the moutain man gold miner

Colton returned to Idaho the next morning after the bouldering date.  We became facebook friends almost immediately, and I sent him a brief message thanking him for a fun time and for not laughing at my bouldering attempts.  He sent a long reply back, complimenting me again for giving bouldering a try, suggesting that we meet up somewhere in the middle and sweetly admitting that he had a bit of a crush (who ever admits to that!), and sorry that he wouldn’t be leaving me alone.  I sent a brief reply saying that meeting up would work and that he shouldn’t leave me alone because the feeling was mutual.  I signed it, “Un besito”.  He sent a one-liner saying he was blown away by my reply (which seemed like a bit of an overreaction), and then a follow-up about details for the trip.

At this point, I was starting to get nervous.  He was making it clear that he was very interested, which was a good thing.  But it also seemed to put a lot of pressure on the visit.  I did barely know him, and while I found him sweet and intelligent and outdoorsy, I was still unsure about my degree of attraction and about wanting to start something long-distance.  I also had some serious car issues and wouldn’t be able to drive, so he suggested that he come out to where I live.  That seemed to make the situation even more unbalanced by requiring so much of him.  I sent him another e-mail expressing doubts about the pressure we would feel when he traveled such a long ways and we spent a whole weekend together, when we were just getting to know each other.  I suggested that we hold off until I was visiting my family, closer to Idaho, and meet up then when it would be easier for both of us.

The reply he sent me should have come from a lawyer.  It was a concise blow-by-blow (respectful) rebuttal of my concerns.  He let me know that traveling was something he did a lot thanks to his pay and flexible schedule, and not a big deal for him (which was true) and that he had been feeling lonely in Idaho and that it was worth it for him to come a long way to have my company.  He suggested some fun, casual things we could do together that we both enjoy and that he wouldn’t treat it like some random fling, so there would be no need to feel pressure.  He would also be meeting up with another friend on a road trip in my area, so there was another reason for him to come. 

I gave it some thought, still feeling doubts about spending an entire weekend with a near stranger in my house.  But finally I decided, what the hell, you only live once.  Might as well give it a try.  I responded to say that the things he suggested sounded fun, and if it was truly worth it to him, he could come visit.  I also iterated that I am the sort of person to take it SLOW (meaning in the physical department), so we would be taking things casually for the time being.

As the visit approached, I found myself increasingly apprehensive about it.  I live in a tiny cottage and very rarely have visitors, even just for a cup of coffee let alone overnight.  I sleep in a loft (no bedroom) and my couch is not comfortable enough for someone to sleep on.  Translation:  no privacy.  I am also a very private person in some ways (though not when blogging about my love life), so having someone I barely knew that was romantically interested in me staying for three nights in this small, intimate place made me frankly anxious.  Leading up to his visit, my birthday passed, and he overnighted me some chocolate from Alaska.  I thought this was sweet, but also a little alarming as far as a romantic gesture I wasn’t sure I was ready for.  I still tried to keep an open mind.

During his visit, we kept busy.  We ate out, cooked together, summited a mountain, visited a museum, and went rock climbing (in the same place that Mark had taken me, amusingly enough).  The conversation flowed easily.  He was funny and smart.  We talked about all kinds of topics, but at times he came off as somewhat condescending.  I enjoyed his company, but did find it a little exhausting toward the end because I was accustomed to so much solitude.  He waited until the last evening to kiss me and didn’t try anything else physical, which was good because I didn’t feel ready for it.

And when all was said and done, it was simply too much.  There is a possibility that Colton and I would have worked out under gentler circumstances, where feelings would have been allowed to grow gradually and I would have time to process things and self-assess along the way.  As it was, the visit was overwhelming.  We went from one date to a constant string of about 10 “dates” over three days.  For someone like me that requires a lot of alone time, it was a lot.  What’s more, I knew any future attempts at getting together would be just as intense – entire weekends as opposed to individual dates. 

