Contestant #542

With all the snarky blogging I do -- and plan to do in the future -- I thought it would at least be nice to throw some positive things into the mix, so as not to portray my existence as a house of cards anchored only by acerbic humor, crazy parents and industrial strength toilets. So, at the risk of future regret, I've settled in to talk about the Kiwi, the newest object of smit.

Smit, smitten, smote. Or something like that.

The same night I found Thin Creepy Guy, I also found a post titled "bag of sand."  With a headline like that, which -- for those not in the know -- alludes to a fantastic scene in the 40 Year Old Virgin, I thought the guy was either extremely funny or extremely preoccupied with breasts. Or worse yet, with sand. But I clicked through and found myself in a spot I don't often inhabit: I was surprised, pleasantly so. I can't quite pinpoint why; it's not as if his post is particularly long or informative. But maybe that's what it was -- it wasn't a laundry list of subjective adjectives as a means to describe himself or who he was looking for. He just seemed... genuine. Unpretentious. The opposite of douchey, which is something I'd feared no longer existed.

So, I dashed off a few lines about me and clicked 'send.'

Bing bang boom, we're 48 hours past that and Kiwi and I have undeniably clicked. From the start, he's been dropping phrases like, 'I'm bewildered -- you seem really amazing,' and 'I'm incredibly lucky you stumbled over my post.' You know, all that really great shit that men never say to women. Normally, that would set off my alarm bells that he was an extra special sort of douche, but call me crazy... the guy actually seems genuine about it.

And as we all know, I am pretty f'ing amazing. It's just a shocker someone with a penis has actually realized and vocalized this fact.

I am, for the first time in a minute or two, un-guardedly giddy. I'm not inundated with tons of 'what ifs' or terribly concerned that something I say might scare him away. I am fully aware that he could have a host of douchey qualities lurking just under the surface, and they could very well explode all over me at an unexpected time, thus forcing me to cut him lose as I have so many others. But in this moment, I'm content  to enjoy getting to know the guy. The giddiness is nice -- I'd forgotten what it felt like, quite honestly. Quite unexpectedly, I've run up against that elusive combination of chemistry (where I'm eagerly anticipating every new email and text message) and attraction. That's right, people, he is not only presentable, he's flipping handsome!

For reasons I've never been able to figure, the fly-by-night sorts who have rotated through my life have always been pretty damned good looking, but the men I've given my heart to have always been, at best, average. Based on the photos he's sent -- which, of course, could have been taken prior to some hideous industrial accident that he's not yet informed me of -- the man is a hottie. And even better? He has no idea he's a hottie.

I know, I know, I can scarcely believe it myself. But I have proof!

 This is Napier, the Kiwi's hometown. How could someone douchey come from a place so gorgeous?

 Common sense says yes, but the John Hughes-esque mindset that I currently wish to maintain tells me no, it's just not possible.

Here is the Kiwi in his natural habitat. I'm a fan of seeing sports live for a very good reason...

I actually first thought this photo was of him playing rugby, but I realized it was soccer. Then, I actually realized that it really doesn't f'ing matter. Why, you ask?

Because quite honestly, I can think of about three dozen different things that are infinitely worse than watching this man run around a field in shorts -- what he's doing really takes a back seat to the mere fact that it's happening.

Am I being shallow in objectively this seemingly sweet, unbelievably genuine divorced father of one? I probably am.

And it's about f'ing time. I'm going to enjoy this as long as I can.