Monday, June 11, 2007

Six O’clock Already…

I was just in the middle of a dream, I thought when the alarm went off this morning. OK, well, it was more like, Shut up! Stupid thing! No one likes you! followed by a slam, but hey, that’s not the point. The point is that I had a lovely weekend, and I was sad that it was over.

My date with McIntriguing on Friday went great, as always. The little black dress was a definite hit. As for the jazz, however, it was a bit of a mixed bag. While there were some very nice moments, the five players seemed a bit too much at odds with each other. It was hard not to giggle after we both observed that one of the saxophone players bore a strong resemblance to a dirty pigeon and that a woman in the audience was wearing a hat that demanded twinkling Christmas lights. We left during the second set and headed to a funky local bar for gin and tonics and conversation. Somehow (not intentionally, honest), we wound up talking around the issue of relationships. Although we weren’t talking about whatever it is we’re doing, we did have similar ideas about how things should go. An interesting conversation, that.

Saturday afternoon my friend Smokestack (an old nickname, and I suppose for fairness’ sake, I should say that my nickname at the time was Chimney) graced me with her presence, and we spent the afternoon and evening gallivanting around Boston. The weather wasn’t overly cooperative, but we managed just fine. She crashed at my place that night, and we went to brunch and did a little more shopping before she left to head back to Portland in the afternoon. It was great to see her.

After Smokestack left, I was feeling a bit sleepy, so I took to the backyard with my book and a glass of wine to hang out on the patio. Someone, I assumed the landlord, had cut the grass that morning. While I was relaxing in the sunshine, my neighbor, the Lawnmoah Man (see
this post if you don’t know who he is), went down the stairs to his backyard.

In looking back on that previous post, I realized that I had neglected to mention how I met Lawnmoah Man. I had mentioned a while back that I had gone to Casey’s during the
Week of Wrecked Plans and that I had fended off the advances of a man who couldn’t pronounce the title of my book but drunkenly claimed to be fascinated by cultural anthropology. Well, that was Lawnmoah Man. That evening, Lawnmoah Man was very, very drunk. He made me a little nervous (he’s a big guy, with a shaved head and a lot of tattoos), but I let him chat me up for a bit. That is until he said, “Well, yer kinda cute, Sassy. Whatcha doin’ latah?” which prompted me to say, “I have to go now. Bye,” and leave. I felt a bit bad about responding that way, but given his condition, I was worried about how he’d react to being turned down. I’ve since learned that he’s basically a nice and harmless, if a little dim, man. But he’s still not my cup of tea.

A boy of about ten soon joined Lawnmoah Man in the backyard, calling LM “Dad.” They were playing with a remote-control car. Lawnmoah Man sauntered over to the fence and said hello. “I mowed yer lawn this mornin’,” he said, beaming.

“That was you?” I said, surprised. “I assumed it was my landlord. Well, thank you. That was nice of you.” Please go away now, I was thinking, along with, Oh shit. Why would he mow my lawn? We chatted for a couple of seconds, and his son called out to him to see what he was doing with the car.

Phew, I thought, and went back to my book.

There was a little commotion near our fence, and I saw Lawnmoah Man with the controls of the car, trying to get through a little gap in the fence. He eventually got the car through, and it headed down the little path, through a bush, and landed at my feet. Oh double shit! What is going on here? I mean, come on, he saw me with McI that time. What is he doing?

“Heh, heh. I just wanted to see if it would work,” Lawnmoah Man said. “How are ya doin’?”

“I’m fine, I said. It looks as though it did work, didn’t it?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just sat there, looking down at the freshly mown grass.

He said a few more things, and then got the car out of my yard. I went back to my book and the sunshine. After the sun went down, I went back upstairs. Smokestack called me to let me know that she got home OK, and we chuckled about Lawnmoah Man. I then listened to some music, and went to sleep.

And now I'm at the end of another Manic Monday.


Medbh said...

What did Lawnmoah Man think you would fuck him for mowong your lawn? Creepy.
Nice take on transliterating the Bawston accent.
I always have fun in that city.

Robyn said...

Sounds like a great weekend--Lawnmoah Man is persistent if nothing else. The remote control car is a new one, huh? I bet that has never happened to you before.

zirelda said...

Oh boy. He sounds kind of like the guy I used to live across the street from. I called him the Coat Guy because he gave me a coat in the middle of the winter because he said I looked cold. Whatever. He spent most of his time drinking and a lot of that time hanging out under my window I think. I'm glad I moved.

Nice weekend though. Awesome that you kind of had the chat and you have a better feel of what's going on.

dive said...

Great news on the McI front, Sassy.
Hilarious and slightly creepy news on the new neighbour.
By the way, you're kinda cute; whatcha doin' later?
Hee hee hee. Oh, poor you, Sassy.

Dear Prudence said...

Sassy the Schmoozer would us this to her advantage. He could be a great asset. Bake him some cookies, which is innocent enough, as a thank you for the mowing. Attach a little note that says something about being a good neighbor and sign it Sassy and McI. He at least will be on notice that you really are a couple.

Conan Drumm said...

Hey Sass, what is it about you and these random guys with major boundary issues. Have to disagree with dear prudence, baking cookies for this man will be read as an invitation to come over at 10.30pm with a bottle of plonk.

Excellent progress with Mr McI, shame 'bout the jazz but you often get that, six guys all noodling to themselves.

Maria said...

Well. Those kinds of guys, in my opinion, can go either way. I mean, either they make very loyal friends who would do anything for you and not expect much back but some minimal smiling. Or...they will try anything to get that little car through a small opening in the fence.

I have only had three guys who had crushes on me in my life. I told two of them that I was a lesbian and this did not work for shit. It seemed to stimulate them to an almost weird extent.

Well, just flaunt M a bit around him. Maybe that will take the wind out of his sails. Or he may just start mowin yer lawn twice a week or something....

ali said...

"Hey Sass, what is it about you and these random guys with major boundary issues. Have to disagree with dear prudence, baking cookies for this man will be read as an invitation to come over at 10.30pm with a bottle of plonk."

What is plonk?

Sassy Sundry said...

I certainly hope not, Medbh. I don't want to have to avoid my own back yard. Boston is a great town, but even as a native New Englander, I'll say that the people talk funny.

Robyn, it was a great weekend. And, yes, the car thing was new.

Zirelda, that's just creepy. I think Lawnmoah Man is harmless, but if he keeps it up, I'll have to get a bit stern with him. I did have a great weekend, thanks.

The weekend brought a nice mix, Dive. A little weirdness keeps one on one's toes. And how do you know if I'm cute or not?

No way, Prudence. I'm prudent enough not to use my schmoozer skills that way.

Conan, I'll have to share a story about a man who brought me plonk once. It was more like a wine cooler. Hysterical. As for the boundry issues, I don't know. Perhaps I'm just nice when I should be a bitch? I can't figure it out.

Oh, Maria, you didn't. Saying "I'm a lesbian" to a certain type of guy translates as, "And I'll do my girlfriend in front of you in as many ways as you want." I think I'm just going to hope that Lawnmoah Man figures it out that I'm not interested.

Ali, plonk is cheap wine. Very cheap wine.

Rich said...

Was Lawnmoah Man drunk? oh and he must be so proud of his little lawnmohah boy.