the story of my love life:
Part 1 – Fame | Part 2 – Sandra Goes Wild | Part 3 – Sandra Grows Up… and Down | Part 4 – Uncomfortably Numb
We’re kind of past the ‘how I met’ part of the story… so consider this and all future parts the ‘disappointing series finale.’ [himym]
Part 5 – What is love?
Part history, part philosophy, all me.
This is long overdue… sorry it’s been so long since part 4. Where were we…? Oh yes…
John was a relationship guy. And that’s what I wanted.
Well, yes. But…
I questioned everything. I hadn’t had a decent, remotely long-term boyfriend since David whom I met while still in college. Clearly, I must have been doing something wrong. But John seemed like he could be the right guy for me on paper.
But, my God, I wanted that feeling. You know the one. [God knows I’ve written about it a thousand times.]
My insides tingle at the sound of his voice… at the tiniest touch. My heart pounds and I involuntarily smile at the mere mention of his name. The moment he walks into the room, everything is right. I’ve found my perfect soul mate.
Yes. That feeling.
I wanted to find the one who would [please don’t hit me for the painful expression] complete me. I wanted to feel like I’d found my other half. I wanted chemistry so hot we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I wanted to feel toe-curling magic whenever he was near. But… come on. Soul mates? Is that even a real thing or is it just for romance novels and Dawson’s Creek?
Don’t tell me. It may break me to know.
Because I wanted that… the chemistry, the deep, perfect connection – inside and out, the tingling toes. I wanted it all. And I still want it.
With the relationship guy.
But the universe showed me I couldn’t have both. I could have the crazy hot chemistry and feel the overwhelming emotional connection with a short-term guy… or I could have a long-term relationship with a mild, watered-down version of those things. But not both.
So… now what?
Fight it? Believe it? Ignore it? Accept it?
Denial. My best friend.
John and I made no firm plans before he left the night of our first date. But I knew he would call.
I knew because I wasn’t sure about him. Because every single guy I was so damn convinced I wanted – every fucking guy I had to have – never called. But the ones I wasn’t sure about – the ones I was not all dreamy-eyed and lustful over – they always called.
Of course, I was right. How annoyingly perceptive of me.
John did call. And I was happy to hear from him. I liked talking to him. We clicked. But racing, pounding heart? Dreamy, lusty, uncontrollable, deliciously intense passion? I wouldn’t go that far.
Our second date was on Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t because it was Valentine’s Day. Just a coincidence. But he brought me flowers anyway – which might have been sweet if I didn’t know that he only did it because he happened to be with his married friend who was getting some for his wife. I guess it was honest of him to confess that to me. But knowing he didn’t come up with the idea on his own killed the magic. He was not Mr. Romance. He still isn’t. He never will be. [More on that later…]
John and I began seeing each other every weekend, then two or three times a week, and eventually, five or six times a week. We walked around the city and stopped for dinner. We bonded over our mutual love for poking fun at others. And we made each other laugh. We were together… a lot. We became friends.
Friends who did very naughty things together.
John loves boobs. I suppose most men do [you tell me, boys…] but John’s definitely not a leg-man or an ass-man [oh man, he can be an ass, but that’s another story]. He’s a boob-man. That alone made us compatible… because boobs are my thing. You know those special places that send you into an especially dirty little frenzy when touched and teased and kissed? Yeah. Some have even gone as far as calling my ‘boob thing’ a fetish.
I suppose it is. But I digress…
Two previous relationships in my life began with strong friendships – my very first boyfriend [Glen] and my college-and-beyond boyfriend [David]. And those were the two best relationships I’d ever had. When John and I became friends, I was convinced that falling in love was inevitable. That’s what was supposed to happen next.
So… did I fall in love? Or did I think I fell in love? Was it real or did I just convince myself it was? Is there a difference? How would I know? Do I know now?
The only one of those questions I can definitively answer is the last. The answer is no, I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever know. Does anyone know?
This is where Howard Jones enters, in his infinite wisdom… [What is Love?]
This is why I don’t mind you doubting…
What is love anyway?
Does anybody love anybody anyway?
Let’s backpedal for a moment.
I think I was in love with Glen. It was high school so of course I thought I was in love. That’s what you think when you’re 16 years old making out in the car while Morrissey or Robert Smith serenades you. And it’s what you think when he tells you he loves you, too, because you never thought anyone would. If you can be in love at 16, I think I was.
I don’t question it with David. I know we were in love. We spent almost an entire college year getting to know each other, becoming friends. It felt amazing to be with him no matter what we were doing – homework, wandering around campus going nowhere in particular, hanging out in the biology lab because he assisted a professor there. We wanted to be together more and more. When he finally kissed me, it was the most magical kiss I’d had since Glen. I have no doubt that David and I fell in love.
But everything was different with John. Not necessarily bad. But different. I was bitter and hopeless when I met him. I had preconceived ideas about love and falling in love. Specifically, that they weren’t real… not for me… not any more.
I came to accept that I was never going to have everything I wanted.
And I was already well on my way to settling for half-way there before John and I met.
Part 6: The Love of Romance