Give me a BMT with everything

Louisa's warning about her chestware was more or less unneeded... far from some sort of Dolly Parton mutant, she was actually very, very well-proportioned. 5'9", spectacular and striking red hair in a sort of Veronica Lake cut (go Google it). Casual but elegant in clothing, a very listenable voice with an unusual rhythm and diction.

I haven't had such a great evening listening to a woman in a long time. It's a rare woman who makes me want to not talk and just listen to her, get my answer over with quick so she'll talk some more. This woman is such a woman.

And she doesn't have the slightest hint of cynicism anywhere in her. I didn't get out the rock drills and dynamite to go looking for it, certainly, but I couldn't even find fossil remains of a cynical outlook. She's gentle, careful in her thought, quirky, and that overused word, sweet.

She's also going to be traveling practically every weekend this month, which, thanks to her work schedule, makes it a little difficult for us to meet up at relatively normal hours.

But do you know what the most telling thing for me was? Each of us showed self-doubt exactly once. It wasn't "one of us is in control and the other one is worried the other will think they're a loser," it was a good, comfortable evening with just two small checks for reassurance, both of us just wanting to make sure the other is reasonably what the other expected, physically. She said I was, that I looked quite exactly like my image, and I told her she certainly was, even though she hadn't sent an image (she had said that friends and even strangers tell her she looks like Cate Blanchett in The Aviator -- I hadn't seen it and had to go to her website to check.

Am I boring you with this cycle of events? I meet a woman, get excited about a woman, get rejected by a woman, get dejected, rinse, repeat?

Think how I feel.

In any case, I will see what happens, and then you'll hear about it. I still intend to spend New Year's Eve with Miranda unless it would be truly uncomfortable for us both.

Miranda... I now understand what felt so worrisome about her: she's cynical.

Miranda is a cynic; Sarah is not. Bambi was a cynic; Belinda was not. My ex-wife was a cynic; Penny and Mary and most of the other women I've gotten along best with since my divorce are not. Melody was a bit of a puzzle... a cynic with the little shining heart of a sprite. I don't think I'll ever figure her out, but over time, I've found I have less and less incentive to try.

Even Heather... probably has the most reason of anyone I've ever known to be cynical, and while she sometimes pretends to be one, she is not. I am almost certain to get mail about that one.

And I may appear cynical, but I most certainly am not. There's no way I'd be alive now if I was. Simple existence still counts for something.

Tonight I came up with the perfect analogy for women you want to be romantic with and who then tell you they "just want to be friends." It's like going to Subway to get a BMT with everything, and coming away with a spork and a couple of packets of mayonnaise.