Sometimes when you go through some heavy shit, you just decide to go a little crazy. I had put all the things I had wanted to do in my life and stuffed it in a tiny, little teeny box and when I was going through my divorce, decided to open it a little...Ok, I opened it all the way and it was a concentrate of volatile indulgence that I released into the world. The weird thing is, it's all this wonder amidst all this pain you're trying to mask and hold inside. For so long, I always did the right thing. I was an obvious mix of Carrie and Charlotte. Two very different views inside a very emotionally etched person. I was never the "one night stand", the "love 'em and leave 'em" or the "why date one, when you can date them all" type of girl. I was very aware about my connections with men. I always have been, it's part of being a serial monogamous. I don't multitask men very well and prefer to be a hopeless romantic...then there was the box.

My best friend and I were going through heavy divorces together. What more could a woman wish for, two women who could rally and support and listen to all those tears with each other, at a bar, with lots of vodka. She was trying this whole "internet dating" thing when it was all the rage. "You've got to try it, you'll meet someone new," she encouraged. "I dunno, I prefer a more organic method, I don't like having to seek it out," I protested. In my mind, I was thinking, "Why the fuck would I do that? I've been doing it on my own since 1987, I don't need to meet some creepy dude on the internet." What I needed was a vacation, to refresh and renew myself and get over all this sadness.

I packed a bag. I rented a Kia Soul. I got in the car with my favorite playlists and I drove to North Myrtle Beach. I needed the ocean for tranquility and peace and my mom had rented this condo for a week. I got the first half to myself. A lot happens when you are alone and going through some shit. I thought if I did it at the beach, I wouldn't have the squeaky wheels churning away in a dark room with nowhere to go except the bottom of a whisky glass. You see, because of my current state of affairs at the time, I had to move in with my mother. Nobody wants to do that. Don't even pretend like it's because she makes really great cookies and tucks you in at night. We are talking about transition and tragedy all in one cereal bowl. I needed this trip!

I closed the door to the condo and picked my room out. I decided to watch some TV and then hit the hay, for tomorrow, it will be sand and sun and fun! Funny thing is, being alone at home and being alone somewhere else doesn't really change what's going on inside your head. I was obsessing pretty hard and I had reached the angry phase in my dealings. I wanted to stalk and write angry letters, but instead, it just kept swimming in my head. I decided at that point, that it was time for me to move on and that tomorrow was a new day for new things.

I don't mind being alone. I like the quiet. What I do mind is doing things alone. When I do things alone I feel as though I'm in Mr. Roger's neighborhood, a giant in a tiny world. It is very uncomfortable and doesn't feel natural to me. So, one of the things I gave myself to overcome as this new person was to do things alone. Eat. Go to the movies. Go to a show. Go to a party. All alone. I decided this was the beginning for me, going to the beach, alone. I woke up the next day, put on my red and black polka dotted bikini (divorce does wonders for your physique), grabbed two tall boy Modelos and my current reading material and headed to the ocean. It was fantastic! I listened to some tunes, read some smart stuff, and took the obligatory "my marriage is over" pity sexy bikini shot (don't act like you don't know about this). My day was good. I felt good.

I got back to the condo and decided to have a few more beers and catch up with some friends via the internets. I think around 8pm or so I was a little tipsy. I looked at the Google Search bar with the cursor blinking in exclamation at me. I began to type: "Ok Cupid", what the fuck am I doing. NOPE. Not happening. I shut my computer. I walked in the kitchen to get another beer. I ate something. I watched a little TV. I walked about in the bedroom. I opened the computer. "Fuck iiiit". Ok, Cupid, what you got for me.

What it had was a bunch of dudes in front of cars, bad tattoos, terrible profiles littered with misspellings, dudes who were DTF (what does that mean?), guys who loved their dogs more than women, tons of bathroom selfies, guys in photos with their exes and lest we not forget that being a romantic male somehow means you are really into some barfalicious poetry. No. No. No way. Fuck this...Wait. Just hold on a minute. What? I can search another country? Yes, why am I wasting my time with American men when I can imagine the sultry linguistics of a foreigner? Besides, I just want to talk with guys, I don't want to actually meet them at this point. Pick a country any country. I began "winking" at Ireland (duh), Scotland, Germany, Spain, England...it was as though I was starting my own football club.