As soon as the weekend was over, he let me know he was working on a very long e-mail, but that the punch line was that he liked me a lot and was wondering where to go from there.  It broke my heart because we were clearly not on the same page.  I replied, letting him know that I had had a wonderful time with him and that he was one of the nicest boys I had met in a while.  But that I just didn’t see how things would really work out with the distance between, especially with him moving to Alaska, and that I just didn’t feel ready for that kind of commitment that it would necessarily involve.  His response was understanding, honest, sweet and sad.  I will always think of him fondly and be grateful for how special he made me feel.  Just another match botched by matters of time and distance.

the men of rock

Shortly after the Seth adventure, two men entered my life.  I must say, two men is the perfect number to be dating at any given time for several reasons:  A) you feel especially confident and desirable with not one but TWO fellas vying for your attention, B) you’re not too caught up in either one, as girls can sometimes be, C) you’re not always available, which makes you more interesting, and D) if one doesn’t work out, the other one is there to ease your pain!  (More than two, however, is just a logistical nightmare.) 

This situation was especially entertaining because of the uncanny parallels between them.  They both took me rock climbing in the same spot within a few days of each other (something I had never previously done as a date) and to the same off-the-beaten-track bar afterward (so grateful the waitress didn’t call me out).  They were both in the mining industry and both were pretty damn financially secure.

But in one other important factor, they were worlds apart.  One approached things with creeping, casual caution, and the other was ready to dive full-speed-ahead into romance.  Allow me to elaborate.

the tortoise

I was starting to feel like things with Seth (the Country Boy) were fizzling when I went back to the coffee shop/bar where I had met Jeremy (the Perfect Guy) to get some work done.  I sat up at the bar so I could take occasional brain breaks chatting with the barista/bartender and the neighboring barflies.  A friendly-looking guy (short, stalky, slightly receding hairline, glasses, nice smile) probably in his mid-to-late thirties at one point sat beside me to work on his computer, and gradually we started to chat.  In between bouts of work, we talked about the Boston area (where he is from and where I had spent a couple years), skiing (he was a former ski patrol) and rock-climbing (something I had been thinking about getting into).  It turned out that a coworker of mine that I adored was a close friend of his.  I wasn’t overwhelmed by his attractiveness, but there was something inviting and interesting about him. He was friendly yet restrained.  He did not seem overly eager, but I was pleased when he casually suggested we go rock climbing some time and got my number.  His name was Mark.

Almost a week went by before he called and left me a message on a Friday, inviting me to rock climb with him.  I forced myself to break ties with Seth before calling him back.  We planned to meet up that Saturday afternoon.

It was a beautiful, sun-filled autumn day with a cool breeze.  He took me to some isolated cliffs surrounded by open wilderness areas.  No one else was around.  His competence, and cautiousness, as he patiently taught me how to belay and all the protocol of rock-climbing, was admittedly sexy.  When we were both felt ready to wrap things up, we sat in the bed of his truck and had a beer.  We chatted and joked as the sun lowered.  Then we headed to the nearest bar, an isolated hick-joint dear to my heart, and had another drink and easy conversation.  When he dropped me off, I felt pleased with the afternoon.

the hare

Around the same time, my good friend Amy brought up one of her closest high school friends to me.  She told me he had casually mentioned to her that he was getting tired of the bachelor lifestyle and was interested in meeting a good girl, in case she might know anyone.  She told me he was an intelligent, outdoorsy, kind person that was one of her closest friends.  Problem was, he lived in Idaho and worked in Alaska (neither very close to where I live).  He worked as a modern-day gold miner (no joke), but much of his job he managed remotely.  She had told him about me, and also that he was interested in coming down to visit.  He was looking forward to meeting me.  His name was Colton.

I met him the day after hanging out with Mark.  He, Amy, Amy’s boyfriend and I went for a hike and then got a beer after.  He was muscularly built, with very fair skin and almost-white curly blond hair that he kept back in a ponytail.  During the hike, he mostly chatted with Amy, getting caught up.  When we got to the top, I stepped apart from the rest to admire the view, and Colton followed me.  For the first time he and talked on our own, and I found him somewhat charming.  After the hike and getting a drink, we all headed back to Amy’s house to hang out for a bit more.  At one point he asked me what time I got off work the next day and if I would like to try bouldering with him and then get dinner, the last evening of his visit.  I was impressed by his boldness and agreed. 

