Kiss Kiss, Crush Crush

I know I haven't been around much lately... I'm sure your journals have had to hear all about this emotionally stressful time and the void I've left inside you, but you'll be happy (I hope) to know that it's for all good reasons that I've been so absent.

MeMe has been... content lately. Life is pretty good. Ducks are lining up reluctantly into their rows. Throwing in the added chaos of dating men I'm only moderately interested in has just seemed like an unnecessary way of messing shit up, so I've let it go for now.

They say that good things happen to you when you're not looking for them, and for once, I've stopped looking. With that, I've fallen hardcore into a new improbable crush.

I haven't had a crush in a while. One of the worst parts about learning more about your crush is that usually it ruins the crush because these are actually real people and not the perfection I've built in my head.

My crush tank emptied slowly, one by one. I stopped stalking people who don't like me and texting boys that are bad for me. I finally came to terms that my fall-back crush ain't going nowhere. I quit trying to make "fetch" happen.

So I've been floating around crush-free (more or less). Ryan Gosling a la "The Notebook" has had to take the place of a crush in all of my fantasies, and honestly, let's face it: my odds of taking Ryan Gosling to bed are only like... 40, 45% at best. It sort of ruins a daydream for me when I'm so fully aware that it will come to nothing unless Eva Mendes suddenly drops dead on set and everything goes according to my evil plan MWAHAHAHAHA.

And, while no doubt this crush will take some energies away from all the productive events in my life, like trying to not suck at my job, and paying bills and car payments on time... it's kind of nice to have one again.

Everyone likes to have a crush. It gives us something to think about when we're stuck in traffic, or right before bed, or when you forget to bring a magazine to the bathroom.

This weekend I was at the Farmer's Market hunting for organic food to make meals with, because in my transformation into an Adult I've become disgustingly adorable and these are the sort of things I do now. The organic booths are limited, but I know one in particular that I like to hit, largely because it's manned by a real cutie pie and I don't hate lookin' at the goods while I'm shopping.

Cutie Pie was, this day, busy helping others, so I stepped back and let him customer-ize. He glanced up at me and went back to helping old ladies pick out produce (D'aww), getting a little frazzled, and telling them apologetically that he was suddenly flustered.

I'd like to think this is because he noticed me and how adorable I looked in my leather boots, but in real life my ego isn't really that substantial, and I just waited my turn patiently while he got his shit together and distantly thought how nice it would be if I were the source of all the flustering.

When it was finally my chance, I picked out an ear of corn--yes, a single ear. Cutie wouldn't have it. He threw all of his remaining corn at me for the same price, met my eye with ridiculously pretty blue ones, and bam... I was head over heels.

A little dazedly, I wandered off, smiling like an idiot and clumsily balancing an armful of corn. Ryan Gosling went out the window--Cutie leapt into my imagination.

We wake together at dawn to till the soil, after he brings me coffee in bed, and we laugh as the sun comes up and our rescue pets and goats roam the land. Together, probably wearing little floral printed aprons, we built a mildly successful business and are the fucking cutest farming couple the local markets had ever seen. He wears plaid and smells like grass and Gain detergent and brings me sunflowers when I'm not expecting them. I carry everything in a wicker basket, and learn to like pie. We adopt twin Chinese babies and raise them off the earth to be selfless and good. Before bed, we all read classics together by lamplight (my fantasies always seem to take place in the cabin from "Little House on the Prairie"). We grow old together and die hand-in-hand (Wait, no, that one is special just for Ryan).

Happily, I found the rest of my party, and told them the news: I was in love. He had blue eyes, and he had given me free food. He was my dream man.

One major problem:

He has a mustache.

Not like, a little fuzzy mustache because he forgot to shave that morning.

I mean like ringleader of a circus mustache. A mustache ironic to the point where it's no longer ironic (ironically).

People who know me know that I hate, hate mustaches. Mustaches are for men in unmarked vans telling children they have candy. Mustaches make me think of 1970's cold cases, and the horrible boss I hated so much I once pushed him. A mustache is just the sad destruction of a perfectly good beard.

Yet...

My cyber stalking refused to pay off, so tomorrow I'll have to doll myself up until I look as natural as possible, put on something that projects that I'd make a fine wife, and go stalk him in person. Does he have a wedding ring? Does he like women? Is he too young for me? Is he open to shaving? These are all important questions I need answered.

Or, OR, the more likely scenario... I refuse to make eye contact, can only grunt and point at which items I wish to purchase (You, YOOOUUUU!!! My God, how much??), and slink off without any of this vital information.

But hey, at least I won't ruin my nice new crush by talking to him.