To the Redhead at Point Defiance Zoo

I lay on my couch, staring contemplatively at the Spackled ceiling, saline drops of sadness pooling in my eyes as I thought of my long-passed pops, tragically playing scenes staring my 12 year-old self and him in my head. He left when I was nine months-old, his passion for and commitment to drugs taking up a good portion of his waking hours -- but dammit, if he had not spent his money on dime bags and eight balls, he would have shelled out a couple of bucks for a birthday card now and then. I know he would have, I can feel it in my gut. Or was the the left over Mu Shu Pork from Panda Palace? Either way, after 10 minutes the absurdity of my blubbering image hit me and I laughed between sobs, sounding like a choked gurgle, at the histrionic display of self-pity, thinking "get a hold of yourself, Bex." I mentally shook my shoulders until the sense lodged firmly back in place, then heaved myself out of the couch's comfortable embrace and pulled out my laptop -- where I sullenly skimmed the "Missed Connections" on Craigslist instead. Damn you, Craig and your lists of lost or never-yet-had loves. With each title I lamented my lack of presence there on the screen. Why can't I be the adored redhead seen ogling the gorillas on Sunday? Aside from being blonde and avoiding zoos all together, tell me why?

A well-meaning friend, tired of seeing me trudge through life alone as he beamed with newly-engaged bliss, suggested a little thing called "online dating". I may have had a look of disgust on my face at the time, but I swore I was open to considering it. So I simultaneously considered and crossed off while we dissected my life over California rolls and miso. Simply put: I do not do that.

Yet eight days and 43 solo meals later I found myself selecting the damn three month option (just shy of a $200 commitment)on eHarmony. The heavens only know what inspired me, though I will point a bitter finger at the handsome cowboy I met two weeks prior (aka "The Catalyst) who lit a fire under my cold, detached ass making me question my rigid single status.

And I tell you--it's liberating. Now I can see it in black and white, bold-face type when someone closes the match because they have not one iota of interest in pursuing communication. And you even have a list of choices to choose from: other, no chemistry, didn't like your "must haves", couldn't see us between the sheets (no, no...that's just one I want them to adopt). So no more wasting time pondering possibilities, such as "he lost my number", "he secretly had a girlfriend and felt horrified at our tryst", or my personal favorite, "he was electrocuted while trying to dial my number in a thunderstorm because the lightening reminded him our first kiss". Yah. That's a good one. So thank you, eHarmony for taking that from me. I'm a better, more grounded person because of it.

Subsequently, I've gone back to reading the Missed Connections with a box of Kleenex next to me. And what do you know -- I was in there! Certain as my name is Bex that it was me, the blonde with natural beauty spotted at the University Trader Joe's. My admirer was in black, eying me from a far. Excitedly, I remember him. His pale skin complemented by the dark hoodie he sported. The beady eyes boring through me. The way my skin crawled when I repeatedly ran into him aisle after aisle. I sit back, a huge shit-eating grin on my face. To the blonde sneaking away from TJ's... I AM a missed connection. And pervy stalkers be damned, my faith is restored that you can meet people the good ol' fashioned way.