Love And Other Shit

Let me talk briefly of love.

I know, you're probably sighing to yourself, "Oh, God. Here we go again. Another bitter diatribe and self-loathing rant about how counterproductive love is and how yucky women are."

You couldn't be more wrong if you were Rick Santorum's campaign manager.

No, this is not one of my vitriolic screeds against the wondrous majesty that is love. Quite the opposite, actually.

See, I've been smitten, as the common parlance goes.

Head over freakin' heels in love.

Well, I found somebody I mutually tolerate, at least.

She's an old friend from college and we've been dating for well over a year.

For me, seeing someone for more than a fortnight is a record. This time, it's working out. I don't know how. By some miraculous stroke of luck, things with this woman haven't reached the "It's not you, but I'd like to see other people" stage.

For those playing at home, my track record with women is abysmal. In the battle of the sexes, I'm collateral damage. Rejection for me is an art form. More women have said no to me than they have the Fairmount Park Rapist. I get less action in bed than the Pope.

And yet, one ordinary day in July 2010, I check my Facebook page and see this woman has contacted me. We went out for coffee, had dinner and a little light cunilingus and - wham! - we're in a relationship.

Since then, we're gone on vacation, spent holidays together and fell into the daily routine of dating. For me, a habitual hermit, spending time with another human with no ulterior motives is refreshing. I've had my share of fairweather friends and shitty relationships and this one is different. It's based on kindness and love, instead of petty carping and spite.

This time, I got lucky. I found someone who loves me. Love is best when reciprocated, when you find that special woman who complements you and shares your interests and hobbies.

She also has a sense of humor, which to me is vitally important. The criteria for any possible female companion is intelligence, sense of humor, kindness, and almost acrobatic-like sexual skills. However, my girlfriend changes the paradigm and kindness goes before intelligence and sense of humor on the list. She might not be a Rhodes Scholar, but if I wanted to fuck someone super intelligent, I would date Stephen Hawking.

She has a wonderful sense of humor and is self-depreciating, like me. She's short, she's from the Philippines and she has tits that would make Dolly Patron envious. She's one of these romantics who believes in true love and destiny. She calls me her soul mate and expresses her interest in unicorns and super hero movies. She also plays video games and card games with me.

I know, she sounds like she's 12, but she's not. I checked.

Unlike the parade of psychopaths I'm used to dating, this chick isn't trying to change me or is overtly critical of everything I do or say and doesn't want to recreate me into something I'm not.

Oh, don't get me wrong. She's as batshit crazy as every other female on the planet. Yet it's a kind of crazy I find familiar, one I can slip on like a comfortable jacket.

So I'm in love.

Tra-la-la-la-la.

Just don't expect me to serenade her with any original love poetry.

It's not that I've lost my Muse or poetic spirit. It's that I'm pretty sure she's illiterate.

No matter.

I'm fucking in love!