I was chatting with the long distance bestie tonight and pondering the “Oh, yeah? How about NOW?” phenomenon of the universe. Like how I said I would be okay living anywhere in this state except my present city, so naturally that’s where we wound up.

Fear not, I’ve made my peace with where I live… I just had a lot of memories of coming up to visit extended family & there not being much I wanted to do. But a LOT has changed here since then.

Back to the universe and its wily ways: More recently, I had written a manifesto all about how I wouldn’t try to match with snowboarders on dating apps because what would we have in common? What could I bring to the table but a really, really good hot cocoa?* And the obvious?

It had been a recurring theme: although nothing panned out with most of them past chatting, ever since my devastating 5 year romance with a skateboarder/snowboarder, I got a metric F-ton of matches with snowboarders (and a few skateboarders). Made me very superstitious that maybe he’d rubbed off on me in some way.

It wasn’t just the board sports thing. Guys who had anything parenthetically in common with him seemed to dig me, and vice versa, like he was the perfect archetype of my “type.” But like I said, it never seemed to work out. Maybe it was just echoes, not meant to be pursued. Ripples. The past playing tag. Yes, I am very woo-woo about that sort of thing.

The piece I wrote was entitled “Avatar: The Last Snowboarder,” in reference to a guy I talked to on Tinder and decided not to pursue, though he was all for rubbing my feet while I hunted for love vs. “luv.” Now, I kinda wish I’d taken him up on it. He was very pretty. And you don’t pull pretty indefinitely, I don’t suppose.

The Avatar part was about the movie– the alien one, not The Last Airbender. Because board sports dude and I had watched it together. I still have to see the sequel. Note to self on that.

Anyway, the manifesto, which appears in Love and the Phantom Queen of Suburbia, was an ode to that former relationship and a declaration that my chasing his energy was done.

Some time after I published that collection, I tweaked my dating profiles to look for something a bit wilder than my more recent norm, inspired by an Instagram reel, unwittingly attracting the attention of yet another snowboarder.

This one, I did meet. Pretty sure it’s already done, after just barely getting off the ground. We only met up twice. There was some hot and cold, but there were also some very lengthy text exchanges.

Circling back around to rockstar love… I had been pondering my thing for musicians, and the two I had attempted to date. I said to my long-distance bestie, maybe if I wrote a manifesto declaring I was done trying to date musicians, I would meet another one; however, as I reasoned, the trick seems to be really meaning it so you trigger the universe to try to contradict you, or test your resolve.

Now that I ponder it a bit further, I think there have been at least one or two other musicians I talked to but didn’t ever meet up with. And there was a flirty friendship with J’s friend and one-time bandmate, until he got me confused with a different Michelle over the phone. There’s only one of me. Furreals.

Besides, I’m pretty sure according to the bro code, I was already certifiably “owned” by the guy who’d eventually become lead vocalist of the band. Doubt his friend would’ve pulled the trigger. Felt like he wanted to, though.

The night that my erstwhile 27 year connection musician and I first met, it was initially the guy he’d come into town with who caught my eye. We checked each other out with mad ferocity as he was walking through the lobby of the movie theater where I worked.

But then J drew my attention in the parking lot, supposedly on behalf of his friend, and it was game over. I was mesmerized.

All this debate and navel gazing may, in fact, lead nowhere, because as bestie often reminds me, you like what you like. Maybe there’s no use in trying to control where your heart or your pants land.

On the other hand, I’ve also been told that maybe I’ll find love (or “luv”) somewhere unexpected.

Will I actively avoid guys holding guitars?

Eh… maybe not. Definitely beats the cliche of posing with a dead fish.

Again, though, I don’t know that I’d be perceived as anything other than another potential groupie. I write poetry. I’ve written some lyrics here and there for fun or to add to a story featuring musicians. But that’s more than one step removed from the real thing. Not something that gets you equal footing.

The jazz improvisationists Jack Kerouac so admired didn’t seem much interested in his poetic musings on their style, from what I’ve heard.

Maybe I’d be better off with a writer or an artist. Or both.

We will see!

OH… I meant to add this somewhere… was insanely dizzy this morning, so tonight’s dinner meet-up will be rescheduled. Didn’t go out to eat after all. But I did stock up on all sorts of things to help get/stay healthy. Multiple herbal teas and lemon juice and honey and vitamins and vitamin C lozenges– you name it. I should be back to normal pretty soon.

That said, I best hit the hay. Goodnight! OH but a P.S.– the Coconut Dr. Pepper is really tasty! Found some today at my local store.

*The best hot cocoa, IMO, involves chili powder, solid chocolate and cocoa powder/mix, cinnamon, nutmeg, marshmallows, whipped cream, and a candy cane. Maybe even colored sprinkles.