Tag Archives: electrical engineer

Listlessly in Love

21 Jul

right_meow“Well, he loves me! He was on the verge of telling me when his father burst in. I felt listless after he left and had some sort of headache, so I must be in love, as well. I must confess I expected love to feel something different than this. I may determine how deep a love I feel through his absence.”
—Emma writes in her diary, Hollywood film version of Emma


Remember all that crap I was saying about how maybe this slow, still feeling of pseudo-intrigue must be the grownup version of love? This must be how normal, healthy people fall in love, I kept insisting, to myself and the guy weighing my organic garlic at the grocery store. The woman at the shoe repair place got it, “Yeah, he sounds like a good man, no wonder you don’t feel crazy.” But it was my personal trainer who clinched it.

“You just need to stop talking to all of them. Start all over.”

Okay, we’re really not going tabula rasa yet. But I will say one thing: if a man doesn’t smell good, he’s never going to smell good. And you shouldn’t ignore that fact. Pheromones are a part of our physiology for a reason. They’re meant to be a harbinger of all that’s bad for your soul. Don’t like someone’s sweat? You’re never going to want to make pancakes for them and read The New York Times together.

Because the universe enjoys tormenting me with the most severe lessons on when and how and why I fall in love, I’ve endured quite the crash course in the past week.

Regular readers will recognize that the “steady and calm” crap I was writing was all lies. Everyone knows that love is a dopamine rush, and if you don’t have at least that at the beginning, there ain’t no way you’ll ever do anything except go through the motions. It will be a long and boring life of “kiss now” and “hold hands now.”

You need the crazy to bind you together for the boring. Because even the boring can feel crazy if you’re actually in love. I’m a person who gets giddy when they fall into a routine with someone. Not a Home Depot routine—that will seriously never again happen in my life. I’m talking about a coffee shop and bookstore routine. The one where each weekend you pretend you’re actually just spontaneously deciding to get coffee and go to the bookstore, but really it’s the thing you always do together, and you both love it more than anything else in the world. (Except there are NO bookstores in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, and this is a fact that is killing me.)

I truly, truly love a person when I know their entire routine. The predictable is intimate for me. I won’t need you to go bungee jumping in order to keep me interested. Just stay consistent and I’ll love you forever.

Right. So, that said, when you find the person who smells good, and I really do mean they smell good even when they just came back from a run, you gotta go with that. They are clearly a person with whom you are a chemical match. There are those who will downplay this, and try to tell you that sometimes chemical matches are bad sociological matches. That’s true, of course. But if you are hanging out with someone who has everything on the checklist, but you don’t want to nuzzle into their neck and just breathe, then call it. Shut it down.


And if you happen to meet someone on an airplane who has everything on the checklist and you’re both way crazy about pheromones, run with it. At all costs. And the costs will be severe. But at the very least, the experience can remind you what it’s like to really fall in love.

Meet Cute

16 Jul

In the lore of romantic comedies, the occasion of meeting the love of one’s life always has the faint air (or deafening odor) of impossibility. This ever so slight delay in gratification adds just the right amount of turgid drama to the ensuing series of chuckle-worthy events, and the fact that such impossible meetings never occur in real life satisfies the fantasy quotient, thereby making the romantic comedy the greatest cinematic feat known to man.

At least for some. I did have one ex that always asked with false stupefaction, “Are they going to get together?!?” when I forced him to endure a romantic comedy with me. Picturing his giant shoulders slumped in front of my laptop while blonde women argued with muscular third-string male actors now shows me why that relationship never worked.

Anyway… Please cue the overly cheery strings so the audience knows that something good is about to happen to Bunky.

The plot elements are: coach-class flight home to DFW, handsome electrical engineer, couch surfing, sailing lessons, profound philosophical conversations, hilarious banter, chocolate sea salt cookie baking, a flat tire and subsequent repair thereof, and one very real moment when he actually carried me over a puddle in the pouring rain.

Readers, I would not lie to you. I lived a romantic comedy weekend. Last Thursday I was just another run-down business traveler. Yesterday I drove someone who was no longer a stranger to the airport. I had my meet cute. Wanna try to guess the ending?

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