Wednesday, June 27, 2007


Yes, the confusement will pass. And it will be replaced by a quandary.

On Saturday, I had plans to get together with McArtsyPants. In addition making a Craigslist date, I’d also contacted McAP, figuring that he would make a nice no-strings distraction for the weekend. Saturday morning had me feeling rather poorly, but with coffee and a shower (and OK, a few cigarettes—for the stress of it all), I rallied and was prepared to see McAP.

I wasn’t thrilled, but I figured that it was better than sitting at home. Plus, if I went through with my scheduled outing with Mc(m)I(a) on Sunday, the date with McAP would see me achieve the Dating Trifecta. The Trifecta is three dates (no scams—“friend dates”), with three different guys, in three days (or less). This has been a long-standing goal of my intrepid friend and I, but since I’m a date-one-guy-at-a-time kind of gal, I’ve rarely come close. The last time was last spring, the weekend of my first date with McAsshole. Come to think of it, I think my third date was supposed to be McAP.

Well, McAP called Saturday around noon and wanted to know if I wanted to go on a boat ride with him. Now I said I’d rallied. I didn’t say that I was prepared to be tossed about on the open seas. Nor was I prepared to be trapped with McAP and his friends. I tried to talk him out of the boat ride and into lunch, but he really wanted to go, so we agreed to see each other during the week.

Honestly, it was for the best. My rally didn’t last all that long. I spent most of the day milling around my neighborhood’s community-building block party (=one really good band+ mediocre food+ entirely too many little girls dancing like call girls [that was disturbing]) and then went to bed.

Sunday saw me in a much better frame of mind. My emotions are very strong, overpoweringly so, but they are short-lived. I can deal with turmoil for only so long, and then it just doesn’t seem so important anymore. It can be a problem, because it’s not as though I deal with why I was so upset, I just stop caring about it. Healthy or no, I still felt relieved. My head was clear, and I felt lighter. That’s not to say that I was happy, but I felt like I was going to be OK, no matter what happened. McI got in touch with me around one, and we made arrangements to meet that evening. It was a beautiful day, and I headed into the North End to sit at a caffĂ© for a while.

I had just settled in with a Campari and soda and my book (Oracle Night, by Paul Auster) to enjoy the lovely weather when an artist came in. I say “artist” because he was wearing black clothes spattered with different colors of paint, and he did not appear to be the type to mess around with walls. Definitely a hot ticket, even if he was getting on in years, when he moved across the room and women’s eyes followed. He sat down next to his friends at the table next to me, and I looked down at my book lightning fast.

Alas, not fast enough. I could feel him looking me over, and I tried not to notice. God knows why, but the song “Car Wash” came on just then. The artist started clapping along with the beginning, and then I saw an arm snaking into my field of vision. I looked up to find him staring at me intently, far more intently than the “Car Wash” should inspire. He then started dancing, daring me to join him. So I did. I think I shocked him. His dare turned into a grin and we did a few moves, and I took a bow before going back to my book. He laughed.

“How come you’re reading? How can you read with this music on?” His accent was Italian.

“I’m literate, and I have amazing powers of concentration,” I replied.

His eyebrows arched, and he grinned wickedly. “Why? I like my women illiterate.” He was kidding, sure, but there was an undercurrent of disapproval in his voice.

“Good luck with that,” I said, taking a sip of my drink and winking at him. I read a bit longer, and then it was time to meet McI.

I had no idea what to make of this meeting. We were getting together to hang out and then check out a movie. I didn’t know if I would talk to him or not. I didn’t know if it was worth it to talk to him or not. Like I said, the storm had passed.

We met up, kissed, exchanged pleasantries, and proceeded to have a fine time. I found out why he hadn’t called. I’m not OK with it, and I’m still going out with McArtsyPants, but if I had McI’s communication skills, I wouldn’t have called me either. In fact, even with my communication skills, I might not have called me. If there ever was an excuse to disappear, he had it. That doesn't mean that I'm cool with it.

I think he sensed this, because I’ve heard from him since, and he suggested getting together this week. He wanted to know if Thursday would work, and I let him know that I had plans, so we might do tonight, and we might do the weekend. I checked my online dating messages last night. There’s no one out there I really want to date right now, but I’ve decided that until I talk to McI that I’m dating “tapas style” (thanks, Andraste).

So I’m still in a bit of a quandary where all of this is concerned, but at least I’m not bogged down by confusement.


dive said...

A quandary indeed, Sassy.
I'm too old and confused for all this. Just make sure you have fun sorting it all out.

Conan Drumm said...

Hmm. Confusement + perspective = quandary. At least it's progress, if not resolution.

Fresh Hell said...

Dance and laugh and be the girl who is having all the fun. The boys will settle into place where they should, be it by your side of on their merry way. Getting involved with a good feller ought fall into place without having to strategize. Don't listen too intently to me though. I'm a romantic and a 37 year old spinster, so I might be getting something wrong along the way.

Andraste said...

Serious talks are the things that force relationships into things that they might not necessarily want to be.

I say take it for what it is, and have fun. Sounds like you're already doing that. I'm envious. Wish I'd done more of that when I was single - but I'm too much of a hermit.

Robyn said...

"tapas style" really is a great phrase for dating, and a great meal as well.

I don't know, though. Confusement and quandary kind of seem like the same thing, but at least you aren't stuck in it and completely miserable.


The boy are back in town.It was time to get up,put on some bratty clad skirt and kick your ass out for some great fun.Whether be it dancing,a laugh or whatever,never too old ohhhhh

zirelda said...

And it's ok to Not be Ok with it which you already know.

In this age of equality and enlightemnent you certainly have no need to wait for someone to get it.

If things were only that easy.

Medbh said...

He likes his women illiterate? Does he really think pick up lines like that actually work? Ew. Insecure men rankle at seeing a woman reading in public when she should be available for them.
You have plenty of things simmering now, Sassy. Enjoy the developments!

Rich said...

I’m starting to feel like a voyeur when reading your blog

Maria said...

You are such a cheeky, cheeky woman. And I really liked the Italian artist until he made the lame ass comment about liking his woman illiterate. I always hate it when they say things like that. Why oh why didn't he stop at the lovely dance? And then, he could have maybe had a small shot....

Fat Sparrow said...

Gee, I can't imagine why Italian guy is single.

Terroni said...

Wow. You've got a lot of balls in the air. (Lame pun intended.)