In an act of desperation I attempted to reconnect with a guy from England who I met online over a year ago.
Jordan Michael* was one of the guys I came across while working for a video chatting website. We had great chemistry and an instant attraction toward one another. It’s probably easier to fall in love over the Internet because things like the way you smell don’t play a factor.
Jordan Michael was certainly charming. He was also a jerk and asked me if I wanted to take off my clothes for him when his friend left the room, which is why I logged off of Skype and didn’t sign back in for a year until that night. I chose to forget that last part because I was lonely and, well, people are dumb when they’re desperate.
I didn’t care about the physical aspects of a relationship. I wanted to be texted sweet nothings. I wanted to talk to someone about my day. I wanted to be told I’m beautiful. I wanted an emotional connection with a male whose genes I felt were a suitable match with my own. Natural selection lesson here, guys. I just thought it meant more, and bizarrely, I believed Jordan Michael meant more, too.
I fantasized about a long distance romance between the two of us that would not end the way my attempts at romance in LA had gone. He wouldn’t set up a date then flake at the last minute. He wouldn’t not be interested all of a sudden and he wouldn’t have his career to focus on as an excuse to never get serious.
When I first moved to LA the only person I knew in the city was the guy I had been seeing for a year and a half. Our relationship ended four months into my move and I spent another four months by myself until my best friend flew across the country to live with me. I would take an improv class on Monday afternoons or go grocery shopping but I was in my apartment 99% of the time, sometimes 100% if I didn’t have any errands to run.
On the upside I had a healthy head of hair, I worked out every day and my gas tank was always full. On the downside I was wasting my life away sleeping in far too late and crying a lot because I had no distractions from my months-old breakup. At the time I only had Monday afternoons to look forward to. Improv class was the only time I interacted with people outside of my computer.
I got used to the loneliness, though. I was single for nine months that year. So I am capable of being alone in between relationships without any dates or sexual encounters. In fact, I’m proud that I can be because some people cannot.
You’re probably thinking, “Wait, what? That’s insane, Beck. How do you WILLINGLY go that long without being intimate with or getting free dinner from a person?”
I prefer romance to blossom organically and that happens rarely. On top of that, I have to be very attracted to the person. I have this theory that picky people like me keep human reproduction under control. Again, more science.
So why now? Why do I find myself longing for a connection? A friend of mine once told me that girls start wanting babies around the age of twenty-four. He was stoned and saying a lot of crazy stuff that night, but the older I get the more I look forward to having a family and financial security. Even wearing outfits that make me look like a day-planner toting, soy latte-ordering business woman gives me a thrill that would make 21-year-old me cringe. Well you know what, 21-year-old me? You just got dumped and you’re alone in a big city, so shut up. Oh and improv is going to become your thing soon. So let THAT sink in.
I open my Skype app. Two messages await me.
“Hey, are you okay?” someone asks me.
I don’t know who the fuck it is.
“I’m ok,” I respond to be polite.
I am okay. I hurt a tiny bit, but I’ll be fine.