Still not a Red Sox fan...

Well. SFSG is leaving, on a jet plane. Ok actually he's already left. In fact, he should be landing any time now. So now, my faithful 3 readers (if that many)... I can blog about him!

So ok, he didn't really look like his pictures. Mainly because in each of the pics he was wearing a cap, and when I got to the airport, he wasn't.. and he was balding. He looks 40 (he is 40, so that's normal, but he'd looked younger in the pics). I'm ok with that... he just wasn't really my type. He is shorter, rounder, and balder than my type. Not that looks are everything, because a) they aren't, b) if they were, I would be a serious hypocrite and thus deserve to spend the rest of my days miserably alone, and c) he was still cute -- just in an older-than-I'd-expected kinda way. But anyway, there he was, with his big goofy smile and what he calls, and what I have come to affectionately call his "ahoo horhay" hair (apparently this is the song sung by the Whos down in Whoville, but I don't recall it, so I'm taking his word for it), and so I gave him a big hug and took his jacket and dragged him off to our first date.

He picked a nice place, we had a nice dinner (overrated, underflavoured and overpriced, but the atmosphere was nice -- it's lovely eating outdoors in January), and I introduced him to his first cuban mojito -- a fantastic concoction of mint leaves crushed with lime and sugar at the bottom of a glass filled with rum and a splash of sprite, so he was loving life. I just wasn't feeling it. Don't get me wrong, I was still doing all the girly bits of twirling my hair, biting my lip, and looking up while my face was tilted down...because that's what I'm supposed to do on a first date. But I was sorta thinking... hmmm...something's just not right. I took him home before heading back out to a different place for after-dinner drinks, and as he handed me my first gift of the weekend, he kissed me.

Wow. He's a bad kisser. Or at least he was, 6 days ago. He's quite good now. Go me!

You know what else he's quite good at? Yeah... you know. Honestly, I'm not even sure how it happened. I was on the floor, setting up his airbed like a good hostess (ok yeah, a good hostess would have done it in the morning before she left for work, but I was way too stressed about meeting him and way too preoccupied with getting my hair just right and making sure the apartment looked just so) ... next thing I knew, he was giving me a back rub, kissing the back of my neck (even bad kissers can do this well), and then... I dunno ... we woke up together on Saturday morning. He never slept in that fucking blowup camping bed contraption thingy.

I don't know what to say about him other than that he is awesome. He even put together the truly nightmarish wine tower thingy that I was bitching about the other day. We'd shared many a joke over this bloody thing and part of his "mission" in coming to visit was to put it together -- I swear. He got right on it Saturday morning. Isn't it lovely? (still doesn't hide the fucked up paint job where I ran out of New England Yellow)

All of this, with (in his words) no bullshit, no games, no outrageous expectations. I spent the entire weekend being treated like a princess. There were backrubs, footrubs (with girly-smelling lotions!), dinners out, breakfasts in, thoughtful gifts, multiple orgasms, and hours and hours of belly laughter. I want to want more from this guy, because he is so truly wonderful. But he's not the one, and I know it, and I knew it right away.

So what is it that makes us choose one person over another? I've dated men that were great on paper, but boring. This guy isn't boring, but somehow I still know that he's not someone I can have a lasting relationship with. Which makes me think I should check myself into a mental hospital, because really, there's nothing wrong with him. He's got a good job, he's funny, he's intelligent (not cerebral, but intelligent), he's humble, and gentle, and cute ... he's generous, friendly, and honest. He's good in bed, he's a great cuddler... and I felt so comfortable with him. Like he was a buddy, a boyfriend, a lover and even like a brother, all rolled into one sweet little package. AND he's into me. I mean, what is wrong with me?? Yeah, he lives in Boston, but I believe he'd move if things were headed in that direction.

And all I can do is ask myself, why aren't things headed in that direction? It's probably my fault. I tend to make up my mind pretty quickly, and I didn't want to mislead him, so I kind of nipped it in the bud. We were laying in bed on Sunday morning (catching our breath), and the conversation went like this:

Me: You know... I'm having a really good weekend
SFSG: Me too
Me: I mean, to be honest, I'm not feeling the whole relationship thing. But I am having a wonderful time with you
SFSG: You wanted to talk about this NOW? Is everything ok?
Me: Yahyah things are fine, it's just... I mean, I don't know about a relationship
SFSG: Well, I know we had to meet and check it out. It's not really like I can move down here tomorrow
Me: Right...but...
SFSG: And you know, I'm starting the new job. We just needed to meet to see
Me: Right... but... listen, I'm not trying to be negative. In fact it's just the opposite. I wanted to let you know that I'm really glad you're here, and I'm having a great time with you
SFSG: Me too. C'mere.

So... what was he thinking? Would he have tried to make it a lasting thing if I'd not said that? Did he get the same "this is great but it's not going to work long-term" vibe that I did? Now that he's home, will he try to make plans to visit again? Will he want to keep it alive?

I don't know. I did get a text from him a few minutes ago, to let me know he was thinking of me and still laughing. I actually miss him. But I think I miss the company more than the himness of him. Maybe I'm just an insufferably picky bitch.

Dammit.