Sweden. I knew nothing about Scandinavia except they produced amazing music, were optically challenged, meatballs and Swedish Chef. He sat in a cafe wearing a white button down and staring off to the side with a small smile. It was the eyes for me and if a guy looks like he's been somewhere, there's interest in his story. I felt this guy had some narrative. He seemed like someone who had an old soul. He also responded well. It started with hello and then three hours later we touched on all vital subjects: Music (God, please don't like The Dead), Tell me a Little About Yourself (God, please don't be a racist), and Movies (God, please don't let him think the Miami Vice remake was amazing). During this chat session, I was conversing with several other countries, you would have thought I was really campaigning for world peace. I was tipsy and it was distracting. What they don't tell you about these sites is how to maneuver through the trash, I had to figure that out on my own in a few days time what to watch out for. I never got one dick pic, but I feel as though I kept running into the panhandler on the side of the road. You know the one, "My wife is really sick and I need to get her to the hospital in Jersey, can you help a brother out." It started to cycle into the same stories. I learned to stay away from the military guys and those claiming to be widows. I soon developed a method of tactics when trying to select who I wanted to engage. Just a little side note here, when I get interesting stimulus, I tend to become addicted to it, I don't like boredom. Once I joined a site, I joined them all and so began my internet dating journey.

Mr. Scandanovio and I emailed, instant messaged, and eventually graduated to Skype. There's something really interesting about communication when it comes to writing someone. You pay attention to vocabulary, to the times of day they write, and to how they respond to questions. He and I had fantastic conversation. He was a techie who was also a photographer and that was a ding ding for me, you know, that he had a job. We talked about art, music, film, books, family, Sweden, the US, etc etc. All the things you are curious about in a penpal, because that's what he was at this point, a foreign person who was unreachable and incredibly attractive that I couldn't fall on my face in front of. I felt like I could be more honest with things because it's not like we're going to date. One of our daily regiments was to give each other photo assignments:

What are you eating for lunch?
Where's your favorite spot to hide out?
What's your kitchen look like?
Where do you go to find peace?
Do you own a suit?

Every day, I'd give him 3-5 things maybe. It was fun. It was a way to look into his world and I would reciprocate mine. In a matter of weeks I felt a flutter every time I'd hear my computer ring. My mom was concerned I was spending so much time at home and asked what was going on and if I was ok and I laughed and said, "I'm fine mom, I just met a guy." She was curious why he had not come to "call on me" and I told her about the whole dating online endeavor. I showed her some photos and she was wowed. It was fun and a nice bonding moment that my mom was encouraging me to move on after all that happened. She came in my room one night to see that we had both fallen asleep while talking on Skype. I was connected. It was weird, but great --- what now?

"I have to meet you," he said. I laughed and said, "Well, if you wanna meet me, you'll have to make a trip." The next day he called to tell me he booked a five day to trip to Richmond, VA. I was floored and terrified. Absolutely terrified. I admired his spontaneity. His ability to just up and come. It was a month and some weeks before he would arrive and the time leading up to that was fearful anticipation. I mean this guy is either batshit crazy or he'll be the 2nd love of my life. I knew what he looked like. I knew what he sounded like. I knew everything from his favorite color to his hiding places, but he was still a stranger.

"I hope he doesn't come over here and kill us," said my mom at dinner one night. I replied with, "Mom, do you actually think some dude from Sweden is going to fly almost 9 hours to kill two insignificant people?" That would be some dedication to your crime I'd say. She asked where he was staying and I said a hotel near us, in which her Catholic Latina came out instructing me "No man is going to be sleeping in your bed while you are here!"

I drove slowly up to the Arrivals terminal. "What if he doesn't look like his photos? What if he's an asshole? What if he doesn't like the way I look? Am I going to stay with him?" A million thoughts rushing through my head as I search for a stranger from a strange land. There he stood, casually by his luggage, still handsome (whew). I got out of the car to greet him and I gave him some awkward hug of sorts and showed him to the car. Welcome to America, buddy. I was super nervous and I tried to be relaxed with my conversation, but I could tell it was the same on his part as well. In the next five days we would see if this guy was worth taking the screen away for.

By day 3, my mom invited him to stay at the house. She really liked him, Catholic guilt out the window. I liked him too. I showed him my world, but I also kept him to myself. I wasn't ready for the world to see that I had moved on. He met a few friends, but in outside circles. I took that time to get to know him in a physical sense. Not a sexual sense. Don't get me wrong, this man was quite desirable and it was tempting, but we both wanted to really see what was there. We kissed in Hollywood Cemetery and it was awkward, I was awkward. There was a lot of staring at my shoes and I had become incredibly shy in front of this man from the land of the midnight sun. I felt exposed and although the kiss was nicely delivered, something was off. After five days of hanging out, he flew back to land of meatballs and fantastic design and I had ladies night revealing the mysterious stranger. Within 3 days he was talking about when we could see each other again.

