Sunday, January 06, 2002

Three Dimensions: Sometimes Too Many

I've been online for about five years, and I've met three women who were or could have been significant romantic connections.
The first resulted in a couple-year relationship, the middle was with a fucking snake who had me and three other women bamboozled into thinking she was for real, and the last was my most recent relationship, whom I mentioned in my previous blog.
I cannot understand how almost a year of daily e-mail, photo swaps, snail mail, phone calls and instant messaging can create such deep feelings of love, only to have them collapse on the first meeting.
Three dimensional chemistry is the single most important element of an Internet thing converting to a real-life thing, and it rarely makes the leap.
Even when an ex lover isn't still slithering around in the background like a Harry Potter dementor, 3-D chemistry still is what makes or breaks the connection.
My ex had a first-timer fling with a total nutcase a few years ago.
The woman was a satanic ritual abuse survivor who had to have the lights on all night and the house dark all day. She sounded as scary and sick as anyone I have ever heard described, and certainly worse than anyone I've ever encountered.
Before I met my recent ex, she said I was like a female version of her best friend in the world, her most trusted ally, her champion. I met him myself and he's a truly wonderful man. We even reminded each other of ourselves in person.
When I met my ex in person, however, she said I no longer reminded her of her best friend and champion, on sight I reminded her of the satanic ritual abuse survivor.
Isn't that a fucking kick in the face? It gave me chills down my spine and made me feel ghoulish. Just the thing to turn my butch swagger into a hunchback's stumbling gait.
There are two solutions to the problem of Internet chemistry.
1. Meet in person really fast and find out whether the chemistry is transferable to 3-D.
2. Waste a year or six months pussyfootin' around online and hope you don't remind her of some satanic fucking ritual abuse survivor when you meet.
I tell you, sometimes it's enough to make me want to throw my computer out into the street, turn on my fax and buy a fucking typewriter to run my business.

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