She wasn't my type first!

We spent the day looking at old crime scene photos. Men arrested for dressing like women 70 years ago. Men shot in the chest for selling alcohol. A beautiful woman, who took an axe to two friends, and packed them into trunks. Then tried to take them with her cross country.
Crimes of passion caught on film, and preserved for a generation so I can see plainly and literally, the timeless effects of a reckless heart.

"She totally digs you," they said.
Princess is a New England Native, transplanted to Los Angeles in order to become LAPD, with her sights set on becoming the first woman in SWAT.
I have been in electronic contact with her since I first joined eHarmony, but I thought she wasn't my type. Actually I thought I wasn't her type, but I shut up about that, because she's the only one who can make that sort of a decision. She's just moved to LA, and I invited her over to meet some people, and sing Karaoke. That's when I learned that, my type or not, she was a knockout. We had a good time, she adored my friends, but I spent the night singing poorly, rather than checking her out. This would certainly account for my not noticing that "she totally digs me."

Or so they said. But she was hot. And they said it again. And again.
So I asked her out.

Today wasn't a date. the date was for next week, just to be clear. I carefully engineered today's activity such that we'd hop from friend to friend, only seldom alone together. But we got along so well. She is a roman catholic, intent on several children, with a strong sense of civic duty. Perhaps a little conservative, but she went all day without pushing any of my buttons. She's read the Hitch Hiker's guide, has a powerful love of penguins, and she gets along with my friends adeptly. She wants to be a cop. Not quite a Vigilante, but as for as Police Districts go, LAPD is pretty close. And if she was totally into me, then there's no harm in trying, right?

70 years ago, a young Photographer made a name for himself by being in the right place at the right time. By knowing people. By reading people. By waiting, patiently, for that one moment when the woman realized that her husband had just died. And putting that look, forever, on film. That is what I am doing here.

Princess just moved to Los Angeles. She has no exposure to mankind outside of internet dating sites, and until today, I was differentiated from the masses as being the one person who wasn't after her to date her. She's a person who needs people. I have a unique opportunity to get her involved with my friends and my active social life. So I feel like it's my duty to do so. She is a cool person, and god knows we can use some new blood in our circle. But if she totally digs me, then maybe I can have the best of both worlds? A new friend to share a new point of view, and to make things a little different. A companion who can appreciate my unique take on masculinity and humor.

I brought home a book of the photographs. When a man is shot in the chest, he will fall on his face and break his nose. Two pools of blood pour from these men, one from the head, and the other from the heart. At first glance, you think the wounds are related. But it was only the pierced heart that killed him. These men were shot by desperate people. People who needed quick money. People who were enraged. People who, across the span of of two minutes, had lost their footing. People who lost control of their hearts.

Today, again, despite the cries of my fragile mind, I lost control of my heart.

Princess told me, quickly and honestly, that she doesn't think that the dating thing would work out.

What have I done?
I neglected my intuition, and got carried away with the confidence and joy that comes with being wanted. Have I sabotaged a unique opportunity to help a wonderful person grow some social roots in this frightening city? Have I burned down my chance at making a unique new friend?
I have no idea. All I can do is put my faith in communication. Present myself honestly, and believe that it will all work out for the best.

My heart is a murder/suicide. A Police detective smiles next to my remains. "Another night on the Job." By asking one question, I simultaneously took a bit out of my confidence, and may have lost a growing friendship. If I knew this was the way it would play out, why did I put our relationship at risk? We certainly haven't known each other long enough for me to think we have a stable or secure understanding of each other.

In between the bodies and the transvestites, throughout the book, and on the cover, are photos of lovers kissing. The photographer admits that sometimes he had to use a special mirrored lens to take these photos around corners. Because love doesn't like to be captured.
But love is out there. He stole it from shadows, from around corners, and sometimes just by turning backwards in a movie theater. As often as he shows us tragedy, he shows us that a passionate heart doesn't always lead to disaster.

He reminds me to keep going. Not to bitch so much. I can be melodramatic tonight, but in the morning, after sleep, I will be fine. I have a warm heart, and a unique personality. There is someone out there looking for someone like me.

Today, a very simple communication took place. It wasn't unexpected, and it didn't hurt. It's just the thought of being unwanted, again, that gets me. But, every week I consider myself 1/6,446,131,400 closer to finding someone.