a reason not to plug your ex-girlfriend's name into 'google'

We all succumb to that temptation, and so we search.

We look up old names. We look up ourselves. I looked up Susan who was the last woman that I dated.

She was the last who I dated. You could even call her the first who I dated. We both agreed that we were dating, at least for a while, which is more than I can say about the last two women I was seen with in public. That's when I decided to tell her that she was lied to by her friends. I never told them that I was interested in her. Without that lie, that little white lie, I wouldn't have gone on that date or could count Susan on that short list of sex experiences.

I never stated my interest in her to her friends, but nevertheless there we were, together, in this dingy bar on Pearl Street in Boulder, together. A few drinks later the women who conned each of us into going out had left,. We were left together, but we weren't alone. This dingy bar was packed to the gills. So we left and had more drinks down the street.

I learned two things that night. She didn't go dutch with me, and she had absolutely no problem setting the drinking pace. She also seemed to like me. But I never call that learning anything because I never trust the intentions of another. Maybe I should begin to trust again. As much as I fear that emotional sucker punch to the gut, if I don't open up or let down my guard I may never feel anything again other than that sweet, sweet ache of being alone, wishing for contact.

I put Susan into the Google today, and she looked glamorous. She didn't look frumpy or have that short hair that I remembered. Her hair was long and it made her look elegant. Don't get me wrong. The picture was tiny. She was wearing a dark pair of sunglasses. And the picture was cropped in tight to her chest and head. Her hair looked beautiful, and she looked happy. I smiled briefly, then I stood inside my kitchen pantry for a few minutes and stared at the floor feeling somewhat ashamed at what I had done.

I haven't dated since, and I was happy to rid myself of her at the time. I had a million things on my mind. I didn't have the time for her, and I continually questioned why she'd be with me. I was a broke-ass sucker but not as broke as I am now. She was funnier than me. I haven't had sex with a woman since. That was almost 5 years ago.

I cling to the moment because it's all that I have, a last vestige of my intimate past.

She forced me to say the things I dare not say. She wanted to know why I didn't want to vacation with her. I told her that I would feel trapped. I just don't feel comfortable sharing intimate space for long periods of time. I guess I better get over that one or I'm going to spend another 5 years alone.

I have less hair now. I have fewer chins as well. I have fewer job prospects and more time to spare. I may look better in the face by someone's Polaroid imagination. The longer I go without contact, the more I feel I lose touch. And the stranger these searches become.