If you’re not familiar with bouldering, it involves finding some boulders and using rock-climbing skills to hoist yourself up them without ropes.  You place a large cushion on the ground in case of falls.  I was familiar with the idea but had never tried it myself.  I also have NO upper-body strength and wondered if he would be unimpressed.  We went to an area near where I had gone rock-climbing with Mark.  Our conversation flowed, and I enjoyed his company.  He was incredibly strong and was able to hoist himself up the boulders on routes that seemed impossible, sometimes hanging nearly upside-down by the force of his grip.  I, on the other hand, was only able to go up the easiest boulders.  He was very positive about my willingness to give it a try.  When the sun had gone down, he asked where I would like to go for dinner.  Amy had hinted that I suggest a nice place since he had the money and was more than willing to pay. But of course as we know I am a beer-and-pizza first date kind of girl, so I suggested the nearby bar that Mark and I had just gone to.  The conversation kept up during the dinner, and when he dropped me off, he expressed what a great time he had had and his hopes that he could keep in touch and see me again soon.  I agreed.

This is where the two stories diverge.

the country boy

A close friend from high school came out to visit me at the very end of the summer.  One of the nights she was here, the brewery hosted a live band.  She and I got dressed up, much more than I usually do in this low-key mountain town.  The music was fun, the beer flowed, and there were many good-looking fellows present.

One guy in particular she and I both noticed.  He was a tall, well built, with shaggy blond hair and a friendly face.  He had style about him, without being over-the-top.  He wore a nice-fitting green t-shirt and jeans (not too tight nor too baggy) and a fedora hat.  He was occupied with friends and didn’t seem to take notice of us.  I saw him hanging out with a dark-haired guy that wasn’t exceptionally good-looking, but there was something about him that I was drawn to.  (The ironic t-shirt paired with his serious face?  Not really sure.)  At one point I was dancing by myself near the two of them.  They kept doing this silly drum-kick move and laughing about it.  I was in front of them and teased them that I seemed to be dancing in a hazardous spot where I was in danger of being kicked in the ass.  They found this funny and we started chatting, especially Mr. Fedora and I.

We continued talking on and off throughout the night.  As the place closed down, we connected again and planned to meet up at another bar, him by bike and me by car.  His name was Seth.

Sadie and I headed over there with some new friends.  We danced to band, got drinks and played shuffleboard.  I kept stepping outside to see if he had arrived.  An eternity passed, and I began to doubt that he would ever show up.  Suddenly, I stepped out and saw that he was there, talking with his group of friends.  We smiled at each other, but I stepped back inside and resumed the game.  I didn’t want to march up to him in front of all those people, and I figured he would come in shortly after. 

It seemed like forever again before he entered the bar, but to my surprise he didn’t come right up to my friends and I, but went around chatting with other people.  At one point his friend came up to me and said that Seth had been hoping to talk to me.  I said, “Then he should come talk to me”.  The buddy didn’t seem impressed, and said, “Oh, he so has to come up to you”.  Inwardly I was thinking, yes that’s how it usually works in these kind of situations.  Finally, I was sick of the games and caught him as he was passing through the bar.  We talked again and he took me outside to meet his friends.  Before leaving, he got my number.  He called me the next day, but I wanted to postpone until my friend left.  A week later, we planned to meet for breakfast at his suggestion.

That’s when I discovered the brilliance of the breakfast date.  Really, talk about no-pressure, casual and delicious.  It just about equals the beer-and-pizza first date.  We had a good time talking about the usual stuff.  He seemed fun and easy-going.  He told me about the small farming town he was from and how much he loved going to concerts.  I looked forward to seeing him again.

