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Dating Diary:
A resolution of sorts...
Dear Diary,
WHERE WERE WE?
When I started writing this column back in April, some of my friends wondered how I could write so openly about my dating life. While the Internet may be a place of privacy and anonymity, posting your words for anyone to see can be a little…well, soul-bearing. And my picture is posted throughout the site. But it's not like I've been stopped on the street or anything.And it's not like much has happened in my Dating Diary.
This is for several reasons:
I must admit, I kind of dreaded writing this installment. In keeping in theme with the issue, I should be writing about my year in review. But who wants to hear my whining and complaining? I struggled to find something to write about. Something, anything, even mildly entertaining.
- Sometimes it's hard to write about people I know because they might stumble onto the site and call me up, threatening to beat me.
- At times, I feel that I really can't bear all (because of the aforementioned reason).
- Nothing really happens.
So rewind back to November. It all began with Craig Proctor. Or, more accurately, Craig Proctor's Superconference. Craig Proctor is a real estate guru of sorts, and my boss thought it would be worthwhile for me to attend his conference. At first, I was excited about the field trip, but I quickly realized that a "superconference" equaled a gathering of smarmy real estate agents, squeezed tightly into a great hall, listening to speaker after speaker spouting real estate mantras and occasionally running up and down the aisles to the tune of "World's Greatest" (and who said R. Kelly would never get played again?)
On the first day of the three-day conference, I tried to look on the bright side. I would get to see Craig Proctor in the flesh, and luckily, maybe even touch him or get him to breathe on me. Armed with the complimentary danishes (one cherry, the other cream cheese - so I'm a sucker for free stuff) and Starbucks watered-down coffee, I made my way to the seat that my boss had saved for me. Lo and behold, sitting next to me were two attractive guys, the only ones that looked even remotely my age in the room.
"Is this your first time here?" I asked the guy sitting immediately next to me. Okay, it's not the best or most creative opener, but it's really hard to think at eight o'clock in the morning. We struck up a casual conversation. I didn't pick it up when he said he was from Arizona and staying somewhere at Church and Wellesley, or when he engaged in a cute banter with the guy next to him (whom, I was informed, he works very closely with), or when I saw the Diet Coke on his table. But it was pretty apparent that he might not be interested in me, seeing as how his friend was also probably his boyfriend.
"He is so gay!" my boss gleefully said when I turned around.
Still, he turned out to be a great smoking companion throughout the long, painfully drawn-out, must-wake-up-at-dawn-to-see-Craig-Proctor-speak, superconference.
On the second day, my boss told me to go home early. I was out of the conference room before he could even finish his sentence. With the afternoon off, I decided to go down to my old place of employment to see if a friend was working that day. I was only two blocks away, so I walked there. It turned out that my friend had quit weeks before. But Jonathan was still there.
I wrote about Jonathan in my July Dating Diary. (To recap: I liked him, we went out a couple of times, we had nothing in common, we moved on.) Through the grapevine, I had heard that he had married his girlfriend over the summer. He was about three years older than me, but she was my age. I hadn't seen him in years. But when we exchanged pleasantries, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. I didn't harbour any lingering feelings for this guy, and yet I felt nervous speaking to him. I'm pretty sure I was stuttering the whole time, and we did that thing where there's an uncomfortable pause and then both parties speak at the same time, making things more awkward. I congratulated him on the marriage, and we exchanged awkward good-byes.
On the way home, I tried to piece together why I was feeling the way I did. I was happy for him, but I guess a part of me couldn't help but focus on the irony of life. I had cut things abruptly with him. The way I treated him, and the situation, is nothing that I'm proud of. I'm not even sure that I had told him how I felt - I was too selfish at the time for that, and never once considered his feelings when I gave him the brush-off/avoidance routine. Now, two years later, he was the one who had married his love, while I was the single one looking for love.
Karma, baby. Sometimes it bites you on the ass.
Recently, I went to see 8 Mile with my ex-boyfriend. We keep in touch now and again, and I think we still love each other like only an ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend can (with the exclusion of the devil's spawn, who can only be loved by his mother). After the movie, we went to a nearby bar for a nightcap and some catching up. I was in a middle of a story that really had no point when he interrupted to tell me about a girl he liked.
In the two years that we had maintained our platonic friendship, this was the first time that he had told me about someone else. I was truly happy for him, and flattered that he trusted me enough to confide in me (yet here I am, blabbing it to the whole Internet world). I didn't want him to think that this piece of information bothered me, so I tried being extra enthusiastic about things. He laid out the situation for me, and asked for my input. Things got a little strange when he mentioned the physical aspect of the relationship, but for the most part, we were able to talk as old friends. He even reads my column once in a while, and calls me up right after to tease me about not getting any.
Amidst the frenzy of work, exams, and the Christmas rush, I realized that I had no time to think about my single status. Being single over the holidays has its benefits. That's one less gift to worry about, and sometimes a whole family you don't have to shop for. There's no trying to figure out a holiday schedule that can accommodate both parties, and no room for disappointment if you didn't get him the MP3 player he's always wanted, or if he forgot that you're a size 4, not a size 6.
I love Christmas. It's New Year's that really gets a single person depressed. The countdown is the clincher. I once heard that the person you spend New Year's Eve with is the person who you will spend the rest of the year with (that proved to be wrong, on many occasions). When the clock strikes twelve, what will Christine be doing? Probably examining her hair for split ends, or slowly sipping her champagne, or feigning sleep. Despite this, I am looking forward to 2003. New start, new attitude, maybe even a new man? Well, the latter remains to be seen.
But for now, to all a merry Christmas and happy New Year! ¤ C.Ho.
Next month: Christine goes to China to find a mail-order husband.