I teased and said, "Oh, I can just jump on a plane right now and be over in time for breakfast!" He got very serious at this point and said, "Pick a date". I was a little in shock and explained that I was in between jobs, that taking a trip is not in my budget at this time. "Pick a date." I didn't want to be at home for the holidays. It depressed me to think about and I felt like I needed a change. With that, four weeks of my life were planned and I would be headed to Sweden in December. What fantasy was I living in?!

I had never been over the ocean before. I was extremely excited, but also apprehensive. I had never done this before and to trust someone for 4 weeks I barely knew was a little crazy. I'm not going to bore you with all the details of my Scandinavian adventure. I thought this was going to be some romantic whirlwind of passion and travel, you know the one those women in their 40's write books about? Here's the thing about being sad and lonely, you look for any glimmer of love. You look for it because you miss it, the way it felt, the familiar warmth of arms surrounding you. All you want is that emptiness to be filled.

He was sweet and accommodating. He had no clue. None. Not an inkling of how to "be" with me. We began my tour of Stockholm with a Gus Van Sant photo exhibit in the newly opened Fotografiska. I figured for someone who did photography, he would have many things to discuss afterwards. This was my first red flag. Not only did he not have anything to discuss, but I noticed I got a little offended that he couldn't offer me a conversation. It set the tone for the rest of my trip. He didn't know much about his city or the art or the music scene. I thought it was very strange that here was this guy who grew up in this city and he had nothing to say about it. I did sense he was nervous and I was as well, but here I was far from home willing to give this guy a shot to woo the hell out of me.

Once again, if I don't have stimulus, I will seek it out. We did some fun things together, but I spent a lot of my days going out to the city center and exploring. When it came to really being one on one with him, there was no chemistry. The connection I found there was in an unexpected place...his family, which he didn't seem to have a very tight connection with. He was embarrassed that his mother and step father lived in a prestigious neighborhood and I had to reassure him, this meant nothing to me. I met one set the day before Christmas and the other the day of. His mother was incredibly delightful and his step father had me at, "Do you drink whiskey?" I met his entire family and celebrated in traditional fare the holiday season. His fathered lived in another town, beautiful country, and beautiful home. Both his father and step-mother were psychologists. I was charmed by all of them and they made me feel so at home. He and I however, did not mix well. When you spend countless hours with someone in a very tiny apartment, you would expect some sort of interaction. He sighed. A lot. A whole lot. Conversation was bleak and I wondered why he never visited his step-sister who lived two blocks away. He literally, had NEVER been to her home until I suggested we get together. I felt the cling. You know the one, where you feel a little claustrophobic with someone who isn't giving off the energy you need? I was thankful when he would leave for work in the mornings so I could walk in the city and the lack of sun was getting to me.

I decided to change up my environment so, I ended up going to Barcelona for a week. What was I doing in Sweden this whole time!? Barcelona became the love of my life. It embraced me with warmth and joy and beautiful things to see. I loved every moment of it, every cafe sitting, all the street art, the architecture, the food, and more importantly, the warmth. She filled some of that emptiness I was feeling and as New York had done for me in recent years, she cradled me and assured me, I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.

I spent my last days in Sweden and then headed for New York for another week's adventure. Mr. Scandanovio and I decided it was not meant to be, I decided it was not meant to be. He felt he wasn't at his best and I was unwilling to take a second chance. I kept in touch with him for a little while and then he started seeing an American girl in Ireland who now lives in Sweden. I think he may have had better luck with her. I find it amusing that she boasts bangs and is also a writer, perhaps she was a better version of me. I felt as though I broke his heart, but I really wasn't ready for a relationship. I come across those icy blue eyes in my feed sometimes and I look back on my trip fondly. It was the trip that gave me back my independence and sparked a real love. A love for travel, exploring new things, and most of all gave me the confidence that I can take risks and be ok. Sweden made me realize I was not 100% and I needed time to heal.

His mom and step-father show me photos of their holidays and send me nice notes all the time. I've maintained communication with his step sisters and couldn't have been more grateful for their hospitality. They were the warmest part of my trip and although things didn't work out with Mr. Scandanovio, Sweden and I will always have an affair to remember. Tack for the memories!