We got drinks after work one evening, met up at a concert another night, and cooked dinner with his friends on a Saturday night.  He was very nice, easy to be around and good-looking.  Nonetheless, there was one thing that kept nagging at me – his text spelling.  Okay, yes, I can feel you all rolling your eyes at me again.  But the texts were barely decipherable (for example the he spelled the word “want” as the contraction “won’t”), and as a very literate person, I couldn’t help but find it a turn-off.  Despite this, I tried my hardest to suspend judgment.  I know spelling isn’t an indication of intelligence, and not everyone is a complete bookworm like myself.  Problem was, I didn’t find many signs of intelligence in other areas.  Most of his stories were of how drunk he got with friends, and I wasn’t spared any of the puking or hangover details.  I also found myself disturbingly attracted to two of his friends, including Ironic T-shirt, who turned out to be a great conversationalist (unlike Seth). 

One day Seth and I planned to go to an outdoor concert, but we learned that it was more expensive than we had expected.  Instead, we watched football in a bar with his friends before going back to their apartment where they continued to drink, smoke, and look up You Tube videos.  Now I don’t mind some very occasional day drinking, so I poured myself some wine.  However, I did feel rather bored and disappointed to be spending the day inside and not out in the beautiful weather.  The straw that broke the camel’s back was when he (probably rather drunk at this point) insisted that I “chicken wing” a bottle of Carlo Rossi.  I refused, but he continued to pressure me… and I continued to refuse, until he finally let it go. 

Now those shenanigans happen in college in the dorms, and when I was in college living in the dorms I found it all just as entertaining as anyone else.  But at this point in my life when I’m several years older, I feel no need or desire to hitch up a huge bottle of cheap disgusting wine on my elbow and slug it down, risking splashing it all down my shirt, on a Sunday afternoon.  Just not my thing any more.  But it was still Seth’s thing, which is fine.  But I’m not the girl to go along for the ride.

That day my mind was made up, but again, I wasn’t sure how to break it to him.  I met another guy I found interesting (which is another story) and got a message from him asking me to hang out.  I decided I needed to stop the text-dumping in its tracks (see, “The Perfect Guy”), and forced myself to call and end it with Seth with my actual voice before calling the other guy back.  Fortunately this time I wasn’t at such a loss as to what to say because I truly was ridiculously busy with teaching and taking classes, which he knew.  So that became my excuse on the phone.  Nonetheless, he sounded sad to hear it, and heart-breakingly said “If you just take more time to get to know me…” He is such a sweet guy, and I do hope he finds himself a fun, concert-going girl that will chicken wing a bottle of Carlo Rossi with him any day, and who could care less about his text spelling.  I am just not that girl.

the fool

The winter melted away, and I prepared for a summer in the Rockies.  My job ended in early June, and I had time to kill before starting a teaching position in September.  I spent most of my time hiking, going to free concerts, and reading by the river.

Out of the blue, Amy texted me to ask if I would ever consider giving Kurt (see “The One Who Got Away”) a second chance, assuming of course that he would apologize extensively for messing up.  I was puzzled, but said yes.  How could I not?  She explained that he had been talking to a mutual friend about me and his regrets for what had happened.  The x-girlfriend was supposedly now the past, and he was wondering if he could have another chance with me.  I tried not to take this too seriously, but despite myself all the dormant feelings began to bubble back up to the surface. 

One day, Amy and I went on a hike on the day of another friend’s party, also a friend of Kurt’s.  Amy's boyfriend called to ask if I was going to the party because Kurt wanted to know.  I couldn’t quiet the butterflies that started frantically batting their wings about in my stomach.  Before the party, I got a haircut and put on my most killer, curve-flattering summer dress.  It was a while before he showed up with a group of friends on bikes.  We smiled at each other but didn’t start talking right away.  I figured he owed me the first move.  From a distance, I noticed him talking a lot with a pretty blond girl that had arrived with his group of friends.  At one point when she was elsewhere I went over to talk to him.  He said something nice about the job I had gotten, and we chatted about how things were going.  But the conversation faltered, and we drifted off.  Later on, I saw him talking with the pretty blond for a long time in the candlelight.  They looked so engrossed in conversation, the way we had been on that first date.  I left the party with that same sinking feeling in the stomach he had given me so many months before. 

