Flirting Expressway Say Hello To Facebook Flirt

Facebook Flirt was the sort of guy I should have known in high school but didn't. Even though we attended the same school, I never spoke one word to him.

But now, some six years later, I see he's the perfect guy: He's smart. He's a musician and an account. He loves mural painting and the beach.

How do I know all this? Easy. We friended each other on Facebook. Looking back now, it's hard to believe my own world-changing revelations that would result from that simple first click. In hind-sight, I certainly did more than 'add a friend.'

In our world of social networking, Facebook has rendered the traditional high school reunion virtually obsolete. In fact, Facebook is swiftly becoming the new Google, only easier and with less risk of carpal tunnel from typing all the different permutations of search terms. Facebook, lucky for me, was the curious and nosey girl's dream come true. It's like a single's bar, only better because A). You're not in a bar and B). You actually know more about the person than simply his first name.

But with ease comes a new sense of intensity. It's all a lot of pressure. You get photos, up-to-the second status updates, even live chatting.

Until Facebook came along, I was what most people would consider a social wallflower. I was shy, quiet and admittedly, a bit unsure of myself. And when it came to love and relationships, those qualities were only magnified. I suppose my physical disability had something to do with it. In a world where blondes and brunettes with long legs ruled supreme, I'd resigned myself to the fact that my physical disability by default made me a Spinster For Life.

I'm not entirely sure what it was about Facebook Flirt, though, but something about him made me not want to settle for my self-imposed Spinster sentence. Maybe I needed a challenge or maybe I genuinely saw something in him that made me think "This guy might not be like all the rest. This one might be different." Whatever the reason, I casually sent him a message one afternoon, carefully choosing my words so as to come off as casual and subtle as possible without sounding like a complete looney girl.

MORE JUICE AFTER THE JUMP

xoxo,

Mel

Hey there,

So I don't normally do this, but I was going through my Facebook friends and came across your profile and wanted to say hello! Seems like it's been forever since we graduated, huh? Time does go by fast. Hope you're well....I know we didn't really know each other in high school, but I liked your profile.

Take care,

Melissa :)

Though I tricked myself into believing I didn't care if he replied or not, I was secretly giddy inside wondering if I'd hear back from him. And I did, a few days later, when he sent me this response:

"Whats going on Melissa? It has been way too long since we graduated. I feel that I'm on the verge of a midlife crisis already. I've read a lot of the stuff you've posted here on "the book", and I gotta tell ya....its good stuff! Hope things are going well for ya. I heard its hot out there in the good ol' midwest. Type with you soon. Cheers"

I sat there like a bobby-socks, hair-twirling school girl analyzing the note. OMG, he's read some of my writing....and not just 'some' but 'A LOT.' OMG, he actually liked what he read. OMG, he wants to type with me soon.

OMG, what was I going to type back? I shot off this reply, after several hours of contemplation. The reply had to be subtle, yet make a bold statement. I had to be forward, yet not reek of desperation. It had to be casual, yet inviting.

Hey -- good to hear from you too! Yep, it's hot out here, though not as hot as last week. What are you doing? I'm glad you liked my stuff....I sometimes think my mom is the only one who reads what I write, and of course she has to because she's my mother! :) So yeah, I probably seem like a really boring person, but I'm not. I swear! :)

Take care!

Melissa

P.S. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of a midlife crisis too. You're not alone. Trust me.

Oh lord. Did I really mention my mother in my reply? Oh well, I figured. I was new at this; maybe he wouldn't notice.

But the fact was I did want him to notice, because frankly, everything about him intrigued me. And it seemed, even if it was only a sliver, that I intrigued him too.

Over the next few months, the inevitable poking war ensued. I'd 'poke' him. He'd 'poke' me back. I'd return the gesture with another 'poke' and so on. We settled into a comfortable rhythm, and even I'll admit my face light up with a smile each time I logged on a saw that magic poking finger icon. Never mind the fact that I had virtually no idea the hidden meaning behind the elusive pokes - some Facebookers say it's just a way to say hello while other Facebookers say it's a subtle form of flirting. I chose to believe the latter, naturally.

I should be over this, shouldn't I? At 27, I should be spending my evenings having lingering conversations with my girlfriends or logging late hours at the office as I worked my way up the corporate ladder, instead, my nights now consisted of logging hours of Facebook time, analyzing his profile and staring dreamily at those handsome pictures of him at the beach, hanging out with friends, strumming his guitar.

