Giving up the Ghost

When we have our hearts broken, or lay victim to unrequited love, do we ever really give up the day dreams? The shoulda-woulda-coulda's and the ghost of our feelings? Do we ever completely shake the glimmer of hope that they'll come back, years later and begging for forgiveness? When it comes to Handsome Parisian, I can say that I'm thoroughly erked that I wasn't able to ignite any embers of commitment in his heart. But after three months between us, what remains of him in my mind has waned to an image of his ENORMOUS dinner plate hands. Big hands make me absolutely weak in the knees, and, if nothing else, it's the ghost of those hands on my body that would lead me down the path of infidelity, if anything did.

Last night, I Skyped with TMI for the first time since he left. He was standing under a street lamp outside the vineyard and his face faded in and out of focus. I was surprised by how handsome he looked. Like new lovers usually do, we talked about nothing and smiled foolishly at one another for 45 minutes until his battery died. Before he went he assumed a serious face and said "I love you. Really, je t'aime." He says it sparingly and never just throws the words around; always adding my name at the end.

I was affected by his sincerity. Today, while working in the cafe and passing a lull on Facebook, Handsome Parisian prodded me flirtatiously about visiting. In a sudden act of righteousness that surprised even me, I told him I'd decided we should skip it. Something inside me finally gave way and I saw him in a different light: a devastatingly handsome jerk and probably the end of a relationship with a man who truly loves me. And so, just like that, I resolved to forget the hands and give up the ghost.

Kissing or Telling

Yesterday I surprised myself when, in a frisky frenzy and ironically amidst very fond thoughts for TMI, I messaged Handsome Parisian. And, like the worst kind of vixen, I announced that my boyfriend was out of town. I couldn't resist the thrill of the flirt and, assuming a position of non-commitance, asked if he might be traveling in Dijon's direction anytime soon. To my simultaneous horror and delight, he said he could probably figure out how to "swing something."

Then I had to take a startled pause. What the heck am I doing? Am I really deliberating planning to cheat on TMI? How is it that I can go around all day missing him and telling myself that I love him and in the same state of mind casually ask Handsome Parisian if he's up for casual sex?

Somehow I always hoped that love came with a handy dandy eraser of any desire for other people. YES I'm sympathetic, YES I desperately want to avoid hurting TMI, and yet, I can't shake the solid belief that it's not the cheat that does the hurting, it's the TELLING.

Casual sex with someone else wouldn't erase my feelings for TMI; it wouldn't dissuade me from being in a relationship with him. In fact, the only thing that would have any conceivable effect on our future or happiness together would be assaulting him with the terrible truth.

....

......

..

Right?

Seriously which is the crime here, the kissing, or the telling??

How Much Compromise for Courtesy?

I've been communicating with some potential Paris roommates who seem like lovable and accomplished kids. So! I sent Handsome Parisian a message asking if I could stay with him for a night while scouting the place. He said I was welcome anytime.

The next step was to ask TMI if he'd stop seeing me if I did the above with the almost-certainly subsequent sex. It was an honest question and, I felt, a necessary one, since whatever the outcome he'd be reading about it on the blog. I said it with a smile and expected a casual "yes" or "no."

He said that if I slept with someone else, he would A) "hate me" and B) "never see me again." Well. As cut n' dry as that answer is, it took all night and a lot of drama just to get it out.

It surprised me how many times my mind returned to attempting to do the whole thing on the sly. What kind of person does that make me? I still have a pretty substantial soft spot for that Paris kid. I told TMI that I'm simply not ready for exclusivity, but that I didn't want to stop seeing him either.

I want to get one thing straight here: I am sympathetic to the concept and perfect plausibility of fidelity. I think it comes naturally with a certain kind of love. And I mean the really good kind. I would have been effortlessly exclusive with Harry. Love just does that. It inspires a team mentality; refusing someone else, even the most handsome of someone elses, just feels like a score or a goal. You go out for pizza afterwords and celebrate.

I'm still unconvinced that TMI is good for me and concerned that warming up to him might be a mistake. "When does the art of compromise become compromising?" How much of ourselves should we be willing to compromise, out of respect, if we risk loosing our own values? Is a potential relationship that may not be a perfect fit worth it? Or, for that matter, are TMI and I already in a relationship and I'm just being a jerk..?