Amy later found out that he and the girl had been friends on Facebook.  She lived in a bigger city a couple of hours drive away and showed up on a whim that very day to visit him.  He had been looking forward to seeing me, but then she arrived.  Apparently she won him over because shortly after I heard they were together, and she moved here.  Truly, I suppose, it was not meant to be.

Not long after this disappointment, I was at a summer concert with my friend Rachel, also a friend of Mason’s (see the “Yoga Gansta”).  We ran into him.  I wasn’t overly friendly to the guy that had blown me off so many times and walked off to get a drink.  Later she told me he had asked if I hated him and wondered if I would give him a second chance.  She encouraged him to ask me to out again.  I didn’t hear from him, but shortly after Rachel and I ran into him at the farmer’s market.  I was friendlier this time, and we chatted.  He asked what I was up to later that day and if I would like to go for a hike with him.  Like a sucker, I accepted.  I waited for his text, and waited, and waited, as the hours went by.  I noticed the weather storming over the mountains where we had planned on hiking, but all the same, that’s when he should have called to ask me to go to a movie or at the very least rescheduled.  But no, nothing.  I felt like such an idiot for falling for it all over again.  For an “enlightened” person, he sure knew how to make a girl feel like crap.

Later that summer, I took a road trip to the national park where I worked the previous year.  A month before the trip, I had Facebook chatted with a former summer fling, and he expressed excitement to see me again.  After my recent luckless experiences, the feeling was mutual.  At the very least, I would have a couple days of romance that summer.

When I showed up, he already had a girlfriend – a beautiful, blond, blue-eyed Russian-American girl.  One of the evenings I somehow got sucked into playing a Russian card game with the two of them.  It was a game called “the Fool”, that she taught us.  The point of the game was not to lose, or be “the fool”, rather than winning.  I lost round after round and, yet again, was the fool.

All summer I was very aware of the fact that come late August, I would be starting my job as a first year teacher, as well as beginning an intense online graduate program.  The summer seemed the perfect time to find some romance.  I had absolutely nothing of importance going on and was in many more social settings than usual.  Nonetheless, it was a summer of constant disappointments in the love department.  Ironically, as soon as my job and graduate classes began (and I became ridiculous busy, stressed and antisocial), the dating scene picked up its pace.  That’s the trouble with romance.  It doesn’t come just because you’re ready and want it.  It comes when you least expect it, when it’s least convenient, and when you least look for it.  I swore off boys for the school year, believing I would need to focus on my work.  But that’s when the all boys showed up.

the perfect guy

So there’s this coffee shop/bar.  Right around 3 p.m. the crowd changes from coffee drinkers to beer drinkers.  I like the place because I can go there and get some work done without feeling entirely like I’m working. 

I was doing just that one Saturday when a fit, decently attractive man maybe in his late 30s with salt-and-pepper hair sat down on the couch across from me.  The weather was crummy, and he was also on his computer.  After a while he struck up a conversation.  We talked on and off, about nothing much. 

Later that week I went back in the evening to get some work done.  He was there again with a handsome, tall, well-built, blue-eyed guy, late 20s.  They got some drinks and sat on a couch nearby.  I made some eye contact and smiled, but was mostly focused on my work.  Still I noticed them noticing me.  After a while, Salt-and-Pepper and his buddy came to sit beside me, and he said, “We’re going to bother you.”  I smiled, put my computer aside, and said, “Okay”. 

What followed is best described as an interrogation… a very friendly one.  They bombarded me with questions and barely let me return the favor.  An hour and a couple drinks later they knew my whole life story.  (Good strategy, I must say.  People love to feel interesting, me being no exception.)  I did gather that Salt-and-Pepper was from Alaska, had lived for many years in Japan and was a serious cyclist.  Blue Eyes was freshly returned from living in New Zealand and so stoked to be back in the place he loved most.  He was also an avid mountain biker, which is how he had met S.N.P and was now his roommate.  S.N.P. was more reserved and had intensity about him.  B.E., on the other hand, laughed easily and was enthusiastic about everything.  He had a great smile.  We connected over a shared fantasy of living in a little cabin in remote Alaska.

