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I Got a Love…

February 16, 2012

Valentine’s Day is always one of the worst days of the year for me.  Nothing seems to go right, and it pisses me off more than most bad days.  I guess it’s because Valentine’s Day represents a metaphor for my love life: I can’t win for shit.

Case in point, like this blogger, there’s a girl I’m interested in that lives states away.  By “states away”, I mean time zones and shit.  Which is bad, because if I want to see her, I would have to take airplanes to see her face to face.

Such is the magic of the World Wide Web, and this is my first experience with a girl on such a platform.  I’ve heard many horror stories about online relationships, I understand that long-term relationships are difficult to sustain, and I don’t even want to get into the amount of ridicule I’d get from my peers.  By “peers”, I mean males who believe that womenfolk should be approached face-to-face and women who don’t think it’s a good idea simply because it means that the cat lost a ball of yarn to play with.

I remember meeting her at the comments section one of Very Smart Brothas.  I liked her and I knew where she was coming from, but I figured with the veil of the many e-couples found there, she was probably e-boo’d up.  (Yes, I said e-boo’d.  You got a problem with that, here is my e-mail address:

The mass responses will be handled by Mini-Spidey

Two of my (personal) setbacks with VSB are that they post early in the morning (at midnight, literally) and I (usually) go to sleep during the late hours, due to employment reasons.  This leads to the second problem, too many people done commented, so there’s almost no room to say jack shit.  Seriously, even if you wake up at 7 o’clock in the morning, there are 200 comments on a good day.

In any event, I clicked the link to her name, which led me to her blog.  Reading a few posts, it was as if we were somehow connected.  There was so much more I wanted to know, but unsure of what to say.  Plus, Blogspot isn’t exactly the best place to post comments.

Then, life kicked in.  Real life.  The kind where you find yourself working 6 days out of the week, waking up early in the morning, one class for Atlantic Cape Community College, getting to know the New Jersey Transit more than you wanted to, and taking driving classes to get my license.  The regular stuff.

Now life has loosened its chokehold, and I find myself in the precarious spot of having a now part-time job and no classes (and an even less inclination to go back to school).  In any event, I finally managed to find her on Twitter.  I followed her.

She was humbled that I thought so highly of her that I would follow her.  I felt relieved that she found me interesting enough that she would follow back.  I can’t remember the first conversation we had, but I’m certain if felt like I could see through her soul.

It was then when we learned more about each other: we’re both Virgos, we’re around the same age (I got a few years on her), and we generally like the same music.  It was through her blessings that I did my January Sampler, otherwise, those beats would still be in the vaults.

In any case, this is literally my dream girl.  Or at least, what I think to be my dream girl.  Besides liking the same music, she’s the patience to my hot head, I’m the cynic to her optimism, we’re the peanut butter & jelly that Marsha Ambrosius sings about over a dope 9th Wonder beat.

Hell, we’re both oddballs with an even odder sense of humor.  It’s what turns most females off about me, therefore, putting me in the “goofy cartoon character” category.  While it’s obvious (and cliché) to point out that Goofy got no love (seriously, Disney never gave him a damn love interest), I counter that Roger Rabbit had Jessica Rabbit, Bugs Bunny had Lola and hot headed Donald Duck had Daisy.  So plant that in your garden, and grow it.

Yet, she gets me and I get her.  A few days ago, we had a conversation on Twitter using nothing but song titles.  To the average person reading our timelines, the obvious reaction would have been, “What the fuck?”  Yet, to us, we got it.  We were spreken dezelfde taal. We understood each other, saying absolutely nothing.

If she was living in Philadelphia, Baltimore or DC, this struggle wouldn’t be a huge problem.  But she lives in an area where no bus or train from the city can reach (no to mention I live 20 minutes away from Atlantic City, which means an extra bus.  Good times.).  We always have Twitter, but sometimes you want to have physical contact.  You want to be able to hold a person’s hand, see their body language, look into their eyes, or hold them at night.

The alternative of this would be to cuddle with this while thinking about her, but sometimes it doesn't work out too well. P.S. I don't judge you.

Besides, what if I get bored easily?  What if I get me hang-ups and wanna dip?  This is still a person I’m dealing with, even if we know each other by Twitter personalities and pet names.  By the way, I don’t judge you, but I digress.  She’s got deep emotions, and I’m not trying to hurt feelings.  Karma is a steady bitch sometimes, and who knows if I’ll ever meet a female of her caliber.

It doesn’t matter.  After reading a book on flirting (Yes.  I read.  Yes, I read a book on flirting.), one of the keys to flirting is to simply go with it.  Unfortunately, spiders don’t fly, Spider-Man doesn’t fly and neither does The Human Spider.  It hasn’t stopped the spiders from improvising to cover up this deficiency, so I refuse to let this be a hang up in my way.  Maybe one day, we’ll meet up, but for now, I’m going with it.  Maybe I too will take flight, but until then, I’ll let 9th Wonder set the stage for how I feel.

Yet, like Peyton Manning, despite putting in the work, I just can’t seem to win. What else is new?

  1. Chela permalink

    Seriously, how real is a www connection? I mean, I get it. If one can express themselves well in words (especially twitter in 160 or less) then you think that the words have a simblance of the person. I totally get it. However, its an ideal and in the end…..well; check out Anthony David with India Arie Words and get back at me.

  2. The connection, much like life and anything else we can’t easily define, is as real as you make it or as real as it makes you feel.

    I’m an idealist, so I may not be the best person to talk about concrete ideas with, but I believe that words and communication help develop your relationship with a person. Admittedly, it may be harder for people who are separated by states as there is always a physical undertone to everything that they will undoubtedly miss, and a lot can get lost in translation. As long as two people are willing to give it a try though…

    And to the author:
    I told you earlier that I didn’t have words and I still don’t, but know that you and this girl? Definitely mutual. And I’m pretty sure if you guys decided to work something out, you know, she wouldn’t object at all. In fact, I’m positive if you’re down she’s down. But don’t ask me how I know though 😉

  3. Dash Habibti permalink

    so here’s the deal….you dont know me- know me…feel me?..But i might be familiar…Im W, and i believe wholly in this; this thing with Her, thats so much bigger than you realize. Roll with it, dont put a name to it,just feel it. Yes i understand, we all understand it would be so much better if you cud call her up and be like ‘babe, im outside’ or get your jonh cusack on out side her window, but the fact of the matter is..and a sucky fact at that, is that it cant be that way, but you sure can enjoy spending time with her on a mental level. wouldnt it be worth it???? think on it. She’s smart, beautiful, inspiring, sometimes crass, always willing to listen, help, critique, guide, love and heal, granted that you allow her to..allow her to without worrying about the future focus on here, now, within this moment… you’d never know…she could pop up on your side of the fence and sneak ambush you and stay forever….. with some nagging ofcourse..^_^ ..toodles.

    *Eat, drink and be completely inappropriate*

  4. awwwwwwwwwwwwwwzzzzzz
    *dibs on planning the wedding.

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