(love) song... or... why can't I sing this at karaoke?

I left A-town, to drive up in my big fancy rental car to visit the family - and I (thinking without much coffee in my system) put on the Ingrid Michaelson song "Mountain and the Sea."  Have you heard it? 

"You call me a mountain and I call you the sea.  I'll stand tall and certain and watch you swallow me. You can move me if you want to...  You can move a mountain...  You can move everything..."

That doesn't seem like much of a love song, but my trip to A-town put something... someone... in front of me and the depth of my emotion for and attraction to him was sort of surprising.  I've mentioned him in this blog.  He knows who he is.  He might even read this.  And he should know there is this (love) song coming his way. 

(love) because...  well, I certainly love him.  But when I say that, I don't mean romantic-walk-me-down-the-aisle-together-forever Love.  I mean the you-know-me-backwards-and-forwards-laugh-at-our-flaws-could-hang-out-with-you-forever-talk-about-anything-my-friend (love).  We could have gone a lifetime with that kind of (love) and never crossed the boundary.  That is, until we kissed.  

Now I wonder what happens when you throw a twinge of damn-I-like-kissing-you to nearly fifteen years of friendship. 

Ah, risk.  I have no fear of risk, no fear finding out what this (love) leads to.  But there are two people in this equation.  He may be quite right that there is no long term potential here, or maybe he's just writing it off because it is easier than (in his mind) putting the friendship on the line.  I know the friendship will always be there.  (love) doesn't get thrown by the wayside when you take that kind of chance.  The chance we would take would either bring us something really amazing, or become an amusing tale in the lexicon of what makes our (love) so great.

It's out there now.  In the meantime, he'll do a little housecleaning (literally) in case I'm back in A-town next month.  I'll keep on dating (oh, OKCupid you amuse me).  Then we'll go back to friends who wonder, and don't kiss. I suppose.

"But until then, oh my darling friend, I will hold...  Yes, I will hold on to you."

I think he's flirting with our waiter

I'm really never sure what to call those ongoing things that are never quite committed relationships, but aren't the occasional one-night stand, but do have important emotion and intimacy, but are long distance and the relationship never really takes root.  So for convenience sake I'll call them love affairs.  One of those grand affairs was with a man who never had a nickname, he meant so much to me from the beginning, so now I have to make one up.  I'll just call him Far Away, since he lives halfway around the world. 

The story of my first date with Far Away I'll save for another day.  For now I'll say that we met because my boss at my new company fixed us during my first trip to said far-away country (the headquarters of my company).  It took us nearly two years and lots of business trips to actually fall for each other, but when we did it was nothing short of spectacular.  So we planned a spectacular romantic getaway - a week in the snowy French Alps skiing and cuddling up by a fire at a slope-side lodge.

Most of the time when I tell the story, I tell all the lovely details (swooshing down the slopes of Chamonix, that lovely fireplace, driving into nearby towns for dinner, kissing by the rivers and staying warm together).  I usually leave out the part that for most of Far Away's life he was gay and part of the trip was the two of us working out the issue and what it meant to us and our future.

Conveniently, most people assume the relationship didn't pan out because he lived halfway across the world.  Seriously, that was the least of our issues.

Now some of you reading this are going to get all caught up on the technicalities of gay versus bi and all that.  Get over it.  Far Away gets to call it whatever he wants, it's his life.

So over the course of the week, the question of "can I deal with his past and present and future of having a romantic connection to men -- even if he's in love with me now?"  It probably would have been a much easier question if he hadn't had a fling with a man just before our trip, so freaked out was he about falling in love with the first woman since the last man.

And really, all through the beginning of the week I was thinking "hey, this isn't so bad..."  Really I was.

Then one day, mid-way through our skiing, we are sitting at lunch at the lodge.  It's sunny and the vista of the Alps out the large picture windows is like a post card, we are sitting near to each other, holding hands, and close to the big stone fire place, laughing and loving each others' company.  And then our waiter comes by - a lovely man, diminutive in stature, with narrow shoulders and narrow hips and a totally flat stomach, high cheekbones, sultry eyes, and a feminine grace with which he carried himself.  I was stricken with jealousy that a man could have a more appealing woman's body than me.  (Back then I was insecure about my curves... not so much these days!)  He could easily have made a mint in a drag show as the lady-boy, and worn nearly no make-up. 

Far Away's whole posture changed.  He had a crush on our waiter.  And not wanting to leave me out of this, Far Away turned to me and said "isn't he the most attractive man you've ever seen?"  While I'm sure a fantastic reply would have been "I'm looking at the most attractive man I've ever seen", somehow my brain froze up and NOTHING came out of my mouth.  I am rarely speechless, but this one got me.

Far Away was flirting with our waiter. And a man whose feminine physique and prowess was totally unlike mine.

So I wondered about the most appropriate response.  I figure jumping on his lap, getting totally affectionate, laying claim to my man in front the waiter and seeing if I could (ahem) distract Far Away somehow was not going to work.  Certainly attempting to dissuade him would reveal how totally intolerant I would be of the situation (and I wouldn't want him to think that I was struggling with this... ohhhhh nooooooo).   My response in the end was to smile and nod, say very little, eat my lunch, and plot some form of an evening seduction while we were out on the slopes for the afternoon. 

The seduction never really happened... (which is kinda sad, because every romantic getaway to the French Alps should include lots of romance.  By a fireplace).  But I did figure out what my limits were with Far Away.

That was pretty much the end of any romantic attempts.  OK, not totally the end.  But maybe the beginning of the end.