no sex. Another guy who can’t seem to stop talking about his ex, who he’s obviously still in love with. He’s gone in a few weeks. I’m glad.

I seem to forget about males for a while. I live my life, begin dancing and have a ball. Then number three comes along and asks me out. I turn him down and he persists. “C’mon, we’ll share an appetizer, together.” Again I hesitate, say no with my body language. “C’mon, we’ll go in my car and I’ll drop you off...” (Jeez, this guy will stop at nothing.) “Well...okay.” I get into his car. On the way to Racine’s, a popular late-night joint, the car trunk flies open. I feel like I’m in a comedy movie and I laugh. He looks serious. I wonder about him.

We walk in and see others that we know. He invites me to sit next to him, since we are sharing food. He takes his lemon, squeezes it into his water while lecturing me on not putting lemons in our water—we don’t know where they come from. Accidentally dropping it into the glass, I can’t help it and go into a fit of laughter. He smiles, then laughs with me. The rest of the evening is history and we’ve since reminisced about the “lemon incident.” He asks me out to a movie, wants me to go to Italy with him and tells me that “the heart never lies” when I ask how he  “knows” how he feels about me, so early on.

On the day he first comes over, Hayley is hanging out. I still don’t really know him, at that point and am not sure how I feel about him. He calls, saying he is lost. He’s standing right outside our front door and he looks foreign to me, not familiar. Yet it’s him and he comes in the house. He’s funny, engaging, in the moment and he can smile easily—of course Hayley likes him. Our relationship seems hesitant; one moment we are floating along, together, our energies merging, meshing and glowing—and the next moment he says he is coming for dinner and never shows up. It’s a tough lesson for mwah and is hurtful to both Hayley and myself. I learn to harden my shell.

Our relationship goes south because I don’t hear from him for months and sort of forget about him. However, in a complete state of yearning and desire, I conjure up another Giovanni (an unusual name to begin with), only one who is much younger. This one is all about sex and yet our chemistry together doesn’t seem to work; either I am petrified of closeness or it’s his mirroring my fear and most probably both. He’s attractive; kind of looks likes the first Giovanni in body type, height, etc. and is also part Italian. Their sexy voices are similar and although I have manifested another Giovanni, after a short time I realize that he is not what I am looking for, either. He ends up dating a younger girly. And I still miss Gio.

Meanwhile there are others, in-between. Some that I sleep with, have sex with and connect with. For one reason or another, nothing sticks. On Valentine’s Day, I am lucky to have a sweet guy who I have known awhile, come over for a sleepover. He brings wine and amazing chocolate cake and his engaging, funny, intelligent being. I think that perhaps we have possibilities; only he is waiting for his girlfriend to come back from a trip to Australia. Against all odds, she returns. She is eons younger than he is. Is this a pattern I’m seeing here?

Along the way there are guys who want me and I am just not into them; guess it works both ways. All of a sudden, guy number three is in the picture. We have: email, phone and body chemistry. Yet something is amiss, can’t put my finger on it and because I find I can’t breathe in his presence on a couple of occasions, he considers it a red light, takes it personally and drops me like a hot cat on a tin roof. Imagine that. And I think that I just want it tooo bad, the yearning getting the best of mwah. Yet this guy and I do click and it is fun whenever we play, together. So I chalk it up to more experience. (I mean, who doesn’t want/need experience?)

Along the way on my travels, I meet this guy who falls absolutely-smitten-head-over-heels in love with me. He writes and sends me poetry; he worries when I don’t answer, immediately. He says that some day “you will come to your senses” and fall for him, too. I won’t. He truly sees me for the goddess I am. Unfortunately I don’t reciprocate; he doesn’t see how his heart is closed, yearning as badly as he is, wanting the unusual, the playful and the intelligent. He tells me he rarely finds women who he admires and desires to spend time with and he most definitely admires mwah. In fact he tells me he has a crush on mwah, the size of Godzilla. I answer his emails and his phone calls, to see if he opens wider and he seems to. Still, it’s not time for us. Being that he lives out of town makes it easier for me to avoid his advances.

Then: another test. Gio makes his way back into my love and heart and I crumble. Yet just enough to enjoy spending time with him, not enough to swoon over him. I think I’m finally getting the idea, here...and I resolve not to bed down with him. And with all great ideas, this one is subject to change. And it seems that every time we make love, it becomes hotter and sweeter. Still, I keep him at arm’s length, knowing his history, protecting my heart.

Then there are the male friends who think that I owe them something. (You know who you are, guys.) One of them offers to do a work trade with mwah, then backs off out of jealousy because I haven’t gone for him in a big way (sexually, of course—calls me a tease), as big as he’s gone for mwah. Another I call for help with my car because his intuition is stronger than my mechanic’s; unfortunately just because we’ve fucked in the past, he thinks he owns my body. As we drive around the block to make sure my car has been fixed (he reconnects an unconnected cylinder, telling me my car’s been running on only three cylinders—what? —could this be an analogy to my life?) and makes countless attempts to tweak my nipples, which drives me crazy (I’m trying to drive here, guy—what the fuck...) and is another test, this time to strengthen my boundaries. I obviously do a crappy job because he doesn’t listen to my saying no, as if I really mean yes. And I really don’t. I mean, does two minutes to reconnect a wire mean that my tits and ass are yours? I don’t think so, guy. And here I make him a CD, which he asks me to do and bring him cherries. Don’t those count for something?

Meanwhile, one of my most dearest male friends proposes my hand in marriage. He confides to me that he’s known for looking good in wedding gowns *ohdeargodnotthis!* and suggests we confirm our vows (that is if I say yes) on the Fourth of July, he in a wedding dress and me in a tux. I consider it because I’ve always loved the idea of wearing a tux yet never had a reason to do so...and because he makes the most awesome fish sandwiches ever.

Will I say yes? Tune in to find out. I have three whole days to decide.