When we were getting ready to go, I was feeling pretty entertained and wondering if any digits would be exchanged and with whom.  I went to the bar to settle an earlier tab and they stepped outside.  When I walked out the door, only Blue Eyes remained.  He asked for my phone number.  

For our first date, we decided on a time, but he told me he had the place figured out.  I hung out at Amy’s house waiting for him, and we spied through the blinds when he showed up wearing a white shirt tucked in and slacks.  I was surprised:  it had been ages since I’d seen a guy looking even remotely “dressed up” for a date… I dunno, maybe prom?  He took me to a fine dining restaurant.  I found this both flattering and unsettling.  I had been expecting a pub/restaurant type place and didn’t feel dressy enough.  Plus, as you may remember, I am a Beer-and-Pizza-First-Date type girl.  Nonetheless, the conversation flowed with the wine, and my biggest impression of him was, he is just so nice.  So friendly and smiley.  The good-looking part didn’t hurt either.  He had also grown up on his farm (apparently a prosperous one) and was now a landscaper/ski instructor.  Love it when men can do useful things with their hands (see "...Handyman", Dec.).  Things got a bit awkward when the bill arrived because I couldn’t even honestly offer to split, but we got past it.

We continued to see each other regularly.  The dates were great:  going to an outdoor concert, riding cruiser bikes to the brewery, getting beer and then ice cream.  Nonetheless, by about the third time we hung out, something started to waver.  He was so damn nice, so friendly, so enthusiastic, so good-looking.  Still, something wasn’t there.  I started to find myself sort-of bored in his company.  I couldn’t figure it out or even explain it to friends.  On paper, he was so perfect.  Thoughtful, sweet, outdoorsy, handsome… pretty much the image of my dream guy.  But the conversation was flat.  There was something about him that seemed forced and uncomfortable.  Like he was trying too hard and never just himself.  He also would give me lingering goodbyes that did not include a kiss.  I could tell he thought about it but just didn’t know how to go about it.  And the truth was, I didn’t really want him to (again, couldn’t really tell you why).  In some ways he seemed so young. 

You’re probably rolling your eyes at me again, like why don’t you rename the blog “Miss Picky”?  Or perhaps “Miss Crazy” for getting more butterflies from a middle-aged white skinny yoga-gangsta than the virtual dream guy.  Hey, I’m just as perplexed as you.

I realized the plug needed to be pulled when I was at dinner with him at a nice Italian restaurant and caught myself wondering how much more time I had to kill.  In that moment I looked at him, so handsome, so eager, so nice, and thought, “This isn’t fair”.  Here he is spending all this money and time on me, being so wonderful, and I’m bored.  This guy needs someone that appreciates him.

Now here’s the worse part of all.  How do you break up with the perfect guy?  How do you tell him what’s wrong when you don’t even know yourself?  How do you tell someone that’s just been so great, so very very nice?  I’m the type that finds confrontation excruciating.  So I played cool and went on vacation and just kind of hoped it would fizzle by itself (such a guy move).  It didn’t.  He texted me while I was away hoping that I was having an amazing time.  And I did something that’s still hard to admit.  I sent the BREAK UP TEXT.  Yes… yes, I did.  I kept it short and swift.  No audible words were exchanged.  Terrible, I know.  But you know what, I’m not sure I buy all that about it being best to do it in person.  On the receiving end of the breakup, you have to look at the person’s face who’s telling you they’re just not feeling it while your heart cracks into a million pieces and you have to act all cool and natural and come up with a casual response like you were really thinking the exact same thing, oh what a relief.  On the phone it’s only slightly less humiliating.  So the way I see it is I saved him some face and gave him the perk of being able to think of me as a total bitch for doing the breakup text.  Plus we never even locked lips, so how serious of a breakup is called for?    

Okay, yes, all my excuses are pretty weak sauce.  But the job got done.  Sometimes I come across his startlingly handsome face on Facebook as he’s on some impressive backcountry adventure (sometimes accompanied by this gorgeous blond girl that doesn’t appear to get bored with him in charming Italian restaurants), and I’m like, Really?  What were you thinking?!  If only I knew.