Keeping it Light

"According to certain scientists, whenever a woman has sex, her body produces a chemical which causes her to emotionally attach. This chemical may also account for the series of terrifying questions that involuntarily pop into our minds even after just one casual tryst. Questions like: “does he like me?” “will he call again?” and the classic, “where is this all going?” When it comes to men, even when we try to keep it light, how do we wind up in the dark?"

A poignant question from my favorite fictional columnist. That said, Paris was lovely, but there's no fighting biology.

In response to my post on Sex and Sex Too Soon, another woman of words commented: "Turns out that humans don't value things that come too easily. Money, love, sex, new shoes; they all fall into the same abyss. Easy come IS easy go."

Is it too much to ask that humans could grow up a bit and get over the egos and the chemicals? Can we possibly learn to overlook the chase, or in some cases, the impulse to attach, and just start falling in love?

In other more travel related news my weekend in Paris, due to some embarrassing un-savyness when it comes to trains and train stations, ended with a day long tour of the Bourgogne region of France instead of the 1 1/2 hour it should have taken me to get back to Dijon. I even had a whole hour to myself to wander around the lesser known village of Laroche-Migennes; plenty of time to become pleasantly acquainted with all three of the town's inhabitants: a duck, and two old men fishing.

the canal in Laroche.

It's Spring

Do I move to Paris and go to fashion school or stay in Dijon and go to music school? I would love to take some more voice lessons and learn the piano. But Dijon is a small town and I continue to have no friends and no job. But I do have a sickeningly adorable French apartment on the troisième étage. Wood floor, french double window, and a mirror sur pied. The same would be twice as expensive and twice as difficult to find in gay Paris, I believe.

Also a significantly younger and more beautiful friend from Luxembourg visited me this weekend - I may go visit her in her native land the next. We drank, danced, and lamented our shared sate of man-less-ness ensemble.

B still remains a recluse, Handsome from Paris turned out to be what all mothers warn you handsome men are, and the sky is blue and the days are long in quiet Dijon, France.

la finlandaise et la hawaïenne

The Good, the Bad, and the Disgusting

(and you guys thought I was exaggerating)

I knocked on B's door for 15 minutes today trying to pick up my laundry. I was trying to wake him out of his usual comatose, so 15 minutes wasn't bad, but it was a HORRID experience because there was a pile of rotting shrimp in front of his door. The air was putrid and I was trying to hide my nose in my sleeve while I knocked. When he finally answered I was so enraged and disgusted I yelled and swore at him that he had "fucking psychological problems" and his shrimp were disgusting etc, then ran up stairs to gather my laundry while I cried. He went out side and smoked, his feelings obviously hurt.

uuuugghhuughh. I know, I shouldn't be so hard on the guy... ? Right? Everyday I go over there and ask him if he wants to go out and if he reeeaaally wants to stay on the couch all day every day, but he's seemingly hell bent on wasting his life.

And now, finally, THE GOOD NEWS! Handsome Frenchi from Paris is spending a small fortune of 80 Euros to catch a train to visit me this weekend in Dijon. Hurray! I'll be very very happy for his sane company, (as far as I know anyway) and much needed handsome male physical contact. (Which we're pretending like were not committed to, but my apartment is the size of a walk in closet, so I'd say our intentions are pretty obvious.)

And last but not least I'm adding a lovely oval shaped standing mirror and loft bed to my mini abode, which I shall stop at nothing to make a feng shui haven. Photos soon :)

Small Romance

YES, I spent the afternoon with a handsome frenchie. Yes he bought me some of the famous Berthillion ice cream and yes we kissed ever so sweetly on the bridge with all the locks. (The one where couples write their initials on each one and then throw the key in to the seine. How sickly sweet.)

We met at the Pyramide at the Louvre and blushed and laughed for an hour in a street side cafe nearby, then circumvented the more romantic and interesting sights of the Paris. It was lovely and much much much needed by a romantic animal like myself, but, alas, he left me at the metro where I began my path back to Dijon. I think we're too long distance for success. But I'll happily waste calories clinging to some small shreds of hope that I'll see him again for more of the above.

How did I meet this guy again? Perhaps you are wondering. Via online dating. FOR SHAME!!!!

I know, I know. But I am a girl abroad, after all. Actually I receive an obscene amount of messages every day from less than suitable male and female celebataries, so par my mom's advice, I've decided to start a blog to post the more amusing efforts to break the cybernetic ice. Ye can find its fetal form here: Desperate Men's Messages. Sneaky!