But frankly, I liked the way this dance made me feel. Facebook gave me a new sense of boldness I'd only seen other woman pull of. I felt somewhat empowered by it, to say the least. Over the next few months, we flirted like innocent high schoolers: posting witty things on each other's wall, more poking, yet all the while keeping everything a bit subtle, mysterious even.

Eventually, I began to feel as though I was getting wrapped up in all of this; it was time to re-asses. I had to take a breather.

What sort of woman does this, I thought? What sort of woman scours his Facebook pictures wishing she could be that guitar strapped to his back? What sort of woman plays the word game with herself and debates whether to include a smiley face at the end of messages like the fate of the world depends on it? Oh, and what sort of woman adds his rumored girlfriend as a friend so she can up the snoop-level a notch?

I'll give you the answer: NOT me. I'd never been that girl; in fact, I'd always pitied those girls who do most of the chasing, and that's exactly what I'd been doing for the last six months. Honestly, that scared the hell out of me. For the first time, I felt out of control. I feared I was thisclose to boiling his guitar on the stove if I had my hands on it.

It had been six months since that first message and we were still, as far as I saw it, deep in the cat-and-mouse game. Something needed to be done, so what did I do? I, naturally, dived into the deep end of That Girl syndrome. I tempted him with some string in the form of (yes) another message. But it wasn't just any message, mind you. I sent the message, thanks to my new boldness. It was short and to the point.

I've just really enjoyed getting to know you, ailments and all...just wanted to put it out there.

P.S. I just realized how incredibly cheesy that sounded. I'm usually much better of a wordsmith. Honest!

Melissa :)

Damn that little smiley face.

I'd like to say that that note shook him to his sense. I'd like to say that he moved all the way across the country for me and made a huge dramatic formal entrance into my life.

But I can't. Instead, all I can say is that I apparently know exactly how to scare guys away. I have no idea, obviously, how you go from flirting to, well, anything beyond flirting. We had stalled, it seemed, on the Flirting Expressway.

Did Facebook Flirty get the point? I think so because he never wrote back. How is it that I could so swiftly seal my fate - and NOT the fate I wanted - in less than 50 words?

Had I really been the only one truly courting this entire time? I knew the impossibilities: He lived in California while I hunkered down in the cornfields of the Midwest - not the idea geographic situations to have spur-of-the-moment late-night chitchats in person.

So does that mean I should just make peace and be happy to have Facebook?

That's not what the last six months seemed to tell me, though, and it was in that moment that I'd realized, especially with my physical disability, this was the first time I was That Girl. And you know what? That felt pretty darn awesome, and ironically, sort of empowering too.

I, finally, got to know someone who didn't add my disability into the equation. Of course Facebook Flirt knew about my disability. But he also knew that I longed to go to Vegas for my thirtieth birthday, that my dream was to move to New York City and climb the ladder to publishing success, that, for all my supposed self-assurance, I was really just completely awkward and a huge dork.

For the first time in my life, I could be anyone I wanted, but I really only wanted to be myself. And whether he knew it or not, Facebook Flirt helped me in that department.

I realized, ironically, that in addition to turning me into a giggly schoolgirl, Facebook had also managed to transform me into a woman too. I could leave my love handles, what I saw as my disability baggage, at the door as soon as I logged on. No, I wasn't hiding it. No, I wasn't denying it existed (I knew it was there; I lived with it every day). What I was finally realizing was that for once, it could come second. I could put it in the backseat (maybe seal it in the trunk if I wanted) for awhile and sit in the driver's seat. At long last. I could be a woman. Not a woman with limitations. Not a woman with a disability and a wheelchair in tow and a long medical rap sheet trailing behind her. Just a woman.

Just me - a woman who wanted love, who wanted to be loved for who she was, who could maybe, if only for a minute, pretend differences didn't matter, that flaws are hot and imperfections are sexy. Because contrary to what so many people in my life think, my disability does not make me a superhero immune to those sorts of feelings.

I'd like to think I'll still have this newfound boldness should Facebook Flirt and I ever meet in person. At the very least, it would be interesting to see how that would play out. Maybe he'd play me a song. Me? I'd probably be too dorky to do anything other than poke his shoulder and say "In-person poke." And I'm sure there'd be some giggling on my part involved.