Two to the Power of Fifty Thousand Against and Falling
Some well-meaning friends have often, in response to my tedious bitching about the woes of online dating, assured me that just when I least expect it, I would meet the right man in the grocery store or some such. He would drop out of the sky (and, apparently, be picked up in open space by the Starship Heart of Gold). My response to this has generally been unprintable in polite society; but, since none of THOSE types are likely to be reading this blog, I'll share it with you lucky folks.
"The fuck he will," says Valerie, and goes back to industriously resigning herself to a life of solitude and battery-powered lovers.
One thing was quickly becoming clear--it ain't happening on Yahoo Personals, or any of the other sites where people attempt to find their perfect match in the same way they might order a custom sandwich at the deli. If it's delivered with more mustard than you wanted, you send it back--it must be ordered to spec. Most of the men I met seemed to be searching for that perfect replica of some past relationship, and I very definitely do NOT play that game. All the same, the continuous rejection got extremely disheartening, and all the more so because the most interest I could feel for any of these guys was based on a decent conversational rapport and the possibility of some companionship.
The real kicker came when I was rejected by some would-be poet because I am "not creative." He wanted a poet or filmmaker, not someone who is a mere performer. Hmmm. The only response, of course, was to immediately write him a poem. Its opening line refers to a book he gave me, "The Baron in the Trees," a fable-esque novel of a nobleman who eschews life on the ground and refuses to ever come down from his lofty perch. I thought the metaphor summed up this intellectually snobbish moron's attitude marvelously.
I Will Stay on the Earth
Stay in the trees, Baron
It was fun to swing from a reaching branch
But I drop to the ground
Snatch a purple plum on my way down
Sink my teeth in deep.
Vibrant juice uncontrolled
Trickles down my chin
I will stay on the Earth, thank you,
Dirty feet dancing.
This mere performer
Stomping up the seedlings from the frozen depths.
Earth is of running and sweat and drums and riotous wildflowers and pizza joints and making love and chocolate bars.
Recognizing Kali in a reinvented woman.
And I laugh aloud.
Well now, I've never heard of TREE-shattering ecstasy, have you?
I'd rather lay back my head in the tall sweet meadow grass
Oh, ohhh yes, I am alive.
Stay in the trees, Baron
Pygmalion mirage among the leaves
So difficult to grasp.
December's pretty pretty icicles--
Don't touch, they'll plunge
Down, down, pulled to the sun-warmed stone
Shards of lonely poetry
Shattered on marble, onyx
Creamy smooth under my hands.
Stone welcomes my touch.
As this poem took shape, in the way that poetry does (building little bits of itself while I'm merely looking sideways at it), it clearly became not only a proud rebuke of my lack of creativity but also an affirmation of real emotion, real passion, the need to leave my rational mind tucked safely away on a shelf and prowl across the dark forest floor, eyes closed, sniffing for the scent of my true mate.
Oh, uh...it worked. That plus that good ol' Infinite Improbability Drive. Zaphod Beeblebrox to the rescue.
No, no, I have not fallen in love with the Galactic President. Much more improbable than that. Through the miracle of Facebook I have reconnected with an adorably cute boy I'd had a wicked huge crush on in high school when we were drummers in the band. He, in turn, had been looking for me. Guess 27 years was long enough for him to decide to say yes after I asked him out (apparently on a Sunday night while he was listening to Jeff Beck's "Rough and Ready" album--I, on the other hand, have entirely blocked the whole teen-trauma-inducing incident and only remember finagling rides home from band practice in his screamingly bright orange '73 Chevy Vega).
In the short space of ten days there have followed an entire chain reaction of Improbability Events:
1. The realization that ANYONE actually LIKED me in high school or, at least, some years beyond it after recovering from the shock of my "wicked aggressiveness" (and here I'm stealing a direct quote) (AND let me remind the reader that this was Connecticut--EVERYTHING was "wicked").
2. The realization that the friendly flirtatious banter was actually serious.
3. A long-distance electronic blitz of courtship, the tempo of which would leave Speed Dating in the dust.
4. A return to high school giddiness and falling suddenly, mutually, thoroughly and of course quite irrationally in love and planning for our future together.
Holy shit, has it only been ten days?!? Half a lifetime has been compressed into this time frame.
I can't tell you whether I'm inspired or insane. Perhaps there never is a difference. This story will certainly continue; but first I must write a note, fold it up into a triangular football and flick it across the bandroom....