Bambi in love, and on her ass.

Is it just me, or am I the last person still astonished when nothing goes as planned? It's not as if I don't expect bad things to happen - in fact, I'm usually terrified when good things happen because I know it's only a matter of time before all holy hell breaks loose and I should really be spending the good times looking for a suitably spacious concrete bunker that could contain me and all of my shoes.

I expect bad things to happen, so it's not as if I'm unprepared.

What's relentlessly amazing to me though is that when things go bad, it's never in the way I plan for. By now I should know that if I buy flood insurance my home will burn to the ground within minutes and if I'm prepared for fire, flood and wind damage thrown in for good measure then I will sure as shite be battling a plague of locusts. This is a true story - locusts are nasty buggers.

And so is love at first sight - which happened to me on Sunday with Alex. Just not so much to Alex. After a year of virtual lust, friendship and romance I got to meet the man in person...and it was awesome.

I had debated how to play it when I first saw him. Do I play it cool? Shake his hand? Say something witty? Give him a friendly hug? A peck on the cheek? I was still going through these options when I launched myself at him like a deranged spider monkey upon opening my hotel room door.

Within 30 seconds we were full on making out like we had less than ten minutes to live. Somehow we managed to discuss how his drive was, what we felt like for dinner, whether we should order room service and how nice the room was in between swapping saliva, gasping for air and rolling off the bed on to the floor. It was the Best. Greeting. Ever.

We went to dinner. How we made it out of the hotel room I have no idea. We had such a good time laughing and carrying on over dinner in the snotty wine bar of the hotel that we annoyed the other patrons. I wasn't just in love. I was unconsciously choosing names for the children we would adopt, and hire several nannies to care for until we shipped them off to a boarding school in Sweden. The children that is, not the nannies.

Back in the hotel room, more kisses, and my poor little brain going to war with my heart. I swore I would not have sex with him. I reminded myself of all the good reasons why I shouldn't, couldn't and wouldn't. It took at least ten years off of my lifespan, but I said NO.

It was so hard to do, I swear I've now lost all of the brain cells necessary for motor function and whatever brain cells control whether I remember to eat or put on deodorant in the mornings. I won't tell you exactly how I know this, suffice to say I'm now having to remind myself of the basics before leaving my apartment. Basics like whether I have my keys. Whether I'm wearing pants. Where it is I'm supposed to be going.

Alex stayed the night with me and I wanted to punch myself in the face for being such a sap every time I woke up smiling. He snored in my ear and I was happy about it. How ridiculous! In the history of anybody or anything snoring in my ear, I have never once failed to elbow whatever or whoever it was in the ribs.

Dogs, cats, boyfriends, family members, sleepover buddies - every last one of them ended up with bruises, so I knew I was lost when I not only didn't mind, but snuggled even closer.

We were supposed to spend the day together, but early morning his cell phone started ringing. A client wanted to pick up his brand new car. Alex doesn't get paid until that happens, and even though it was his day off, he would have to go. This was sad.

It was sadder still when decided to stay in bed until the absolute last minute possible and I had to say NO again. Alex actually begged me, and you'd think that would be flattering. OK...it totally was flattering but it was killing me too because I wanted to but had to say NO again and now I had to tell him why.

Telling him why was what I should have done hours and hours before but instead I chose to laugh and have a great time with him instead of being upfront about what was or was not going to happen. I couldn't tell him why. If I said I chickened out it would be a tremendous insult to poultry who are actually fairly productive and tasty creatures whereas I'm neither.

I wanted to tell him that I liked him too much and trusted him too little. That it couldn't be casual for me and it couldn't be a one time thing because I was already afraid I would be holding on to his legs as he tried to exit the building and so we should really both try to spare my dignity by not making it any worse.

I wanted to tell him that even though he said he'd been to the doctor I was still terrified of the terror I knew I would feel in the hours and the days and the weeks after we left each other when my little STD phobia became raging obsessive compulsive disorder and because I didn't want to look back at a single second with him with any regret or fear.

But mostly, I wanted to tell him that somehow I had slipped up and my feelings for him were actually stronger than the fear and that was scariest of all. Instead though, I buried my face in my neck and when he asked me, "Is it because of what happened?" I just nodded yes. And apologized. He said I had nothing to be sorry for at all, but I think I did.

I was apologizing for feeling more for him than he felt for me, and because I'd gone and made something complicated out of something very simple.

So we got showered, got dressed and he left. Even though I'll be back in that same hotel in just two weeks for work, I won't be seeing him. He has family visiting that weekend, so our timing is crap. Since that won't work...we have no plans. There's nothing.

My friends are laughing at me, and I know it's kind of funny. I went there expecting to leave with some sort of confirmation. Either we were moving forward with something or we were done. There could be no in between. We were something to each other or we weren't talking - how could that plan go wrong?

I thought he'd love me or hate me, and I would know which it was. How I expected to have such a clear, definitive answer is kind of amusing, but what's not so funny is the fact that I probably do have my answer, and I just don't like it.

Which is why I've been a puddle since I got back. I'm a hot mess. I can not. stop. crying. It's like my head has sprung some kind of infernal leak. I'd say the crying is a problem, but I'm actually pretty good at it, to steal a line from Sarah Silverman. If this keeps up for just one more day some environmental group is going to have my face declared a protected wetland.

My nose is red, my eyes are swollen...I look like Mickey fucking Rourke for Christssakes. Mickey Rourke how he looks now...not when he was hot. Seriously. Find a picture of Mickey Rourke with his messed up face and that's how I look only I have boobs.

I don't even know how to proceed. Alex and I talked for a bit online last night, just confirming he our crappy timing when he can't come see me the next time I'm in Kelowna. He said that the up side was he got to meet me, and that sounded like a brush-off. Was fun, have a nice life.

So I told him it really was too bad, because round 2 would have been fun. Alex replied with, "Hell ya it would be." Present tense, not past tense like I used. It's not much at all, but it's something...or nothing.

So send tissue. Preferably with lotion. Slide cheesecake under my door, and hopefully I won't forget to eat it. This is really going to suck.